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cuddlytogas · 1 month

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So I accidentally almost got into an argument on Twitter, and now I'm thinking about bad historical costuming tropes. Specifically, Action Hero Leather Pants.

See, I was light-heartedly pointing out the inaccuracies of the costumes in Black Sails, and someone came out of the woodwork to defend the show. The misunderstanding was that they thought I was dismissing the show just for its costumes, which I wasn't - I was simply pointing out that it can't entirely care about material history (meaning specifically physical objects/culture) if it treats its clothes like that.

But this person was slightly offended on behalf of their show - especially, quote, "And from a fan of OFMD, no less!" Which got me thinking - it's true! I can abide a lot more historical costuming inaccuracy from Our Flag than I can Black Sails or Vikings. And I don't think it's just because one has my blorbos in it. But really, when it comes down to it...

What is the difference between this and this?

Here's the thing. Leather pants in period dramas isn't new. You've got your Vikings, Tudors, Outlander, Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time, Will, The Musketeers, even Shakespeare in Love - they love to shove people in leather and call it a day. But where does this come from?

Obviously we have the modern connotations. Modern leather clothes developed in a few subcultures: cowboys drew on Native American clothing. (Allegedly. This is a little beyond my purview, I haven't seen any solid evidence, and it sounds like the kind of fact that people repeat a lot but is based on an assumption. I wouldn't know, though.) Leather was used in some WWI and II uniforms.

But the big boom came in the mid-C20th in motorcycle, punk/goth, and gay subcultures, all intertwined with each other and the above. Motorcyclists wear leather as practical protective gear, and it gets picked up by rock and punk artists as a symbol of counterculture, and transferred to movie designs. It gets wrapped up in gay and kink communities, with even more countercultural and taboo meanings. By the late C20th, leather has entered mainstream fashion, but it still carries those references to goths, punks, BDSM, and motorbike gangs, to James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Mick Jagger. This is whence we get our Spikes and Dave Listers in 1980s/90s media, bad boys and working-class punks.

And some of the above "historical" design choices clearly build on these meanings. William Shakespeare is dressed in a black leather doublet to evoke the swaggering bad boy artist heartthrob, probably down on his luck. So is Kit Marlowe.

But the associations get a little fuzzier after that. Hook, with his eyeliner and jewellery, sure. King Henry, yeah, I see it. It's hideously ahistorical, but sure. But what about Jamie and Will and Ragnar, in their browns and shabby, battle-ready chic? Well, here we get the other strain of Bad Period Drama Leather.

See, designers like to point to history, but it's just not true. Leather armour, especially in the western/European world, is very, very rare, and not just because it decays faster than metal. (Yes, even in ancient Greece/Rome, despite many articles claiming that as the start of the leather armour trend!) It simply wasn't used a lot, because it's frankly useless at defending the body compared to metal. Leather was used as a backing for some splint armour pieces, and for belts, sheathes, and buckles, but it simply wasn't worn like the costumes above. It's heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to repair - it's simply not practical for a garment when you have perfectly comfortable, insulating, and widely available linen, wool, and cotton!

As far as I can see, the real influence on leather in period dramas is fantasy. Fantasy media has proliferated the idea of leather armour as the lightweight choice for rangers, elves, and rogues, a natural, quiet, flexible material, less flashy or restrictive than metal. And it is cheaper for a costume department to make, and easier for an actor to wear on set. It's in Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, Runescape, and World of Warcraft.

And I think this is how we get to characters like Ragnar and Vane. This idea of leather as practical gear and light armour, it's fantasy, but it has this lineage, behind which sits cowboy chaps and bomber/flight jackets. It's usually brown compared to the punk bad boy's black, less shiny, and more often piecemeal or decorated. In fact, there's a great distinction between the two Period Leather Modes within the same piece of media: Robin Hood (2006)! Compare the brooding, fascist-coded villain Guy of Gisborne with the shabby, bow-wielding, forest-dwelling Robin:

So, back to the original question: What's the difference between Charles Vane in Black Sails, and Edward Teach in Our Flag Means Death?

Simply put, it's intention. There is nothing intentional about Vane's leather in Black Sails. It's not the only leather in the show, and it only says what all shabby period leather says, relying on the same tropes as fantasy armour: he's a bad boy and a fighter in workaday leather, poor, flexible, and practical. None of these connotations are based in reality or history, and they've been done countless times before. It's boring design, neither historically accurate nor particularly creative, but much the same as all the other shabby chic fighters on our screens. He has a broad lineage in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean and such, but that's it.

In Our Flag, however, the lineage is much, much more intentional. Ed is a direct homage to Mad Max, the costuming in which is both practical (Max is an ex-cop and road warrior), and draws on punk and kink designs to evoke a counterculture gone mad to the point of social breakdown, exploiting the thrill of the taboo to frighten and titillate the audience.

In particular, Ed is styled after Max in the second movie, having lost his family, been badly injured, and watched the world turn into an apocalypse. He's a broken man, withdrawn, violent, and deliberately cutting himself off from others to avoid getting hurt again. The plot of Mad Max 2 is him learning to open up and help others, making himself vulnerable to more loss, but more human in the process.

This ties directly into the themes of Our Flag - it's a deliberate intertext. Ed's emotional journey is also one from isolation and pain to vulnerability, community, and love. Mad Max (intentionally and unintentionally) explores themes of masculinity, violence, and power, while Max has become simplified in the popular imagination as a stoic, badass action hero rather than the more complex character he is, struggling with loss and humanity. Similarly, Our Flag explores masculinity, both textually (Stede is trying to build a less abusive pirate culture) and metatextually (the show champions complex, banal, and tender masculinities, especially when we're used to only seeing pirates in either gritty action movies or childish comedies).

Our Flag also draws on the specific countercultures of motorcycles, rockers, and gay/BDSM culture in its design and themes. Naturally, in such a queer show, one can't help but make the connection between leather pirates and leather daddies, and the design certainly nods at this, with its vests and studs. I always think about this guy, with his flat cap so reminiscient of gay leather fashions.

More overtly, though, Blackbeard and his crew are styled as both violent gangsters and countercultural rockstars. They rove the seas like a bikie gang, free and violent, and are seen as icons, bad boys and celebrities. Other pirates revere Blackbeard and wish they could be on his crew, while civilians are awed by his reputation, desperate for juicy, gory details.

This isn't all of why I like the costuming in Our Flag Means Death (especially season 1). Stede's outfits are by no means accurate, but they're a lot more accurate than most pirate media, and they're bright and colourful, with accurate and delightful silks, lace, velvets, and brocades, and lovely, puffy skirts on his jackets. Many of the Revenge crew wear recognisable sailor's trousers, and practical but bright, varied gear that easily conveys personality and flair. There is a surprising dedication to little details, like changing Ed's trousers to fall-fronts for a historical feel, Izzy's puffy sleeves, the handmade fringe on Lucius's red jacket, or the increasing absurdity of navy uniform cuffs between Nigel and Chauncey.

A really big one is the fact that they don't shy away from historical footwear! In almost every example above, we see the period drama's obsession with putting men in skinny jeans and bucket-top boots, but not only does Stede wear his little red-heeled shoes with stockings, but most of his crew, and the ordinary people of Barbados, wear low boots or pumps, and even rough, masculine characters like Pete wear knee breeches and bright colours. It's inaccurate, but at least it's a new kind of inaccuracy, that builds much more on actual historical fashions, and eschews the shortcuts of other, grittier period dramas in favour of colour and personality.

But also. At least it fucking says something with its leather.

#everyone say 'thank you togas' for not including a long tangent about evil rimmer in red dwarf 5x05 #Our Flag Means Death #Togas does meta #and yes these principles DO fall apart slightly in s2 and i DON'T like those costumes as much #don't get me wrong they're fun and gorgeous - but generally a bit less deep and more inaccurate. so. :(#I'm not sure this really says anything new about Our Flag but I just needed to get my thoughts out #i hate hate hate Gritty Period Drama costumes they're so boring and so ugly and so wrong #god bless OFMD for using more than 3 muted colours and actually putting men in heels (and not as a shorthand for rich/foppish villainy) <3 #looking at that Tudors still is insane like they really will go to any lengths to not make men feel like they've got bare legs XD #image descriptions in alt text #and yes i DID just sink about two hours into those so you'd better appreciate them

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deadghosy · 2 months

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Do you know about the Welcome Home fandom? So what about Wally Darling!Reader?

HAZBIN HOTEL X WALLY DARLING! READER

prompt: you are a greeter of the hazbin hotel! Who knew a muppet looking demon could be so colorful.

You are so soft spoken! Like that soft voice you have can hypnotize anyone into doing anything.

“hello, welcome to the hazbin hotel. i’m your greeter.” You say with a “:D” face

You’re so colorful and you’re definitely shorter than Lucifer…i can see Lucifer picking you up like a damn doll at times as you just smile with your muppet ass smile.

You’re just TOO DAMN CUTEEE! 🦆💗 literally even husk grumbles and gives you apples by the bar for you to stop giving him those doe eyes you give him when you are needy for apples.

I feel because of your muppet look, it would bring attention to yourself as a muppets looking demon is quite rare around the pentagram city, or even hell itself as Lucifer and Charlie have a muppet or Marionette look.

Literally you are friends with Lucifer because of it and he finds your muppet look adorable. Even with your 3 ft height. (Yes I looked up his height and damn he short as hell!😭)

You are just chilling after greeting some new sinners in the hotel as you read the news paper, Lucifer comes out of no where. Dead ass reads the newspaper trying to understand your likes and dislikes.

“Lu-Lu?” You said softly as Lucifer awkwardly smiles and does finger guns at you. “Oh what a coincidence? What are you doing here..?” He says awkwardly as he sweatdrops at his attempt to start a conversation with you. “I live here?” You said raising a brow sitting down the newspaper.

“Oh I do too! What a very crazy thing?!” He says pointing his finger at himself as he poofs away in embarrassment as you just sat there…..*cue in pure confusion*

Alastor would not hate you because you are colorful, lemme be realistic. You two would be mutuals. Not like “oh I hate you but you are cool” type shit. I mean you two are the people who wave at each other but never approach each other because you don’t know if they like you fr. 🥲

One time a sinner had shoulder bumped you on purpose thinking you wasn’t gonna do anything…BUT NAH! YOU GRABBED THAT MF BY HIS NECK AS A SHADOW COVERS YOUR FACE, only leaving your eyes showing as you kick they ass out. You ain’t dealin' with no bullshit at this establishment. And for your friend’s sake.

Angel likes to play with makeup with your face since it’s calling out for his makeup kit. Literally he does blue eyeshadow on you.

I headcannon you wear blue eyeshadow just like how Wally’s eyelid is blue up there. Dead ass it would be cute if it was just blue eye shadow and you had a natural blush on your cheeks. You are quite beautiful reader💗😘

Since Angel is a drag queen, he would also try to make you wear drag queen makeup only for you to sneeze at how much product he used…yeah he never used it on your face.

You’re beautiful natural anyway…just don’t sneeze in his face. Ever again.

You definitely look like you listen to 1970-80’s jazz music as you dance in the lobby with Alastor nodding along happy. Just two jazz buddies liking jazz.

I can imagine Charlie trying to hold you back from eating the fruit gift basket for the guests…you’re only aiming for the damn apples as your mouth was drooling for it.

Imagine Vox has you on his channel because he brided you with apples. He stalked you through your tv you had that has rainbows and apples on it-

Well anyways Alastor “recused” you because you just sat there “begging” to be saved is what he saved when you munched on an apple confused by why Alastor came to take you away from Vox.

If you and Lucifer hung out doing hobbies together, which he suggested. You’re panting a portrait as he makes a duck based off of you….he can’t help but show affection of making you a duck version of yourself.

Niffty and you definitely get along well as hell! As you two have the same fashion taste as you both will dance to the genre of music you guys like.

With you being the greeter, you always have a soft smile and a soft approach to make the guest and residents feel safe in the hotel.

Sir Pentious will absolutely admire you…like a friend crush. He just wants to be your friend but you are too pure to approach as he thinks he won’t be cool enough to be your friend.

Imagine Valentino seeing you shopping and he tried to approach you only for a red smoke to cover you as you blinked confused to see an overprotective Lucifer smiling at you as you had teleported to the hotel. But with Lucifer, you could see his real feelings as you felt confused.

After a few months you and Pentious became friends because of one of his egg boiz named Frank said his “boss” wants to be friends with you. You giggled and nodded as you and sir Pentious do trust exercises together when Charlie host them.

Husk had dilated eyes and purr at you because you scratched under his chin which made him snap out of his cat daze and slap your hand as you giggle with a soft gaze.

I headcannon Velvette to be your girl who makes your outfits in primary colors. Like that or just cute aesthetic kid core fits. 💗‼️

I can see how reader always gives balloons to sinners who had trouble reliving their childhood. So they give balloons out to the sinners who had childhood trauma. You are a greeter, and a hell of a good one. 🦆💗

Imagine how Wally! Reader has those safety pins that say “Welcome!” And it’s so cute because you made them a t hand and Lucifer saw his you had effort in it so he made you more to give out to the guests.

I feel like Valentino will try to get you under his contract so he can use your pretty look since you seem like a femboy….but really you’re just a little guy who likes apples and his friends.

YOU’RE ONLY 12 APPLES TALL! 😨

But the hazbin crew literally cockblock him to the point he just stops doing he was trying to do to you.

I can see Lucifer trying to impress you at times as he never has a friend that had a cute appearance like you so your blank eye stare always catches him off as you just stand there smiling so adorably.

I headcannon waking up to find an apple by your night stand as a note reads “hope you like the apple, my angel!”- Lu-Lu. You just blinked at the apple completely ignoring the note and eating the apple as you smile at the taste.

“…yummy apppleee….” You say until you open your eyes looking at the note. “Wait what.”

You had gave Lucifer back an apple basket with rubber ducks that had painted apples not it for your appreciation of the apples he gave you

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rogueddie · 5 months

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It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #alittlelaughtime

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trulyhblue · 28 days

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INAPPROPRIATE

leah williamson x arsenal! reader

warnings — tiny angst, annoyed! Leah, Emma Hayes, Chelsea, sorta fluff, coarse language, mention of injury scare.

A/N — in light of Lee’s birthday!!!! short one today, sorry! Thought I would add some spice to this. Emma Hayes needs to realize that pretty much all of woso have dated each other, including her own players lol. there is a mention of Bug, which is a character in one of my stories. Just for context, that is Caitlin Foord’s daughter.

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After hearing Emma Hayes yap on about her opinion on footballers' relationships, you found yourself subjected to a pretty pissed-off Leah Williamson.

Today was the London derby, a long-awaited revenge for Chelsea, it seemed, as the Arsenal bus arrived outside the stadium. Seas of blue and red treaded the stands — you caught sight of a couple of jerseys with your number plastered on the back. Leah was holding your waist as you wandered through the mob of fans reaching for autographs and pictures, a cold facade planted across her face.

Leah was always solemn before games. She was a serious contender, North London bred, with a serious competitive nature that no one could break down.

When you moved to Arsenal from your childhood club, you instantly caught onto Leah’s prominent soberness. Every player knew that if they didn't show up for a game and give it their all, their position would falter. It wasn't like any player with a job as a professional ever thought to underperform, but Leah was an exemption from sincerity. You couldn't joke with her the same way you could during team bonding. You would be stupid to slack off during training or talk to an exaggerated extent when Leah was running beside you. The Lioness Captain copped none of it, and there was no exception for you, her girlfriend.

The woman had woken up with an eminent frown playing on her lips. This was arguably the most important game of the WSL season, and with Leah starting after a long time away, there was a newfound angst set in your shared apartment.

Not only that — the stress Leah had put on herself to perform exceptionally — but the media spotlight Chelsea’s Emma Hayes has put on herself after a certain interview regarding coach-player, and player-player relationships.

From your viewpoint, it didn't really affect you. Everyone had their own opinions based on who dated whom. There was no stopping someone for sharing what they thought, so you simply shook it off as soon as you watched the clip. You did feel bad for the select few of the Blue’s team that were dating players. To not have the personal backing of your coach wouldn't be the most relieving sensation. You knew that the fans were in upheaval regarding her comments, but to be honest, there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

But, it seemed that Leah did not share the same insight as you.

“She can't just go ‘round saying that.” She barked, hiding the Emirates logo as she crossed her arms in disapproval. “It's barmy, that's what it is.”

You were side by side in the change rooms. Leah was already in her kit, the Chelsea socks sticking out like a sore thumb. You were tugging up your shorts, your shirt yet to cover your sports bra. You sighed, having been hearing Leah go on for the best part of the morning.

“You shouldn't let it worry you, Lee.” You muttered, sorting through your bag, ignoring your girlfriend’s huff. “I don't think she meant any harm—”

“Well she did, didn't she?” She retorted.

You pulled your jersey off the hanger, slipping it on. “Leah, c’mon.”

“Why does she feel the need to talk about us, huh? She should be more worried about the amount of injuries on her team, not about what they do in their free time.”

“Leah, that's enough.” You snapped, your hands planted firmly on your hips. The blonde in front of you looked subtly started by your sudden change of demeanour. “Don't worry about it. It's not worth your time.”

You were currently faced with the nerves of the game, on top of other things like international duties, and the Olympics. To have Leah in this mood, in such a critical time like this, was not only overwhelming but downright anxiety-inducing.

Leah didn't answer you. Instead, she tied her laces and crossed the room, exiting into the tunnel for kick-off. This gave you a few minutes to breathe, to centre yourself. You weren't starting, but your nerves were rising by the time you took your seat next to Alessia.

As soon as the game started, it was clear that Chelsea had it covered. Alessia joked that it was the socks, but you could see by the look on Lee’s face that she was fuming from something other than the odd black that covered her shin pads. You warmed up along the sideline, carrying Caitlin’s bug by your side when you saw her growing restless near Frida.

Unlike the rest of your teammates, you bit their nails at the painful game in front of them, you tried to hone your focus on keeping Bug’s hood down, making her giggle instead of wince at the tackles Caitlin was receiving.

You had been benched for the past few games, your hamstring giving you grief over training. But you were anticipating Jonas to call you over. You waited for the flick of his hand, wanting to make things right on the pitch.

The second-half whistle couldn't have come slower. The starting eleven were frustrated, angry, and quiet when entering the changing rooms, an eerie aura lingering inside. You held onto Bug all the way until Caitlin took over, trudging over to Viv, who happily took the girl up to the stands to watch. Jonas had told you and Emily that you’d be put on, so you were preparing yourself for what was to come.

You tried not to interact with Leah. It was an unspoken rule that unless it was personal, it was not to be said directly, especially when you were losing. But the blonde was leaning nearer to you the closer you were meant to be out on the pitch once more. She made the effort to tug at the hem of your shorts, and hold both your shoulders as she stood behind you, listening to the plan for the rest of the game. You pushed your back into her chest, letting her hug you from behind. She squeezed affectionately, and you noticed the subtle unravelling of her tense shoulders. Her features smoothed when she found out you were replacing Victoria in the midfield, and she made sure to hold your hand as you walked back into the stadium.

“You're doing great, Lee.” You managed to say, hoping that your substitution would be before the sixtieth minute. “Just be careful near the wing. It's very congested and you should wait for the midfield to sort it, alright?”

Leah cared deeply about her career and strived for greatness in all that she did. There was nothing that she couldn't achieve without perfection in her eyes. Many people said that you would bring her down to Earth, and remind her that mistakes are human. But there was only so much you could do, and you found that simply telling the girl that she was making the right decisions, treating her softly, was a tactic no game plan could ever beat.

You were about to find your way down the sidelines, getting ready to finish your warm-up before you were subbed on. Both teams had started filing out of their respected halftime seminars, Chelsea looking as confident as ever. Arsenal were sauntering out with much determination, the spite and inherent desire for justice spewing from the gunner’s crowd. Leah and you were near the entrance of the tunnel, standing on the edge of the field in what seemed like your own personal bubble.

Jonas had taken a seat near the rest of the officials, but Chelsea’s Emma Hayes was standing not far from where the two of you stood, skimming her surroundings vaguely without giving too much away. You could feel the irritation radiating off Leah as soon as the woman was in your sight. You both knew the coach was trying to look at you, without it being bitterly obvious, but it seemed to make the tension rise all the more. Your girlfriend found solace in kissing your forehead, running her hands down your sides painstakingly slow. You felt your cheeks go red, the blush filming over your face when Hayes’ eyes darted away.

“Leah.” You warned her wandering hands, squirming in the taller girl’s potent grip around your hips.

You pulled taunt against her, sighing when she loosened. She ignored your scolding look. A smirk was aligned on her lips, threatening to spill the cocky remarks relieving her lips. You watched her run over to the rest of the team, a meek smile matching hers.

God, you couldn't wait to go home.

_________________

A/N — again, sorry it's really short but I wanted to put something out xxxxxx

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imgae-insertshockedgasps-16 · 1 month

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okay i've seen a few Just Some Guy!danny aus and they've consumed my brain so here you go, it's under the cut, you're welcome and thank you (ps it also combines part of a prompty type thing i saw the other day, props if you know it)

Danny was not entirely sure how he got here.

He was just walking along, bopping to some great interdimensional tunes, eating his tuna fish sandwich - with ectoplasm and pickles, of course - when KABLOW there's this big ole tightie-whities-on-the-outside wearing guy.

Now, Danny's not great at keeping up with the times, but he's pretty sure this is that Superman dude.

Said SuperDude was staring at his headphones and making vague "hey take them out pls so can converse" gestures, so naturally Danny pops the Interdimensional Walkman out of his chest to pause his wicked music, and then puts the whole kit and kaboodle back behind his rib cage.

"What's up? Did you need help or something? I mean, I'm pretty solidly retired but I guess if it's super important I can-"

SuperGuy abruptly stopped staring and started speaking, "Uh- no, no, thank you. Although I'm sure you could be helpful if I did need you! But, ah, well, was that a Walkman?"

Ohhhhh, Danny totally gets it now.

"Oh, dude, I gotchu. You want me to hook you up, right? Don't even worry about it, I know a guy who'll give you one a these babies for free! You're Kryptonian, right? Yeah, I totally get it, you wanna listen to some music from your home planet, no problemo my newly-minted friend, give me, like, ten seconds-"

And so Danny tore open a neat little portal and stuck his head through it, asking Technus to pretty please give him another Interdimensional Walkman, no he didn't even break this one-! He ran into a Kryptonian who heard him rockin out and wanted to know where he got the beats, and he'd told them that he could hook them up! C'mon Technus, you can't let them down! They're all lonely! They want to learn about their culture!

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Clark has no idea what's happening.

He had been searching for this ear-splitting, headache-inducing noise, and had come across a guy dancing down the sidewalk.

Not unusual, right?

Except that the terrible noise was coming from this man's - kid's?? He can't quite tell how old he is - headphones!

Of course, he didn't want to be rude, so he politely gestured for the man to remove the headphones. The man then proceeded to reach into his chest and pull out some kind of - Walkman?? Do people still use Walkmans?

Clark was naturally concerned, so he activated a spot of x-ray vision, just to see what's going on in there, and was promptly horrified.

This man was using his chest cavity as a storage compartment!

Two wallets, a key ring, a lunch box, some sort of odd thermos, bits and bobs of random parts and tools were all tangled around - and occasionally in - this guy's organs!

Suddenly, Clark realized that he'd been staring for a while, and the man was now talking. Something about coming out of retirement to help, oh dear, Ma would knock him around the head if he kept being so rude, "Uh- no, no, thank you. Although I'm sure you could be helpful if I did need you! But, ah, well, was that a Walkman?"

And now he was speaking rapidly, something about music from Krypton? Clark's pretty sure that not a whole lot survived the explosion, and he'd be pretty surprised if this guy just happened to have-

A vaguely Lazarus colored portal??

What in the world-

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"Thanks Technus! You're the best! I owe you one non evil scheme related favour!"

Danny zips up the portal and turns around, fiddling with the tapes and Walkman in his hands as he goes.

"Here you go! I wasn't entirely sure what genre you'd want, I don't really listen to a whole lot of Kryptonian stuff to be honest, it's usually too heavy on the vocal for me- not that vocals aren't great! But I want a whole band experience, yaknow? I'm not really looking for individual singers. Anyway, I just had him go for a couple songs of each major genre, but if you want something different you can totally-"

"Wait, hold on, you're telling me that there's Kryptonian music on those tapes? Playable by that Walkman?"

"Uh, well, yeah. Isn't that why you tracked me down? And, technically, I mean, they're ectoplasmic tapes and an Interdimensional Walkman, so. Hey, did you know that kryptonite is actually super-condensed ectoplasm? And since it's filled with the anguish and suffering and fear and whatnot of your entire home planet dying, it only negatively affects your species! Pretty cool right? Oh, shit, was that insensitive, I really didn't mean to be, I just thought that maybe you'd want to- ACK!"

Danny was not expecting SuperMuscles to get so close. He thrust out the IW and tapes and dropped them into SuperFellow's hands, "Listen, I gotta run. I'm supposed to be at a o-chem study group right now and they're totally gonna be pissed. Hit me up if you want a different tape."

And the proceeded to run in the opposite direction, duck into an alley and turn invisible, and fly over to the cafe his study group was in.

"Listen, I know I'm late but you'll never believe why-"

#that's it i'm done #fair warning- i am not a superman expert and the characterization is prolly wrong #but uh yeah #brain worms #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #dc x dp #dc #dc comics #superman #danny fenton #he's Just Some Guy #that's how he sees himself #and how the people who know him see him #like yeah he's a little odd #but so are most people

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 6 months

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PROPAGANDA

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

1.) Back with another Warriors submission, I bet you’ll be getting a lot from other people too LMAO. Bumble is a kittypet (housecat) who befriends the male protagonist Gray Wing’s girlfriend, Turtle Tail, and lets her stay in her house. This gets Gray Wing all pissy because he’s controlling of Turtle Tail and shares most of the wild/clan cat’s proclivity for looking down upon kittypets. Turtle Tail gets pregnant by another kittypet, Tom, who tries to control her by hiding the fact that humans take away kittens after they’re born. Eventually Bumble comes clean about it so Turtle Tail returns to the forest. Some time later, Bumble is found in the forest seeking refuge because Tom has been physically abusing her, scratching her where the humans can’t see. So, she’s CANONICALLY ACKNOWLEDGED as a domestic abuse victim (unlike Squirrelflight who meets all the textbook signs but the narrative and authors deny it). How do you think our good guy protagonists, i.e. Gray Wing “The Wise” and Turtle Tail, respond to an abuse victim seeking refuge? They tell Bumble to go home, thinking to themselves that she’s fat and soft and therefore would be useless in their group. Bumble stands up for herself and asks to speak with the leaders of the group. One of them asks if Bumble could just get along with Tom better (bro???) and when Bumble says it’s not within her control, the leader suggests being nicer to the humans instead. Another rival leader butts in and verbally abuses Bumble again by ripping into how fat and lazy and useless she would be. Despite Turtle Tail having been friends with Bumble and Bumble had helped her through her own hard times, to Gray Wing’s approval Turtle Tail chooses not to intervene as Bumble is forcibly escorted back to her abuser. But that’s not all. Later Bumble is found in the forest maimed and dying, and it seems likely that Gray Wing’s brother Clear Sky, a male with a long history of violence, is the culprit. Rather than mourn the dying innocent cat, Gray Wing’s primary concern is how other cats might be mean to Clear Sky if they think he’s a murderer, and reassures himself that refusing to help Bumble in her time of need was still the right decision.

2.) I have no idea how she managed to be written so horrifically from an abuse victim and woman (/she-cat I guess) standpoint but here we are. Okay so my memory is a bit fuzzy but basically Bumble was a character in Dawn of the Clans and a close friend to Turtle Tail, a major character, as well as a character who lived close to Tom, an abusive dickhead of a cat. Bumble was largely depicted as just a really sweet cat. Turtle Tail was very briefly the mate of Turtle Tail, but once she got pregnant, he became super violent towards both her and our gal Bumble. Tom actively hid the fact that, once her kits were old enough, Turtle Tail’s kits would probably be taken from her, and made Bumble keep quiet about this too, but Bumble eventually told Turtle Tail the truth, Turtle Tail left and Tom became extremely violent towards Bumble because of this, and was extremely abusive towards her. Eventually, Bumble ran away from him to where Turtle Tail and co were and begged to stay, since the wilderness as a whole was genuinely more safe than being around Tom was. Naturally, this meant kitty xenophobia from cats who had only arrived in that area recently, because everybody was insistent than, since she was a kittypet/house cat, things wouldn’t work out, and even her friend Turtle Tail denied her on this, insisted she was too soft to live in the wild and only sent her towards a cat Bumble wanted to convince because she was absolutely certain she’d be denied. Also our good old protagonist Gray Wing got to spend this scene being all upset about this soft cat wanting to join them to escape an abuser and was all bitter about the fact that Turtle Tail lived with her for a short period of time, and he also got to have a sweet romantic moment with Turtle Tail after denying an abuse victim an escape from her abuser. Also as much as I like Tall Shadow usually she sucked ass in the following scene because she was essentially telling Bumble to go find a way to make peace with Tom as if she was not the one being abused (Bumble pointed out that Tom was the one who would need to make peace for it to happen, not her) and that she should just make life better by going back to being a housecat and being spoiled despite the fact that she was actively at risk with her owners because of Tom. Then she leaves after being threatened by several cats there and is called soft on the way out. The next time she appears she is literally dying, and her death is just a plot device to create a stupid little mystery which is solved in a very stupid way. Also her abuser does continue to be a shithead and for some reason is fully permitted to kidnap his own children but he also gets a heroic death and the only reason I will not rant more about him is because this is too long already. Long story short Bumble deserves the world and everybody who decided not to let her escape her abuser just because they thought she was soft sucks

3.) Is nice to the group of starving, feral wild cats that left the mountains so their friends and family could have more food to eat and befriends one of them to the point of opening her home to her after she leaves the group because the guy she likes is too dumb to notice she likes him and keeps falling for his brother’s love interests.

Unfortunately, because Bumble is a house cat who lives in a house with people and not a Wild and Free cat, this is a grave and horrible crime (luring a wild cat into the safety and comforts of domesticity) and is villainized for the rest of the arc, including for things wildly out of her control

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

When Bumble’s friend leaves and goes back to the wild cats, Bumble leaves her home (as the abuse as has gotten worse) to see if she could either get help or have her friend return so the abuse isn’t as bad again)

Bumble eventually dies in the wild because the feral cats all hate her for ‘stealing’ their friend and tricking her into becoming a kittypet for awhile and refuse to help Bumble adjust to wild life or even teaching her how to hunt.

They are littl e to no hard feelings at her death beyond ‘good riddance’ but the aggressive tomcat that chased her out of her home is later regarded with good feelings and regret at such a ‘good, heroic cat’ passing when he dies despite him literally never doing a good or kind thing in his life and actually causing trouble for the wild cats right before dying

ALEX DEWITT (DC COMICS)

1.) The term “fridging” is literally based on Alex and what happened to her. She was killed off violently by a bad guy trying to get at her boyfriend only a couple issues after she was introduced (making it obvious they only brought her in to kill her off for shock value). Her death did very little to the narrative other than hurt her boyfriend Kyle and was done in an exceedingly horrifying and violent way. (Bad guy came to the door with flowers and threatening note, broke in and attacked her, choking her to death, before [off panel] chopping her body up and sticking it in the refrigerator as a “surprise” for her boyfriend. This obviously is really fucked up and she deserves better and should win this actually (a vote for Alex is a vote for all fridging victims [in spirit])

2.) It doesn’t get much worse than being the character whose death originated the “fridging” trope. In Green Lantern Vol. 3 #54, Kyle Rayner comes home to find that Alexandra, his girlfriend, has been killed by the villain Major Force and stuffed into the refrigerator.

Alexandra DeWitt is the character whose misogynistic treatment coined the term where a character, usually female, is killed off purely to make the main character, usually male, feel bad. Even if there are other characters who have been subjected to similar levels of misogyny, Alexandra DeWitt’s treatment has been essentially immortalized.

3.) I know she’s not going to win but shout out to my home girl, literally the trope namer for women shoved in fridges. All anyone ever knows about her is that she was Kyle’s girlfriend and got murdered for his character development, even though she had plenty of potential to be her own character.

#polls #round 5 #week 9 #new #cw domestic abuse #this was supposed to post at 12 EST but tumblr ate it from my queue for some insane reason #warcat poll

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tightjeansjavi · 7 months

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as natural as another leg around you in the bed frame

A/N: well..this was supposed to just be a fluffy little piece with a dabble of smut but uhh we took the angsty route! Don’t act so surprised ;)

~word count: 2.0k~

Summary: Joel returns home to you after patrol injured, and hiding it from you.

Pairing | post! outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, minor injuries, mentions of a knife wound, stitches, blood, brief lying, stubborn Joel, soft! Joel, protective! Joel, he turns into a whimpering mess! Joel, comfort, care, unconditional love, tending to Joel’s wounds, intimacy, handjob in the tub, praise, talking him through it, ends with a well deserved nap, reader has no physical descriptions, no age gap, +18 minors dni!

main masterlist masterlist

If there’s one thing that Joel Miller loves most in this cruel, unforsaken carnage of what is left of the world that he knows, it’s the privilege of getting to come home to you. He has someone to protect outside of Ellie, who is well off in her own life with Dina by her side. Joel would still put his life out on the line for her without a second thought. He’d do the same for you because well, you’re his; and he is yours.

He comes home to you, to your arms, to your warmth everyday. He thrives in it the second his arms loop around your waist and he hugs you so tight to his chest you can hardly take in a lungful of air. You let him hug you just like so every time. You love him, and that’s all there is to know.

Your Joel sometimes returns home to you with speckled blood spattered on his cheeks, dusting his eyebrows and salt and pepper hair. Sometimes his flannel is caked in dirt and congealed blood, but it’s never his own. He always reassures you that it’s not his. He kisses the frown that appears between your brows when you’re feeling unconvinced. Maybe it’s due to the way his hands tremble at the slightest, or his breath hitches in his throat, a wheeze slides past his lips as he tries to mask it with a quick clearing of his throat.

You see right through it, and he knows you do.

“Joel,” You softly whisper through the calming domestic air. “Are you hurt?”

He tightly shakes his head, back going rigid and stiff like a plank of wood. He avoids making direct eye contact with you to try and mask the fact that he is lying.

“M’not hurt, sweet girl.” He murmurs as he slowly slides his rifle strap from his shoulder. He winces slightly from the jagged gash on his right bicep as he hangs the strap of the rifle along the rusted hook on the wall.

“Please don’t lie to me. You’re hurt. I can see it written all over your face, Joel.” You pleaded with him as your hand traveled up the expanse of his chest and finally rested along his jaw. You could feel the patches of his wiry beard lightly scratch across the soft underside of your palm.

“S’just a scratch. Ain’t deep or nothin.’ I’m alright. You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me, sweetheart.” His words rumbled like thunder from an oncoming storm. He wasn’t exactly an expert liar.

“Let me see it.” You demanded in an urgent tone, thumb gently brushing across his chapped lips.

His head dips down in defeat as he leans into your soft caress, “Honey,” He starts, almost vying to plead with you, but you don’t let him finish.

“Joel, please. Please just let me take care of you. You’re hurt, and I need to make sure it’s not infected.”

He begrudgingly agrees because he knows this is a battle he cannot win. His hand slowly reaches up towards his face as his fingers find yours and thread them together before dropping them to his side. He lets you lead him up the staircase and to your shared bathroom. He doesn't speak, only grunts as you sit him down on the edge of the closed toilet seat.

You can feel his eyes drifting across your back as you grab the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet.

You’re too good to him, he silently thinks to himself as he begins to undo the buttons of his flannel. His shoulders ache as he peels the fabric from his skin and discards it onto the faded tile floor. He’s got a makeshift bandage wrapped around the wound as you use the empty trash cash as a makeshift stool. “Just a scratch?” you question as he unties the fabric. The gash is at least an inch or so deep. Just enough that he’ll need stitches.

“S’nothin.’ Stopped bleedin’ hours ago.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Why did you want to hide this from me, Joel?” The firstaid kit is resting along your lap when he finally makes eye contact with you.

“Cus’ I don’t like seein’ you upset when I get hurt. S’my fault. M’gettin’ slower out there. Can’t keep up like I used to.” He sounded defeated as his shoulders slumped forward.

“Joel, I'm not upset, okay? I just don’t like it when you hide these things for me. I’m sure the guy that knifed you is in far worse condition than you are.” You responded softly as you pulled out what probably was 20+ year old disinfectant, but it still did the trick.

“Let’s jus’ say he’s gonna have a real long sleep. Bugs n’the critters will make good use outta his body.” Joel was never shy when it came to his duty on patrol, and what it sometimes turned out to be. He knew you were not frightened by this knowledge, and he knew you held no moral judgment over his head for it.

“This is going to sting a little.” You briefly warned him as you held the spray bottle a few inches above his wound before administering a few spritzes.

“M’favorite part.” He teased with barely a wince given.

When his wound was clean, and the needle was sterilized, Joel pressed a tender kiss to your temple in reassurance. “G’nna patch me up nice n’good now, baby?”

“Mhm.” You murmured softly.

“‘Atta girl.” He relaxed his posture, and his arm so you would have an easier time stitching his skin back together. He knew this part always made you a little apprehensive, but humming soothingly under his breath did the trick.

Once you had successfully sutured his wound, you wrapped it firmly in a bit of gauze before tilting your head in the direction of the tub. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

He didn’t argue this time, but before you could stand up, he was reaching for your face with both hands as he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle embrace. It was tender, sweet, ignited by his devotion for you. The kiss lasted all of a few seconds before he was reluctantly pulling away. You heard the familiar crack of his knees as he slowly stood up.

You silently started the water for the tub. Checking the temperature every few seconds to make sure it was adequately warm enough for the two of you.

You listened to the faint clink of his belt, followed by the denim of his jeans sliding down his strong thighs. You watched from your peripheral as his broad form slowly sunk down into the soothing water. He made sure to keep his bandaged arm resting along the rim of the tub so that it wouldn’t accidentally get wet.

“S’nice.” He softly grunted as he stretched his legs out. “Y’gnna join me?” He tilted his chin to the side, watching you with a soft expression etched across his weathered face.

“Of course I am, baby.” You saw a hint of a smirk tug on his lips. He couldn’t help but indulge himself in watching you undress. You were beautiful, and he was a man after all.

Much to his surprise, you didn’t make yourself comfortable between the expanse of his thighs. Instead, you sank down behind him, with your arms wrapping around his middle, breasts pressed firmly to his back as you hugged him tightly.

“What’re y’doin’ back there, honey?” He asked, words vibrating through your body as he craned his head over his shoulder to try and look at you.

“Just want to hold you.” Was your response as you began to press soft kisses between his shoulder blades.

“You’re a sweetheart, y’know that? M’so lucky to have ya.” He nearly whispered as he settled further back into the warm water, and your gentle grasp around him.

Your hands traveled upwards from the soft swell of his tummy, and up to his shoulders where you gently began to knead the sore muscle tissue with your fingers. You worked your way through a stubborn knot just below his right shoulder blade. He melted into your touch like warm butter on a pan. He didn’t realize just how tense he was until you started working your way through his sore spots.

“Y’don’t gotta be doin’ all of this f’me, sweet girl.” His eyes fluttered shut as he let a breathy sigh escape past his lips.

“I want to, Joel. I want to take care of you. You’re always taking care of me..you deserve the same kind of treatment. You do so much to keep me, Ellie, and the rest of the town safe from harm. Most importantly, I love you. You’re my partner, and you deserve all the care and attention from me right now.”

Fuck.

“I love you too, sweet girl. Love you s’fuckin’ much. You’re always s’good t’me. Luckiest man in town, gettin’ to be loved by you.” He hummed appreciatively.

He could feel you smiling against his damp skin as your hands slowly drifted back down to rest along his tummy as a comfortable silence washed over the two of you. The water had begun to turn a slightly diluted pink color from the dried blood naturally being washed away on his skin. The tub faucet dripped a few droplets that landed on the tub's surface leaving delicate ripples in their wake.

He could stay like this forever; here with you.

When your fingers lightly brushed across the expanse of coarse, dark hair along his pelvic area, words were already tumbling from his lips before you could even ask him.

“Please.” He murmured as he desperately tried to grasp at his rational straws. So many times he had denied himself of his own pleasure, simply because he’d much rather take care of you.

His hand that wasn’t resting along the edge of the tub slipped under the water and guided your hand to where his softened cock laid between his thighs.

“Please,” He asked again, voice nearly cracking from the desperation to feel your touch.

“I’ll take care of you.” You whispered as your fingers slowly wrapped around the base of his shaft, thumb reaching up to paint across his weeping tip.

His head fell back to rest upon your shoulder as he gripped the side of the tub with knuckles turning stark white. A whimper escaped past his lips as you slowly began to twist and pump your wrist. You worked him in expert, slow strokes as he praised you shamelessly.

“S’good.” He uttered with a soft grunt. “S’good to me. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop, sweet girl.” He’d beg you if necessary, but based off the way you were softly shushing him with delicate kisses laid upon his cheekbones, he knew you had all the intentions of taking care of him.

His thighs began to quiver underwater, toes curling, hips bucking upwards against your hand as profanity mixed with praise tumbled from his parted lips like an avalanche along a steep mountain pass. He turned into a whimpering mess just from your hand alone.

“Shh. I got you, Joel. I got you. You’re safe..let go baby, it’s okay.” You whispered against the shell of his ear as he cried out your name. His hips stilled in the now cloudy water from his post release. He felt spent, placid, calm in your grasp as his cock went soft in your palm.

You washed away the remnants of blood that stuck to his hair and face, before you departed from the lukewarm embrace.

He was the one to wrap a fluffy towel around the both of you as he left soft kisses anywhere his lips could reach. You declined his generous offer to go down on you simply for the fact that you could sense his exhaustion from the day. You softly offered him a nap instead. His one request was to feel your skin against his, while he paid no mind to the sheets getting damp from not properly drying off. His legs tangled protectively around yours as you lazily pulled the duvet over your bare skin. His nose nuzzles the spot between your neck and collarbone as his arms wrap around your middle. One hand splays out across the soft swell of your tummy, while the other rests across your hip. You sleep for hours in this domestic intimacy that you have forged tirelessly together.

You’re his; and he is yours, and that’s all there is to know.

Banners made by the lovely @saradika 🤎

Follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!

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writeblrcafe · 1 year

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A Comprehensive Guide for Writing Advice

Sometimes, despite enjoying writing so much, something is not working for you. Maybe your well of ideas has run dry. Or your WIP has hit a corner and you can't find your way out to the end of the story. Or you need to go back to your finished draft and see if there are any kinks to clear up.

Fortunately, everyone at Writeblrcafé has experienced such, and to help you out, we have a bunch of links to helpful posts by fellow writers to help you along on your writing journey as well as some helpful links to other websites, resources and software.

General:

WHY IS WRITING IS SO FUCKING HARD? (@writers-hq)

Writer Block First Aid Kit (@isabellestone)

Websites for writers (masterpost @2soulscollide)

Writing advice (masterpost @theliteraryarchitect)

Writing resources (masterpost @stinastar)

One look thesaurus (a reverse dictionary where you can enter words or concepts)

Coming Up with Ideas:

97 Character Motivations (@theplottery)

Character Flaws (@fantasyfillsmysoul)

Character Profile (@mistblossomdesigns)

Characters Unflawed (@emptymanuscript)

Why Theme is More Important than Plot (@theplottery)

Weekly writing prompts on Reedsy

Drafting:

3 of the worst story beginnings (and how to fix them) (@theplottery)

Cheat Sheet for Writing Emotion (@myhoniahaka)

Creative Writing for Writers (@writerscreed)

Describing Physical Things (@wordsnstuff)

How to Craft a Natural Plot (@theplottery)

How to Write a Story? (masterpost @creativepromptsforwriting)

How to write: ethnicity & skin colour (@youneedsomeprompts)

What the F is Show Not Tell (@theplottery)

Writing advice from my uni teachers (@thewritingumbrellas)

First Draft: story outlining template meant to help with planning your next big writing project (@fauxriot)

The wonder/ discovery arc (@evelynmlewis)

How to structure a chapter (@theplottery)

How to pace your storytelling (@charlesoberonn)

How to write and research mental illness (@hayatheauthor)

Seven Blogs You Need To Read As An Author (@hayatheauthor)

Editing/Revising:

Eight steps in making the editing process of your book easier (@joaneunknown)

Kill Your Darlings (@tibodine)

Self editing tips (first pass) (@projecttreehouse)

Publishing:

Chill Subs: biggest database for literary magazines and small presses; track your submissions and get your writing published!

5 steps to get your novel ready to self-publish (by @nanowrimo)

Resources for finishing and publishing your novel (masterpost by @nanowrimo)

For self-publishing: this page gives you the exact pixel count of a book spine based on its page count, and/or a template you can use for the correct width/height ratio.

Software:

Scrivener: one time payment of $60 or 70€ (macOS/windows), $24 (iOS; no Euro listed for iOS); used by professionals, many tools to write and organize your novel

Bibisco: free and "pay what you want" version; multilingual, world building, character profiles, writing goals, story timeline, mind maps, notes and more templates to write a novel.

Manuskript: free open source-tool; outliner, novel assistant, distraction-free mode

Ghostwriter: a free and open alternative which has a decent interface with some interesting features, like Hemingway Mode, which disables one's backspace and delete keys, emulating a typewriter.

NaNoWriMo: an international contest to encourage writers to finish writing their novel with many events, groups for exchange with fellow writers, helpful writing advice and help for self-publishing and publishing traditionally.

Campfire Writing: website, desktop app, and mobile app, with tools built in to help manage characters, magic systems, research, etc. It has a great free option, plus monthly, annual, and lifetime purchase options. It also has built-in NaNoWriMo compatibility and a catalogue of tutorials and writing advice videos (suggestion by @harfblarf)

Websites And Writing Apps Every Author Needs In 2023 (@hayatheauthor)

Let us know in the comments if there are any links we could add to it! Reblog this post to help a fellow writer.

Support our work by buying a cup of coffee on KoFi.

#wc.admin #writing community #writing advice #writing tips #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writing resources #writing software

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barrenclan · 7 months

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PATFW: Animal Name Systems

As more non-Clan characters get introduced to the story, I’ve been having fun coming up with the naming systems for various animals. In real life there would probably be more natural variety within a whole species, but also making up little systems is fun so I don’t care. Also, as a technical note, obviously none of these names are in “English”. They’re in whatever language animals speak. So, like, Hacksaw is not literally “hacksaw”, it’s the animal word for that object.

Cats - with the exception of warriors (who obviously have an incredibly specific naming system), cat names tend to be more loose, and can be named after many things. In general, they are shorter. House cats are also an exception, as they are named by people and so their names can be very different. Ex. Cashew, Summer, Rowan, Egret, Thrasher, Jackalope

Wolves and coyotes - like cats, wolves also have a more loose naming system. Often wolves are named after someone else, to honor them. Coyote communities are heavily linked to wolf communities, so their rules are similar. In general, they are longer. Ex. Coldbreath, Nightshade, Lucky-Foot, Antlerhorn, Ranger

Deer - deer are always named after plants. No exceptions to this. Often the plants are ones that the parents admire or enjoy. Ex. Wild Rose, Juniper, Hyssop, Maple, Lingonberry

Mountain lions - they are named after some kind of aspirational trait at birth that their parent is hoping they fulfill. Sometimes this leads to funny, ironic circumstances, but usually the kitten is shaped by their name and strives to embody it. Ex. Ferocity, Swiftness, Cunning, Power, Caution

Porcupines - for the first year of their life, porcupine kits are named after the order in which their mother gave birth to them. Ex. First, Second, Third, etc. When the porcupine has come of age, they are given their adult name. These names are short and functional, usually no more than four letters. Ex. Mud, Snap, Snow, Blue

Falcons - chicks are never given names by their parents, and are generally treated as indistinguishable when young. Once they leave the nest, falcons name themselves whatever they like. Frequently these names are inspired by human artifacts, as falcons (and many other bird cultures, as well as raccoons) value their liminal relationship to humans. Ex. Hacksaw, Highway, Black-Wing, Perils, Artemis

Bears - at birth, bears are given short, silly names, meant to be inconsequential. Ex. Fuzz, Seed, Bug, Baby. When they come of age, they are given an adult name by the eldest bear, whether it’s a large group or just a family. These names are structured as some kind of brag about the individual’s qualities, to impress others and display dominance. They are composed of two words in the trait separated by a hyphen. Ex. Longest-Claws, Fiercest-Roar, Strongest-Jaw, Thickest-Pelt. However, if the bear is disliked or considered weak, they can be also be called a version of this structure that is an insult. Ex. Dullest-Mind, Weakest-Strike, Softest-Heart. The greatest shame of all, though, is an adult bear forced to keep their childhood name.

#lore

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wileys-russo · 7 months

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lessi as the godmother!!!! 🥹🥹🥹 no rush but please may you write a mini pt 2 where reader has given birth and less meets the baby for the first time<33

sequel to this and part of the a date to remember universe series

godmother II m.earps

"lets fucking go baby!" you yelled at the tv, clapping your hands happily as your wife saved another attempt on goal. it was mid WSL season and since you were so far along now at your doctors advice your wife had promptly banned you from leaving the house for anything not completely necessary, like appointments or your pre-natal classes.

you'd been trying to argue for the last few weeks that to you watching mary play was necessary, but she would just shut you up with a kiss and a firm shake of her head, ending any chance of an argument right there and then.

your wife had always been protective of you by nature throughout the entire time you'd known her, however given you were now pregnant she had become over protective. which meant you found yourself regularly having to bite your tongue not to tear her head off with how she fussed over you.

thats not to say you hadn't snapped.

pregnancy hormones were no joke and some days your wife found herself walking on eggshells, cautious that one wrong word or action would cause you to tip over the edge, your volatile moods becoming incredibly unpredictable.

though she knew it wasn't your fault and more often than not the moment you'd finished yelling you'd burst into tears and apologize, your wife assuring you over and over with soft and loving kisses that she wasn't mad and she understood it was out of your control.

but despite how much mary over worried, she was also your saving grace.

if it was holding up your stomach to allow your back a few brief moments of reprise from its dragging weight, rubbing your very swollen feet, massaging your back and shoulders, putting up with your mood swings, going to the shops at all hours of the day and night to satisfy every little pregnancy craving, if there was any way at all she could make your life easier in any possible way, she was there in an instant, and you adored her for it.

"get in tooney!" you yelled with a cheer, struggling to your feet and pumping your first in the air as the girl scored the equaliser in their match against liverpool, watching with a proud smile as she celebrated with the team, alessia the first one to pull her up and into a tight bear hug.

you heard a strange sound and grabbed at your stomach as a wave of pain suddenly rolled through you. "oh fuck. not now, please not now!" you begged, looking up at the ceiling with your eyes squeezed closed, in denial of what you know you had just heard.

sure enough looking down there was a large wet patch on the carpet and you groaned as another wave of pain rocked your body. sitting down and taking a deep breath you grabbed your phone, hands shaking as you unlocked it and flicked through your contacts to your mother in law.

"hi julie! um no everything is fine...but i think my waters just broke?"

"i'm here! i'm here! i'm here! no one panic!" you breathed out a sigh of relief as the door to your room smacked open and mary stumbled inside, still clad in her keepers kit, face blotchy and red as she squatted down, baby hairs clinging to her forehead which was matted in sweat.

"give me a minute babe oh my god that elevator was taking ages so i ran up like six flights of stairs. jesus!" mary puffed out as she struggled to catch her breath, bent over with her hands on her knees.

"you missed the birth mary." you stated quietly, the woman almost falling to her feet at the news, eyes as wide as saucers. "what!? why the fuck did no one call me?" your wife spat angrily, beginning to pace around at the foot of your bed.

"nah only joking. we've taught her well babe she waited for her mum to finish her game before arriving!" your face broke out into a grin, the colour returning to marys as she collapsed into the seat beside your bed, pincing the bridge of her nose.

"i swear on my life woman if you weren't pregnant i'd punch you." "excuse me darling which one of us in labor right now?"

"right! sorry my love. how are you? how far apart are the contractions? whats the pain one to ten? have you seen a doctor? is there a nurse nearby? have-"

"mary baby breathe!" you laughed, struggling up and gently grabbing her face, your thumbs stroking her jaw affectionately.

"i'm okay, just uncomfortable. its hard to explain but everything just feels really tight and sore? its still early stages, the contractions are about nine minutes apart when they timed them. they said my water broke prematurely which though rare does happen and doesn't mean theres any complications before your mind goes there." you explained as your wife placed her hands over yours, bringing them to her mouth and tenderly kissing the tips of your fingers with a nod.

"the doctors not been in yet and he won't until the contractions are closer together, but the midwives have been great. they should come back around in a few minutes actually so you can talk their ear off with your questions then. your mum just popped out to call my mum, she and my dad are getting on the first flight they can." you continued, smiling and giving your a little nod to show you were finished.

"thank god she picked up when you called. baby i told you i shouldn't have played today, what if no one was there to bring you to hospital!" mary sighed with a frustrated shake of her head, resting her chin on your intertwined hands, you almost having to lock her out of the house in order for her to leave this morning.

"then i'd have called an ambulance my love. you did play, and from what i hear you won so im glad that you did. i got here safely, you got here in time, everything worked out best as it could have. so stop being stroppy!" you smiled, gently pulling away your hands and teasingly flicking her ear before settling back into the hospital bed.

"i'm not bein stroppy!" "your moody little pout says very differently." "i'm not! i just love you and our daughter very very much and i worry about you both, you know that." "i know love, but you know at your age you have to be careful about worrying so much, you'll get grey hairs." "i'm hardly two years older than you are!" "I know you're ancient, should be criogenically frozen in a football museum somewhere." "baby i pray every day she doesn't inherit your sense of humour, i don't think i could handle two of you it would drive me to insanity." "mary!"

"sit love! i'll get it." your wife remanded as the doorbell rang, rolling your eyes with a small smile as you sat back down, hearing her footsteps hurry off toward the door.

"where is she? where's my little niece? her favourite aunty is here!" "you wish you were her favourite tooney, she won't even pay you a second glance once she see's her godmother is here!" "she's one month old she won't care about either of you, and she's finally been sleeping for more than twenty minutes so shut up, the pair of you!"

you heard the girls before you saw them, hearing mary harshly shush them and a loud smack echo out where she'd clearly whacked one of them, ella whining as she entered the room.

"muuum she hit me!" the midfielder pouted in your direction as you chuckled and opened your arms, the younger girl collapsing into them as you wrapped her in a hug. "stop hitting the kids babe!" you teased your wife, alessia lifting your arm and tucking herself into your other side.

"i'm too young to have three kids." the woman mumbled, rubbing at her temples with an overdramatic sigh. "aw great now she's disowned us!" ella continued sending you a cheeky grin. "baby thats not very nice, say sorry to the girls. you know you love them!" you wound up your wife who shook her head, biting back a smile.

"i am going to check on our actual daughter." mary announced with a roll of her eyes, disappearing out of the room. "i love you babe!" you sung out after her with a smile, hearing her grumble as her footsteps faded away.

"so how are you feeling? we've missed you!" alessia asked as ella nodded eagerly, the two of them not moving from where the three of you were wrapped up together in a hug. "yeah mary runs a tight ship! told us we wasn't even allowed to facetime you until she said so." ella pouted with a huff as you ruffled her hair.

"i feel heavy, tired, fat. i haven't slept properly since she arrived, the bags under my eyes have bags, and i think this is the only jumper i currently own which doesn't have sick or some sort of bodily fluid on it." you paused to chuckle and look down at the faded red material covering your body.

"but she's also the best thing that has ever happened to me. i love her so much i would die for her in an instant, her tiny little fingers and toes and her squishy little cheeks man. she's got me and mary by the throat!" you teared up, overwhelmed by the love you felt for your daughter as both girls either side of you aweed and hugged you tighter.

"speaking of, look who just woke up." ella and alessia's heads whipped behind them with wide eyes as mary returned, gently cradling your new born daughter in her arms. "oh my god she's tiny." alessia whispered with a small squeal of excitement, marys face melting into a soft smile seeing the obvious excitement from the two girls.

"do you both want a hold?" your wife offered, eyes flickering toward you as you nodded encouragingly, knowing how much it worried her to have anyone that wasn't the two of you to do so, but you were working through it together.

"shit but how do you do that? don't they have like no bones? and their heads are soft like jelly? their skulls are like-" ella began to panic, rubbing her palms on her shorts. "language around the baby el!" you warned, shoving her shoulder as she hastily apologized.

"yes they are very fragile, but if you want to hold her i'll show you how." you smiled reassuringly, watching the cogs turn in her head. "less can go first!" she decided as you glanced to the blonde on your other side who was busy staring adoringly at the little bundle of limbs in your wifes arms.

"less?" "hm?" "do you want to have a hold?" "oh yes please."

"okay, sit back and get comfortable." you ordered softly as you stood and mary carefully handed you your daughter, pressing a kiss to your cheek and tenderly stroking your daughters hand with her thumb.

"are you okay? its fine if you need some time, they say it normally takes around five minutes to be properly comfortable with holding a newborn baby." mary checked in with the younger blonde who nodded that she was ready.

"so the most important thing is to support the head and the neck." mary started to explain, taking a seat beside alessia who nodded, following her every word. "so very carefully take her-" mary continued as you gently handed over the baby to the striker.

"breathe less." you chuckled as she exhaled shakily, almost trembling as she very gently took your daughter from you, mary shuffling closer to help her adjust.

"so you want her stomach to always be angled toward you, and her back will rest on your forearm. then you'll support her head in the crook of your elbow and your hand can rest there-" mary gently moved alessias arm as ella watched on in awe.

"-and now you're holding her less." mary smiled proudly, squeezing her shoulder and shuffling back a bit as alessia looked up at you in shock. "wow!" ella breathed out in shock. "you're a natural less." the girl complimented as alessias eyes dropped back down to the newborn cradled in her arms.

"this is so weird, like im holding a whole human right now." "yeah its a bit overwhelming at first but you're doing great less."

"hi gorgeous i'm alessia. i'm your godmum but you can just call me aunty lessi!" the blonde smiled as you sat down on marys lap, feeling her arms wrap securely around you as she pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder before resting her chin there, both of you watching on fondly as ella began to interact with your daughter who was tucked up securely in alessia's hold.

"have you accepted we've got three daughters now?" you quietly murmured to your wife with a teasing smile, pecking her lips and feeling her body vibrate under yours with a soft chuckle.

"yeah, i think i have."

#woso x reader #mary earps x reader #mary earps #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #ella toone #ella toone x reader #woso #woso imagine #engwnt #woso blurbs #woso fanfics

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spiderlilyserendipity · 6 months

Text

Useful 🔞🔞🔞 (Jimin x Reader)

Summary: You’ve stretched yourself thin lately and you know it, and so does your boyfriend Jimin. As Jimin always takes good care of you, you decide to give him a treat to thank him—and as always, Jimin gives you back your love tenfold.

Tags: Dom!Jimin, Sub!Y/N, minimal plot, massages, kneeling, collars, Y/N calls Jimin sir, sub space, oral (m. and f. receiving), praise kink, breeding, cock drunk Y/N, multiple orgasms (f.), protective!jimin (🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵), aftercare!!!!!!

Warnings: Unprotected sex (don’t do that LOL)

W/C: 3055 (3k)

A/N: Guess who’s back on their bullshit? ME. Sorry I kind of disappeared again LOL being a functioning adult is the worst. Anyway, here's some massage-turned-unprotected-sex. <33

Sometimes, you get in moods like this. Moods where everything is irritating and stupid and simultaneously upsetting. You know yourself well enough to know it has to do with you stretching yourself too thin. Work? Of course you can do that task. Family? Absolutely you can attend that event. Friends? Yes, you’d love to go out tonight.

Jimin also knows you well enough to know when you’re getting like this. You know he’s noticed, from the way he puts in a bit more effort lately to keep you happy. He buys your favourite takeout dinner and bath bombs and even a new matching scarf and gloves set to keep you warm. That’s the way Jimin is—a natural giver with a considerate, purposeful mind. He never so much as says a word to you about your little gifts, but you know he notices when you give him a few more kisses than usual to silently show your affection.

But you’re getting to a point now where two things become obvious: you need a break before you burn out, and Jimin needs to be shown that you appreciate him before he starts to feel burned out himself.

The solution comes in the form of an at-home spa kit you buy online. It’s not much, a little warmer and a bottle of lavender scented oil, along with some candles and little hand towels. But knowing Jimin—and knowing you—you don’t stop there. Instead, you hop in the shower as soon as you come home. You wash up and dress in only panties and one of Jimin’s oversized sweaters, light candles and then warm up the oil.

As your shared bedroom is filled with romantic lighting and the sweet lavender smell, your mind wanders. You think of Jimin’s face when he sees you like this, how his eyes will darken and a smirk will spread on his lips. You think of taking care of him and thanking him for all he does for you with both words and your hands on his body. And naturally, you think of how Jimin will return the favour—with firm words and strong arms around you. A perfect balance of sweetness, teasing, and protectiveness: that’s Park Jimin.

Your eyes flicker to the collar you set on the nightstand, a black leather collar with plush inner lining and a custom silver J embroidered on the front. You press your thighs together, waiting.

“Baby?” Your heart leaps as you hear Jimin’s voice down the hallway. Your boyfriend emerges from the hall, curious eyes peeking into the dimly lit room. Then, he sees you, scantily dressed in front of the bed. Jimin smiles, but there’s that familiar edge. “Oh, what’s this?” He asks.

You lick your lips as Jimin draws closer, loosening his tie. “A surprise.” You whisper.

Jimin laughs, taking a seat on the bed. “I can see that.” He says, glancing at the massage oil. Your boyfriend brings you to stand between his spread legs with both hands on your wrists. You swallow as he looks up at you with darkness in his eyes. “What kind of surprise, exactly?”

“A massage.” You reply, pressing your thighs together again. Jimin notices, but he’s not strict with you today—he knows you’re too worked up to be teased today. Instead, the man leans in, pressing kisses against your belly over your sweater. You shiver—his lips are still cold from outside, even through the soft material.

“That will be fun.” Jimin says. “Thank you for doing this, baby.”

“No, thank you.” You say, and to anyone else, you would sound like strangers. But only you know the way Jimin’s simple words and touches make you want to obey him, show him how grateful you are, how well you can take care of him. Jimin knows it, too, which is why he lets go of your wrists and runs his hands—which are warm, likely from wearing mittens—up and down the backs of your thighs. “You’ve been so nice to me. I-I want to take care of you.”

Jimin hums, and it’s more beautiful than any melody you’ve ever heard. “Mmhm.” He says, and one hand brushes over your clothed core. You shiver. “Want to submit to me?” He asks, then begins kneading your ass. His touch is firm, reminding you of your place even as you tower over him.

“Please.” You gasp. “Please, sir.”

“Go get your collar.” Jimin answers, letting go of you. He leans back on his hands as you scurry to the nightstand and back. You kneel on the plush rug by Jimin’s feet, then present your collar to him with both hands. The dom accepts it from you, and you elongate your neck for his ease of access. Jimin plants his elbows on his knees, bending over you to fix the collar in place. “What’s your colour, baby?” The dom asks even though you both know how desperate you are already.

“Green, sir.”

“Good girl.” Jimin says, then stands up. You look up at him, face a few inches below his clothed cock. Jimin’s eyes darken. He knows what you want, and you both know he’s never denied it to you within limits. You wait patiently as the dom removes his pants, then his boxers and discards them on the floor. When Jimin sits down, you grab the warmed bottle of massage oil off the bed.

“May I begin, sir?”

“Yes.” Jimin answers, and even he sounds slightly breathless now.

You begin on his right leg, massaging his thigh dutifully. You work away at the knots caused by long hours, then down to his calf. “You have a talent for this.” Jimin praises you, carding a hand through your hair. Your face burns as you sit between his legs and serve him, but you feel so good, so useful. And Jimin is nothing if not vocal about it. “Such a quick learner. My good, smart girl.”

“Thank you.” You whisper as you finish massaging the right leg, then move to his left leg. You repeat your motions, slow and dutiful. As you work at one particular knot in the back of Jimin’s left calf, he sighs in relief. You smile and Jimin catches it.

“Feel good that you’re helping me?” He asks, and you look up at him. Jimin cups your face with one hand, looking down at you with love. It makes you want to cry in joy, but it also makes your vagina throb as you want to give yourself to him. But you tell yourself to be patient. You want to make Jimin feel good, and you know Jimin will return it tenfold to you in due time. “Massage my hips for me, baby. They’re a bit sore.”

You nod, putting a bit more oil on your hands. You place your hands on Jimin’s hips, running your thumbs along the groove of his V-line and pressing your fingers into his hips. You work at his hips until you end up down at his mons pubis and then lower, where a hard, heavy cock hangs between his legs. “C-Can I help you with that, too, sir?” You ask, and you surprise yourself with how whiny it comes out.

Jimin laughs at your politeness. “Of course, beautiful.”

You lick your lips, running your slicked hands over Jimin’s cock. You run your hands up and down the shaft, collecting pre-come to lubricate him further. You take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around. Jimin groans above you, spilling praise from his lips. “Oh, that’s right. Just like that. So good, so perfect for me.”

His praise urges you to take him deeper until your nose presses against his mons pubis. You use your hands to cup his balls, massaging them gently. You work your way up and down the shaft, with Jimin’s ever-louder sighs and curses egging you on. You can feel the tightness in Jimin’s abdomen, the way he wants to come in your mouth. And you’d let him, oh how you’d let him.

But before he can come, Jimin pulls you off him. You look at him, confused. “Come here.” Jimin says, and you climb up into the bed. You eye his cock, but Jimin gives you a breathless chuckle. “You haven’t massaged my back yet, remember?” He reminds you. You blush, and Jimin beckons you closer with two fingers. You position yourself behind him, sitting with your thighs on either side of Jimin’s hips, and add more oil to your hands before massaging his shoulders.

Jimin sighs as you work away the tension, and his hands find your calves, stroking small circles into your skin. You’re halfway down Jimin’s back when he wraps his arms around your calves and pulls. You gasp as you end up with your clothed vagina against his bare ass. Jimin chuckles, and you know he can feel how wet you are. Flushing in embarrassment, you try to shuffle back, but your boyfriend holds you in place. “I think that’s enough for my back. Why don’t you come over to the front?” Jimin purrs, glancing at you over his shoulder. You gasp as he presses himself back against your soaked panties.

“Y-Yes sir.” You say, and Jimin releases your calves.

You crawl around Jimin, and the dom lays down. He folds his arms up behind his head, looking comfortable like he’s laying on a sunbed somewhere warm. “Get on my lap.” He says. “And take everything off.”

You remove the two articles you’re wearing in a heartbeat, then straddle your boyfriend’s hips. It’s a struggle to not push yourself down on the leaking cock tucked just behind your ass, since Jimin hasn’t given you permission to ride him yet.

You run your oiled hands up and down Jimin’s abdomen, over the hard ridges of his ribs and the plushness of his belly. Jimin looks at you for a moment, then grins. “You know, I’m not a big fan of this oil. Can we try something else for wetness?”

“L-Like?” You ask, but Jimin just holds his hands out to you. You flush, knowing what he wants.

You crawl closer, until you’re straddling Jimin’s face. “Oh, that’s much better.” He says, then breathes cool air onto your already throbbing clit. “Such a useful, useful girl I have.” Jimin says. Before you can thank him, he presses his tongue past the opening of your sopping wet hole. You whimper, almost collapsing but JImin holds you up with his strong grip. “So busy being useful you forgot you’re supposed to feel good, too, didn’t you?” He asks, looking up at you darkly. “But you’re always like that. Always thinking you have to do it all alone, even though I’m right here—” He says, then swirls his tongue around inside you. You cry out.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, sir!” You beg.

Jimin licks a stripe from your hole up to your clit. Then, he sucks at the bud until you’re shaking above him. “Are you? Are you going to let me put you in your place?”

“Yes, yes, sir!” You chant.

Jimin releases one hand from your hips, sliding it down the curve of your ass until it finds your hole. He presses two digits inside you, and you accommodate them easily. “Good girl.” He praises you, and you’re almost crying by now. You cry out his title. “Count.” He orders.

“T-Ten…N-Nine…” You count, trembling from the force of not coming from Jimin’s skillful lips against your most sensitive lips. “Eight…s-seven, oh—” You moan as Jimin nips at your inner fold, then releases it. Then, Jimin begins pumping his fingers in and out of you faster. “S-Six, five, four—” You continue as Jimin eggs you on.

“T-Three, oh, two, one—” You pant heavily.

“Now.” Jimin orders and tears fall from your eyes and you shake so hard from your orgasm that he has to hold you up. “Good girl. That’s my girl.” He praises you, turning you so you can lay down against the bed.

“Yours. Yours.” You repeat hazily as Jimin arranges himself above you. He plants his hands on either side of your waist, then kisses you long and deep.

“Colour?” He checks.

“Green, please, sir.” You say, guiding his hand up to your collar. “Yours, please, sir.” You all but babble. Jimin beams with pride.

“That’s right. All mine.” Jimin says, kissing at your hardened nipples, then down to your belly. With one hand, he begins rubbing at your clit again. He works you back up until you’re whiny and grinding against him for another orgasm. “Would my good girl like my cock?” Jimin asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Yes!” You answer immediately.

“Where?” Jimin teases. You reach down and spread your outer folds, not caring how messy you look right now. Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Right here? In your pretty hole?” He asks, sliding two fingers back into you. You whine as he wiggles the fingers inside you until the room is full of wet sounds.

“Yes, please. W-Want your cock, sir.” You beg, clenching around his fingers.

Jimin withdraws his fingers, then lines himself up to your entrance. You both moan as he bottoms out within seconds from how soaked and loose you are. “Where do you feel that, baby?” Jimin asks, more for his pride than any other reason.

You place a hand on your belly. “Right here.” You say. “All full.”

“Yeah?” Jimin says, gripping your thighs and pushing them further apart. He thrusts in and you have to fight not to come right then and there.

“Yeah.” You whimper. “W-Want your come right there.”

“I know.” Jimin coos at you. “You need your hole nice and full, don’t you? Need to fill up your pretty belly with my seed so you remember who you belong to. So you can quit. Trying. To do. Everything. By yourself.” Jimin says, punctuating his words with long and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed.

“P-Please sir.” You whine. “Your seed. Please.”

“Gonna come again already?” Jimin asks, knowing your body well. When you reply yes and plead him for permission, Jimin leans down and kisses your forehead. “Hold on a bit more, you can do it.”

“Y-Yes. Yes. Anything you say!” You say, feeling cock drunk. It doesn’t take more than that, only a few more pumps until Jimin’s hips are stuttering from the way you clench him desperately—even as he’s moving.

“Rub your clit.” Jimin orders, and you reach down, rubbing hard and fast. Within seconds, Jimin is slamming into you one last time, filling you with his hot seed. You come hard around him a second time, but Jimin isn’t done there. He pulls you up, making you squeal. You whine as your positions reverse, with you on top and Jimin laying down. “You can come around me one more time, since you were such a good, good girl.” He praises, entangling a hand in your hair. His grip is firm but not painful.

“Thank you, sir.” You reply gratefully, running your fingers over your clit. There’s something exhilarating about being stuffed full of come and getting to put yourself on display with it. You make a show of pushing yourself to a third orgasm around Jimin, his seed making both of your thighs sticky and gooey.

“Show yourself to me again.” Jimin demands, and you spread your folds to him again. The dom growls. “Such a pretty cunt. Who owns that?”

“You, sir!”

“That’s right.” Jimin replies. “Gonna come again for me? My good girl, making a mess with my seed?”

“Yes, please!” You all but scream.

“What a pretty fucking girl. I want to give you my come again and again, until you can feel a baby growing where I put my seed. You would love that, wouldn’t you? Being shown off to everyone as the pretty, obedient girl I got to knock up and to take care of?”

“Yes, oh, please—” You’re crying again, almost insane with the thought of being protected and taken care of by Jimin. You’re so deep into your subspace by now all you can think of is how safe and good you feel right now. “Please, all yours—”

“Come.”

The single word sends you over the edge, and you tremble around him a third time. You lay down on top of Jimin with his cock still inside you. The dom wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “So sweet. My perfect baby.” He praises you, peppering kisses on your temple and forehead.

“Thank you. Thank you sir.” You repeat over and over, and Jimin holds you tight.

Once you’re ready, Jimin slides out of you. You roll onto the sheets, but Jimin doesn’t give you time to get lazy. “Come on, we need to shower.” He says, pulling you up into his arms bridal style. You squeal, tucking your chin over his shoulder.

Jimin helps you shower, particularly gentle with your hips and legs as he knows they’re sore now. He helps you dress in your pyjamas. Then, he lifts you onto the counter, insisting on doing your skincare routine for you. You giggle but let him help you, knowing he likes to spoil you like this. Once you’re done, you hold your arms out to be carried back to bed. Jimin laughs, kissing you again.

“Oh, you’re a real menace.” Jimin complains dramatically, setting you down in the armchair a few paces from the bed. You grin up at him, and Jimin strokes a hand down the side of your face lovingly. “I’ll be right back.” He says.

You watch him leave the room, then return with two granola bars and a bottle of water. “I know you ate, but just in case.” Jimin says, watching you open the snacks. While you eat and drink water, your boyfriend changes the bedsheets and blows out the candles. Once he’s done with that, you join him in bed. Jimin envelopes you in his arms, kissing your forehead softly.

“That wasn’t too much for you, was it?” He checks.

“No, not at all.” You say, feeling shy when Jimin looks at you with that intense look—like he’d do anything to make sure you’re comfortable and safe. “Thank you.” You add.

Jimin smiles. “You’re welcome, my love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, my baby.”

#bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #bts smut #jimin x reader #jimin x y/n #jimin x you #jimin smut

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catfern · 7 months

Text

she will destroy you.

pairing: abby anderson x afab!reader

music: crack baby or bag of bones ( or anything from puberty 2 ) - mitski

word count: 3.3k (i'm exhausted)

summary: rumours are swirling, fighting their way through your front door. you hope to keep your work and private life separate, but your proximity with your boss threatens to catch up with you.

warnings: mean!toxic!abby, cheating, porn with a LOT of plot, swearing, tipsy sex, fingering, oral (r!receiving), zero ( i mean ZERO ) aftercare, angst-ish

an: a quick intermission from cowboy!ellie because LORD. i read one page from one book abt a butch teacher yearning for the headmaster's wife and suddenly I NEED AFFAIRS!! I NEED YEARNING!! I NEED SECRECY!! and who better to do that with than a rlly mean ceo!abby who has a PhD in fucking bitches.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Shit.”

A line of scarlet trickles onto the warm printer paper and settles. You drop your paperwork on an unknown desk and suck your finger, hissing through your teeth at the sting. Your phone buzzes impatiently in the back pocket of your work pants, and you fumble with your non-bleeding fingers to pull it out.

we’ll talk abt this when u get home

see u after ur party i guess

A shit fucking day.

You hall back to your desk, defeat slumping heavy on your shoulders. The Office makes an effort not to stare as you walk by, low whispers hot on your feet like coals in a firewalk. You pretend very poorly not to see the half-lidded, secretive looks shared between your old work friends by the water cooler. Water off a duck’s back, your mom used to say in a nonchalant way when you cried to her about mean girls at school. Not that you ever really knew what that meant.

You were never really thankful to be shut off from the rest of the cubicles, until now. A fortress of frosted glass and a heavy door, your desk was the secluded gateway to a place dreaded. Just you and The Boss, which you guess didn’t help the flying tongues of the old, bored fucks in accounting, but it kept people away. Away from you, with their knowing looks and unknowing laughs.

You huff, settling into your uncomfortable desk chair and digging out a small first aid kit your dad bought you when you first started. Pulling the seal off the small tin, you eye its contents. Disinfectant, thermometer, some loose aspirin and bandaids. You whine lightly as you wrap one tightly around your ring finger, feeling it throb and pulse, like a complaint. Get over yourself, you tell your body.

A sharp - ahem - breaks through your mumbling silence. She’s never sick, she never coughs. It’s a bodiless beckoning, a call into the wild, it’s the wordless agreement you have with her. You pick up your notebook, and the nearest working pen, and shuffle quickly through the open door into her office.

The opaque shades are drawn, the natural light greying and dying on the dark, decaying herringbone floor.

Abby is bathed in the orange light of her desk lamp. With impeccable, almost effortless posture, she’s resting her forearms on her desk, one hand scratching notes into her diary, the other distractedly tapping on the leather top. You follow the shadows that the folds in her dress shirt create, your eyes falling on the contour of her body.

You know she frequents a few gyms. You’re the one who schedules late night international calls around her evening runs, and her weights sessions, and her triweekly spin class. But now, the results of her efforts are on display, tightly wrapped in expensive cotton, perfectly tailored, down to the very last stitch, to her existence. You swallow an uncomfortable feeling when she deigns to meet your eye.

She looks you over in the way she always does, an uncaring, but judgemental once-over, like an army sergeant inspecting a uniform. she hones in on the bandaid,

“Workplace injury?”

Her voice has the warmth of a dying cigarette, rolling like well-spoken honey off her lips. You almost feel ashamed, your finger so offensive to her you could chop it off. You almost feel like you wouldn’t even mind. You start picking at the ends of the bandaid with your thumb.

“Paper cut.” Your voice is always so out of place here. An echo of something that does not belong. She nods her head, ever so slightly, as if she understood.

“Don’t think you can go claiming compensation for that.” It’s a joke you’re not allowed to laugh at. You smile lightly instead. It’s short-lived, “I need you to correct some seating arrangements for tonight.”

Yes, of course. No problem. In wordless agreement, Abby starts listing off adjustments, complaints and warnings from guests about not being seated next to their five ex-husbands, or their whining step-children, or ex-business partners fallen from grace. your pen fingers begin to ache as the whole process draws out.

“And I’m going to need you seated at my table, to keep track of my evening itinerary.”

Uncertainty quickly sows its seeds in your stomach. The unopened messages from your girlfriend burn their way through pocket, searing at your legs like a brand on cattle. Everyone knows, everyone will know. Every detail of your life will be laid bare, and you’ll be tried publicly and without mercy. Your bandaid begins to unravel as you rub anxiously at the glue underneath.

You need to do something, something to get things back under control.

“Actually,” You start, unsure. Abby meets your eye quickly, without hesitation, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” It’s quick, and condescending. Undercutting any sudden courage you may have had, she meets your eye and stares you down, pinning you under ice, almost imploring you to feel terrified. And then she looks away, busy packing away the seating chart, and you wonder if she even looked at you at all.

She stands, and you try to meet her, your hands clutching your notebook.

“Your attendance tonight is mandatory.” She says it slowly, harshly, like it’s hard for you to understand. Her eyes chase quickly over your outfit, “It’s a black tie event.”

You’re left alone in a dark office, hyperventilating.

The apartment is empty and cold when you arrive home. 7 unanswered texts to your girlfriend tell you she doesn’t want you near her, but she isn’t packed. You expect her to come home, hopefully in the hour you have before you have to go again, and you contemplate just blowing the gala off to wait.

Abby’s voice is sharp in your head, a familiar dedication wringing your body. You can’t leave her. She needs you there.

You put off the conversation with your girlfriend into the furthest parts of your mind, allowing yourself to be swallowed in the minor decisions of clothes and hair and accessories. It’s not until you’re throwing your shoes on, and three times you think you hear her keys in the door, that you give up.

The phone rings 5 times before going to voicemail.

Hey. Listen. I know we said we weren’t going to talk until we were face to face but..

Whatever Maria told you wasn’t true, okay? I promise-I fucking promise you, nothings happened. Baby, okay? People are fucking bored, and I love you, so so much. I’ve gotta go to this one thing tonight - i tried to get out of it i swear -, and i’ll come home and we can talk, and we can fix this. Okay? Jus-Just, gimme some time to explain. Okay. I love you. Bye.

Echoes of quiet chatter uncomfortably ebb and flow off the walls of the ballroom. Too many people. Shoes scuff the cheap marble as the rich make their rounds, with light touches and reused laughter. They all hate each other.

Abby is a familiar sight. Wearing the same thing she has all day, she looks staggering. Hands just breaching her suit pockets, comfortably falling at her side, her hair in a calculated braid, designed to make her look approachable.

The air here agrees with her, her smile wide and effortless. You know she’s come straight from a meeting, and you suppose that adds to her charm. The Working Woman, a success story. Her rich friends, who spend their inheritances on shares and indoor tennis courts, lap it up. She’s a foreign object, something unfamiliar and wild.

You don’t interrupt, skimming the sidelines to get to your table. You can feel her glance, without substance, before returning to her conversation. Your event planner ( a shitty flip notebook that fits in every small clutch you own ) sits on the tablecloth at your seat, and you wait. Eyeing the glasses at the placemats next you, you can tell a few drinks has been shared, raking your eyes over Abby’s looser disposition.

She’s happy, and charming. She’s been drinking bourbon. Mint, with ice and syrup, the way you serve it to her in her office, when the occasion calls for celebration.

Her conversation finishes, her soft hands bidding gentle, kind goodbyes to the couple as they move on. She’s a friend to the people that matter.

“I expected you here before me.”

She doesn’t bother to look at you as she sits, instead fixing her napkin to her lap. You watch as the veins in her neck rise and fall as she talks, “Doesn’t matter now. Run me through everything.”

Right, fuck. You open your notebook and run your fingers over the scratchy writing. Your days leading up to this were spent copying details from obscure emails, tidbits you thought Abby needed to remember. Late nights at the office, life abandoned, deciphering biographies and 2 hour youtube deep dives. You can watch yourself fall asleep from the future, your handwriting slipping, long and longer strokes, spelling dissolving, long words abandoned. your pen fell to the floor, and you slept at your desk. Twenty missed calls. You argued when you came home in the morning.

“The Ambassador is arriving around 8:00pm with his new wife, also named Rebecca. Oh, Old Rebecca emailed asking why she didn’t receive an invitation.”

She’s slowly sipping at another whiskey, a different cocktail she ordered just as you’d arrived. The orange peel brushes her nose as she tilts the glass, her jaw tightens as she swallows, “Tell her the venue was at capacity. Send some flowers.”

It continues like this for a bit. Quiet and attentive, she listens to what you have to say, as her eyes follow the crowd. You too, spy people that you know, a few slimy execs that share a whisper and a boisterous laugh as they look your way. You order gin.

Soon enough, Abby checks her watch. An inexpensive, vintage piece of leather and quartz. She excuses herself with a measure of politeness. It’s time for an hour of speeches that don’t matter, before you’re finally allowed to eat. You sigh.

A quiet buzz rips through the growing silence. You open your clutch and hide your phone under the silk tablecloth, away from the disapproving elderly eyes.

i told u to leave me alone

jesus christ

A pit in your stomach. Dark, pressing, ever present. Your saliva is heavy in your mouth, and you feel like shrinking away. Luckily, the waiter isn’t far. Drinks are discounted for the company staff.

Finally, speeches finish. Abby looked nice on the stage, effervescent under the lights. Her hair catches warm light nicely in the strands.

The food comes, but people disregard it for shallow conversations. Plates are taken away full, apart from slim, polite pickings. Your table orders more drinks, and syrupy laughter echoes as anecdotes about private schools and hedge funds are shared. You don’t belong here. Your body becomes unsteady, restless. Your legs shaking, a hand finds you thigh in the veiled secrecy of the table cloth.

Abby’s not looking at you, too engaged in tipsy conversation to draw attention. A nice gesture, but it’s not. It’s wordless agreement. Her thumb traces the outside of your thigh mindlessly, her jaw clenching as she feels your gaze.

You hesitate.

What else did you have to do? Apart from go home and wait for an argument.

You let her touch you a little longer, soft, ghostly. It’s kind, unmistakably. You let yourself revel in it, in her uncommon affection, before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

Abby follows not long after. She’s confident, her position charismatic, not unlike the other times she finds a drink, and then goes to find you. She doesn’t stop, so sure that you’ll follow her trail as you’ve done so often before. But you hesitate, again.

She turns back to you, a look on her face that’s hard to decipher. You stumble in your reasoning.

“It’s just-, my girlfrien-“

“Are you coming? Or not?”

Your palms itch, you swallow.

What kind of sick sacrifice. Unfair to have both, some would say, but some don’t know you. How wicked it is to taste both fruit and have to choose the sweeter. Fuck. The drinks settle in your stomach.

Your girlfriend wasn’t coming home tonight anyway, not really.

She’s leading you up the stairs, hands flush to her body. You grip the cold handrail to hold you steady. She’s already steps ahead, the appropriate distance.

A quiet corner doesn’t need to be found. She’s been here before. You’ve been here before. The holy emptiness of the second floor is an accustomed comfort.

She’s quick and calculated, despite the mix of drinks on her breath. One hand pushing you to the wall, the other finding the zipper for your dress. It falls off you like it never belonged to you, kicked away and piled into a corner, forgotten.

Gripping you like you’d run away, she palms your tits and presses crescent moons into your hips. She holds her head away from you, watching you down her nose as you squirm. Abby has always remained detached, carefully groomed a distance between you that now feels too sacred to break. You long to feel her kiss you, to feel her intimately, to run your hands along her arms and feel every curve, every outline. You’ve needed to touch her since the moment you met her. Craved it.

Abby is disrespectful, impatient. She cups your pussy, still hidden in slick panties, letting the rough ball of her palm grind against your clit. It sets you on fire, and she chases it with a hand on your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Get rid of them.”

You strip fast, in a very unflattering way, you’re certain, and throw your underwear close to the ghost of your dress. She moves against you again, her hand softer as it wraps around your lips and cheeks. You look at her, hoping to see that softness echoed on her face, but her eyes are elsewhere, too focused on the movement your tits make as she holds you against the wall.

Painstakingly, her fingers slide inside you, her hand pressing down on your mouth as you moan around the feeling of her, the intoxication. Your hands lock and unlock, your nails digging at scratching at the wood boards on the wall as you try to balance yourself.

Merciless. She rocks into you, letting you fall into step with her, find her pace, a relentless one. You feel her melting into your core, her fingers curling and stretching your walls as she pounds into you, again, again, again. You sound pathetic, behind the mask of her hand, whining as she leaves, and nearly screaming when she returns.

Abby watches as your face contorts around her fingers, feels you wrap around her. If she feels even a fraction of what she gives you, you wouldn't know. Her eyes remain unkind, left at a distance, but her breathing is staggered. short, laboured. she looks over you, you feel it, feel as her eyelashes rise as she rakes over your body.

You need it to be desire in her eyes. You need her to starve. To crave, like you do. Desperation.

Her hand moves from your mouth, your whimpering breath filling the room fast, the quiet broken. Her pace slows, and you almost rest on her fingers, left to wonder what she’s playing at. Instead, it comes down on your shoulder, still warm and wet with your breath, and she pushes you down onto her fingers, deep, deep. you feel her at the very centre of yourself, your eyes wide as the pressure builds inside you, her fingernails leaving a trail, evidence of her in your walls. She lets your ragged moans echo, hurt and pleasure. It’s an unkind end to things.

You don’t want to let it to end. You can’t.

The distance is broken. You reach out and grasp flesh, firm under your nails. You’re still riding the ecstasy pulse, the heat in your pussy, and Abby lets you stay, holding onto her as if you would fade otherwise. Your cheeks are almost touching, her breath hot on your ear, you hear her for the first time, raspy groans as you squeeze around her. She’s been holding back.

Damn it all.

“Everybody knows. Please. Please, fuck me like you know you should.”

You meet her gaze. Everything is foreign now. Her skin feels different to how you had imagined it. Softer. Her eyes are more uncertain, more than you’d ever seen before. Hesitance.

“Fuck it.”

Whiskey, and a sip of your gin, and tobacco. You didn’t even know she smoked, but you taste it on her like its the only thing she ever did. The smell of pine came in a wave as she moved, hooking her hands under your legs and hoisting you up. For months, you’ve yearned for her to kiss you, begged for it even. And now, her lips are rough, and bloody, and everywhere. Ghosts tracing your neck, unkind, stinging, exhilarating.

She moves you to the floor without fuss, holding herself over you, your legs spread around her. She’s smiling, and you become so sure that there’s something not quite right with this side of Abby. You’re quickly aware that you’ve landed in hostile territory, vulnerable, needy.

She usually didn’t like it when you begged.

Her tongue is like the rapture on your clit, spitting fire through your veins, in your nerves. You feel it creep up in your body, twisting and tightening through you like something invasive, moans and prayers dripping from your lips that only push her. her name a curse, fallen on your body. You feel her laugh against your slick walls and it jolts you.

Abby, suddenly so aware of you, so kind, so attentive, shifts her posture, “Oh, you’re so needy.” A hand grabs your face, pulling it up from the floor in a dead lull. Her name rolls off your pretty lips once more, “What? You beg for me, and now you can’t take me?” Her tone is mocking, “Which is it? Hm?”

A cacophony. You, you, you. Your head foggy, unsure of what she wants to hear, you beg for again, telling her you can it take it. I can, please, abby.

Her laugh is cruel, mocking as her mouth finds you again, sending cold vibrations up your legs. Slut echoes against your clit.

Inside of you, she feels like a god. Her fingers stretching your walls, pressing deep against your centre at an excruciating pace, and her tongue lazily laps up all that you give her.

“Fuck! Fu-uck, fuck!”

It’s clear to Abby that the caution she so carefully designed was useless now. People knew, and fuck it if they knew. Fuck it if they heard you dripping on her fingers, calling out her name. Fuck it if they stop the music, and turn to listen - fucking perverts - because it’s her. And you’re the one begging for her.

Stars creep in through the haze in your vision, and Abby’s trying to ask you something harsh, but you don’t hear it. You’re tethered to the feeling of her fingers, your whole body knotting around her like a planet in orbit of the sun.

You’d burn if she wanted you to, happily.

You’re so fucking tight around her fingers, your legs shaking and a vicious call ripping through your body. Her Name.

The warmth from your body is too much, and the cool of the floor is lulling, soothing, as you collapse. Abby’s fingers leave you empty, incomplete. You whine as she leaves you, your walls tightening around the absence of her. She wipes your cotton slick on your leg.

She stands, and rolls her shoulders. Fixes the few hairs that fall out of place. Guiltless.

“Get dressed, before someone sees you.”

#i'm gonna get back to cowboy!ellie i swear #i have so many people in my inbox begging for her I HEAR U!!#i just needed a change of pace bc writers block yk #idk what it is w me and mean women but cowboy!ellie is also going to be a bit mean i fear #also i was going to write this w ellie as the gf but i couldn't fit it in #but it is implied!!#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x you #tlou abby #abby x reader #abby the last of us

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impale-me-radio-daddy · 8 days

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The Lookalike (Part 3)

☒ Summary: “Surely you’re not embarrassed,” he said, running his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth. You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you have fallen into his clutches.

☒ Warnings: Alastor X Reader, implied Vox X reader, hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, injury and treatment, reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Parts: Part 1! Part 2! Part 4! Part 5!

Through half-lidded eyes, you helped Alastor undress you; peeling away your bloodied tailcoat and unbuttoning your shirt, slow and unhurried. You winced as he pulled your shirt off over your injured arm, and he paused, letting you shear the fabric with your talons to leave the section that was stuck to your injury in place.

When he came to your trousers he eyed the mess you had made with interest, one curious finger scooping up some of the cum that pooled at your adonis belt. Alastor held the sample to the light, sniffed it, and with a brief glance down at you, sucked it from his fingertip. The sight sent heat to your face, a twinge in your spent cock, and it must have showed in your expression because Alastor’s grin widened.

“Surely you’re not embarrassed,” he said, running his tongue thoughtfully over his teeth.

“A little.” You returned his gaze, the post-orgasmic peace you felt leaving you a little bolder than you might have otherwise been. It would be quite the sight, you thought, to see him lick your mons clean with his long red tongue. “Am I to your tastes?”

Alastor balled your ruined shirt in his hand and used it to wipe the remnants of your cum from your skin, the motion considered and almost tender. “The wrong question, little pretender. I think you are already well aware of where my predilections lie.” His gaze ran the path from your navel to your face, and his eyes locked with yours once more. “In this delectable little world of ours, you see, our forms are determined by our natures.” Lifting the balled up shirt from your skin, he gripped it tight in his fist, and green flame sprung from it, consuming the fabric. In the green light, his face was cast in eerie shadow, his eyes glowing red. “You would not resemble me like this if we were not very much alike.”

Naked, you sat cross-legged on the bed as Alastor fetched a polished wooden case full of surgeon’s tools. His gaze had none of the unconstrained lust for you that Vox’s had, which was hardly surprising since the forms you held were so similar, though the way Alastor had paused when stripping your underwear from you told you that you probably weren’t identical in all regards.

Alastor sat before you, picking scissors, needle and thread and disinfectant from his kit before he gestured for you to give him your arm. Your first instinct was to refuse, but you knew from experience that stitching up an injury one-handed was fiddly, so you held out your hand for him, palm down, and let him move you by the wrist.

The cuts from his talons were deep, and dried blood stuck the remaining piece of shirt fabric to the injury. Taking one end of the fabric between his fingers, Alastor began to tug it from the injury, and a hiss of pain escaped your lips as it welled fresh blood.

“Did you make a deal with the television demon?” he asked, casually, as if he weren’t in the middle of re-opening the gashes he had made on your forearm.

You controlled your voice, wincing as he tugged a little more of the strip away. “No, not with anyone.”

Alastor’s grin betrayed no surprise. “And he has no other leverage on you? No family, friends?”

“He doesn’t,” you said. “But how do you know I’m not lying about that?”

“Lying to me? With my own face? Now, that I’d like to see!” Alastor laughed to himself. “I believe we each have something the other wants, little pretender. If you’d hear me out.”

You swiveled your ears towards him for effect. “I’m listening.”

Alastor’s own ears gave a twitch of amusement as he soaked a wad of cotton in disinfectant. “First, I want a promise of silence from you. You speak of nothing that I offer you next, and nothing that I ask of you next, regardless of the terms we settle on.”

A Hellish nondisclosure agreement? Interesting. You held still, a small squeak escaping your lips as Alastor applied the antiseptic. It stung, worse than the original wound had. Swallowing your pain, you tried not to sound like you had felt it. “Sure, I'll shake on that.”

Alastor took your hand in his, his palm pressed to your fingers as he looked you in the eye. “A deal,” he said, quietly, and there was green light around you, the smell of brimstone. The sensation of the deal itself was a strange one, almost like vertigo, and you noted it for later.

“So, what is it that you want from me?” You held your arm steady as Alastor pushed the needle through your skin for the first of the stitches your injuries needed. It hurt, but not as badly as the disinfectant from a moment ago, the thread that followed a queasy pull on your skin through the hole, and you pulled a face. “I hope you're not wanting to lock me in your bedroom too.”

Alastor laughed. “And let your talents go to waste? I think not.” He finished another stitch, pulling it closed without making your skin buckle where the sides of the wound met, so that the injury would heal with minimal scarring. A surge of appreciation for the care welled in your chest as he continued. “It just so happens that I can think of a great many things that I could do with a body double.”

You gave him a frown. “I'm not going to agree to a great many things.”

“I think you'll be favorably disposed.” Alastor pushed the needle in once more, a sting with the puncture and a pull with the thread. “Let me spell out my conditions.”

“I'm a captive audience.”

“Hm. Quite.” Alastor paused his stitching, holding up the needle between thumb and forefinger. “The first condition, you will harm no-one within this hotel.”

“Physical harm?” you asked, watching Alastor’s face. It was hard to read him behind the smile, but your gut told you that he was amused rather than irritated by the challenge.

“No physical or metaphysical harm,” he clarified brightly. “Emotional harm is fine.”

“If I'm being attacked?”

“Then you'll call me for help.”

“And if you don't come to save me?”

Alastor sighed, threading the needle through the skin on your forearm once more as he resumed the stitches. “Then you have yourself a loophole.” He tied off the stitch, cutting the ends of the knot close to the skin, the whisper of cold metal from the scissor blades making you shiver. “The second condition- you bring no trouble to the hotel.”

“Trouble? Is Vox trouble?” The television demon was likely to come after you, and you couldn’t agree to a deal you had no hope of fulfilling.

Alastor gave you a laconic look. “Vox was coming for me long before you arrived, my dear.”

“Done, then. I like a quiet life.”

Alastor looked at you with something close to approval before moving to the second parallel gash on your arm, pulling the injury together with his talons as he lined up the needle for the first stitch. “The third condition-” He began, hesitating. “The Radio Demon must be feared. My reputation must be maintained. My detractors must be dealt with.”

“You seem capable of that yourself.”

“I have certain obligations.” Alastor’s smile did not falter, but it was easy to see that this was why he had asked for your consent to nondisclosure. “I am limited. You, however…” He paused to make a stitch, the drag of the thread through your skin almost familiar by now.

“You want me to hunt for you,” you finished for him.

“If that's what you want to call it.”

You frowned, lowering your ears. “I don't like the idea of someone else picking quarry for me.”

“Would you rather not hunt at all?” asked Alastor, tying the knot on another stitch.

You thought about it. You remembered the times when you had stopped. When you had been forced to stop. It had been an itch. You breathed out through your nose. “Give me veto rights. I don’t have to kill anyone I don’t want to.”

Alastor’s smile was tight. “That's hardly a fair deal. You're practically doing what you want, at that point.”

“Isn't that true of your end of the bargain too? I get the feeling that you don't want the television demon fucking someone with your face.”

Alastor’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “Are you sure you want to provoke someone who is currently stitching your arm closed?”

“I'm negotiating.” You watched Alastor carefully. Naked and injured, in his territory, you ought to have been the one at a disadvantage, but your mention of Vox had set him practically snarling. Part of you wanted to poke him more, just to see how he reacted, but the pragmatic part of you told you to play it gently. “And I'm not opposed to the deal. I just need a little free rein, that's all.”

“I could use an extra pair of hands around the hotel,” conceded Alastor, after a pause. “Janitorial work, front desk. Agree to that, and you can have your veto.”

“Regular hours?”

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he looked up from the stitching, the work nearly complete. “I’m not a slavedriver, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. You can have your nine to five, little pretender, two days off a week.”

You smiled at him, your expression matching his. “I think I can live with that.”

“We have a deal, then,” said Alastor, his eyes creasing at the corners as he tied the final knot.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #vox x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor hazbin hotel

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canonmisogynyvictimstournament · 5 months

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FINALS

PROPAGANDA

BUMBLE (WARRIOR CATS) (CW: Domestic Abuse)

I.E.

Her owners taking in an aggressive male cat that bullies and abuses the two female cats already living there

CORDELIA CHASE (BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER/ANGEL THE SERIES) (CW: Pregnancy)

1.) (downs an entire bottle of vodka and slams it back on the table) SO. CORDY. Cordy started off as a supporting character in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. At the start she was your typical high school mean girl character, but as the show went on we got to see more depth to her character: her insecurities, her courage, her capacity for incredible acts of kindness. Then after the third season she moved into the show’s spin off, Angel, where from the beginning she was basically the show’s secondary protagonist. Her and Angel were the two mainstays of the show’s main cast, she gets the most episodes centered on her out of all the characters aside from Angel (and yes, I’ve checked), and we really got to see her grow from a very shallow and self-centered and kind of mean person to a true hero who was prepared to give up any chance at a normal life to fight the good fight while still never losing the basic core of her character. There were some… questionable moments like the episode where she gets mystically pregnant with demon babies and things got a bit iffy like halfway through season 3 where the writers seemed to run out of ideas for what to do with her outside of sticking her in this romance drama/love triangle situation with the main character but overall, pretty good stuff right? THEN SEASON 4 HAPPENED. In season 4 she gets stripped of literally all agency and spends pretty much the entire season possessed by an evil higher power, and while possessed she sleeps with Angel’s teenage son (who BY THE WAY she had helped raise as a baby before he got speed-grown-up into a teenager it was a whole thing don’t worry about it) and gets pregnant with like. the physical manifestation of the higher power that’s possessing her. it’s about as bad and stupid as it sounds and also is like the third time cordy’s got mystically pregnant in this show and like the fourth mystical pregnancy storyline overall (you will be hearing more on that note in other submissions I’m so sorry). after giving birth she goes into a coma, in which she remains for the rest of season 4 and the first half of season 5. SPEAKING OF WHICH DON’T THINK SEASON 5 IS GETTING OFF SCOT FREE HERE. yeah so in season 5 the show just FULLY starts trying to erase cordy’s existence. she gets mentioned ONCE in the first episode and then never again until halfway through the season where she wakes up, helps out Angel for a bit and encourages him in his fight against evil, and then goes quietly into that good night and dies so it can be all sad and tragic. I’d call it the worst fridging of all time but even THAT feels generous because the whole point of fridging is killing off a female character so a man can be sad, and after Cordy dies basically no one’s even sad about it because the show immediately goes back to pretending she never existed. she is not mentioned ONCE in the two episodes after she dies. in the whole stretch of time between her death and the end of the season she gets mentioned exactly four times. again, I counted. anyway the fun twist to all of this is that all of this happened because the actress who played cordy got pregnant before season 4 and joss whedon was so pissed off about this affecting his plans for the show that he decided to completely fuck over her character and then fire her and write her out of the show. so cordy’s a victim of both writing AND real life misogyny!! good times!!

2.) OH SO MANY THINGS they menaced by giving her terrible hair cuts, making her seem like she’d get together with the guy she loves (and who loves her back) but instead she was killed and when she was brought back, she got possessed by an evil entity who used her body to give birth to itself. afterwards she was in a long coma and died. her character was so throughoutly assassinated

3.) She got demonically pregnant TWICE - there was this real sense of a womb/ability to get pregnant as like, a place for evil to get in. She got positioned as femme fatale and evil mother. The actress basically got fired for being pregnant, and when she agreed to come back for a single final episode she specifically said they could do anything but kill off the character. Guess what happened

#polls #round 7 #week 12 #new #cw domestic abuse #cw pregnancy

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