#[definitely not me making things up as I go!]
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sparklingblu · 3 days ago
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Eroverse
Pt.6 - Resistance
ft. Karina
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Family reunions can be awkward.
But none can rival this one.
Eros looks like he's going to throw up any moment - his face white as a sheet of paper. His eyes dart from Karina's face to yours. Then to the scattered naked bodies of the hunters and back to Karina's face.
“Answer me. What is this madness?”
Karina asks, the anger evident in her voice - brewing and crackling like a storm right there in the room. Her normally perfect features are twisted to a scowl that could melt any mortal into a puddle. If looks could kill, Eros would’ve been a goner five times over.
But you are now experienced enough to realize that the idol before you is indeed not an idol at all. You are not a mythology nerd but you have a vague picture of what Karina actually is.
The tingly feeling on your skin: check.
Looking like an idol: check.
Anger issues: check.
Yes. Definitely a goddess (both literally and metaphorically in this case).
“Uh….”
Eros, the literal god of love, who can make an army swoon with a wink, looks like a kid caught stealing candy. His face is pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. For a second, you wonder if you should step in and help, but then you remember: this is Eros’s mess. You have just narrowly escaped being slaughtered by a goddess. You are not gonna try to relive the experience.
“Mom…I…” he finally croaks, his voice cracking like a teenage boy’s.
Karina’s expression darkens. “Don’t you ‘Mom’ me, Eros,” she snaps. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”
Eros glances at you and Kazuha for backup. You give him a look that says Oh, no way, buddy. You are on your own. Kazuha seems to share your opinion but her eyes betray no emotion. You doubt even Eors’ most loyal angel is enthusiastic about dealing with an angry goddess. Especially not after what she has just gone through. Eros’s shoulders slump, realizing there’s no easy way out of this. He shuffles his feet, suddenly very interested in the floor.
“Look, it’s not that bad-” he starts.
Karina’s laugh cuts him off, sharp and humourless. “Not that bad? NOT THAT BAD? You don’t know what you are doing, Eros. You are tampering with powers you don’t understand. Stealing the helm of darkness? Doing…,” she eyes the naked spent body of Artemis aka Chaewon with disgust. “this to a daughter of Zeus? You are lucky you are not already in Tartarus”
“Mom, you don’t understand. I-”
But once again, Karina doesn’t give him a chance to speak. “And that mortal,” her gaze falls on you and you are suddenly made aware that being butt naked isn’t the best attire for a meeting with an angry goddess. In her elegant white dress, Karina may be otherworldly beautiful but the fury in her eyes is absolutely terrifying, like she can burn you to ash right on the spot. And there’s no promise that wouldn’t be the case. “has the mark of Asmodeus. The mark, Eros. Do you understand how dangerous it is? Or do you think this is another of your funny little party tricks?”
“Hey!” you protest. “I’m literally right here”
Karina shot you a look so sharp you instantly regret speaking. “Quiet, mortal. We will deal with you later”
You swallow hard and try to disappear into a wall. No such luck.
Eros raises his hands in surrender, backing up like a guy caught sneaking past curfew. “Okay, okay, I messed up! I get it, alright? But I have a plan”
Karina looks like she’s going to blow up, any moment. Her eyes, full of fury before, now seem to hold flames within. If it’s Eros’s nonchalance that sets her off or something else, you can’t be sure.
Perhaps sensing that things are going to get out of hand, Kazuha finally breaks her silence. “Your grace, ma’am Aphrodite, if I may-”
“Hold your tongue too, angel!” Karina snaps back and Kazuha gaze falls to the floor, silenced.
Lucky for you, though, because you no longer need to ask Kazuha which goddess it is again (that is, if she’s even in the mood to answer). Aphrodite, of course. It’s an easy guess,really. Who else is there aside from the goddess of beauty to take on the form of one of the top visuals of 4th gen? Even you, whose knowledge on mythology is pitiful, know that much.
Karina - no, Aphrodite - continues. “A plan?” She takes a slow, measured step towards Eros. The whole room suddenly feels hotter and you swear you are not imagining the goosebumps on your skin. She’s mad mad. “You mean the kind of plan that could unravel the balance of the cosmos, Eros? That kind of plan?”
Eros holds her gaze for a moment, then shrugs, forcing his usual smirk back onto his face. “When you put it like that, it sounds really bad ”
Karina doesn’t blink. “Because it’s really bad”
You stand off to the side, feeling like an unwanted extra in a godly family drama. It’s not everyday you see a goddess scolding her son like he’d forgotten to take out the trash - except, in this case, the trash might be something on a cosmic scale.
“So, give me a good reason Eros,” Aphrodite stops, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Or I will hand you to Zeus with my own hands”
For the first time since this whole thing started, Ero’s jolly persona is nowhere to be found. He seems to be contemplating, brows furrowed and lips stretched tight. The god of love has never looked this serious.
Finally, Eros lifts his eyes back upon Karina’s face. “Because we deserve better’” he says, and his voice, though quiet, is steady. “You deserve better”
Aphrodite’s expression froze, like she has not been expecting that.
Eros takes a step closer, his tone shifting - softer now, almost coaxing. You wonder if the ability comes with being a love god. “You were the first, mom. The first Olympian. The oldest. You were there before any of those old nutjobs were born”
The sky crackles with thunder at that, as if Zeus himself has heard Eros. And you are suddenly aware that the scenery beyond the glass has shifted - now displaying ancient Greek in its full glory, with its marble temples and bronze sculptures. The place looks eerily beautiful, deprived of people.
But Eros doesn’t seem to give two fucks about what the king of gods think, because he continues. “And yet, look where you stand now - beneath him. Beneath all of them,” his voice drips with venom. “Is that fair?”
Aphrodite is silent for a moment, then she lets out a weak chuckle. “This is crazy. You are crazy”
Nonetheless, Eros presses on. “What I’m doing….what I’ve set in motion…it’s not just for me. It’s for you. For us”
So that’s it, you think. Everything you have done so far, every near death experience you have survived; it’s all just for Eros to gain his mom’s approval. A desperate attempt of a wayward son for recognition. And you have gladly gone along with it.
You feel really stupid. But it’s too late to back out now. Because the power…..it’s addicting.
Aphrodite doesn’t speak. But she’s no longer furious, now. She’s interested. She’s listening.
Eros tilts his head towards you. “And he is the key”
You have a sudden horrible feeling that you are standing on the edge of something massive, something you weren't supposed to understand.
If Eros plans to dethrone the gods with your abilities, you doubt the outcome would be pretty. Sure, you can make goddesses and angels become your cocksleeves with your magical dick, but even that isn’t without a fight. You will literally have no chance against all the Olympians. And the mere thought of using your powers on any male god makes you shudder. Even your perverted mind has its limits.
Karina studies you as if she has read your thoughts, before turning back to Eros. “You are not the first to try” she begins slowly. “And you won’t be the first to fail. Lust can be a powerful weapon if you wield it correctly, but this? This is madness”
Eros doesn’t respond. For once, he doesn’t have a clever remark or a lazy smirk.
Aphrodite lets out a sigh. “Clean up this mess,” she gestures to the naked, spent bodies of the hunters and Artemis. “If anyone asks, I’ve never been here, got it? I’ll be watching, Eros”
And with a swish of her dress, she heads to the doorway she has come from. In an instant, the room erupts in a blinding light once more. Unfortunately, you make the mistake of staring too long and the luminous rays scorch your eyes before you shut them tight.
It takes a while for you to blink out the white spots dancing across your vision. But when you finally regain perfect sight, Aphrodite is gone.
Everything is still for a moment, before it’s broken by Eros’s voice.
“Well,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “That could’ve gone worse”
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Because now, the exhaustion is hitting you all at once. The battle in Artemis’s verse, the fatigue that follows the mark’s activation, the sheer weight of what you’ve been thrown into - it crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your body feels like lead, every muscle burning, every bone aching.
The world tilts.
You sway on your feet, gripping your side as your vision blurs. Someone - Kazuha? - says your name, but it’s distant, muffled, like a sound travelling through water. Your knees buckle, and the last thing you hear before the darkness takes you is Eros’s voice, sounding oddly far away.
“Guess we push him a little too hard”
And then – nothing.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
After seeing skeletons and three headed beasts in your dreams for weeks in a row, you already know what to expect when you are beyond your consciousness. Or maybe, something far worse.
But this time, it’s different.
The material beneath you is soft, a stark contrast to the cold, hard ground you remember collapsing on. Blinking against the golden light filtering from above, you push yourself up slowly, your muscles still aching from…everything.
The room around you is massive, circular, its marble walls pristine and smooth, interrupted only by tall pillars that stretch towards a domed ceiling. It reminds you of Persephone’s chamber in the underworld, the only difference being its cold, dreadful atmosphere replaced by a cheerful one.
The air smells of salt and roses, an odd combination that somehow makes sense. Sunlight streams in through openings between the pillars, casting shifting patterns across the polished floor.
You look at yourself. Your body is still bare, but it’s not misty and see through like back in your visit to the underworld. So, you are not dead yet. That’s a relief.
But you have learnt that if something looks remotely safe or welcoming in this world, it mostly isn’t. So you try to be cautious. As cautious as someone who’s butt naked and defenseless can be.
You are starting to contemplate whether you should just go back to sleep when you see her.
Karina, leaning against one of the pillars, dresses in a different outfit now - a white tank top, perfectly fitted jeans, and sneakers that look too clean to have ever touched mortal ground. It’s nothing godly but her beauty never fails to shine through, betraying her divinity.
“You’re awake,” she notes, her voice smooth, unimpressed.
You sit up stiffly, wincing at the stiffness in your limbs. “Am I dreaming?”
“Sorta” She tilts her head slightly, regarding you like an interesting specimen. “I borrow your soul for a while”
You don’t really understand what she means but decide not to raise questions. Not out of fear but rather, the curiosity of why she has brought her here in the first place.
“I have come to offer you a gift,” Karina says, answering your thoughts.
You blink, unsure you have heard her right. “A gift?”
She hums in confirmation, but doesn’t elaborate.
You hesitate, sensing a trap somewhere in her offer. “Why?”
She doesn’t answer straight away. Instead, she studies you, her gaze sharp and knowing. And then, with the faintest of smirks, she says, “Because I feel like it”
No way you are buying that.
Your mind races back to her confrontation with Eros, how she has despised his plan to dethrone the gods. “I thought you don’t agree with Eros’s plan” you say, watching her carefully.
Her smile doesn’t falter, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She shrugs. “I didn’t say that”
That throws you off. “So you agree?”
Another shrug. “I didn’t say that either”
You stare at her, frustration creeping in. “That’s not an answer”
Aphrodite sighs, folding her arms. “No, it’s not”
She steps closer, stopping just at the edge of the bed. From this distance, you can see the way the lights catch in her dark eyes, how they shimmer like a vortex of jewels. She looks casual, relaxed even, but you can sense it’s all a mask to hide something deeper.
“You think the power you have now is impressive?” she asks. “That little trick you pulled on Artemis? That’s nothing”
You frown. “Nothing?”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “A fraction. A sliver. The barest hint of what you are capable of” Her assessing gaze hovers over you, like she’s imagining what you have become. “Right now, you are a candle in the dark. But given time….you could be a wildfire”
More power. That’s exactly what you are afraid of. If you have already developed the thirst for the mark, you wonder what will become of you if its power grows. Will you even be human?
You swallow hard. “And, you’re just telling me this out of the kindness of your heart, aren’t you?”
She smirks. “Oh, sweetheart. I don’t do anything out of kindness”
You don’t doubt that.
She steps back slightly, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “This gift I have planned to give you. It’s a taste of what to come”
You tense. “What kind of gift?”
She smiles, slow and deliberate. “A new ability. One you will unlock eventually. But I’m feeling generous today”
You don’t know if ‘generous’ is the right word. Whatever she’s offering, it’s not just for you. There’s something in it for her, too. There always is.
“What ability?” you ask carefully.
Karina’s smile deepens. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
And before you can react, she reaches out, pressing two fingers against your forehead.
The world tilts-
And everything explodes.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
When everything stops spinning, the marble room is gone.
You blink. The soft glow of divine architecture is replaced by dim fluorescents of a….classroom. You find yourself seated in a chair of a location too familiar.
It’s the kind of room you have seen a thousand times before - rows of wooden desks, a blackboard at the front, a few motivational posters peeling off the walls. The faint scent of chalk and old textbook lingers in the air. Outside the window, the world is…nothing. Just an endless, swirling void.
You barely have time to process the shift before you hear the click of heels against the floor.
When you turn, your brain nearly short-circuits.
Karina is leaning against the teacher’s desk, arms folded, one leg crossed over the others. Only now, she’s not in her usual jeans and tank top. Instead, she’s dressed like every high school fantasy rolled into one - a tight white blouse, unbuttoned just enough to reveal her ample cleavage, a red plaid skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh, thigh-high stockings, and glossy black heels. She’s twirling a piece of hair around one finger, watching you with amusement.
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
She smirks. “Welcome to my verse”
Your brain is still buffering. “Your verse is a classroom?”
“For you,” she says, hopping up onto the desk and crossing her legs. “Unlike the others you have visited, mine is unique. Do you know why?” She leans forward slightly, her tits on the brink of spilling out from the fragile fabric. “It shifts and bends…according to the visitor’s deepest kink”
You stiffen. “That - that’s not true”
She raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Then why do I look like this?”
You have no answer.
Karina chuckles, tapping a finger against her temple. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart. The Verse doesn’t lie”
You swallow hard. “You - this - you are messing with me”
“Am I?” Her lips curve into something wicked. “Or are you just embarrassed that this is what your subconscious really wants?”
You are hard. So hard that it hurts. Your cock is rigid and springing up to its full length. With the lack of clothes, you have no way to hide your arousal. But you shove it down, trying to focus. “Why bring me here? What’s the point?”
Karina hums, swinging her legs idly. “I told you - I’m giving you a gift. But power is best awakened when you are completely in sync with your own desires” She tilts her head, watching your reaction carefully. “And nothing lays a person bare quite like this”
You want to deny her, try to compose yourself. But the truth is - she’s absolutely right. She’s pushing all the right buttons, using every buried fantasy of yours to her advantage. You know what’s coming next is inevitable, even with your lust hazed brain.
Karina slides off the desk with the grace of a predator, each step deliberate, heels clicking across the floor. Her eyes lock onto yours, and you find yourself rooted in place, unable to move.
She circles around you, like she’s sizing you up. Her fingers trail across your shoulder, down your arm, sending a shiver through your body. Her touch is light, teasing, but it feels like she’s peeling off layers you didn’t even know you had.
“You’re tense.” she whispers into your ear, her breath tickling your ear. Her hands rest on your shoulders, massaging gently, but there’s a weight to her touch that makes you weak. “You shouldn’t be”
You try to keep your breathing steady but it’s a losing battle. Her presence is overwhelming, seeping into your brain, clouding your thoughts.
“What are you doing?” you manage to ask, though your voice comes out shaky.
She chuckles softly, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I’m just showing you what you are capable of.” Her hands slide down your chest, pressing lightly, and you can feel your resolve wavering, crumbling under her touch. “You have so much potential, so much power. But it’s locked away because you’re afraid”
“I’m not-” you start, but she cuts you off, spinning you around to face her. Your eyes instinctively fall on her plentiful tits, which are now on full display from this new angle.
“Eyes up here, honey,” she cups your face, forcing you to meet her eyes. “You’re afraid of the power inside you. Afraid of what you could become. Afraid of losing control” Her thumbs brush over your cheek, her touch light yet commanding. “But power is only dangerous if you don’t understand it”
Everything she’s telling you could be a lie. But you no longer care. Because all you crave now is more of this, more of her touch, her breath, her warmth. Her hand slides down , resting against your chest, and you feel your heart pounding beneath her fingertips.
“What do you want, really?” she asks, her voice a soft purr. “To be free of this? To understand it? Or maybe…” Her lips curve into a knowing smile. “To embrace it?”
Your mind is spinning, her words digging deep, unraveling desires you didn’t know were there. She rests a hand on your thigh, tracing idle patterns on your skin. Yet, her eyes never leave you, holding you captive.
“Stop fighting it,” she breathes, her voice a soft command. “Let go”
You feel the last shed of your resistance crumbles to dust. It’s intoxicating, the way she breaks down your walls, knocking them over like mere toys. And you finally relent, letting go of the fear, the doubt.
“Good boy” she praises.
And that’s when she crushes your lips with hers.
It’s not love. Far from it. It’s not affection either. But it’s equally addicting, something you want more the moment you have its taste, like an oasis in the desert. And Karina doesn’t keep you thirsty. She keeps on kissing you, letting you busk in the feeling of her silky lips, moist and soft each time they make contact with yours. Her tongue slips out to seek yours and you happily let yourself be found, intertwining it with yours, tasting her.
Her hand on your thigh isn't still either, slithering its way upwards until it finally reaches the hardness between your legs, gripping the base. You let out a moan against her lips, as her grip tightens. She can feel you throbbing. You are sure of it. She can feel how desperately you need her.
She gives you a single stroke, her fist around your length pumping a single time. And that’s enough to set you off.
Your veins flood with power. Your whole body is enveloped in gold. The upside down pentagon on your pelvis glows brighter than ever. And your cock, looks like it can destroy armies (literally).
Karina pulls back, though your lips still connect with a string of saliva. The scene turns you on so much that if it’s not been the mark, you feel like your cock would go numb from throbbing.
“And we are back,” she muses, studying your cock like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Look at this beautiful thing”
“You are not affected by the mark?” you ask, surprised. Persephone and Artemis have become slaves to the mark’s power as soon as it activates. But Aphrodite doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, she looks mesmerized.
“The mark only punishes those who try to fight it” she says, now stroking your shaft in an agonizingly slow pace. “I embrace it”
She’s still admiring your cock with sparkling eyes. You are used to people cowering before the mark with fear or sometimes even disgust that someone worshipping it is such a strange sight. On the other hand, perhaps, you are content that someone finally acknowledges its power instead of treating it like a curse.
“Only a fool would reject something this…divine,” she mutters dreamily, her digits tightening around your shaft. “This hard. This….big”
She places a single kiss on your tip and you swear you can see stars. You can feel her breath on your skin, the phantom warmth that precedes what comes next.
“May I suck your cock, sir?” she asks, voice dripping with feigned innocence.
She’s fueling your fantasy. If the settings and the outfit aren’t enough, she has decided to roleplay too. A roleplay that’s too accurate to be a roleplay.
“You may,” you reply. You don’t know if you are in the position to give orders, but if she’s really getting into this slutty schoolgirl act, you decide you’d better too. Afterall, it takes two to tango.
“Thanks, sir” And with that, her lips part around your tip, swallowing you inch by inch until half of your shaft has disappeared into her wet warmth. Her tongue swipes at your slit and the moans spill from you before you can control yourself.
Karina pulls back, a glint of something like victory in her eyes. “You need me that bad, sir? Need that big cock in my pretty mouth?”
You can’t voice an answer. Your brain is too jumbled to string coherent words. So you give her a single nod.
“I thought so,” she says as if it isn’t obvious before she welcomes your shaft back into her mouth again.
You throw your head back in mind-numbing pleasure. Everything feels so….surreal. Her lips gliding along your veiny shaft, her tongue that darts out so often to taste your leaking slit, the loud slurping sounds she’s probably making intentionally to rile you up.
It's a mess. It’s filthy. It’s everything you want.
The goddess of love herself is blowing your shaft. Or rather, Karina, the dream woman of million fans, herself has your cock in her mouth. You doubt both are luxuries that just anyone gets to experience.
Maybe Karina is just doing this for her benefit. It would be downright idiotic to think that a goddess would blow your cock for free. But right now, your mind is blank, focused on the single blissful feeling of Karina’s mouth working your length.
A loud gurgle escapes her lips when she swallows your whole shaft, nose pressed against your pelvis. The sudden, constricting warmth of her throat is unexpected. But when a goddess deepthroats you, you don’t complain.
She locks her gaze with yours as she holds your cock captive in her throat. Seconds pass but she shows no sign of backing out, still as determined as ever to keep you trapped in her tight warmth.
As for you, each second passed is another step to utopia, wishing this euphoric feeling never ends. Let her keep your cock warm forever.
But your hope quickly crumbles when she finally releases your cock, leaving it drenched in her drool. A waterfall of saliva stains her blouse, rendering it transparent to the point you can see the slightest hint of her rosy nipples.
“Oh, look like I’ve made a mess,” she says casually, like getting drool on your clothes is a normal occurrence. “I’d better clean up, hmm?”
You don’t understand what she’s talking about until she starts unbuttoning her shirt. Each loose button reveals more of her milky, round globes, peaking around the white fabric. She gets the job done quickly but it’s not like there’s much button left to begin with. Soon, her blouse lays a crumple heap on the floor.
“Like what you see?” she asks, like that’s even a question.
You are mesmerized. You can die happily now, you think. She may not be the real Karina but she’s still….well, Karina. And a full view of her glorious tits, which have their own fandom, is a privilege.
“Yeah…..” your voice comes out a shallow whisper, unable to think of anything except tits, tits and tits.
“Thought so,” she says, standing up and for a moment, you have a horrible thought that she’s gonna leave you like this - wanton and desperate. It’s exactly the kind of thing Aphrodite would do.
Luckily, she’s not feeling cruel today because she gets right back into her schoolgirl persona. “Say, sir. What do you think about stretching me out with that big cock?”
“You don’t even need to ask”
At your reply, Karina settles on your lap, facing you as she slowly guides your throbbing shaft inside her short skirt, her hands coming to rest on the nape of your neck. You watch your cock disappear into her red clothing, until you feel a wetness connect with your tip.
“Fill me up” And just like that, she sinks herself onto your shaft. You both let out a moan in unison. Her, from being utterly stretched out and you, from the way her walls squeeze your length.
Neither of you move for a second, adapting to this new position of depravity. But it doesn’t last long as Karina starts to roll her hips slowly. Your hands instinctively rest on her waist, guiding her movements.
“Fuck, you are so big. Even bigger than Ares…” she groans. You have no idea who she’s talking about but hey, a compliment’s still a compliment.
“Come on. You want those tits, don’t you?” she urges, pushing those busty globes into your face. And you gladly oblige, latching your lips onto one of her stiff nipples.
“Mhmm fuck” she groans as you swipe your tongue at her rosy bud before moving on to the other and doing the same thing. You decide not to be too greedy for now, devoting yourself to tasting one of her milkers, sucking and licking.
She writhes and trembles at the attention you are giving her tits, but her hip action doesn’t waver. She’s still riding you steadily, letting you enjoy her goddess pussy each time your shaft splits it open.
“God, your cock feels so good. So fucking big. Nghh…” She starts to pick up the pace, literally bouncing on your cock now as you turn your attention towards her unattended nipple, enjoying it the same way you did to its predecessor.
This double pleasure, that comes from both her tits and her pussy, can’t be described with words. It’s something beyond human comprehension that you doubt any other mortal could have gone through this and survive.
Her walls squeeze you just right, as if it has memorized every vulnerable spot, tackling with a precision that leaves your mind swimming.
Each time her ass crashes down onto your cock, she lets out a guttural moan. Her huge tits are jiggling so much now that it’s now impossible to put your mouth anywhere near. So you stop trying and enjoy the view.
You feel your body tingling with power, like a nuclear reactor on the verge of exploding. The glow on your pelvis grows brighter until it bathes the classroom in gold. Nevertheless, Karina is relentless - fucking herself on your throbbing cock like a bitch in heat. Who knows goddesses can be so beautiful yet so filthy?
But even the chosen one has his limits as you feel yourself spiralling to the inevitable end of this insatiable lust. The faint tingly feeling on your cock grows stronger until it’s overwhelming and soon, you unravel.
For a moment, all you can see is white as you unload spurt after spurt of your vile seed into Karina. It just keeps coming, everything stored in your balls, spilling into Karina’s cunt as she shudders from her own release. A few grunts follow as Karina rides you until she’s sure she has squeezed out the last drop of your load.
It takes a while to gather your thoughts.
When your senses finally return, Karina has returned to her earlier position on the desk, with the same cross-legged posture. The only difference being her tits out on display and the steady droplets of your cum dripping from under her skirt.
“Well,” she begins, not a hint of exhaustion in her voice, though sweat beads her temple and her hair has become a crumpled mess. “There’s your gift”
You blink. Karina has promised you a new ability but you don’t feel any different.
Then you realize.
You don’t feel any different.
Usually, extreme exhaustion, like you have run a marathon, follows after the mark’s power subsides. But this time, you don’t feel any of the fatigue, the weariness. Then you look down and find the answer.
The mark is still there. It has not disappeared like before. It’s not alight with power but it still glows a faint gold. Does it mean you can control it now?
“The mark….” you mutter.
“Indeed, the mark,” Karina agrees, amused at your realization. “Pretty handy, isn’t it? You don’t need to keep passing out every time you use it”
She is, no doubt, correct. Not only that you haven’t passed out but a fresh surge of energy has started travelling through your body. Your breath catches in your throat as another wave of arousal overwhelms you, and your cock springs up instantly from its limp form.
Karina smirks at the sight. “Easy there, tiger. Or we might stay in this verse forever”
This power. It’s pure and absolute. There’s no more doubt. No more fear. You have embraced what you are.
You are not a god. No. You are something far better. Something a thousand times more perfect. In no time, those who call themselves the divines will cower at your feet. In fact, they already are.
You are snapped out of your triumphant thoughts by the rattling sound of the desk as Karina slides down. She approaches you in slow and measured steps, like you are a bomb which can go off anytime.
“I’m sure we will meet again, Michael,” Karina says, inches away from you now. “For now, farewell”
Once again, she presses two fingers to your forehead.
And you spiral into an endless void.
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
As abruptly as it has started, you find yourself back in your room at Eros’s place. The dim glow of city light filters through the rain-streaked windows, casting shifting patterns on the walls. Outside, New York sprawls endlessly, neon signs flickering, car horns blaring faintly in the distance. The scenery has shifted again.
The storm hasn’t let up either. Rain drums steadily against the glass, its rhythm oddly soothing. You half expect to feel the ache and exhaustion after you have landed face first on the floor but instead, your body hums with a quiet, unfamiliar energy.
You feel better than you have been in days. Better than you should.
Pushing yourself up from the bed, you flex your fingers, testing the sensation. No soreness, no aches. If anything, you feel sharper, like a blade freshly honed.
Suddenly, a chime pulls you from your thoughts.
You glance to the nightstand, where your phone screen glows softly in the dim room. A single notification sits at the top: a dark heart icon from the app you are too familiar with - the Ero app.
New ability acquired.
You snort, but the amusement fades the second you swipe open the screen and catch sight of the new wallpaper.
A bright, obnoxious Hello Kitty background stares back at you.
You sigh “Eros, you motherfuck-”
Shaking your head, you open the app - the same one that dragged you into this whole mess - and freeze.
It’s different.
Before, the Ero app was nothing more than a sleek, minimalistic portal. No menus, no settings - except for some occasional forewords about your quests. But now, the interface has shifted.
At the center of the screen is you. Or at least, a stylized version of you, shirtless, standing with an aura of gold swirling around you. Below it, your Profile is displayed, listing your Abilities in neat, glowing text.
Lust Epidemic. That must be the one which got the hunters acting like bitches in heat.
Domination. You are puzzled for a moment, then remember the mark you have imprinted upon Chaewon, turning her into your obedient slave.
And last but not least.
Endless Ardor. The one Aphrodite has granted.
And then, farther down-
You narrow your eyes.
A section labeled “Goddesses Conquered”.
The figures of Shuhua(Persephone), Chaewon(Artemis) and Karina(Aphrodite) are there, fitted in borders of golden hue. But the rest? Locked Silhouettes, dark and shadowed, their names blurred.
This looks like something out of an rpg game except that everything is real.
At the bottom, something else catches your eyes. A meter labeled Perfection.
It’s at 10%.
You stare at it, a strange unease creeping in. Perfection? What is that supposed to mean? And why does it feel like the app is tracking something you don’t fully understand yet?
Before you can think further, the door swings open.
Eros strides in, smelling like he has drowned in every perfume known to man, dressed in fresh clothes - ripped jeans and a loose button-down that hangs open just enough to be obnoxious. He grins like he owns the place. Which, considering this is his place, might not be far from the truth.
“Morning sunshine,” he drawls. “I come bearing a gift”
You raise an eyebrow. “A gift?”
Eros steps aside and the angel enters.
Kazuha walks in, looking clean and fresh. The wounds on her body are nowhere to be seen. She’s dressed like some kind of agent - fitted tank top, dark jeans and combat boots. Though you have to admit she looks insanely hot, that’s not what catches your attention. It’s what she’s holding.
A leash.
Connected to a collar.
Wrapped around Chaewon’s neck.
You are speechless. The once proud goddess of the hunt, stands on all fours, no different from a dog. There’s not a piece of clothing on her except for the collar around her neck. She stares at you with curiosity, but the fire in her eyes is gone, replaced by utter and complete obedience. Somehow, you get a feeling she’s awaiting an order.
Your order.
Eros chuckles, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Congratulations, buddy. You have officially tamed a goddess”
♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎
This one takes quite a while because I have been procrastinating. Thankfully, I get into the mood for some mythological action again. Enjoy.
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cloverapple · 1 day ago
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How To Finally Shift If You’ve Been Trying For 2+ Years
⚠️ Little warning before we begin: don’t get scared off! I might sound a little negative at first, but that’s not the point of this post. My goal is for you to reach the end of this and think “Oh, I’m definitely going to shift to my DR now!”
Having said that:
If you’ve been on your shifting journey for two or more years, doing methods, reprogramming your mind, consuming advice, maintaining a mental diet, manifesting, forcing assumptions, trying to create assumptions, etc, etc⏤and you still haven’t shifted your awareness to your DR, maybe it’s time to stop trying to make yourself shift.
Stop trying to shift.
Stop trying to trigger a shift.
Maybe the thing you need at this point in your journey is to stop trying to make yourself shift.
And I’ll explain why by asking you a question:
In these two, three, four, however many years of effort, don’t you think you would have shifted by now?
Think about it. You’ve oversaturated your mind with the intention to shift. You do all your methods correctly. You try to convince yourself that you're already in your DR. You feel symptoms. Sometimes you even "mini shift." And yet… you're still here. Doing the same things. Searching for advice that leads you right back to doing the same thing:
Trying to shift. Trying to trigger a shift. Trying to shift your awareness.
Trying.
Trying confidently.
Trying hopelessly.
Trying angrily.
…Trying.
If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, triggering a shift, or successfully shifting with a method, it would have happened by now.
“But Clover, I still have a lot of soul-searching and work to do! I just need to put in more effort!”
Awesome! Then click away, because this advice isn’t for you. I’m not talking to you.
I’m talking to the person who is tired. Who is drained. Who, despite applying all the sage advice on the internet, is just burnt out from the process of shifting.
And if that sounds like you, let me repeat: Maybe you need to stop actively trying to shift.
Your work is done. And that’s a good thing.
You’ve spent years ingraining the idea of shifting into your subconscious. You’ve impressed the intention to shift so deeply that it’s already there. Congratulations! You did all the mental work. It’s done.
Your DR is already yours. You already have the ability to shift.
So stop trying to trigger it. Stop trying to make yourself shift.
Let go of the “making yourself shift” process.
“Oh my god, she’s going to tell me to take a break.”
LMAO you thought.
Yes, breaks are excellent. They help reset and recharge your mindset. I always encourage taking breaks if you need them. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, even the thought of taking a break feels just as mentally exhausting as staying on your shifting journey.
“Oh no, she’s going to tell me to do nothing at all.”
Once again, you thought.
Instead, you’re going to capitalize on the fact that you’ve already done all this work. The intention to shift is always, always, always in your mind. Your subconscious knows you want to shift. Just like it knows how to shift your awareness.
So, the next time you lay down to do your shifting process...
Instead of trying to shift…
Instead of trying to induce a shift, induce the void, or force an outcome…
Give yourself exactly what you want.
Give yourself the feeling of being in your DR.
Drop the conscious, active intention to shift because your subconscious already has it covered. You don’t need to keep hammering it in. Instead, focus on inducing the emotions you would feel if you were in your DR.
Imagine waking up in your DR. Imagine being there. Imagine spending time with your DR friends, your S/O, whatever makes you happiest. Personally, I lean toward wake-up scenarios. You can listen to music, meditate, visualize, even do a shifting method if you enjoy it—but instead of doing it with the intention to shift, you’re doing it just to give your body and mind the feeling of being there. The happiness, the calm, the excitement, whatever it is for you.
This does not mean you’re lying there thinking, “Okay, this is going to make me shift.”
No. No, no, no, no, no.
Drop the idea of shifting entirely. That process is done.
And I’ll say it one more time:
If you were going to shift by inducing a shift, making yourself shift, or triggering a shift, it would have happened already.
So let it go. Drop it.
Induce the emotions of being in your DR, and then let go. Once you do that, go to sleep. Or go about your day. That’s it.
So why does this actually make you shift?
Because feeling is the language of the subconscious.
Think about it: The moments in your life that shaped you the most weren’t just things you thought. They were things you felt deeply. Joy, fear, excitement, grief. Emotions imprint on the subconscious. That’s why certain smells, songs, or places instantly bring back vivid memories. Because your subconscious records experiences based on emotions, not logic.
So when you stop trying to shift and instead just focus on feeling like you’re in your DR, your subconscious responds by aligning your awareness to match that emotional state.
Because to the subconscious, there’s no difference between imagination and reality. When you visualize something vividly enough, your brain fires the same neurons as if you were actually experiencing it. Athletes use this trick to enhance performance. Musicians use it to refine their skills. And guess what? It works for shifting too.
When you let go of the effort and just immerse yourself in the emotions of already being there, you bypass the resistance that trying creates.
And that’s when the shift happens.
It happens because you stopped forcing it.
It happens because your subconscious already knows how to shift, you just needed to get out of its way.
So, again, drop the struggle. Drop the effort. Stop trying to shift.
The more precise or perfect you want the shift to be, the more pressure you put on yourself. Your brain rebels against that because rigid control drains energy.
Remember this:
High Emotion + Low Attachment = Flow.
When you feel something strongly but aren’t clinging to the result, your subconscious has room to act. This is why sometimes, when you care less or focus on something in a passing, emotional way, it manifests easily.
This is why people can give up on shifting entirely and shift. This is why people let go of the need to shift and shift. This is why you shift without meaning to.
You: “No, I can’t do this! I need to keep trying to shift or else my subconscious will think I don’t want to shift anymore!”
Me:
youtube
*As always, take what resonates, discard what doesn’t, because we’re all different people who need to hear different things :)
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reiding-writing · 3 days ago
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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭.
a case involving female students being murdered in their dormitories brings the team to stanford university. You have more of a connection to it than you originally realise.
cold!reader ❅ 8.4k ❅ cold!reader masterlist. ❅ main masterlist.
CW | typical criminal minds violence, violence against women, detail of murder and injury, abuse of power, student-professor relationships, miscarriage and abortion, character death, manipulation, cynicism
“Three women, all doctorate students of Stanford University, have all been killed inside their dorm rooms in the last two weeks,” There’s a click of a button, and then three images flash up on the screen, headshots of the girls. “All three were found with their stomachs cut open and their reproductive organs removed,”
What a lovely way to start a Monday morning.
“So much for the best University in California,” Morgan nudges your arm with his elbow, and your roll your eyes.
“What was the medical knowledge of the unsub?”
“You tell me,” JJ clicks another button on her remote, and the smiling photos of the victims are replaced with their crime scene photos.
Hands and feet tied to their beds, a large incision at the pelvic bone that had been stretched open to leave the internal organs bare, and the uterus cut out of the body. The surface knowledge was there, but the execution was not. Messy lines and uneven incisions that left the gap left in the victims more blood and tissue than actual hole.
“So we’re not looking for a professional then,” Morgan points out the obvious with a cross of his arms, leaning back in his chair.
“They clearly know something about it though,” Spencer leans forward as Morgan leans back, squinting his eyes like it’s going to make the images clearer. “There’s several different ways to perform a hysterectomy, but for a complete hysterectomy like our unsub is doing, the most common method is to start with an incision just above the pelvic bone,”
We’ll discuss the details of hysterectomies whilst we’re on the plane,” Hotch taps both of his hands on the table as he stands. “Gather your things, wheels up in thirty,”
There’s a chorus of “Yes Sir,”s as you all follow him out of the conference room to return to your respective desks and gather your belongings for the flight, an air of fatigue still surrounding the group even through the graphic imagery you were presented with.
“Going back to your alma mater, how do you feel?” Morgan clasps his right hand into a fist and holds it out to you like an invisible microphone.
You push it away without much thought as you pack your laptop into your bag, rolling your eyes at him for what feels like the tenth time since you’d walked through the door an hour ago. “It’s been almost— no, it has been ten years since I graduated, what’s there to ‘feel’?”
“Okay robot face, damn, no lingering love for the College that gave you your career?” Morgan’s taunt is laced with that familiar air of light-heartedness that’s there to remind you that he really is just poking fun, but you’ve never been very receptive to his humour.
“No.”
He lets out a sharp laugh in a mix of amusement and surprise, opening his mouth to make another comment, but the expression on your face tells him you’re definitely done talking about the topic.
He does have some self restraint.
Stepping out of the San Jose International Airport almost felt like going into a time machine, spitting you right back out where you’d left that decade ago just 18 miles from your old campus.
It felt even more surreal actually reaching Stanford’s main site, walking around the place you’d dedicated four years of your life to. Not much had changed since you’d left, not that you really expected it to, but it felt almost foreign to you to walk around the campus as you were now, a properly matured adult compared to the almost naive teenager you started as.
You began where you always did, at the most recent crime scene, a college dorm room on the south-east side of the campus.
It was pretty standard, a bedroom big enough for a double bed and a desk, a built in wardrobe, and a private bathroom; Decorated how you would expect from a girl in her early twenties, covered in memories and interests that gave it a personality outside of the off-white paint on the walls.
Of course, it was mildly ruined by the fact the previously pink bedsheets were stained in a pool of oxidised blood that dripped down onto the rug adorned floor and ledger small spatters on the skirting boards, but what can you really expect when the girl had been cut open whilst she was still alive and most definitely struggling against it.
“There’s no signs of forced entry,” All Morgan could do was shrug as he examined the fire door that acted as the room’s only entrance. “The inside lock was unfastened and there’s no marks indicating it was forced open, or that it even could be without heavy grade tools,”
“So our unsub had his own key then?”
“Or,” Emily’s suggestion was side-stepped by Spencer, “He was let in,”
There’s a small hum from Hotch as he stands beside you, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. “Alright,” He turns his eyes onto you with a small nod, “Take Prentiss to the Mortuary and check the autopsy. Morgan, Reid, get Garcia to find a list of professors the victims shared and go and speak with them, they might’ve noticed a change in the girls’ behaviours before their deaths.”
“Will do,”
“Got it,”
There’s a series of shared nods between you as you spilt up, leaving Hotch, Rossi and JJ at the crime scene in search of any more information they could utilise.
Trying to catch a Professor when they’re not busy is harder than most people would think. So hard in fact that Spencer and Morgan had been left with standing inside one of the lecture rooms to endure the last twenty minutes of a forensic psychology lesson so they could get the professor between classes.
“Professor Callahan?”
“For any personal feedback on your essay please send me an email,” The professor doesn’t so much as look up from the papers he collects and organises on his desk, seemingly already in a rush even after barely two minutes of the lecture ending.
Morgan and Spencer share a glance.
“My name’s Dr Spencer Reid, and this is Agent Morgan, we’re from the FBI,”
Callahan looks up this time, rectangle glasses reflecting the two back to each other through the overhead lighting.
“We were hoping we could ask you a few questions, Sir,”
Spencer watches the Professor’s eyebrows knit in confusion before his eyes spark with a hint of realisation, and then understanding.
“Yes, of course,” He nods, collecting the pile of papers in his right arm. “Please, follow me into my office,”
His office is filled with bookshelves stacked with psychology texts and framed accolades lining the walls. Small busts of philosophers in the mpty spaces. His desk is littered with small rememberences of his former students, and lining the opposite wall is another, a small plaque reading Dr. Wittchen at it’s forefront.
“Did you notice any changes in the girls’ behaviour, or anything unusual leading up to their deaths?” Spencer’s question is cautious, if not a little bit emotionally insensitive.
Callahan’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Honestly, I hadn’t noticed anything alarming. They were all such high achievers, incredibly driven. The stress of their programs sometimes affected them, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
Spencer nods, then glances toward the accompanying desk. “What about Professor Wittchen? Does he interact with the students much?”
Callahan hesitates, his brow furrowing slightly. “Robert is highly respected, very dedicated to his work. He can be a little tough on their grades, but more often than not he’s sat in here doing one-on-one tutoring in his spare time,”
Spencer hums softly at Callahan’s assessment. “Do you know if he turoed any of the girls? He might have a better insight into any changes in their mannerisms,”
“I’m not sure I’m afraid,” Callahan shakes his head, “I leave him to his teachings most of the ime, but I can let him know you’ve asked,”
As they speak, Morgan’s gaze drifts to a nearby display shelf adorned with photographs of past students on the far wall, each one framed and labeled with a name and a date.
Etched into the wood of the shelf itself an engraving reading, “Shelf of Stars.” stood front and centre, and as Morgan’s eyes wandered the pictures, a certain label caught his attention.
Front and centre, there you sat, “2006 PhD” followed by your name, a picture of you and your Professors in what’s presuambly your first year.
“No way,” Morgan breathes out a laugh. “Reid come look at this,”
“What? What’s wrong?” Spencer and Callahan’s expressions mirror each other as they glance over at Morgan in concern, only for him to quash any need for worry as he holds up the frame in their direction.
“Look how different she looks! What happened, did she get hit by a truck when she turned 20 or what?”
There’s a flicker of recognition in Spencer’s eyes, one that almost turns to fondness as he takes in the bright smile printed behind the glass. He’s not sure he’s ever seen you smile like that since you’ve been with the team.
“You know her?” Callahan raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah, she’s on our team,” Morgan nods with a chuckle as he places the picture back where he found it, pulling out his phone to snap a photo, probably to make fun of you later.
“Really?” Professor Callahan looks more than a little surprised at the revelation. “I knew she was destined for great things, but the FBI, wow,” He breathes out a short sigh, nodding. “Robert’ll have a field day when he finds out she chose forensics over clinical,”
Spencer gives what’s almost a laugh, clearing his throat. “Well, Professor, thank you for speaking with us, we’ll contact you if we find any more information,”
“No problem at all, my door is always open,” Callahan follows Spencer and Morgan over to the office door, holding it open for them as they leave.
“Oh, Agents?” He stops them before they get too far. “If you have any time in or after your investigation, ask her to pay us a visit? It’d be nice to catch up,”
“We’ll let her know,”
“From what I can tell, the removal of the uterus was done antemortem, and the victims cause of death was the blood loss that resulted from it,” The Coroner lifts the muscle torn by the initial incision to give you and Emily a proper look at the damage.
“The nature of the incisions tells that they were most likely done with proper surgical instruments, a scalpel most likely, but their nature is unpracticed, see here for example,”
She points towards the left side of the victims pelvis, where the muscle had been separated from the uteral lining. “In a professional hysterectomy, this tissue here would also be removed, but in this case it’s been left attached to the surrounding tissues, and the same can be said for the others,”
“So our unsub knows the basics, is that something that would require medical training?” Emily furrows her eyebrows at the sight, and you’re much the same.
The sight is almost enough to make you feel nauseous, but you don’t need sickly thoughts clouding your judgement right now.
“Possibly, although with how the internet is, it’s possible they read an article or watched a documentary on how the procedure is done,” The coroner sways her head side to side, “I’d say that whoever did this has had some training, but not necessarily in the field,”
Emily hums, turning her gaze from the victim towards you. “Medical student maybe?”
You hum absently, eyes trained on the gaping hole left in the girl’s stomach. “Maybe, probably won’t still be a student though,”
It affects you more than it should, you think, a malingering nagging in the back of your head that won’t leave you alone but also won’t tell you why it’s there in the first place.
You sigh, “We should look at biologists too, clinical fields,”
Emily gives you an agreeing nod. “I’ll call Garcia,” She pats your shoulder deftly as she leaves the room.
“Was there anything else strange about the body?” You tear your eyes away from the girl to look up at the coroner, who only gives you a small shake of her head.
“Not that I can see,” Her gaze, though objective, flickers with small amounts of uncertainty. “It’s so upsetting, things like this, what spurs someone to do something so… primally horrific?”
“A rejection probably, a denial of a sexual relationship or children that’s projected onto other women because he can’t get to the person he really wants to hurt,” You shrug out an exhale. “More common than you’d think,”
She frowns. “it’s awful,”
“Yeah,” You purse your lips together. “But it is what it is,”
“Did the three girls have any clear connections?”
Garcia taps away on her keyboard, and the jingling of her earrings over the reciever suggests that she’s shaking her head. “Apart from being Stanford students, not really. Julie was doing an MsC in Pediatric Therapy, Ophelia doing an MA in History of Medicine, and Marie doing a PhD in Psychology.” She sighs. “None of them had any classes together, no mutual friends, I don’t even think they knew the others existed,”
“There has to be some overlap,” Morgan groans exasperatedly, glancing over at the mostly bare profile board that him and Spencer were trying to put together. They’d spoken to most of the girls’ professors by now, and apart from offhanded comments about stress and pressure, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
It was frustrating, really frustrating, and for all they knew, the team was on a time limit before another girl suffered the same fate. They needed a break in the case, sooner rather than later.
“What about the students Emily asked you to look into? Spencer bends almost awkardly towards Morgan’s phone, trying to raise his voice into the speaker whilst still writing against the whiteboard.
“Nada, I’m afraid, no one who had connections to all three girls, past or present, I’ve hit a wall,”
“No kidding,” Morgan exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding his phone. “Thanks anyway, sweetness,”
“Of course my love, I’ll hit you back if I find anything, Penny G out,” —
“So we’ve got three dead girls, no connections, and no signature to help us track down this guy, lovely,” Emily sips on her coffee, leaning back into her chair with a sigh.
“Isn’t this like every other case we’ve ever had?” You raise an eyebrow is disinterest, stretching you arms above your head and almost hitting Morgan in the face as he and Spencer reenter the room from their lunch break.
The Psychology department had been kind enough to loan you one of their staff rooms during your investigation, and comments had already been made about Hotch’s demeanour as he walked around you like he was keeping an eye on a group of toddlers.
“There’s something we’re missing here,” Rossi pours over the whiteboard with a disgruntled sigh, his palm dragging down the side of his face. “There’s always something,”
Reid nods, tapping his pen against his notebook as he takes a seat. “Even perfectionists leave traces. It’s just a matter of understanding their logic—how they justify their actions.”
“Change of subject quickly,” Morgan holds up a hand as he walks around the table, his other hand landing on your shoulder. “Talking of leaving traces, who was going to tell us that you actually knew how to smile?”
You shrug his hand off of you with a furrow of your eyebrows. “What?”
“I’m talking little nineteen year old you beaming like you were trying to compete with the sun,” He digs his phone from his pocket, holding the screen out to face the group. “I mean look at this, look at you, its weird,”
You snatch the phone from him as soon as you recognise the picture. “Why do you have that picture?”
“We took a trip to see one of your old Professors,” Morgan wrestles the device back out of your hands before you have a chance to what he assumes will be deleting the evidence of your past sunniness. “He asked to see you at some point by the way, wants to ‘catch up’,”
“Delete that photo, Morgan.” You cross one leg over the other with a huff.
“No way, Ice Queen, I’m gonna make fun of you with this forever,”
“I hate you,”
”I love you too,” He blows an air kiss in your direction.
The shrill ring of the door opening cuts through the room, snapping everyone to attention. A mildly out of breath PD officer leaning against the doorframe.
“There’s been another one,” she says, her voice tight.
The room erupts into motion.
When you arrive, the scene is eerily similar to the others. The victim, a young woman in her early twenties, lies in the middle of her dorm room, fully clothed and carefully positioned. Her face is serene, as though she’s simply sleeping. The blood pooling out of her lower abdomen tells you that she’s not.
“Victim’s name is Natalie Yu. Twenty-one, Psychology major. She fits the profile—academic, driven, top of her class.” JJ fills you in easily.
You step closer, your heart sinking as you take in the meticulous staging. The unsub’s reverence for his victims is apparent in every detail. No signs of a struggle. No personal belongings out of place.
Reid crouches near the body, his eyes narrowing. “Same as the others. No physical trauma that would suggest a cause of death other than bloodloss. Removal of reproductive organs.”
Morgan stands by the door, his jaw clenched. “This guy’s escalating. Three murders in three weeks, and now this. He’s not slowing down.”
Something catches Prentiss’s eye. She kneels beside the victim and carefully lifts the edge of her blouse. Tucked neatly into the waistband of her jeans is a folded piece of paper.
“What’s this?” she murmurs, pulling on gloves before unfolding the note. The room goes still as she reads aloud:
“It was meant to be you.”
You lean over Emily’s shoulder to get a glance at the writing yourself. And then you immediately regret doing so. The handwriting is unmistakable—sharp, angular strokes that you’d recognise anywhere.
But you can’t say that. Not yet.
“‘It was meant to be you’?” Rossi repeats, stepping closer. “What the hell does that mean?”
Reid frowns. “It’s personal. Direct. He’s targeting someone specific now.”
“It could be a taunt,” JJ offers. “A way to throw us off or instill fear in the team.”
Morgan shakes his head, his expression grim. “No. This is different. This isn’t just about control anymore—this is about sending a message,”
“It’s personal,” Reid says again, his gaze sweeping the room. For a brief moment, his eyes land on you, and you feel like he can see right through you.
“Excuse me,” you manage, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your chest.
You step outside, the crisp air hitting you like a jolt. Your hands shake as you pull out your phone, staring at the screen without really seeing it. The note wasn’t just a taunt—it was a reminder. He knew you were here. He’d known the moment you stepped onto campus.
It was meant to be you.
The words echo in your mind, a sinister promise that leaves no room for doubt.
“This is different from the previous victims,” Spencer says, “The note changes everything. If we assume the unsub has been fixated on someone specific all along, the other victims could have been surrogates—stand-ins for the real target.”
Prentiss looks at him sharply. “You think the unsub is escalating because the real target is now within reach?”
He nods. “Exactly. The murders were practice, perfecting the method. But now that the target is accessible, he’s shifting focus.”
“Great,” Morgan mutters. “Wonderful.”
JJ gestures to the note. “We need to figure out who he’s targeting—and fast.”
You stand by the door, your stomach twisting. You can’t let them figure it out, not like this.
“I’ll follow up on the note,” you say, forcing a calm you don’t feel. “Maybe there’s something about the phrasing or handwriting we can use to narrow down suspects.”
Morgan eyes you, his brow furrowed. “You sure you’re good? You’ve been quiet since we got here.”
You nod quickly, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.
You barricade yourself in the staff room, spreading out the case files across the table. You stare at the note, the handwriting glaring up at you like a brand.
“It was meant to be you.”
You were just a kid, desperate to prove yourself. He saw that. He used it.
You grip the edge of the table, your knuckles white. You can’t let him win. Not again.
A knock at the door pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s Spencer, holding a cup of coffee.
“Thought you could use this,” he says, setting it down in front of you.
“Thank you.” You manage a display of gratitude, but his gaze lingers, sharp and questioning.
“You’ve been off since we got here,” he says softly. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”
Your heart skips a beat. Reid is too perceptive for his own good, and you know he won’t let this go.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, stepping back. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”
As he leaves, you let out a shaky breath. The walls are closing in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep this to yourself. Not if you don’t want anyone else to die because of it.
Spencer stands near the board, absentmindedly tapping his pen against his palm. Morgan is leaning against a table, arms crossed, while Prentiss and JJ exchange quiet remarks by the coffee pot. Rossi, as always, is seated with his chair tipped back, his eyes fixed on the board.
But it’s Hotch who breaks the silence. “This unsub’s timeline is escalating, and the note makes it clear they’re getting bolder. If we don’t figure out their connection to Stanford soon, someone else is going to die.”
Morgan sighs. “We’ve gone through the victim profiles a dozen times. There’s no overlap other than the school. No shared clubs, professors, dorms, nothing. It’s like this guy’s picking them at random.”
“Not random,” Spencer interjects, his voice sharp. “The victims are stand-ins for someone else. I’m sure of it. The note confirmed it—‘It was meant to be you.’ The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re trying to send a message to someone.”
Rossi tilts his head. “None of them bear any significant physical relation to each other,”
Reid nods. “It doesn’t have to be physical. It’s an ideal, there’s something specific that ties all of the victims together, something linked to whoever the unsub is actually after,”
JJ frowns. “But who is it? If it’s not one of the victims, how do we figure out who the unsub is fixated on?”
You tense in your chair, your hands curling into fists under the table. You can feel their eyes shifting to you, their collective attention like a spotlight burning against your skin.
Morgan raises an eyebrow. “You did go here. Maybe there’s something you’d recognise—something we’ve missed.”
You meet their gazes with forced calm, willing your voice to remain steady. “Just because I went to Stanford doesn’t mean this case has anything to do with me.”
Prentiss leans forward slightly, her tone gentle but insistent. “No one’s saying it does, but if there’s even a chance—”
“There’s not.” you cut her off, sharper than you intended. The words hang in the air, and you immediately regret your tone. It doesn’t change anything though. “We’re here because of the victims, not because I graduated from here a decade ago.”
The room falls quiet, and the tension thickens. Hotch watches you carefully, his unreadable gaze a weight you can’t escape.
“I need some air,” you say abruptly, standing before anyone can argue. “I’ll be back in a few.”
You leave the room before anyone can stop you, the sound of your boots echoing down the sterile hall.
Stanford’s campus feels both foreign and familiar as you wander its paths. The sprawling quads and ivy-covered buildings haven’t changed much in the years since you left, but the memories they stir feel sharp and raw.
You stop at a bench near the Psychology department, the cool breeze doing little to calm the storm inside you. Your arms wrap around yourself as if trying to hold yourself together.
“You’re not fine.”
The voice startles you, but you don’t turn around. You’d recognise that soft, observant tone anywhere. Spencer.
He sits beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you, his lanky frame folding awkwardly on the bench. “You’ve been different since we got here,” he says after a moment. “Quiet. Hesitant. That’s not like you,”
You don’t respond, staring out at the students passing by, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the weight in your chest.
“I know it’s not just the case,” he continues, his voice gentle but unyielding. “There’s something else. Something you’re not telling us.”
Your jaw tightens. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,”
His certainty grates on your already frayed nerves, and you finally turn to him, your eyes flashing. “What are you trying to say, Reid? Spit it out.”
He hesitates, his brow furrowing as he chooses his words carefully. “I think you know who the unsub is. Or at least… you suspect,”
You laugh, the sound bitter and sharp. “That’s a hell of an accusation.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he says quickly. “I’m worried about you. You’re not acting like yourself, and the way you reacted to that note…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was different. You looked like you’d seen a ghost,”
“Maybe I’m just tired,” you snap, the defensive edge in your voice sharper than you intend.
He doesn’t flinch, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s more than that. I can see it. You’re scared,”
The word hits you like a slap, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He’s right, of course. You are scared. Terrified, even. But admitting that feels like surrendering, like letting him win.
“Stop it,” you say, your voice low and dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Spencer leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studies you. “I think I do. I think this unsub has a connection to you. And I think that’s why you’ve been avoiding us—because you don’t want us to figure it out.”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides, and you glare at him, your composure threatening to crack. “You don’t know what he did to me.”
The words slip out before you can stop them, and the moment they do, you see the understanding dawn in his eyes. “Who?” Spencer presses gently. “Who are we talking about?”
Your chest heaves as you fight back the tears threatening to spill. “One of my Professors.”
“Did he…” Spencer hesitates in pressing the subject, a mix of his usual timidness when it comes to you and the fear that he’s broaching on a very concerning topic.
“It was consensual.”
Spencer watches you closely, his eyes searching your face for a sign, some clue, as if trying to understand the puzzle that is your inner workings.
He doesn’t push, but the silence between you both is suffocating. His voice is almost a whisper when he speaks again, but it still cuts through the heavy air between you.
"You were just a kid," Spencer murmurs, his words soft but no less sharp. "He took advantage of you when you were vulnerable, when you were still figuring things out. That’s manipulation."
You flinch at the truth of it, at the way he so easily sees the pieces of your life you've tried so hard to bury. You didn’t want to think about him anymore, didn’t want to remember how he twisted every gesture, every word, until it was all about him, all about what he wanted.
You can still feel the weight of his hands, the way he made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, that this was all part of the price you had to pay to succeed, to be seen as worthy of your place in academia.
Spencer shifts slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “He used his power over you. You were just a kid, and he was a professor. Someone you trusted.” His words are steady, but they cut deep. "You were in a position where you thought you had to do what he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault,”
“It was consensual.” you say again, more firmly this time, though it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than him, the words raw and drenched in a cold calmness you didn’t really feel.
“Was it?” Spencer asks gently, his voice low. “If you were 19 and you thought you had to do it to get ahead, was it really? Was it truly your choice?”
You feel the air leave your lungs, and you want to scream at him, to deny everything, to make him stop asking these questions, because the answers are too painful, too complicated.
But he’s right. You were a child—so young, so desperate to succeed, to make a name for yourself in a field dominated by people like him. You thought you were lucky when he took you under his wing, when he offered you guidance, extra attention, time. But you weren’t.
“I had an abortion,” you finally confess, the words coming out in a broken whisper.
Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing your admission. His lips part as though he wants to say something, but nothing comes. He doesn’t push, though, just watches you, his expression a mix of sympathy and concern, but there's no judgment in it. Not like you expected.
“In my shitty college dorm room,” Your voice catches, and you blink rapidly, trying to stop the sting in your eyes. “I thought I was dying. The amount of blood—” You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I didn't know how to make it stop.Sometimes I wish it didn’t.”
“Don’t say that.”
Spencer leans in a little, his gaze intense, but gentle. “You were just a kid,” he says softly, his words like a balm, soothing yet cutting through the guilt. “He took advantage of you. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”
You want to believe him. You want so badly to hear those words and let them erase the shame that has clung to you for so long. But the voices of doubt are louder in your head. The fear that somehow, deep down, it was your fault. That maybe you could’ve said no, maybe you could’ve gotten away before it went too far.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” you say, your voice low, almost ashamed of the vulnerability. “I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends… or anyone. It was like everything I worked for, everything I had, was tied to him. If I said something, everything would’ve been ruined.”
Spencer’s brows furrow, and he lets out a soft exhale. “No one should ever have to carry that weight alone, especially not at your age.” His voice is steady, but there’s something deeply empathetic in his tone. “It’s not a burden you should’ve had to bear by yourself.”
“I lied to him too,” you whisper, the confession hanging heavily in the air. “I told him I miscarried. He was devastated. He wasn’t even angry—just sad. But I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”
“You…” Spencer starts, hesitating to make sure he words his response correctly. “Being in a state of shock is normal after a traumatic event,”
You shake your head. “I know what shock feels like. I was just numb. I murdered my own child and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.”
Spencer’s jaw tightens slightly, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed at him, at the man who should’ve protected you, not preyed on you. His voice is tight, but he keeps it calm.
“You did what you had to do. That’s not your fault.”
“It was alive. Seventeen weeks. I flushed it down the fucking toilet,” You drag your palm down your face, leaning forward until your elbows are resting on your knees.
“I didn’t even want to graduate after that,” you admit, your voice raw. “I couldn’t face him. I just wanted to disappear, but I was not going to put myself through hell without getting something out of it.”
Spencer is quiet for a long moment, taking in everything you’ve said. His gaze never wavers from yours, like he’s trying to understand every piece of you, trying to reach that place where you’re still hiding, still locked away from the rest of the world.
“You don’t owe anyone an explanation for what happened. You did what you needed to survive. And you are surviving. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle over you. The storm inside you hasn’t calmed, but for the first time in a long while, it feels like it’s not threatening to swallow you whole. The walls you’ve built around yourself feel just a little more porous, itching to crumble.
“I’m scared,” you say, the vulnerability you’ve been holding back creeping into your voice. “He’s murdering people because of me.”
Spencer doesn’t hesitate. He sits up straighter, his expression serious. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll help you, and we’ll make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”
“You can’t tell anyone what I just told you.”
He lets out a sigh of your name.
“Promise me, Spencer.”
“Okay,” He nods solemnly. “I promise.”
The moment you walk through the doors of the empty lecture hall, you feel it—that same nauseating mix of dread and anticipation curling in your stomach. The air is stale, thick with the weight of memories you spent years trying to forget.
He’s already there, standing at the podium like he belongs there, like nothing has changed. Like he hasn’t left a trail of bodies behind him.
“Ah,” Professor Wittchen exhales as if relieved. “There you are,”
Your fingers twitch at your sides. “I should’ve known you’d pick this place.”
His lips curve into a small smile, a smile that used to make you feel seen. Now, it makes your skin crawl. “It’s fitting, don’t you think? This is where it all began,”
He watches you with the same unwavering gaze he always had, the one that used to make you feel special—chosen. Now, it just feels predatory.
“I missed you,” he says simply, stepping closer.
You don’t move.
“You should’ve visited,” he continues, his voice warm, inviting, like this is a casual conversation and not a confrontation between a killer and his last loose end. “You were my brightest student,”
“I was your victim.” you correct, voice sharp.
His expression doesn’t falter. If anything, he looks pleased. “Victim?” he echoes, like he’s rolling the word around in his mouth, testing its weight. “That’s not how I remember it.”
You swallow hard, jaw clenched. You knew this was how he would react. Knew he would twist things, make them blurry, like he always had.
He tilts his head, studying you. “I heard you became a profiler. That’s impressive. Though I always thought you were more inclined to be a Psychiatrist.”
“You shouldn't be surprised,” you say flatly. “I learned from the best manipulators.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Now, that’s not fair,”
Your nails dig into your palms. “I know it’s you,” you say, cutting through the act. “You murdered four innocent women because you couldn’t move on.”
He exhales, almost disappointed. “That’s not quite right.”
You don’t let him continue. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”
His gaze darkens, and for the first time since you stepped into this room, the warmth fades from his expression. “It’s been ten years since you left me,” he says simply. “You never even had the decency to say goodbye. I tried to find a substitute, but they weren’t like you. No body is. You’re special.”
A shiver runs down your spine, but you force yourself to hold his stare. “I didn’t owe you anything.”
Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve disappointed him. “That’s not true. I shaped you. I made you.”
A bitter laugh escapes you. “You ruined my life.”
His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and then—slowly—he steps down from the podium, closing the distance between you. “You don’t believe that.”
Your breath catches, but you don’t move.
He stops inches from you, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I see it in your eyes. You still need me.”
You know what he’s doing. You know how his mind works, how he bends reality to his will, how he rewrites history to suit his narrative.
And for the first time, you don’t fall for it.
“You’re pathetic,” you whisper. “You think killing people will make me what? Love you? Miss you?” You shake your head. “You mean nothing to me.”
Something in his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but you catch it. The crack in his mask. The first glimpse of the monster beneath.
His fingers twitch at his sides.
There it is. The control slipping.
Good.
You see the flash of something dark behind his eyes—anger, frustration, maybe even desperation. He knows he’s losing control, and for a man like him, that’s unbearable.
You take a step forward. Not away, but closer.
“I hate you.” you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the heavy silence of the room.
Wittchen’s lips barely twitch, but you see the flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he thinks you’re still playing a game with him. Like this is another debate, another test of wills.
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Not really.”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
He sighs, tilting his head like you’re disappointing him. “I did anything you didn’t ask for,” he says, like it’s a fact. “You wanted me.”
Rage burns through you, hot and all-consuming. “I was nineteen,” you spit. You knew exactly what you were doing. You took advantage of me.”
Wittchen exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that,”
“It was exactly like that,” you snap, stepping closer. “And do you want to know the worst part? I spent years telling myself it wasn’t. That maybe I did love you, that maybe I wanted to be with you. But I didn’t.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t regret leaving you,” you continue, voice trembling with fury. “I don’t regret moving on, or never looking back. But do you know what I do regret?”
He doesn’t answer, just watches you carefully, like he’s waiting for the killing blow.
“I regret ever letting you touch me. I regret every second I spent thinking you were something special, that you cared about me. You didn’t. You only cared about what I could give you.”
Something shifts in his expression—subtle, but enough. His fingers twitch again.
You steel yourself and drive the dagger deeper.
“You think I miscarried?” you ask, voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s what I told you, right? That I lost the baby?”
His face remains eerily blank.
“I lied,” you whisper. “I had an abortion.”
His entire body stiffens.
“Because the thought of being tied to you for the rest of my life made me sick. And I would’ve rather died from sepsis than deal with you.”
The silence that follows is suffocating.
For a moment, Wittchen doesn’t react. Doesn’t breathe.
Then, without warning, he moves.
His hand goes for his waistband, and in a split second, you see the glint of a gun.
But you’re faster.
Your own weapon is already in your hands before he can fully draw his, aimed directly at his chest.
“Don’t.” you warn, your voice steel.
Wittchen hesitates, his gun halfway raised, his eyes locked onto yours.
For the first time, there’s something close to uncertainty in his expression.
The team is listening.
They hear every word.
Spencer’s grip on his gun is tight, knuckles white, jaw clenched so hard it aches. The rest of the team stands tense beside him, ears trained on the conversation happening just beyond the door.
They could go in. They should go in.
But they don’t.
Not yet.
Because this isn’t their battle.
Still, when they hear the shift in the conversation, the moment Wittchen reaches for his gun, every muscle in Spencer’s body tenses, ready to move.
And then—
Silence.
A long, stretching silence.
Then a single gunshot.
“You’re lying,” Wittchen snaps, his voice rising as his fingers curl tighter around the revolver’s grip. He pulls back the hammer with a metallic click, the sound loud in the charged silence of the lecture hall.
His arm is steady, the barrel aimed at your chest, but you don't flinch. “You miscarried. You were sick. That’s the truth. I took care of you. I was there when you needed me.”
Your lips curl into a bitter smile.
“The baby was fine,” you say, voice cold and firm. “I just didn’t want it.”
The words hang between you, heavy and raw.
For a split second, something akin to disbelief flickers in his eyes. But he recovers quickly, his jaw tightening as his grip on the gun tightens. The cold, calculating look is back.
The man who used his power over you is right here, still trying to control the situation. But he’s unraveling, and you can see it now—the cracks in his façade.
“You think you can just walk away from all this?” Wittchen growls, his voice a low threat. His eyes dart between you and the gun in your hand, calculating the distance, the time it would take to react.
“You’re going to watch me.” you reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling inside you. You take a step forward, gun lowered in favour of a pair of handcuffs.
He lets out a sharp breath, taking a step backwards, his arm still outstretched, but his expression is one of rage and something else—desperation.
“I gave you everything,” Wittchen sneers. “I could’ve given you more. You were a star, you were going places. But you threw it all away.”
“I didn’t throw away anything.” you say, voice sharp, anger curling in your gut. “I made my life what I wanted it to be.”
You take another step toward him. Your hand grips your gun tighter, its cold weight a reminder of how far you’ve come, how much you’ve survived.
“I was a kid,” you say, quieter now, more dangerous. “A kid who wanted to make something of herself. But you? You made sure I’d always be tied to you, that I’d never escape your reach. You took that from me. And now?”
Now, you’re not just angry. Now, you’re done.
“I don’t need you anymore,” you continue, voice quiet but lethal. “And I don’t need to live in fear of you. Not anymore. Just give up.”
Wittchen’s face hardens. His finger moves closer to the trigger, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still. His eyes are cold, calculating—he’s trying to force you to back down, to make you fear him again. But you don’t. Not anymore.
And he knows it.
The silence stretches out, suffocating. And then, without another word, he turns the gun away from you and towards himself.
For a moment, the world is frozen.
The sharp scent of gunpowder lingers in the air.
You don’t flinch.
You don’t move.
Wittchen stares at you, almost smiling.
A slow, dark red stain spreads across his chest. His gun falls from his hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.
Then, his knees buckle.
He collapses.
The impact is dull, almost anticlimactic.
His breath comes in shallow gasps, and for the first time since you walked into this room, he looks small.
Weak.
The man who once held so much power over you is nothing more than a dying, pathetic heap on the floor.
And somehow, there’s no satisfaction in it.
You watch as the light fades from his eyes, as the last breath leaves his lips.
And then—
It’s over.
The gunshot sends the team into action.
Spencer is the first through the door, gun raised, eyes scanning the room for threats.
But all he finds is you—standing still, gun loose in one hand, handcuffs in the other, staring blankly ahead.
Wittchen is on the floor, unmoving. Blood pools around him.
For a second, no one speaks.
Then you move.
Without looking at any of them, you turn away from the corpse.
And then, numbly, silently, you walk past them.
You don’t stop when Spencer calls your name.
You don’t stop when JJ reaches for you.
You just keep walking.
Because it’s finally over.
And yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.
The air outside the lecture hall is thick with tension.
Your gun feels heavy in your hands, and at some point, you register someone gently taking it from you. You don’t resist.
The hallways of Stanford feel different now. The ghosts you tried so hard to forget have been exorcised, but their shadows still linger.
You reach the nearest exit and step outside, inhaling sharply as the crisp night air hits you. You brace your hands on your knees, grounding yourself.
Then you hear footsteps behind you.
You know it’s them.
You straighten, forcing yourself to meet their gazes.
Hotch stands with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his presence steady. JJ and Emily exchange a look, worry etched into their features. Rossi, as always, watches with quiet understanding.
Then there’s Morgan.
He looks… shaken.
Guilt lingers in his eyes, and when he steps forward, his voice is lower, softer than you’ve ever heard it.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
You blink, caught off guard.
“For what?” Your voice is hoarse, raw.
Morgan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw with his eyes full of regret. “I didn’t know.”
You swallow hard. You don’t want to talk about it. But there’s something in his voice, in the way his usually confident demeanor falters, that makes you nod stiffly.
“I know.”
It’s the closest thing to forgiveness you can offer right now.
Morgan nods, accepting it.
Spencer is the last to approach.
He doesn’t say anything at first—just stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes, though, say everything.
You hold his gaze for a moment before sighing. “What?”
“I don’t know what to say,” he admits. His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of something else—frustration, sadness, maybe even anger. Not at you. Never at you. But at what happened. At what Wittchen took from you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur.
The hum of the jet is steady and low, a constant presence that fills the silence between breaths.
You sit by the window, staring out at the clouds, your reflection barely visible against the dark glass.
You should be exhausted.
You are exhausted.
But sleep won’t come.
Your mind won’t let it.
The seat next to you shifts slightly, and you glance over to see Spencer settling beside you.
He doesn’t say anything.
Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, because he already knows you’re not.
Doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances.
He just sits.
And somehow, that’s reassurance enough.
Sleep comes a little easier after that.
568 notes · View notes
loafysainz · 2 days ago
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DONT GO DADDY | LN 4
lando norris!dad x reader!mom
no warn
hope you guys enjoy it!!
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Lando had two more days at home before he had to leave for the next race weekend. Two days before he’d have to pack his bags, say goodbye, and be away for who-knows-how-long.
The thing is—his kids didn’t even know that yet.
Noah and Leo, his little shadows, had been extra clingy lately. Usually, Leo was glued to their mom, a total mama’s boy, while Noah was more independent. But this past week? The two of them were stuck to Lando like glue. If he so much as stepped out of the room, one (or both) would come running, calling out for him like he was about to disappear forever.
Like right now.
Lando was just sorting through some stuff in the living room when he suddenly felt two tiny pairs of arms wrap around his legs. He glanced down, finding Noah and Leo latched onto him, looking up with teary eyes.
“What’s up, little dudes?” he teased, ruffling Noah’s curls while patting Leo’s head. “Why are you guys crying, huh?”
Noah sniffled. “Daddy… hug.”
Leo nodded aggressively, arms still wrapped tight around Lando’s leg. “Want hug, Daddy.”
Lando crouched down, opening his arms. “Ohhh, you want me to hug you? Come here then.”
And just like that, his two little monsters launched themselves into his chest, squeezing him like their lives depended on it. Lando chuckled, lifting them both up in his arms.
“What’s gotten into you two, huh? You’ve been extra cuddly this week.”
Noah pouted, gripping Lando’s hoodie. “Don’t go.”
Lando blinked. “Go where?”
Leo’s lips wobbled. “Work.”
Noah, never one to be left out, “Yeah! We miss you when you go!”
Ah. They didn’t know he was leaving in two days, but somehow, they felt it.
And just like that, Lando’s heart completely melted. He sighed, rubbing their backs as they both continued to sniffle into his hoodie.
“Daddy’s right here, baby,” he murmured, rocking them gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But later you go work again.” Noah mumbled, his little fingers fisting Lando’s hoodies like he was scared he’d disappear right then and there.
Lando exhaled, tilting his head back for a second before pressing a kiss to both their foreheads. “You know why Daddy goes to work, right?”
They both shook their heads, big eyes still filled with tears.
“I go so I can make money,” he explained gently. “And you know what money gets us?”
Noah thought about it for a second. “Ice cream?”
Lando chuckled. “Yes, and toys. And our house. And everything we need. If I don’t go, then we don’t get those things.”
Leo sniffled. “But I just want you.”
Lando swore his heart physically hurt. He pulled them both in even tighter. “I know, buddy. And I want to be here too. But I promise, I’ll always come back. And when I do, we’ll have fun as much as you want, okay?”
After a few more minutes of calming them down, their little bodies finally relaxed against him. The house was quiet except for their soft breathing, and Lando realized they had completely passed out on him—Leo using his arm as a pillow, and Noah curled up into his side.
That was exactly how his wife—y/n found them when she walked in.
She paused in the doorway, eyes widening at the rare moment of silence. Usually, their house was a warzone of giggles and chaos, but right now? It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
She tiptoed closer, peeking into the family room, and immediately felt her heart melt. There they were—her three favorite people, all tangled up on the couch, fast asleep.
Lando had one arm draped protectively over both boys, his head resting against the back of the couch. Noah was tucked under his chin, while Leo had somehow managed to shove himself into Lando’s side, one tiny hand gripping his hoodie even in sleep.
She smiled to herself, shaking her head fondly.
Yeah. She was definitely taking a picture of this.
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captain-kit-adventuress · 2 days ago
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Let me tell you some things about American plumbers probably almost none of you know, especially because I've seen people complaining that plumbers make "$42 an hour while I can't even make $15!"
[Note that much of this is state-specific, so ymmv, but most states have an interest in keeping it pretty similar to what I'm going to outline.]
First of all, you have to be licensed, and anything licensed takes forever and costs a fortune. You spend 7 years as an apprentice plumber, which means taking full-time classes on top of full-time work, for which you definitely do not get paid $42 an hour, and you're lucky if you get $20. You're on the hook for all of the tuition and books and whatever else, tools and whatnot, and we all know tuition and books are out of control, but have you seen what decent tools cost these days? This in addition to all of the regular school stuff like a computer, an internet connection, probably a mobile phone of some description, etc. Some you may have already and some you may not.
That's just the education part. Next, even after you've completed your 7 year apprenticeship under extremely strict and exacting standards, for which you get paid almost nothing and have tons of expenses just like any other student, you're still under some kind of supervision for another few years. So you've put in about 10 years into this already and you're nowhere near pulling in the kind of income that people say plumbers make.
But once you actually get into being licensed and bonded and the whole shebang, maybe you get a job with a company, because it's really hard to hang your own shingle, especially in the larger communities where nobody knows anybody else or the quality of their work. You'll work for a plumbing company like anyone else, and let me tell you, it's like any other company where profit matters most and it's for shareholders and not anyone else.
Now comes the part you probably have never heard about: many, many, many plumbers don't really have health insurance for most of their careers, and if they do, it's like the shittiest insurance possible and they have to pay for much of their healthcare out of pocket. Except that these are plumbers, they're constantly on hands and knees on hard, unyielding surfaces, bending, lifting...really physical, difficult work. How many of you actually know how much a toilet weighs? it's anywhere between 50-120 lbs depending on a variety of factors. All that, in addition to actually diagnosing whatever the problem is and knowing how to fix it. Do that for the next 20 years of your life and you're not going to have any knees left, you're going to have a bad back, probably most of your other joints are shot or on the fritz in some way, and this is if you were healthy to begin with and didn't have many health problems during your career. Depending on the collective bargaining agreement, sometimes the unions will cover your healthcare at close to 100% after that, but when it was easier to prevent a lot of it by having time off and the ability to afford care? None of that is covered.
Not only that, but most plumbers don't really get paid time off from work, either, depending on what the agreements are. I know it doesn't seem like plumbers ever work timely, but everyone thinks they have an emergency when the plumbing breaks, and you've got to triage the for-real emergencies alongside the "Timmy backed up the toilet again because he keeps flushing his toys and now there's water and poop and who knows what else everywhere." That's not including the emergency answering services where they're relaying that stuff 24/7/365.
How is that different from most of us today, you might wonder? Because they're literally knee-deep in your shit from morning 'til night. All of the weird stuff you do to screw up your toilets, your sinks, your showers, your fixtures, your pipes, they have to deal with all of it. All of the clogs, the gross hair masses, the half-eaten food from when the disposal stops working, the people who don't know not to flush things they shouldn't, the people who do know and don't care, the floods when the sump pump stops working or there's so much rain it just completely overwhelms it, the people who are sure they can "fix" it, the people who listened to youtube or tiktok and picked the wrong accounts for advice, and most of all, metric tonnes of your actual shit and vomit and whatever other bodily excretions you've got. That is all hazardous enough on its own, and if you think it's gross, I don't think plumbers feel any differently, but it is a part of their job and there's no getting around it. They are paid to deal with all of the stuff no one else wants to even think about. And after they've been exposed to your biohazards for 10 hours a day, they themselves have to pay for any care they need to make sure they don't die from it. You know how many people have dangerous mold in their bathrooms and don't know it? I bet a plumber can tell you.
Those are the conditions with unions trying to fight for them.
[As one more note, not everyone wants to leave home, and that's fine! Why does anyone assume there are no tradespeople in cities when that couldn't be further from the truth? Don't be arses about geography.]
tl;dr: plumbers don't make the money you think they do, they spend half their career earning next to nothing and then when they finally start catching up their bodies are so shot they can't enjoy it; in the middle they have to deal with everybody's grossness and basic repair illiteracy, and they pay for most of it themselves.
source: I was an external auditor for a lot of trade unions.
some of the worst classism is white collar middle class americans against blue collar & minimum wage workers. “why does that plumber make more than me” because he’s been perfecting his craft for 30 years and you send emails. “they’re in the trades bc they’re too dumb to do anything else” ok take that engine apart and put it back together real fast babe. “they’re boring bc they never left their home town” have you considered they financially couldn’t? I am not saying it is anyone’s job to educate, nor you need to respect people who do not respect you, but while you maybe never sympathize we need to learn to empathize. consider why (who) allowed for massive parts of country to be uneducated and how many impoverished areas of this country haven’t had a voice for a very long time. we are all victims of the rich. remember it is up vs down
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kisssukuna33 · 2 days ago
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Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always have you over at his house the night before an important match. It helps with the stress he says.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always put on a TV show before you two settle into the couch for cuddles. Usually the cuddling session is a mix of him relaxing against you as you ask him questions about the match tomorrow.
"You packed an extra pair of shorts this time right? Remember what happened last time"
"yeah I did"
"Did you iron the clothes?"
"Uraume took care of it"
"That new protein shake your nutritionist recommend, Did you take it?"
"Already did"
"What about the snacks during the game tomorrow? did Uraume-
"oh my god baby relax, it's all taken care of"
He says in somewhat of an annoyed tone as he pulls you even closer to his chest, tightening his grip around you. But deep down he loves it when you are concerned about him like this.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who insists that having a good time before the match tomorrow isn't a problem to him but you reject the offer firmly because you know how Sukuna gets whenever you two started something.
It always ends up dragging for hours so no, your bf needs his beauty sleep for tomorrow.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who pouts slightly when you say no to him but decides to settle with the short make out session instead, better than nothing he thinks.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who teasingly steals few touches from your sensitive areas, clearly trying to rile you up but stops after seeing the glare you gave him.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who never seems to be the type to get much nervous before matches. Because of his Overconfidence? His never ending Ego? maybe. But his ability to stand strong in situations like this always makes your heart flutter.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always makes sure you get the best VIP seat to his match, You always need to be in the front lines where he can see you from clearly when he beat up his opponent back to his ancestors.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who always find a way to bring you up in the Media press. Sukuna is widely known by the audience for being a down bad "simp" for his girlfriend as well as a complete disaster for his opponents.
"Mr Ryomen, Do you know there's a whole talk in the internet about you being a simp for your girlfriend? What do you have to say to people who spread things like that?"
"Keep spreading the truth I guess. The internet definitely needs it more"
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who hurries back to his changing room and jumps straight into your arms. Despite your constant nagging for him to get patched up first.
"Baby did you saw the jab-cross I threw before he hit the ground?"
"Yeah it was Amazing Ryo!"
"I did good than the last match, didn't I?"
"Yeah you always do"
"Then I deserve way more than that cheap kiss you gave me earlier don't I?"
"Get patched up first you freak, Uraume's waiting"
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who lets you both into his house as he holds your waist with one arm. He let go of your waist as he makes his way for the bathroom while murmuring something about showering first.
As he started to shower you turn on the tv with the intention of seeing the live match you saw today in the digital screen. And it immediately cuts to a interview Sukuna did just right after winning.
Boxerbf Sukuna! Who seems enthusiastic as ever talking to the reporters about the match he did and the opponent he beat. Not long after he adds a little appreciation from his part.
"My manager Uraume helped me with a lot of stuff so I truly appreciate them. Also my girlfriend stayed up beside me every night when I practiced and supported me in everything, this win is hers as much as it is mine."
"if you're watching this I love you baby"
A warm feeling start to take over your chest as you hear his words. The man who's appreciated and idolized by millions saying these things so casually to you, you still can't get your mind around it.
Then the reporter use his luck to ask a risky question one more time.
"it's look like you two have a great relationship together, what do you think about marriage Mr Ryomen?"
To that question Sukuna doesn't respond but instead returns a well knowing little grin as he waves off the interview.
"Tch why did they ruin the moment by asking that, now it looks like he doesn't want to marry me" you said to yourself.
Just as you were about to leave to the kitchen to grab a snack, something shining inside the closet that Sukuna forgot to shut earlier catches your eyes.
Hidden by the cloth piles it was a little jewelry box that had familiar initials on top of it.
It was none other than yours and Sukuna's.
Wait..
No that can't be, Yeah maybe this is the earrings he wanted to give you before.
But much to your surprise the box opened up to reveal a gorgeous wedding ring. A big diamond you sure costed atleast 5 six figures alone sitting on top of it. Inside the ring you and Sukuna's initials were carved into it making it seem even more special to your eyes.
Your heart is jumping from excitement and happiness, everything about your life is starting to get better and better and you can't help but thank Sukuna for it.
You don't want to ruin the surprise he planned for you of course. So you put the box back to it's place and sit on the bed till he's done showering patiently but the stupid smile you had since earlier didn't left your face for once.
"Alright I'm done showering let's slee- what's with you?"
"What's with me? nothing Ryo"
"You're are smiling very creepily woman"
"Ryo that's mean! My smile is not creepy!"
"Yeah whatever come here, freak"
Sukuna says as he drags you closer to his side of the bed while turning off the bedside lamp at the same time. Your bodies intertwine with each other like it was always meant to be. Sukuna's hands wrapping around you as he buries his face into your neck.
"Ryo?"
"hmm"
"I love you"
You can feel a small smile tugging at his lips.
"I love you too princess, more than anything"
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Boxing Kuna is my favorite <33
No grammar checks though sorry :/
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no-sp4g-4-b4by · 1 day ago
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Kanye West and Bianca Censori's appearance on the red carpet was something out of a nightmare. If you haven't seen the clip, go look it up.
It starts with them posing, then they face each other and start to talk. Their conversation is not audible, but you can see Bianca shaking her head no and readjusting her large fur coat to cover herself. After three or four words are exchanged, she turns away from the camera and starts taking off her coat slowly. Revealing her naked shoulders, then her back, then her buttocks. She turns around to finally show off the dress she's wearing, a tight, see-through piece of nylon (designed by Kanye himself, according to a post he made on his Instagram) that leaves her breasts, genitals and ass exposed. She's essentially naked. During this whole scene, Kanye is just facing the cameras with sunglasses on, neutral expression on his face.
Now, I'm not shocked by nudity. Censori is definitely not the first celebrity to walk the red carpet wearing a very revealing outfit (and she won't be the last). What disgusts me is the scene they built around the outfit.
First, the little conversation they have. You can clearly see Bianca shaking her head no and tightening her coat around her before being made to undress. There's two possibilities here:
A) Either this wasn't rehearsed, so we essentially witnessed Bianca being pressured into undressing herself in front of dozens of cameras or;
B) It was rehearsed (the most likely option, in my opinion). But then why? Why act out this discomfort before the reveal?
Some could argue they were talking about something totally unrelated, but I very much doubt it. It's their big moment on the red carpet, in front of cameras, it's not the time to talk about the groceries.
What I think is happening is that they (but most likely Kanye) voluntarily chose to paint a scene of a woman being forced to undress herself in front of thousands for the amusement of her husband. It's essentially a brag, a show of force for Kanye. He's saying: "Look at my wife and what she'll do for me. Look what I can make her do. "
The last thing I haven't mentioned, and the scariest, is Censori's facial expression through it all. Neutral expression, no smile. Her eyebrows are trimmed downwards in a way where she looks slightly worried. And her stare is totally vacant. I've seen people say she looks drugged, dissociated, downright "stupid."
I think this is the main difference between Bianca's look and others who have worn skimpy outfits in front of the cameras. Whether it be Lady Gaga, Kendall Jenner, or Madonna, they all share something: confidence. A sultry look, a cheeky smirk, hell, at least a smile! Something to show that they feel desirable, that they're in control. That they choose to show us their bodies.
Whereas Bianca looks dead inside as she's posing.
After standing in front of the cameras for a little while, Kanye takes her hand and leads her away.
The whole sequence (no matter how much Bianca has consented to it) feels like a humiliation ritual. Kayne, standing there fully dressed, pressing his wife to expose her body to the entire world before parading her around. A gross display of chauvinist male domination on the body of a woman. Like, I don't know how else to say it, but it looks like he's walking around with his sex doll, still partially in her plastic wrapping.
Why are we seeing this? What is the point? I can't help but relate this to Elon's n*zi salute. It feels like we're witnessing more and more rich and powerful men pushing the boundaries of what is socially acceptable, trying to see how far they can go. How much of their toxic, repressive views they can share before we come for them.
My heart goes out to Bianca, I hope she's safe and happy in her marriage.
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lila-kriegerin · 2 days ago
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OMG, OP!
I was just about to suggest "Now & Then "
but I saw it in your tags.
I'm so sorry this may look like an unhinged rant no one asked for, but someone has to tell people younger than me what I know, so I spent 2 hours crafting a reply/follow-up/addendum to you post, OP. Please forgive any formatting errors. I tried to keep things simple and engaging but a few things may look a little bit odd depending on what sort of device you're viewing it on. I couldn't take the risk of making all the text too small
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQLVzTtt2Ws
The biggest problem trying to find similar films is that they often involve at least two of the girls having some kind of relationship to boys causing drama (I'm looking at you, "Sisterhood Of The Travelling Pants "... and others) whereas a film like "Dead Poets Society " is definitely in that pseudo-homoerotic and explicitly homoerotic range of storytelling.
Why do you think "Little Women" was popular for so long? It was the 1oth century literary equivalent with the requisite brush with death and loss so common to an era before even antibiotics existed... and loss and grief still happen today.
It's true that so few are like "Newsies " and "West Side Story ", but DON'T sleep on hits like "Annie" &
🥁 drumroll, please 🥁
Want to guess what was the first obviously gay song featured in a film from Hollywood (after the Hayes Code)?
The First Gay Anthem: Calamity Jane's 'Secret Love'
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It's not "West Side Story " because it's a western frontier musical, and they skirted the lines as hard as they could to have a nice Christian young woman fancying a "tomboy": Calamity Jane (who by historical record seems to have favoured women and men).
Though based on American Western folklore, this premise clearly imitated the successful 1950 film version of Irving Berlin's Broadway musical Annie Get Your Gun, about Wild West sharpshooter Annie Oakley.
But instead of a make-over, Calamity Jane gives its tough-gal heroine a powerfully symbolic pistol; her masculine aggression plays with sexual identity through gestures enlarged to the point of farce. And then it goes deeper--into emotional confusion that grows from Jane taking on supposed male habits. Doris Day brings comic overstatement to Jane's complex repression of her own instincts. Like many a closet case, she exhibits a self-defeating willingness to fit into a male-dominated culture. Her tough mannerisms are also designed to protect her hidden, vulnerable emotions.
You have to dig.
Dig deep, and be willing to watch a film with a different spoken language and culture, but there are some parallels.
Consider the Britney Spears film, which I believe is called "Crossroad(s)" in English. [Sorry, I don't have time to look up the title.]
Now— what if there were a film that's something a bit like a lesbian equivalent?
Touch
A Chinese movie produced/sponsored by the sapphic dating app Rela. It follows three girls on a road trip. Chinese language with English subtitles.
I've never, EVER seen any website draw direct comparisons to other films that way, such as:
If you loved "She's The Man" but want it more sapphic (though ultimately thwarted by the producer), you can't miss "Bend It Like Beckham"!
The photo which was posted by OP DOES contain valid points!! (No one is going to treat you "like a man/boy" unless they truly think that's what you are, and society DOES socialise people differently, so: how would a group of teenage girls or very young adult women ever have experiences identical to those in a film like "Dead Poet's Society"?)
Nevertheless, there are some similar films that are comparable:
"Superbad" — "Booksmart".
I decided to hyperfocus trying to think up some equivalents to "Dead Poet's Society".
Here's a quick comparison I spent far too much time on:
If you’re looking for a Dead Poets Society equivalent with mostly female characters, a few films capture that same blend of deep emotional intimacy, artistic passion, and repressed desire. Here are the best contenders:
1. Mädchen in Uniform (1931 & 1958)
This is the OG queer boarding school drama. Set in a strict Prussian girls' school, it follows a young student, Manuela, who falls in love with her teacher, Fräulein von Bernburg. The film is explicitly homoerotic in a way that Dead Poets Society is only suggestive of—there’s longing glances, whispered affections, and a stifling environment that tries to crush individuality and desire. Like Neil, Manuela faces tragic consequences for daring to express herself.
Cracks (2009) — If Dead Poets Society were darker and more explicitly about queer desire, it would be Cracks. This film follows a group of girls at a remote British boarding school under the spell of their charismatic teacher, Miss G (Eva Green, in all her seductive, unhinged glory). When a new student arrives, power struggles and hidden obsessions unravel. It has all the repression, poetry, and tragic queerness you could want.
Heavenly Creatures (1994) — Peter Jackson (yes, Lord of the Rings Peter Jackson) directed this feverishly intense drama about two schoolgirls in 1950s New Zealand—Pauline and Juliet—whose bond becomes so consuming that it leads to murder. Like Dead Poets Society, it’s about breaking free from repression, but it takes a much darker turn. The homoerotic tension between the girls is undeniable, and the fantasy world they create as an escape mirrors the way the DPS boys use poetry to carve out their own space in a suffocating environment.
Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) — This one’s all about atmosphere—a haunting, dreamlike film about a group of girls at an Australian boarding school who mysteriously vanish during a picnic. While there’s no overt romance, the film is full of lingering touches, dreamy stares, and a pervading sense of longing and repression. The rigid Victorian setting and the contrast between the natural world and societal constraints make it feel spiritually connected to DPS.
The Falling (2014) — Starring Florence Pugh and Maisie Williams, this film is weird and hypnotic. It’s set in an all-girls school in the 1960s and follows a mysterious fainting epidemic that spreads through the students. It has the same themes of teenage rebellion, deep female friendships that tip into obsession, and an oppressive institution trying to crush individual expression.
Céline and Julie Go Boating (1974) — This is a more whimsical, surreal take on female friendship and creativity. It follows two women who fall into a bizarre, looping story in a haunted house, constantly re-experiencing and altering the narrative. It has a Dead Poets Society vibe in the sense that it’s about escaping rigid reality through art and imagination, but with a queer-coded, magical twist.
If you want the closest equivalent to "Dead Poets Society"...
..."Mädchen in Uniform" or "Cracks" are your best bets, and Cracks more than Mädchen in Uniform
because the latter is so old fashioned that to further scandalise viewers they paired a teacher with a student.
If you want something more poetic and atmospheric, "Picnic at Hanging Rock" or "The Falling" will scratch that itch.
If all of that is too gay for you (gofuckyourself, tee-hee)
You really, REALLY should try
"Mona Lisa Smile".
(...and if it's not too gay for you, then go watch CRACKS right now!)
"Mona Lisa Smile" [hereafter referred to as MLS] is often called the "Dead Poets Society" [hereafter, DPS] for women, and yeah, it certainly hits a lot of the same beats—
an outsider teacher inspiring students to challenge societal norms,
a prestigious school that values obedience over individuality, and
a group of young people grappling with expectations that threaten to suffocate them.
Where DPS is about breaking free through poetry and self-expression, MLS is about that sort of thing tosome degree, but more about feminism, gender roles, and the fight for intellectual freedom in a world that wants women to be just wives and mothers.
Similarities to Dead Poets Society
The Inspirational Teacher as a Catalyst for Change
In DPS, John Keating (Robin Williams) shakes up Welton Academy’s rigid, tradition-obsessed environment with poetry and passion.
In MLS, Katherine Watson (Julia Roberts) does the same at Wellesley College, using art history to challenge her students’ pre-ordained roles as perfect housewives.
Both teachers are NOT merely instructing— they’re awakening their students, making them see the world differently, and often doing so in ways that put them at odds with their school’s administration.
The Oppressive Institution and Its Ideals
Welton Academy is a suffocating prep school that values discipline over creativity, much like Wellesley College in the 1950s. They outwardly promote academic excellence but ultimately groom women to become ideal wives. (T_T)
Both films show how these institutions uphold deeply ingrained traditions that resist change, even when it's clearly needed.
Both films show some of the human cost of trying, and giving up.
A Group of Students at a Crossroads
Just like Todd, Neil, and the rest of the DPS boys who struggle between expectation and their own desires, the young women in MLS— Joan, Betty, Giselle, and Connie—each navigate their own battles between societal pressure and personal ambition.
Joan (Julia Stiles) mirrors Todd.
Betty (Kirsten Dunst) is like a mix of Cameron and Richard from DPS.
Giselle (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is the Charlie of the group.
The Tragedy of Repression
DPS’s tragedy is clear: someone's dreams are crushed & there is a heartbreaking su*c*de [all the trigger warnings apply]. MLS doesn’t have a singular moment that tragic, but its heartbreak is quieter—seeing some brilliant young women choose societal expectations over their own ambitions because it feels like the only option... that is definitely going to haunt some people more than it may haunt white cis-hetero male viewers.
In both films, someone (one you probably like most of all, in both films) will have something horrible happen to them by their own choice, and that is very haunting.
Additionally, I dont think it's too big a spoiler to say oth films end with the teacher leaving— but to say why would spoil the endings of the films.
The last scenes mirror each other emotionally: in DPS & MLS, a quiet, bittersweet goodbye with both endings suggesting that while the teacher is gone, the ideas they planted will live on.
Key Differences
The Central Conflict
DPS is about breaking free from repression through art and poetry. It’s about passion, self-expression, and the fight for creative freedom.
MLS is about that too, though with more of a (*cough*white*cough*cough*) feminist focus on gender roles, feminism, and intellectual independence to have intellectual and self growth as an individual— and it asks whether women can truly be free when they’re still expected to conform to outdated expectations.
Homoerotic "Sub"text
[be honest: if you miss it in either film you're in denial or unobservent and that is your own journey you need to take]
DPS is filled with homoerotic tension, especially between Todd and Neil. The intimacy between the boys—the longing glances, the whispered poetry, the emotional weight of their friendships—feels deeply charged.
If you DEMAND that level of queerness, MLS ain't it.
MLS has some queer subtext, particularly with [one character], who is coded as more fluid in her sexuality, but the film doesn’t lean into that as much as DPS does because it's focused more on the pseudo-historical narrative from the book upon which it was based.
Don't forget that DPS came out to cinemas...
THEN "The Craft" did,
THEN "Cruel Intentions" did,
THEN MLS.
DPS was intentionally pushing boundaries of censors for queer story-telling when the USA was still afraid for gay people to peck each other with a little kiss on the lips on television before 10 PM.
DPS ends in a tragedy that reinforces the cost of defying the system— [spoilers redacted], and the boys are [narratively] left in a state which leaves the viewers feeling a bittersweet limbo.
MLS is perhaps a bit more hopeful; and although the school seemingly remains unchanged, things in that world have definitely shifted for the characters.
Their worlds aren't fully transformed though for MLS, it’s beginning to open up, but MLS leaves viewers with their own bittersweet limbo like DPS[-lite] with a sliver of a dash of hope.
Final Verdict:
"Mona Lisa Smile" is "Dead Poets Society" through a differing feminist lens.
It swaps poetry for art,
an all-boys school for an all-girls college, and
queer-coded male friendships for female students fighting for their intellectual freedom.
It has the same spirit—
a teacher who inspires students to think for themselves, an oppressive institution trying to maintain order, and young people wrestling with societal expectations.
However, where DPS is a tale of tragic repression, MLS leans toward quiet rebellion— not a fiery "O Captain, My Captain" moment, but a slow, steady push toward change.
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just saw this on pinterest and it hit me like a truck
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tinythebunni · 1 day ago
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How bunnyprincess!reader and Rafe met!!
inspired by @rafesangelita @princessbrunette
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Rafe always came to the country club on the weekends and on Wednesdays to play golf with his friends. He wore a polo every time and always had his shoes shined pristine. Rafe usually ended up winning and afterwards he’d go inside to sit by the bar or swim in the pool.
After a long and tedious match, Rafe ended up losing. He wasn’t completely locked in on the match due to the argument with Rose this morning.
Walking inside and huffing a sigh, he took off his shirt and slouched in the lounge chair with Kelce and Topper joining him. Rafe ran his hand through his sweaty buzzed hair and used his shirt to wipe his head. He closed his eyes, zoning out the stupid conversation around him.
his head was fucking pounding and their nonsensical ramblings made him even more and more irritated. pinching the bridge of his nose he sighed as he heard someone walking over to them. probably one of those fucking bartenders, he thought to himself.
Rafe was ready to just up and leave at this point but then he noticed 3 things. He could smell the sweet scent of your perfume. Smelled of cupcakes and the sugar cookies his mom would make. Your voice sounded of honey drizzling. And when he opened his eyes, his lashes flutter at how beautiful you were.
“Hai guys! The usual?” you spoke as you pulled out your notepad. your eyes did a sweep over the three guys in front of you, lingering a bit on him. Rafe was very fucking confused, he’d never seen you before and he definitely would know.
Kelce went to open his mouth but Rafe was faster than him. “What’s your name?” He spoke, sounding a little more angry than he meant to.
“Oh i’m sorry if i interrupted your nap, i just know that these two like to-“ He cut you off once more.
“Forget about it bun, ‘m not worried bout it. last fucking thing on my mind right now.”
you blushed and blinked, wide eyed. You told him your name, pen resting on your lip as you looked at him. He introduced himself to you and stood. he towered over you, which was unusual. being tall yourself, you often felt like a giant compared to most guys on the island.
Rafe smirked at your reaction, a laugh bubbling out his throat. You could sense the God inside him, aching to be let out. Maybe you were a bit dramatic but you’re just a teenage girl!
Stepping closer to you, he put his hand on your hip and turned you so that you were right next to him. He slid his hand to the small of your back, whispering a quick come with me to you before turning around and smiling at the boys.
“Rafe come on! Ya can’t keep stealing the pretty girls.” Topper yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands up.
Rafe chuckled before saying something that made your heart flutter. “You don’t gotta worry bout that no more. I want to keep this one. Make her mine and all that” he replied.
As he lead you away to a table in the corner, he asked you little questions. Mainly about your love life, what you were doing at this bar. “girl like you should never have to work. too pretty for all that shit” He added, watching as you glanced down as if your shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.
his thumb tilted your head up and you looked away nervously. “Hey hey. none of that shit. Look at me.” You did as he said, not wanting to lose his attention. “you should have someone providing for you. So you can do all that girly shit yall like and not worry about it.” He watched as you smiled, eating up your reaction. His tounge darts out to swipe at his bottom lip before he speaks again.
“I could be that for you. All my money just rots in my fucking bank account anyways. You want me to be that for you? Could be your boyfriend. Keep your tummy full, nails done, and make you feel good. Whenever you need it.” His words made you flush, your chest blooming with nerves and anxiety. But in the best way possible.
You nodded, your eyes a bit glossy at the casual dominance. You’d always been one to prefer when people take charge about certain things. And this? it was perfect. “Yea. I’d really like dat Rafe.” You stepped closer, making a move. You placed your hand on his chest and stood on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Can you wait for me to finish my shift? It’s over in 30 and I wanna talk to you more” you pouted trying to win him over as you regained your confidence.
“Fuck yea!” he said a little too excited. “I mean, yea yea for sure.” he corrected, nodding his head and he turned on his heel. You watched him walk away, noticing the slight bounce in his step.
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dante-mightdie · 4 hours ago
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long awaited part three of lowselfesteem!reader and simon
part two
invisible clothes
that’s what you called them, the rags you don when you have to integrate with the general population but you would much rather not be noticed. clothing that is so bland that it isn’t nice enough catch an eye but not hideous enough to catch any negative attention
you had told simon about them once, when he called you out on wearing them every time you stepped out in public, including your dates with him. especially since he knew you had a very elaborate wardrobe with a tailored sense of style
clearly they aren’t invisible enough to hide you from johnny’s guilty eyes from across the store aisle. you sigh when he comes up to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. he shifts uncomfortably on his feet
“I know ye probably hate ma guts, lass but ye should ken that simon shut down all of that bet talk after your first date. Ah just bring et up to annoy ‘im.” johnny says, with a nervous chuckles at the end. you don’t laugh alongside him
“okay, fair enough. look, he’s miserable without ye! he comes to the pub just to get pished and mope about how he fucked it all up with ye.” johnny continues, a pleading look in his eyes, “he’s supposed to he coming by to drop off some things of yours tomorrow. just hear him out, please, lass.”
you roll your eyes at him, continuing to grab what you need from the shelves in front of you. not even bothering to look him in the eyes when you finally begin to speak
"why should I? why am I always expected to think of other people even when they hurt me? you and simon didn't think about me or my feelings when you made your stupid bet. neither of you stopped to consider that I was just a person who simply wanted to be left alone." you say with a scoff, "he'll be lucky if I don't slam the door in his face."
johnny shifts on his feet, looking down at the floor since he feels too uncomfortable to look directly at you, "fair enough. take care've yerself, hen."
you bite back tears as you watch him skulk off in the corner of your eye. you stand there for a few more minutes, staring at the stacked shelves in front of you to distract you from the war raging inside of your head
-
it's late at night, nearly midnight, when there's a knock at your door. you let out a sigh, already knowing who was disturbing your doomscrolling at this hour. and when you open the door, you see him. you’re brooding prick of an ex-boyfriend. he at least has the decency to look guilty, like a dog caught ripping up the couch cushions
except he wasn’t a dog, he was the love of your life. and your heart isn’t so easily replaced like a cushion. though he definitely treated it like somewhere to rest his head
“hey.”
you scoff, you’re not sure why. there isn’t anything inherently wrong with what he said but it still annoyed you. he annoyed you. with his stupid stormy eyes and his stupid jokes and freckled shoulders that you used to connect like dots late at night
“just give me my stuff and go, simon. don’t have time for this bullshit.”
he doesn’t flinch. he saw that hit coming, and sometimes you gotta let them swing at you especially when you know that you deserve much worse
the exchange is quick, a box with small memories passed over to you. a couple items of clothing, a book and some toiletries. before you can slam the door in his face, he jams his heavy boot into it
“wait… love, I… there’s somethin’ else. I never gave it to you but it’s yours. got it for you and I’ll never give it to anyone else.”
the glare you give him only falters when he places a small velvet box in your hand, he pauses the speech you can definitely feel coming on. looking at you expectantly to open it. you do, waiting for him to laugh at you when you find nothing in there. ridicule you for even thinking he would consider making you his wife
but all he does it look on solemn, the beautiful ring twinkling as a devastating reminder of what could have been
“I kno’ I ‘ave no right to ask. I wouldn’t insult you like tha’ lovie. you can hate me, I deserve it. but you don’t deserve it. I won’t let you hurt yourself over what I did. you deserve to know the real extent of how bad I fucked up. maybe it’ll help to look at tha’ ring and know that I’ll spend the rest of my life having to know I lost the woman who should be my wife.”
there’s no chance to respond, not like you’d know what to say anyway,
“I’m sorry.”
and then he’s gone.
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l1tw1ck · 1 day ago
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Sponsored by Stark
Dom!Bottom!Tony x Sub!Top!Masc Virgin Reader
☆ Word Count: 1,358 ☆
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AFAB Language Used | Event Request
CW: Dubious Consent, Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Overstimulation, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Semi-Public Sex,
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After retiring from hero work, Tony opened up an academy to teach hopeful heroes, tech lovers, and future entrepreneurs. The academy teaches students starting from age 14 and above. It's a combination of high school and college. There are a lot of campuses all over New York. You finished high school in Midtown High and applied to join the academy. Tony loved your application so much that he awarded you with a special scholarship. It’s only granted to one person every four years. After your first meeting with him, he offered to buy you dinner. You didn't think it was strange. Why would it be?
You look up at Tony with an anxiety filled and hesitantly lustful gaze. He came onto you during dinner and you were afraid you’d lose your scholarship if you denied him. You were also afraid you'd seriously regret giving up the chance to fuck him. So now you're staring at his pussy as he grinds down on your clothed cock. His t-dick is poking out of his bush of hair and the sight makes you worry you’ll come too early.
“Don't worry about getting a job anymore. I’ll pay for everything you need.” He rolls his head back. “Gonna get you a credit card..use it whenever.”
You feel more like a prostitute than a scholarship student.
“Fuck…ever been with an older guy before?” He asks. You can't deny that he looks so fucking sexy like this. The way he's rubbing his pussy on your boner is definitely helping you forget why you were nervous in the first place. Your underwear is drenched with his slick. It's undeniably hot.
“Never…with anyone.”
“Yeah?” He breathes out. “Good. I’ll take the lead.” He stops and leans into your neck, sloppily kissing it and as he removes your boxers. He moves away from your face and leans his body closer to your cock. He points at the part of his stomach where the tip of your cock is. “That's how deep you’ll be inside me.”
He grips your shoulders and hovers over your cock. You gulp. He sinks himself down onto your length, a confident smirk plastered on his face.
“I haven’t done it in so long–” He moans as you completely fill him up, his back arched. He rolls his hips and strokes his t-dick. Seeing a guy like him use you like a toy is too hot for your own good. You never knew you were into this kind of thing. You could probably come just like this. You’ll try not to though, it wouldn't turn out well if you got him pregnant. “You want me to move, baby?”
“I…I wanna see you come first.”
“If that's what you want.” He strokes himself harder. Your heart is racing. You can feel it as he reaches his peak. His cunt is giving you nice, wet hugs. He rolls his head back, his pussy seizing its movements for a moment before resuming. He squirts, his slick covering your face. You lick your lips. You’ve been able to stop yourself from coming this whole time but you're not sure how much longer you’ll last.
He grinds down on you and moves his hand away from his sensitive cock. After a while, he eventually starts riding you. You don't think you’ll be able to last.
“Wa- wait- wait—” You panic. “I’m- I think–”
“It's okay, sweetheart.” He keeps bouncing. “I can't get pregnant.”
You would let out a long sigh of relief if it weren't for your sudden orgasm. You bite down on your lip as he keeps going despite that. It feels good and insanely overwhelming. You can't believe you just came inside Tony fucking Stark. “‘s too- too much-” You moan.
“I’m not satisfied yet. You’ll let Daddy keep bouncing on your cock, won't you, baby?”
You nod. “Ye- yes-”
“Good boy~” He lets out a satisfied sigh. “Letting Daddy use you like a cute little toy.” He loves the way your body is reacting. You're so inexperienced and sensitive, he knows he’ll have a lot of fun with you. He’s glad he changed careers. You stare at your cum spilling out with each thrust. It's so erotic you feel like you're gonna pass out.
Tony notices the subject of your gaze. “You like that? How your cum drips out of my pussy? Hm?” He grins. “Wanna keep filling me up, baby?”
You nod rapidly. “Yes- yes, Daddy-”
His body stutters as he comes again. He stops, his walls flexing around your cock again. Tony leans into your ear. “You know what a mating press is?” He asks.
You shudder. “Ye- yeah-” You grab his waist and manage to flip yourselves over. Sweat drips down your forehead as you grab Tony’s thighs. You move him into position and just looking at him like this makes you come again. Your cock starts to soften. “Sorry-”
“‘S okay, baby. It's cute.” He laughs. “We can keep working on your endurance another time.”
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You walk into Tony’s office, wearing an outfit he bought for you. As he stands up, you notice his belt is unbuckled and his pants are unzipped. He leans against the wall and you instantly make your way over to him.
“I’ve been waiting for you all day.” His hands slither onto your shoulders, his soft lips graze your ear. “I couldn’t stop touching myself. I had to cancel my meeting this afternoon.”
Your breath hitches.
“Are you gonna help me, sweetheart?”
“Yeah-” You watch him pull away from you and remove his pants and underwear. He shows the damp spot in his white boxers to you. You're already hard. He motions for you to kneel, making you feel like a dog. You look at his pussy eagerly, excited to see it up close. You already know what he wants you to do.
You wrap your lips around his t-cock and suck it.
“Yes~ like that, baby-” He shivers. You slip two fingers inside him, one at a time, and try your best to finger him properly. Your mouth on his cock is more than enough to distract him from your noob-ness. He doesn't seem to care about the amount of noise he's making either. Given his personality, you don't feel any anxiety over it. No one would dare enter his office when they hear him. “Fuck, right there~!” His hip thrusts involuntarily. You managed to find his g-spot. You do your best to pleasure him with it and by the sound of his voice and the clenching you feel around your fingers, you know you're doing a good job.
“Yes– yes—!” He squirts. This time you get to really taste him. You slowly move your head back, a line of spit connecting you to his cock, then lap your tongue all over his pussy. Tony twitches with pleasure.
You stop, then look at him like a puppy awaiting orders. He curls his index and middle finger, signifying that he wants you to stand up. He quickly frees your boner from your pants. “I still have one more meeting today.” He takes your wrists and has you hold onto his waist. He mouths ‘hold me’ so you pick him up. “But since you come so fast, I’ll let you fuck me.”
You press your forehead onto his shoulder. “Thank you-” You breathe out, sinking into his cunt. “You- you feel so good, Daddy-” He's sopping wet.
Tony wraps his arms around you as you sloppily thrust inside him. Your desperation turns him on so much.
“Can I- fuck- can I come inside?”
“Mhm~” He hums. “‘M gonna keep it inside. Walk around with your cum in me.”
You shudder, your cock shooting ropes of cum inside him. His laugh is breathless and lustful. “You're too cute.” He smiles as you bring him to his desk, laying him in a way to prevent your cum from spilling out as well as you can. You grab his boxers and slip them onto him.
You watch as he stands up and fixes himself up to look presentable. “I’ll see you tonight.” He winks, leaving the room.
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anarchythorn · 13 hours ago
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wait wait wait youre on to something actually. wait. oh my god. deadass this just gave me the most peak revelation about the movie. Afton's treatment of the children is almost DEFINITELY going to be showed or implied to be a reflection of his treatment of Vanessa isn't it. oh my god.
like... he treats them like an abusive father. he KNOWS he has control over them, it seems like he feels ENTITLED to it if anything. "I MADE YOU!" in that moment probably carries the same meaning as a shitty parent saying "I brought you into this world, I can take you out of it!" to scare their kid. he controls them and he controls Vanessa in almost the same ways, it's all but directly stated that he veiws/treats both of them like tools that he has some kind of entitlement to.
"You had ONE job!"
to Vanessa, acting almost like her ability to be his little helper is all she's good for in his eyes (and he certainly has no qualms about getting rid of her once she isn't his obedient helpful accessory anymore!!)
"Wake up, children! I have something for you to play with!"
to the animatronics, some of which had just been fucking tased, and yet he not only fully expects them to obey his order, but he phrases it like they should be thankful to do so in the same way a kid would be grateful for a new toy.
Spot the difference in the intentions behind these lines btw:
"Look at you. Look at the NASTY things you have become! Look how small you are! How worthless you are! You are wretched, rotten little beasts! I MADE YOU!"
"A little old for temper tantrums, aren't we, Vanessa?"
he's literally just more direct about it in the first one but both are literally intended to do the same exact same thing: to make the receiving party feel small. to paint the receiving party as unreasonable/incapable of "reasonable" behavior.
he belittles them and he belittles Vanessa when he doesn't get what he wants. he killed the kids with no remorse, he for all intents and purposes ATTEMPTS to kill his own kid just the same. for all intents and purposes, Vanessa is little more than a tool in his eyes, and the kids are just the same.
...I wonder if Vanessa ever watched her father talk to the animatronics and remembered all the times that he talked to her like that. I wonder if her childhood was robbed from her the same as the spirits' childhoods were, the only difference being that she got to live into adulthood instead of simply being cut short.
FNAF MOVIE SPOILERS
I guarantee y'all that the way Afton spoke to the animatronics in his big "I made you!" speech is exactly how he spoke to Vanessa growing up.
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littlelamy · 12 hours ago
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thinking about rafe being more involved with sarahs life after the baby and spending time with them and taking the kid to school or maybe picking the kid up and seeing reader who is a teacher and they flirt or maybe it’s parent teacher conference and rafe tags along with john b bc Sarah can’t make it and him and reader are cute and flirting
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the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, painting golden streaks across the desks and scattering soft shadows on the floor. it was quiet now, the hum of kids long gone except for a few stray drawings left forgotten on tables and the faint creak of your chair as you leaned back, scanning through a pile of spelling tests.
the knock on your classroom door startled you, pulling you out of the mundane rhythm of grading. when you looked up, you expected john b, who had mentioned he’d be dropping by for the parent-teacher conference. instead, you saw him. rafe cameron.
rafe leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans, the other gripping the strap of a sleek leather backpack. his usual cocky smirk softened into something more polite, almost uncertain, as his eyes swept the room before landing on you.
“hey,” he said, his voice low and warm, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged here but was trying anyway.
“hi,” you managed, your surprise fading into curiosity. “can i help you?”
“i… uh, i’m here for the conference,” he explained, stepping further into the room. “sarah couldn’t make it, and john b roped me into tagging along.”
you blinked, trying to reconcile the guy who had a reputation for being a little too reckless, a little too intense, with the man standing in front of you. “oh. yeah, of course. take a seat. john b should be here any minute.”
rafe nodded, sliding into one of the kid-sized chairs with an amused grin. “man, these chairs are tiny. no wonder kids are always squirming.”
you laughed, the sound light and unexpected. “yeah, they’re not exactly built for comfort. you’ll survive, though.”
he raised an eyebrow, leaning his elbows on the desk as he looked at you. “is that a challenge?”
before you could respond, the door swung open, and john b burst in, his usual whirlwind energy filling the room. “hey, sorry i’m late,” he said, dropping into a chair beside rafe without missing a beat. “traffic was insane.”
“it’s fine,” you assured him, pulling out the folder with their child’s name neatly printed across the front. “shall we get started?”
the conference itself was straightforward, mostly you going over their daughter’s progress, showing off some of her artwork, and sharing notes about her strengths and areas for growth. but every now and then, you felt rafe’s gaze on you, steady and curious, like he was trying to figure you out.
when the meeting wrapped up, john b stood, stretching. “thanks for taking the time. sarah’ll be thrilled to hear everything’s going so well.”
“of course,” you said, offering him a warm smile. “she’s a great kid. makes my job easy.”
john b nodded, then glanced at rafe. “you coming?”
rafe hesitated, his eyes flicking to you. “uh, i’ll catch up. i just have a quick question.”
john b smirked, like he knew exactly what was going on, but didn’t say anything as he left, leaving you and rafe alone.
“so, a quick question?” you prompted, arching an eyebrow.
he grinned, leaning back in his tiny chair. “yeah, just wanted to ask if you’ve always been this good with kids, or if it’s something you picked up over time.”
you tilted your head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “a little of both, i guess. i’ve always liked working with them. they’re honest, you know? no filter. keeps things interesting.”
he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “yeah, i can see that. you’re… you’re really good at it. i mean, i could barely survive babysitting her for an afternoon, and you do this every day.”
you laughed, feeling a warmth creep into your cheeks. “it’s definitely not easy, but it’s worth it.”
there was a pause, the kind that felt like it held something unsaid, and then rafe stood, towering over the kid-sized desk. “anyway, i should let you go. but… maybe i’ll see you around?”
“maybe,” you said, your smile lingering as he made his way to the door.
but before he left, he glanced back, his smirk returning. “or, you know, if you ever need a break from grading papers, i’d be happy to grab a coffee or something. on me.”
you raised an eyebrow, fighting the grin tugging at your lips. “i’ll think about it, cameron.”
he chuckled, giving you a small salute before disappearing into the hallway, leaving you alone in the golden light of the classroom, your heart fluttering in a way you hadn’t expected.
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lamy's notes: i wouldn't mind doing more fics about rafe x teacher!reader! i hope you liked it!!
taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesbabygirlx
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writeriguess · 3 days ago
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Hey hun! Welcome back 😘
So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅
He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.
Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!
author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!
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Heart of Dynamite
It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.
You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.
The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.
But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.
And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.
After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.
The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.
You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.
"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."
You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."
His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."
Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"
For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.
Then, he scoffed. Loudly.
"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"
The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.
"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"
You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"
"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."
The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.
"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.
Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.
Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.
He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.
But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.
You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.
Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.
Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.
Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.
But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.
“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”
He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.
It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.
One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.
“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.
“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.
“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”
“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”
“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”
Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”
“I don’t—”
“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.
“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”
Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”
For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.
That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.
Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.
But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.
Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.
The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.
You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.
What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.
Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.
Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.
Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.
That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.
“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.
You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”
Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”
“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”
Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”
He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.
“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”
“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”
“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”
Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”
He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”
The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.
“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.
“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.
“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”
You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.
“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.
“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.
The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.
When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”
And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.
Feel free to request <3
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hookedonhuge · 3 days ago
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make a story with a lot of bloating and belches please
Here we go! Ended up putting in more effort than planned, haha. Aches and Gains: What the hell… where am I? Who are all these huge men walking around? Oh that’s right, the gym. I was working out wasn’t I? Yeah, my muscles feel really sore, must have been a killer workout. Pushing myself to my absolute limit, what a legend I am.
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Who is this? Someone waving. Oh they are worried. Don’t worry, haha, I’m fine. UURRP! I just take this place seriously, that's all. Needed a quick rest. Vision’s still a little blurry but I’m getting there.
Now where was I? Just finished a set or did I finish my whole workout? Yeah I’m so sore I must be done. Especially my abs, they are really tight. I guess it was a core day. BUURRP! Oh that feels much better. I can get up now.
Whoo! I’m starting to feel alive again. Let's check out my pump in the mirror. Bet I’m looking real huge today. This shirt is kinda hard to get off, it’s so tight. Must be a crazy pump. Ah, there we go!
What the?! I’m freakin’ huge but… why have I lost so much definition?! My belly is so damn bloated! That’s okay, just my protein shake kicking in. No problem. Damn, look at the pecs on me though! Jealous of these bad boys, losers? Hahaha! King of the gym today. UUURRRP! I was already big and now I’m even bigger! URP!
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I keep belching. Kinda weird but it relieves the pressure in my belly. I just need to get it all out, and find my abs again, haha. BUUUUURRRRRP! What are they all looking at? Goddamn greatness, that’s what. Oh don’t give me that pissy look staff, this place might as well be mine anyway.
I still haven’t relieved all the pressure in my gut. Aaaahhh! It hurts so much. UUURRRP! It’s like I’m inflating. I can’t get it out quick enough. BUUUURRRRP! Yeah, I know everyone, I don’t want to burp this much, okay. Geez. Everyone is on my case today. Oh great, now a staff member is coming up to me. This is unbelievable, I haven’t done anything wrong. Oh… my protein shake. Yeah guess I left it back there. Thanks. URRPP!
That cleared some room for a bit more protein shake. Bottoms up. Tastes so good. I’m so hungry too. Can’t stop myself from chugging it all. UUUUUUURRRRRRRP! That hit the spot. Hope y’all can smell that, it reeks of stale protein, hahaha. Deserve it for being so judgy.
God! I can feel myself getting bigger. Yes! I’m growing so much, so huge. My gut though… I look like I’ve eaten a five-course meal… twice. Aaaaaahhhhh! So much pressure… need to get it out… now! 
BUUUUUUURRRRRRRAAAAAAAPPP!
Looks like I caught someone with that point blank. Looks like they might pass out too. Hey, want another one? UUUURRRRP! Hahahaha! Take this! BUUUUURRRRRP!
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WOW! Just caught myself in the reflection and damn! I’m so big, I’m jealous of myself. Look at these huge guns. Boom! This chest keeps getting bigger too. And my back, chef’s kiss. So goddamn wide and perfect! Legs looking thick too! I’m such a beast, let's go! Who cares if I’ve got a big, bloated belly. Bigger is better right. I’d take it any day with these gains. BUUUURRRRAAAAP!
I’m starting to get used to these burps. Feels so nice when I let them out. Like a lion’s roar. So manly. UUUUUUURRRRRRRAAAAAAAP! Is this too disgusting for all of you? Well bad luck. BUUURRRP! I’ve got a lot more coming! BAAAAUUUURRRRP! Let me show you all what a beast like me sounds like…
BWWWWWWOOOOOOUUUUUURRRRRRAAAAAAUUUUUUPPP!
Hahahahaha! This entire gym reeks now! Oh look here, we have a big, strong man coming up to start a fight. I’m the king of this gym, okay bro. Wait, not looking for a fight. Complimenting me? Hell yeah! This big guy gets it. New gym buddy right over here. What’s this? A protein shake. Thanks bro, I actually feel like I need another one.
This is UURRP unbelievable, how BUURRP can a protein OOUURRP taste so damn UURRP good? What has BOOOUUUURRRP he put in this UUURRRP thing? No seriously what is in it? Nevermind. Just a bro helping another bro out by giving him some fuel.
Time to leave. Not sure if this gym can handle me for much longer. This employee at the reception looks pissed, haha. Well I’m gonna tell him what’s on my mind.
BUUUURRRRP-OOOOUUUURRRRAAAAAP-BWWWWWOOOOOUUUUURRRRRP!
Don’t think I’ll need to pay to get in anymore.
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tangents-within-tangents · 19 hours ago
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Like fr to everyone in the notes talking about headcanons/AUs/"having fun" in the notes: the word you are looking for is REinterpretation. Not to go webster or anything but
-Interpret: explain the meaning of information, words, or actions. (explain, expound, clarify)
-Misinterpret: interpret something or someone wrongly. (misunderstand, misconstrue, mistake)
-Reinterpret: interpret something in a new or different light.
It seems in fandom spaces the word interpretation is often used at times when what they actually mean is reinterpretation (or sometimes just reaction or impression, ex: your opinion of a character is subjective and valid, but that's not the same as an interpretation).
If your "interpretation" is completely divorced from or contradicts the text, it's not an interpretation anymore. It's a reinterpretation. A reimagining. And yeah you can totally have your fun, go off! Just don't act like it IS an interpretation. Because valid interpretations come with supporting evidence, which is the whole point of the og post.
I think this bit from OP's other reblog describes it best:
this is one way it gets messy that fandom is a space for both media analysis and transformative works even though those two things don’t always co-exist comfortably or necessarily serve each other.
This is the crux. Both happen in fandom because both are a form of engaging with a work that you appreciate. But one literally relies upon analyzing what IS presented in the text, and the other upon reinventing and transforming that text (and headcanon sometimes straddles this line in between). So the important thing is recognizing the distinctions and not mixing them up. And it goes both ways:
-“He would never act that way” we know, it’s an intentional recharacterization bc we're exploring something different right now
-“But he's just a poor meow meow” not relevant right now because we're analyzing how the writing actually portrayed him
Textual evidence doesn't matter when we're just having fun and making incorrect quote memes, and headcanons don't matter when we're analyzing thematic content. The distinction helps us to have more productive conversations. And crossing the streams can sometimes take us to harmful or frustrating extremes.
To borrow an example from Rowan Ellis: You relate to a Taylor Swift song and feel seen in your queer identity? That's great, no one can stop you from experiencing the song that way even if Taylor didn't intend it. But if you turn that around and say this is proof that Taylor herself must be secretly queer, or worse that she's somehow queerbaiting? Please stop!
Another example: Someone once pulled the "we're just having fun, you can scroll past" card on me when they were straight up bashing the writing for not going the way they wanted. Please, have your fun, I won't stop you. Write a fix-it au where your blorbo comes back to life. Vive la fanfic! But when you say "the writers should have done [random specific thing] if they wanted me to believe he was truly dead" whilst blatantly misinterpreting the thing the writers did do to confirm it so it can fit into your theories/denial? That's not 'just having fun' anymore, that's flawed/unfair criticism and I'mma push back on it. (I didn't actually, just for the record)
Headcanons by definition are not canon, and I think you'll find most people are totally fine with you having whatever headcanons you want, so long as you don't start claiming that they are canon or that your way is the only way. That's where people have a problem.
But even headcanons that don't contradict canon, that could fit into ambiguous gaps where canon did not confirm or deny the possibility either way, are still headcanons. They aren't presented in the text itself and therefore not useful to analysis and criticism.
And I think this is where the distinction can feel blurry at times. Because some headcanoning is based on evidence from the source material. So some may think it's the same as media analysis, but I'd call it extrapolation rather than interpretation. It uses canon evidence in more of a imaginative/conspiracy theory/inspiration to bounce off type of way. Especially since fanon is often about filling in gaps.
Fanon focuses on the story, and treats it almost as if it and the characters are living. But media analysis relies upon treating it as media. On recognizing it was written by a person who made choices and used literary devices and elements intentionally to convey meaning (even if we can debate on what that meaning is).
Subtext is not just whatever you want to project onto a story. Subtext is an actual literary device. Meaning that is intentionally implied by the author because you shouldn't spell everything out and it's important to let the readers participate. It's what the characters aren't saying but the author is.
Unreliable narrator is also a literary device, that is intentionally crafted and indicated throughout the whole text. It's the author saying something through the character saying the opposite. It's not an excuse to ignore whatever you want to ignore of what the narrator says.
Characters aren't people and they don't actually make any choices. Everything they do, everything they are, was written and crafted by the author.
(In short, when I analyze character arcs or critique writing choices, I'd love for the discussion I get to point out things I may have overlooked or misinterpreted. Not for it to just shove in a bunch of irrelevant headcanons, character personifications, and Watsonian explanations that have nothing to do with my arguments.)
Fanon is very open-world concept (and open multiverse lol), but analysis is about looking at what the author did give you, what they chose to include or not and what it is meant to show us.
Writing is about crafting an iceberg that implies a keel under the water. Therefore analysis is about studying the iceberg to try to interpret that keel. And fanon is about exploring the whole ocean. And transformative work is about idk cutting off chunks and making ice sculptures.
All of them are very cool and fun in their own right but I think we can see how they can definitely clash and get in each other's way.
Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”
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