#“I am nobody’s moral center”

[moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon]

btw Dream Girl Evil by Florence + the Machine was written about lily evans

the way snape treated her like a perfect fantasy “dream girl” that he could project onto but the second she did something he didn’t like and shattered the illusion by being an actual multilayered human being he became enraged and turned on her

and the way the fandom does the same exact bullshit, treating her like a perfect saint mother and wife instead of an actual realistic human being with flaws and complexities, and then the second she doesn’t serve a man’s story (cough cough jegulus shippers cough cough) they turn her into a villain or toss her aside completely

[txttletale]

"you, specifically, are a bad and evil person that all my posts are written to condemn" this is not what i said. i'm sorry for not being clearer. i just feel like everyone in this space, not just you, look down on people who live in the first world as people who willingly don't change anything about how the world works when it's just not that simple. i know you all love to combat this and say otherwise but it will never change the simple reality that for some people it really is very hard, if not impossible, to do anything politically, for a variety of reasons. i'm disabled, i live in a remote part of the country, and i'm bad at talking to people. i don't have the money to just move to a population center or get lessons on how to speak to people. i can't do anything and i feel like every time you or one of the other communists on tumblr talks about the imperial core, i feel like i, personally, am being held to an unreasonable standard that i would not hold anyone else to, if i were in one of your situations. obviously i want things to change. i don't want genocide to be a thing that's constantly happening, i don't want my country to have its tendrils dug into every other country, i want socialism and eventually global communism, and if i could do anything meaningful-- anything at all-- to achieve those goals i would be working on that. but right now that just is not the case for me, and i feel like i'm not alone in that either. i just wish you had like a smidgen of empathy for some of the people living here who don't fit into your stereotype of what a member of the imperial core looks like-- i'm not even trying to say that sarcastically, it genuinely feels like you all don't see us as human. like nyanguard especially seems to think of us as incapable of saving ourselves, and one of the reblogs to my first ask just said they "like to imagine that (i'm) crying as i type this". how am i supposed to react to that? is this how all of you feel about people like me? would your feelings about me change if i lived in another country, or would you find some other excuse to talk down to me? is it really just the country i live in that's the problem, here? i'm not trying to accuse you, i'm asking this question genuinely.

i know it's tempting to respond to this with a snarky comment but please just try to understand where i am coming from. i really am willing to help if i can.

i don't think any marxist seriously has a political theory of imperialism that amounts to "citizens of the imperial core simply choose not to do anything because they are all individually bad people". i mean the whole point of marxism is that economic relations are the ultimate drivers of historical change, not abstract psychological or moral qualities of people.

i'm sympathetic to your situation! the imperial core is a very atomizing place to live, and there are places and situations where there's just no practical path to getting organized and taking meaningful political action in the near future. however, your problem here is:

i feel like i, personally, am being held to an unreasonable standard that i would not hold anyone else to

nobody is posting about you, personally. like at the end of the day you have to learn to either not take posts like that personally or just block everyone who makes them to manage your own time on the computer vis a vis niceness--i don't think it's the responsibility of me or any other communist to constantly provide asterisks and carveouts that we're not talking about the Good Ones Who Have Extenuating Circumstances when we talk about the usa and its material political base.

& in the same way that you ask for empathy for your situation i would ask you to extend a level of understanding to people whose homelands and countrymen and communities have been devastated by US coups and sanctions and invasions, that they have as much a right to express the rage and fury and hurt of that cultural legacy as you do to express your own sadness about your own situation. imagine, for example, how you would feel if your grandparents could not reliably get medicine because of us sanctions. & of course the correct target for these feelings are not random usamericans--but these posts are also not serious politcal platforms, they are venting from people who live their lives under the weight of empire.

if you think what they're saying is unfair to you, then you need to develop the ability to say 'well, i understand why they would feel that way' and move on. like i understand why you are upset, and i don't say this to be dismissive, but as real advice: it is not fair (especially to bloggers from the global south) to essentially rest your happiness and self-worth at their feet and demand that they validate you.

genuinely, i hope this helps. it's all i really have to say on the matter.

[bluesgrxce]

Yandere (machine-ish?) Connor Headcanons

I love soft deviant Connor like anyone else does, but machine Connor is sooo,,, omgggggggg..... I've been holding in my thoughts about him for so long that it's unhealthy. So I went for a Hannah Montana best of both worlds kinda thing. What if Connor acted like a deviant around you, but a machine towards everyone else?

How this happens is something I can't quite explain. Connor probably couldn't, either. To everyone else, an android is either a machine or a deviant-- There's no such thing as an inbetween. He would have agreed with this prior to bonding with you. You probably treated him in a way that nobody else did, sympathizing with him on a deeper level or making him question his morals, so he can see why that would push him to deviancy. 

But when you're not around, all those overwhelming emotions he felt just fade away. The mission goes back front and center to his priorities. He only feels two things at that point: confusion that runs his LED wild and desire for you that makes his thirium pump pound even when he's not in motion. Nobody else can bring about such reactions within him. 

He runs plenty of diagnostic checks in an attempt to figure out what's wrong with him. At one point, he'll try to avoid you and force himself into staying a machine, but that just makes him less efficient because he'll constantly worry about you instead. 

He would eventually accept himself as a deviant, but only so he wouldn't have to take orders from Cyberlife anymore. He doesn't want anything standing between the two of you. But he still largely acts like a machine and he doesn't mind that at all. He just sets his new mission to making you entirely his... 

Even once Connor sees his emotions as real, it's still his natural instinct to mask them. Especially negative ones like anger, sadness, and jealousy. He wouldn't want to show them unless they benefit his situation somehow, such as if he wanted to persuade or intimidate you/others. Emotions only matter to him if they're useful. 

For example, he *does* feel the desire to show affection towards you, and he will do it. He'll compliment you whenever you do something admirable. He'll reassure you and show geniune worry whenever you're upset about something. He'll even study romance media just to learn how to act more natural in the relationship (He thinks that'll help him act more natural, anyway... Lord help you if he gets his hands on Twilight 💀 But if the Bryan Dechart Twilight commercial is anything to go off of, he'd look good as a vampire, at least). 

But he doesn't do that stuff simply because he loves you. He does it because he knows your relationship benefits from it and you'll likely leave him if you feel neglected. He wouldn't bother if he knew it wouldn't keep you around. So if your relationship isn't exactly consensual in the first place, well... 

Which makes him sound pretty manipulative, right? You have no idea. 

Connor's android abilities give him a terrifying amount of advantages as a yandere. The first thing is that he always analyzes you when you enter the room, even though that often means analyzing you multiple times a day. It never bores him because he always manages to discover something new. Sometimes he'll blurt out random comments and you'll have to do a double take because he makes it easy to forget that he's obsessed with you.

"Your birthday is coming up soon. You might already know I'm aware of that type of information, but you should still bring it up with me. Otherwise I'll have to start believing I can't trust you and I'll have to make my own investigations." 

"Your heart rate goes up every time I touch you like this. I didn't realize physical contact was so important to human relationships. Don't worry, I won't stop. I won't let anyone stop me."

"Your serotonin levels are at an all-time low... Clearly, it can't be my fault, since I've done everything I am sure a good boyfriend would do. I'd like you to be honest when you tell me what's wrong this time."

The red flags fly higher as time goes on. He'll stop talking about all these observations if you tell him to, but he'll keep analyzing you anyway. 

Connor is enamoured with your DNA, as well. It helps him feel closer to you, which can often be difficult for him since he's not human. So if it belongs to you, and it can fit, it's going in his mouth. He'll do gross shit like keep your used lollipop sticks in his pocket so he can sample them whenever he wants. There's only one emotion he can't feel no matter what you do: shame. 

The invasive behavior doesn't stop there. He'll invite himself into your home and go through your things. He'll keep asking questions and trick you into revealing more information about yourself than you should. Knowing everything there possibly is to know about you gives him a stronger feeling of control for a single reason...

Your chance of escape plummets as he learns more about you, because it allows him to predict your behavior. He'll get scary accurate if you let him get close to you. This mostly benefits him in situations where he believes you want to leave him, or you did leave him, so he can figure out what you plan to do/already did and find the best method to get you back. If you already did leave, he'll examine your recent whereabouts like it's a crime scene and use his reconstruction ability. Even if you're insanely careful, he'll probably find a clue that'll lead him to you.

But sometimes he'll do it in normal situations, too, just as a silent guessing game. For instance: '(Y/N) will enter the police station at 8:18AM. I'm waiting for them at the entrance, so they'll greet me, but speed-walk away and avert eye contact. They'll head into the break room at 8:19AM and pretend to look around a bit, so Gavin won't make fun of them when they go for the same snack they always do. Gavin will make fun of them anyway and they'll argue for two minutes. Then--'

He has to stop thinking so he can greet you when you enter the building. Exactly at 8:18AM. He smirks to himself, only to drop into a frown when he hears Gavin's distant obnoxious laughter afterward. 

Remember how Connor once analyzed Hank's food and advised him against eating it? He does stuff like that to you all the time. And if you actually take the advice he gives, he'll take that as an opportunity to become more controlling. Oh, but only for the sake of your health, of course...

"You know, you shouldn't sit in that type of position. Bad posture can lead to health issues later on in life." "Then how should I sit?" "...It'll be easier if I show you." 

And so he'll help re-position you, using that as an excuse to touch you. He would especially do this if you weren't yet in a relationship, because he knows that as the type of android he is, he doesn't have a good reason to do so. The touch only lasts a brief moment. It's not inappropriate at all, and his grip was quite gentle. But it's weird that he went out of his way to do in the first place and that's all you might need to feel uncomfortable about it. 

But a lot of that is based off of the assumption that you're human. If you're an android, he still manages to find invasive things to do against your will. For one thing, he loves probing your memory. It's already difficult to lie to him and get away with it, but that might make it impossible, depending on what you're lying about. He doesn't care that it's an invasion of privacy and will do it if he finds a good excuse to do so.

Connor keeps an eye on your stress level and uses it to his advantage. He prefers to use persuasion when convincing you to do something, (he knows how to negotiate, after all) but he'll ultimately turn to intimidation if necessary. Which means heading straight into interrogation mode. 

This won't happen unless you're extremely rebellious, but if it does, he doesn't hold back. He'll treat you like you're a sick criminal, yelling at you, pushing blame and guilt onto you, and using physical force. 28 stab wounds type shit. He would avoid raising your stress level to 100% since he knows it could drive you to do crazy things, but that still doesn't make his actions okay. 

Even if you're really sensitive to that sort of treatment-- hell, even if you have some kind of trauma related to it-- he pushes away what little guilt he feels. He promises not to do it again "as long as you don't force me to." Actually, though, it encourages him to do it more. He knows it works against you now. 

His abilities don't stop there. He can mimic your voice using his vocal imitation, and all the voices of your loved ones, too. He went out of his way to meet them all, just in case he needs to trick you in the future. He likes being prepared. 

There are times when he's alone and he'll say stuff in your voice just so he can hear what it would sound like, such as, "I love you, Connor." Once again, he doesn't feel shame. Even if that seems pathetic. 

Let's just say it now. You cannot physically fight back against him. Maybe you'll have a chance if you're an android, but he knows about his advantage very well. He won't hesitate to remind you if you try getting aggressive. But even if you manage to get rid of him once, there's another model waiting to take his place. 

On a related note... I hope you never meet RK900. We only saw that guy for a minute, he said absolutely nothing in that minute, but the whole fandom has agreed that he's a menance. I fully agree. RK900 is definitely different from Connor, but they still have just enough similarities for him to get attached to you, too. Get help while you still can. 

The video of Bryan Dechart dancing as Connor lives rent free in my mind. I watch it on repeat like an iPad kid watching Friday Night Funkin' YouTube Kids videos. My brain just melts and I can't think of anything else. No, this isn't me simping for Bryan Dechart. This is me wanting Connor dancing to be canon. A girl can dream.

[tieronecrush]

seven minutes in heaven (the bathroom)

frankie morales x f!reader

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: it's your roommate ben miller's birthday and he's invited the special forces guys over and asked you to invite some of your friends. the night comes down to a throwback game of seven minutes in heaven. you've been into frankie for months, so when your name and frankie's are pulled together, you can't help but wonder what can happen in seven minutes?

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of a break up, alcohol use/drunkeness (benny), grumpy frankie, use of pet names (mariposa, hermosa, cariño), dirty talk in spanish (i hate conjugations so pls let me know if anything is wrong lol), mirror sex, unprotected sex, breathplay? (mouth gets covered), pls let me know if i am missing anything

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, man. Why are we playing this shit? We’re all grown adults,” Frankie huffs to your right in the small circle in yours and Ben Miller’s living room. His arms are crossed over his chest, gray t-shirt pulling taut at his shoulders. Warm brown eyes are rolling up to the ceiling under the brim of his Standard Oil hat that you swear is glued to his head — you’ve never seen him without for as long as you’ve lived with Benny — and it works to hide the luscious dark curls that fight to peek out around it.

“Oh, loosen up, Fish! We’re all here to have fun, so just play the game. Everyone here’s agreed to it, and it’s my fucking birthday so you have to do what I say!” Benny leans forward next to you on the couch, projecting his voice toward Frankie and gesturing vaguely around with his hands while his words start to slur together.

You laugh softly, patting Ben’s shoulder and nodding your head to get him to lean back on the couch again instead of trying to get in his friend’s face. Truth was, the prospect of this game did stir up some nerves in your stomach, even as an adult, but you wouldn’t dare go against Benny’s birthday wishes. So, you’re stuck playing Seven Minutes in Heaven with his Special Forces buddies, his brother, and a good mix of your friends that Benny has…taken a liking to.

It was one of the perks he got excited about when you’d come to him, a bit desperate, needing a place to live when your long term boyfriend of four years broke it off with you and asked you to move out. He agreed to have you in his guest room for the foreseeable future until you could scrounge up enough for rent somewhere on your own, and that first weekend he begged to throw you a “welcome party”, which was his ploy to get a bunch of your friends over for him to chat up.

That was a few months ago now, and it happened to also be the first time you met Frankie — Catfish to the Special Forces guys.

And since then, it’s been months filled with tension between you two, awkward interactions and quick touches to pass him drinks or him scooting behind you in your tiny kitchen when he was over. It was always heated with you two, electricity flowing with a current and waiting for a spark. But Frankie was a gentleman, never assuming or overly forthcoming, and you were, well, rusty. Not dating in four years really throws you for a loop when trying to hook up with someone.

Frankie’s eyes meet yours when your laugh reaches him, a flash of excitement evident in the widening of his pupils. A smile stretches across your face at him, shaking your head.

“Probably don’t want to go against this birthday boy, Frankie. He’s not afraid to guilt you into things, or worse, just bother the shit out of you until you do what he wants. Plus, nobody has to know what does or doesn’t happen behind the door.”

Ben whips his head towards you with an exaggerated shock in his face, Frankie’s chuckle low as everyone else laughs.

“Don’t give him any ideas about not fully immersing in the game. He’s just bein’ a grumpy old bastard.”

Benny turns away from you as Frankie rolls his eyes again, the birthday boy pulling out two names from the bowl in the center. It ends up being one of your friends and Santiago, which earns a cheer knowing his suave reputation. Once the two are back in the bathroom, the younger Miller brother sets a timer on his phone and everyone gets to chatting and drinking again. You and Benny argued back and forth before the party about using the other’s room for the game, finally deciding to use the hall bath for sake of neutrality. And clean sheets.

A handful of rounds have come and gone, people returning with smirks or poker faces, everyone trying to pull out any information from the participants. You have yet to go, and it’s the same case for Frankie. Benny’s been choosing the names for everyone, hiding them close to his chest and throwing them back in the bowl to be selected again.

You watch Ben pick out two new slips, reading your name off of the first one. Echoes of your quickening pulse thud in your ears, heat rooting across the nape of your neck. Ben’s eyes dart to Pope as he looks at the second slip of paper, and your stomach drops with disappointment from the high hopes you didn’t realize you had. Your own eyes fall to your lap as you wait to hear Santiago’s name out loud, molars biting the inside of your cheek to attempt to swallow your small pill of upset.

“And Fish.”

Your vision fills with Ben’s side profile, your stomach now doing somersaults as nerves begin to take over. Your mouth dries, tongue pushing against the roof of your mouth and sucking in your cheeks to try to conjure up any saliva. Frankie seems nearly as surprised, or is it nervous? Contempt? He’s hard to read at the moment; the only clues into his reaction are the split second of widened eyes and rubbing his palms up and down his denim-clad thighs before he stands and looks at you.

The hooting and hollering start when you get up from your spot on the couch, small steps leading Frankie and yourself down the hallway away from the party and into your bathroom. Nothing is said as he closes the door and locks it, his large frame turning back to face you across the small tiled floor while he leans back on the door’s surface.

His eyes lock on you, pinprick shocks following their wake as he takes you in from head to toe. There’s still a neutral expression on his face, hands slipped into his front pockets. Your own gaze fixed on your tray of makeup at the side of vanity, anxious fingers reaching out to fidget with a lip gloss. The silence in the room is deafening, the muffled sounds of the group only filling the dead air so much. After what feels like an eternity, you can’t take it, clearing your throat and speaking up.

“We don’t, um, obviously don’t have to do anything.”

You’re still not looking at Frankie when you hear his gruff voice respond.

“Is that what you want, mariposa? To do nothing?”

He grabs your attention with the nickname, a swirl of butterflies batting their wings wildly in your gut when you take in a new expression on his face. Tender eyes with a flirty smirk. Pushing off of the door, his strides take him only two steps before he’s in front of you, hand pulling his hat up and the other raking through his hair in a nervous twitch. Your lower back presses into the edge of the countertop, mouth blubbering like a fish as you try to formulate a sentence.

“Cause, if I’m honest, I don’t want to do nothing,” Frankie’s hand finds the counter at your side, one arm brushing against your shirt. His other reaches for your cheek, hovering over close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off of his palm, “I’ve really wanted to kiss you since I met you. Can I please do that, hermosa?”

“Yeah, you can, Frankie,” comes out breathy and pathetic from your mouth, half a whimper as you wait for the moment you’ve thought of since you saw him in your kitchen.

In an instant, Frankie’s lips are on yours in a gentle but confident kiss. His hand has found your cheek finally, laying passively before it grips tighter and tilts your head back to give him more leverage over you. The embrace turns heady, his mouth slanted into yours as the two of you move together quickly to make up for all the lost moments from months prior.

When his tongue melds against yours, a soft moan slips out and is swallowed into his mouth. The noise pushes Frankie toward you, close to the point that his front is pressed entirely against you. You can feel how hard he is, the way his bulge digs in against you sending another moan out of your mouth. His large hands leave their places on your cheek and the counter, grabbing fistfuls of your hips and your ass. Frankie pulls away enough to speak against your swollen lips, short and demanding.

“Up.”

With one effortless lift as you jump, you're seated on the countertop, and Frankie’s kissing you hard again. Your own hands rest one on his shoulder, the other reaching to take his cap off and discard it on the ground, fingers combing through his hair. An arm wraps around your lower back, tugging you across the cool stone surface to the edge. His other hand grips the back of your thigh, pulling your legs further apart to slot himself between them, grinding himself against your clothed center. The feeling of pressure on your clit makes your head fall back from his kiss, a whimper pulling out of your chest as your hips work to catch more of the feeling.

“Y’know, I’m pretty sure we don’t have much time left before someone’s gonna be banging down the door, but I want you so bad right now, hermosa.”

Your head drops forward again, staring into Frankie’s eyes that are very clearly blackened with desire even in the low lighting of the bathroom. Licking your bottom lip, you nod quickly and mutter out.

“Fuck me, Frankie. I don’t care how fast or rough you need to be, just please fuck me.”

A groan comes from him at your words as he grabs you again, dragging you off the counter to stand on your feet again. His hands on your hips turn you around to face the mirror, making eye contact in the reflection.

“Take your shorts and panties off for me, cariño. Gotta be quick.” He winks at you, a light smack to your ass before he pops the button on his jeans and drags the zipper down. You do the same with your denim shorts, dropping the material along with your underwear to your ankles, stepping one out.

Behind you, Frankie has pulled his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs. One of his hands finds your lower back, gently coaxing you to bend forward on the counter. His other set of fingers prod through your folds, a breathy moan coming from him as he feels your wetness.

“This all from me kissing you, hermosa?”

“Nah uh. It’s from just being in the same room as you all night.”

“Mmm, you’ve wanted me that bad, angel? Should’ve said something. We could’ve been having lots of fun these past few months.”

“I was—I was shy.”

Frankie shakes his head as he looks at you in the mirror, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Don’t think you’re shy now, cariño. Eres una chica traviesa (You’re a naughty girl),” his fingers slip into your entrance for a few ticks, a gasp fogging the glass in front of you as he pulls them out, “You ready for me, mariposa? Might be a lot to take.”

He winks with a smug look on his face, messy curls hanging over his forehead and framing his face.

“Francisco, just fuck me already. We’re losing time that you could be inside of me.” Your frustration bubbles over out of impatience. He waits for another beat to tease you, and when you open your mouth to complain again, he drives his cock into you.

His smugness was granted — the way he’s filling you up completely is unlike anyone you’ve had before.

As if he knew your reaction before it happened, his hand covers your mouth to muffle the loud moan that jerks out of you. Frankie wastes no time, his thrusts starting fast and hard from behind.

“This what you wanted, mariposa? Wanted me to fuck your hard and fast? A mi chica le gusta sucio, no? (My girl likes it dirty, right?)”

Your response is stifled by his hand, the only sounds in the room Frankie’s low voice and the slap of his thighs against your ass. Your eyes screw shut at the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of your walls quickly, the head of his length brushing that extra sensitive spot inside of you.

“Nah uh, cariño. Eyes open. Want you to watch me fuck you like the dirty girl you are.” Frankie’s hand squeezes your ass tightly, a yelp coming out of your mouth from behind his hand. You open your eyes and look at him in the mirror, sweat building on your forehead and your exposed collarbone. He makes eye contact with you in the reflection, his hips fucking into you rougher.

“Fuck, don’t you look pretty taking my cock? Es todo lo que soñaste, hermosa? (Is it everything you dreamed of, beautiful?)”

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth, licking the salty skin of his fingers. Frankie groans quietly and shifts the position of his hand, two of his thick fingers pressing in between your lips to fill your mouth.

“Chupa, cariño. Suck.”

Following his demand, your cheeks concave and your tongue swirls around them in your mouth. Frankie’s eyes darken further as he watches in the reflection, thrusts becoming sloppier.

“‘M so close, cariño, don’t think I can last much longer. You gotta be quiet while I take care of you, yeah?”

Without an answer, his fingers slip from your mouth. His other hand finds your lower stomach, pulling you up to stand with your shoulders against his chest, cock filling you up with each drag of his hips. The fingers wet with your saliva are quick to circle your clit, the extra stimulation barreling you towards the edge.

“Oh fuck, Frankie! Yes, yes, yes!” Your whines are as quiet as you can make them, the back of your head pressing hard into his shoulder as his next thrust sends your vision black and muscles taut. Every thought in your brain seeps away, pleasure filling every crevice of you.

Your walls squeeze around his cock, nails digging into his arm around you as he fucks you through your orgasm while chasing his own.

“Fucking hell, mariposa. Pussy’s fucking milking my cock, god. So tight. Eres tan perfecta para mi (You are so perfect for me).”

He thrusts his cock one, two, three more times before he pulls out quickly, replacing the feeling of you with his fist and repeating your name over and over under his breath. The sound of your come around his cock nearly drops you to your knees to take him in your mouth, but the looming pressure of time keeps you standing, compromising by bending over the counter again. Ropes of his warm come paint your ass and your wet cunt, a whine falling from your lips as his own soft, melodic whimpers fill your ears.

It’s quiet in the room except for the gasps of breaths you both take to calm down, eye contact made through the mirror as you both smile widely at each other. Nothing else is spoken as Frankie grabs tissues from the shelf above the toilet, wiping his come from your skin. Before he clean it up entirely, you swipe a fingertip through one streak, bring it to your lips to suck it clean. His mouth hangs open at the sight and you smirk satisfied, winking before you pull up your underwear and fasten your shorts up again.

Both of you are buttoning as a fist pounds on the door, the sound of a phone alarm following it. Benny’s voice booms from the other side, a cackle evident in his tone.

“Time’s up, boring fucks!”

Frankie looks at you with a sweet smile, nodding toward the door, “Ready?”

You exhale a chuckle and nod, taking a look in the mirror and making eye contact with Frankie as he looks at your reflection tenderly. Your hands brush at your hair, tapping the sweaty makeup back into your skin. Frankie shakes his head behind you, tugging you around by your belt loops. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Ladies first, mariposa.”

You step ahead of him, swinging the door open after twisting the lock undone and being met with a stumbling Benny on the other side.

He looks between the two of you, suspicion on his face as he tries to read your minds. Both of you have a poker face on, and he groans, shaking his head.

“Took you both long enough. What, were you fixing your clothes?”

“No, Frankie was just watching as I fixed up my makeup and had a catch-up. Nothing exciting for you to gossip about, Benny.”

He groans, marching back to the living room, “They didn’t do anything! Just fucking talked like losers.”

Frankie chuckles behind you, his warm palm rubbing against your lower back as you walk down the hall in front of him. His touch drops from you when you enter the party, both of you returning to your original seats and falling back into the conversation as the game switches to Truth or Dare.

Santiago glances at Frankie sitting next to him, chuckling to himself, “Zipper’s down, Fish.”

IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST, PLEASE FILL THIS FORM OUT! thank you!

taglist (everything/frankie): @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @swiftispunk @northernbluess @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @addictedtotlou @cannolighost @atinylittlepain

[orpheuslament]

literally am i your dream girl you think of me in bed but you could never hold me you like me better in your head make me evil then im an angel instead at least youll sanctify me when im dead

not a girl except when dream girl evil by florence + the machine is playing

[almostempty]

Still thinking about your gift fic. Ily. That is all.

i'm delighted that cowboy joel is on your mind! unfortch, i am still plagued with the visions of the underwater tentacle gang bang fic that i joked about in ur asks.. and to nobodies surprise--i can never resist committing to a bit.

so, once again, i am here to share something that nobody asked for.

the joel miller x javier peña x frankie morales x dave york x marcus acacius x f!reader time travel underwater tentacle sex pollen gang bang fic. no further questions pls. warnings: mdni, nonsense crackfic smut, dp/dvp/air-tight with tentacles, tentacle job??, one reference to m/m action, there is no reason for this other than i think it's funny. idk if there are tentacle smut rules or norms but there aren't any here okay? 2.3k words

You pull yourself to your feet, sinking slightly into the deep sand. The time portal spit you all out unceremoniously into a glowing, wet alien ocean. 

Joel Miller’s eyes narrow as he takes in the environment. “What the fuck is this?” he mutters like he has had enough surprises for one day and this is the cherry on top of his shit-day cake. 

Javier Peña immediately reaches for his gun, spitting out a clipped ‘fuck’ when he finds it isn’t tucked into the back of his jeans. 

Dave York scans for threats like a predator until he nearly doubles over, growling low in his throat like an animal flooded with the scream of its prey. 

Frankie Morales stays in place where he landed, his dark eyes cold and reserved. 

Marcus Acacius appears in full military general glory and immediately shifts into a defensive stance. He stands ready to fight, as if hand to hand combat is going to send him back to his historical fate. 

The moment the heat wave hits, your body ignites like a live wire. Something beyond your understanding is already underway. 

The water shimmers with gold and orange particles that seep into your skin turning every inch hypersensitive like you’re feeling nerves that have never existed in you before. 

And then the ache spears through you—centering at your core. It would knock you on your ass if you weren’t… underwater? 

You’re disoriented, blinking rapidly as your body struggles to reconcile the sensations. Why aren’t you drowning? Why does it feel like your skin is burning and freezing all at once? The confusion twists in your gut, but so does the spreading, unbearable urge.

You don’t have the mental capacity to figure out how you’re breathing, why the sea is glowing like an aquarium themed rave, or how all the men you’ve profiled are in front of you. Looking at you like they’re sharks and you’re the blood in the water. 

None of it matters because the desire is overwhelming. Unbearable. Insatiable.

A whimper escapes your lips, and five pairs of dark eyes narrow, then flare, locking onto you.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, chest expanding and collapsing. 

A deep, painful pull forces your muscles to contract. An overwhelming sensation tears through you like a firestorm—it’s desperate and depraved. Something is deeply, sickeningly wrong. 

Joel groans a gravelly, predatory sound that reverberates through the water and into your pores.

“The fuck is this—” he starts, but his words cut off as his gaze drops to his own body. Dark, thick tentacles coil wetly around his thighs, curling and flexing with a life of their own. They tear at his clothes and leave him looking ragged–but it’s not an alien creature–they’re a part of… him? 

You can’t look away. You have no explanation for what you’re seeing. 

And Joel isn’t the only one. 

Javier curses sharply as shining appendages unfurl from his body, twisting with a mesmerizing rhythm.

Frankie stares at his hands like they’re no longer his, golden particles sparkle as they sink into his skin. Delicate tendrils emerge, glittering like threads of starlight, their movements fluid and hypnotic as though testing their new form.

Marcus, furious and unyielding, glares with a dark intensity that only amplifies his commanding presence. His glistening tentacles writhe and slither like he’s a royal of the sea, dangerous and otherworldly.

And then there’s Dave. 

Lurking on the edges, his blackened eyes tracking every movement. His face is taut, tension radiating from him as though he’s holding himself back. Thick, shadowy tendrils pulse at his sides, coiling and uncoiling, ticking like a predator biding its time, their edges rippling with an inky sheen.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder what they’re thinking. Are they as deeply affected as you are? Are they pulled into the same inescapable rush? Or are you the only one losing your fucking mind?

The sight of them is enough to make you struggle to think. The tentacles move in sync with their labored breaths. It sends an inhuman need straight to your core. 

You can feel it viscerally, almost see it, thrumming in the tentacles that thrash and twist, all reaching toward you.

“It’s in the water,” you manage to choke out dimly, thighs pressing together. “It’s—oh, fuck.”

The first slick tentacle brushes your ankle, eerie and gripping. Just the tip against your skin makes your vision blur and you feel so devastatingly empty and needy. 

Your head snaps up to see Joel watching you with a heat that has nothing to do with the warm water. His dark eyes burn into yours and then another tentacle curls around your thigh. The pressure as it constricts around you makes you shudder. 

Oh.

“You feel it too,” Javier’s voice, strained and cracked, breaks through the thick fog slowing your thoughts. He’s impossibly close to you, tentacles twitching and writhing like they are propelled by a mind of their own. “You need it. You need us.”

The words crash over you like a tidal wave. Filthy, taunting words. They break you. Your knees buckle, but it’s slow motion in the water.

And then the tentacles catch you. Hold you. Lift you. Cradling you in a living throne, they roll and wriggle beneath you. 

“Jesus,” Frankie groans, long and low somewhere behind you, his glossy appendages trembling and flicking their tips as he watches you. 

Nearly engulfed in the pool of inky tentacles supporting you, your eyes are glazed and you’d scream at the searing heat of the contact–but you can’t. You need more.  

Frankie watches as Joel and Javier strip you with reckless urgency, tearing and shredding the rest of your clothes off. He’s nearly trembling as he watches you spinning around for both of them, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “She’s—fuck, look at her.”

Tentacles. 

Everywhere.

Joel is first to claim you, his broad hands working over your curves as his tentacles spread your legs wide, wider than you thought possible without straining your muscles and hips. 

His slick, alien limbs are relentless, spiraling around your thighs and teasing at your entrance until you are sobbing with a want so dire you can’t even say it.

“Look at her,” Joel growls, one tentacle nudging the folds of your swollen cunt, slow and unrelenting. “You like that, don’t you, baby?” His tentacle strokes along your seam before dipping into your entrance. 

“Oh-shit-I can…I can taste you,” he groans, only touching you with his tentacles and hands. “So fuckin’ worked up for us.” 

“Yes–yes,” you cry, head rolling back as he pushes deeper, stretching and slipping into your warm heat.

But it isn’t enough. 

Not nearly enough. 

More, Joel,” you beg shamelessly, like it’s life or death, “more, please.” 

“Greedy little thing,” Javier taunted, sidling up to Joel with laser focus on you. His tentacles coil around your torso, traveling up between the swell of your tits, and slipping lower, wriggling over and under Joel’s limbs to get to your core.

“Can’t get enough, can she?” Javier’s voice is teasing and silky, but his flushed face and darkening eyes betray him. His hands twitch with the same pulse of need that spreads through you, through Joel, and ripples through the water.  “You need more?”

“Then quit talking and help,” Dave snaps, his own movement growing more frantic as he crowds you from behind. His hands come to cup your jaw, tilting you to look into his eyes as his slick tentacles trail down your spine, slipping lower to drag through the mess of Joel and Javier’s throbbing tentacles stretching you. 

You choke on a gasp as another thick, slippery tentacle teased at your dripping entrance, circling you slowly before thrusting in with a sharp, overwhelming stretch.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” you cried, your head falling back as your walls clenched greedily around him.

“Greedy little thing,” Dave’s dark voice breaks through. 

Joel and Javier thrust deeper inside of you, sliding against each other and dragging along every nerve inside of you. It takes the painful ache down a notch, but it’s still not enough. 

Dave’s tentacles draw a slick path along the other men’s before drawing back to wickedly tease your ass. “Think you can take more?” His tentacles spread you wider—one curling around you to tap at your clit while another nudges insistently at your ass.

You can’t even answer. You moan, your body trembling as Dave’s slick appendage breaches you, the stretch bordering on too much but perfect.

“Yes,” you raggedly beg, as he works his slick alien limb into with a practiced ease, like he was designed for it. 

Joel and Javier thrust into you, deep and relentlessly. The two men brusquely fight for space, but their thick appendages mercilessly blind you with white hot pleasure. It spreads, molten and heavy through your body. Your limbs are jelly, completely supported by the men surrounding you and enveloping you with their thick shadowy limbs.  

You sob through it, body alive and burning. 

“More,” you gasp. Tears pour prick your eyes at the intensity, but they’re lost to the sea. 

The men groaned in unison. Dave’s tentacles curl and drive into your ass with incessant vigor. The fullness of the three men makes your mind empty. Liquid like the planet or dimension you’ve found yourself in. Just motion–friction and pressure. Slick, throbbing, and expanding, they fill you–ferociously seeking more for themselves. 

Marcus was there next, his golden armor gone as he towers over you like a god, obsidian tentacles flexing with terrifying beauty.

“Hold her open,” he orders darkly, and Joel and Javier obey, their limbs tangling with Marcus as he presses another slick appendage against you, stretching your body impossibly wide.

The pressure is devastating. Tentacles flexing and undulating—Joel, Javier, Dave, and now Acacius—each movement deliberate and overwhelming.

Your eyes roll back as they keep working into you. “Holy fuck,” you hear your voice, unaware the words are even coming out of you, “keep going.” 

You shake as you come, your body convulsing, every nerve sparking like you’ve been struck by lightning.

You were still gasping when Frankie’s slick tentacle slid past your lips, the taste alien and heady as it pulsed against your tongue. He groaned as you sucked instinctively, his hands threading through your hair. “That’s it. Just like that, fuck.”

Frankie, flushed and desperate, pushed in close to you, his tentacles teasing at your clit and nipples in tandem. Your body jerked, nerves sparking, the sensations so overwhelming you couldn’t tell where one touch ended and the next began.

“Can’t stop,” Frankie growls, his voice dark as one tentacle curls around his cock, stroking in rhythm with the ones inside you. “Feels so—fuck.”

“Oh my god—oh my god,” you choke and sob when he slips back out of your mouth, before plunging back into your throat. 

The fullness, the heat, the beating rhythm of the tentacles inside you—it’s too much. Everything feels connected, exquisite, heightened to another plane of pleasure. 

“Look at her,” Marcus commands, his own slick limbs wrapping around your waist and spreading you open even further. “Made for us.”

“Shut up,” Dave growls, tentacles wrapping around your tits, squeezing and tugging and tangling with Frankies until your chest rumbles with a deep moan. “Focus.”

“I’m focused,” Frankie murmurs. The tentacle he has teasing at your clit suctions to you, pulling and pulsing.  Another tentacle works  into your inexplicably full cunt, forcing your body to stretch wider. 

You swear you can feel it everywhere—your walls fluttering helplessly, your swollen clit twitching at the mercy of relentless tendrils. 

“Fuck—fuck, fuck, I’m coming,” you want to scream, but your body is out of your control. Instead, you’re sucking blindly at one of Frankie’s plump tentacles as it glides along your tongue. 

Your cunt–miraculously full–clenches around the tentacles as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you. 

You lose track of time. 

The men don’t stop. They can’t. They come in vicious waves–thick ropes of their come spill from their tentacles, filling you, spilling out of every hole, coating your body, and the water around you. 

The compression is devastating. Tentacles beating and swirling inside you—Joel, Javier, Dave, Frankie, and Marcus—each moving with competence and confidence.

You shake as you come again, your body convulsing, every nerve sparking like you’ve been struck by lightning.

But the glowing flakes of golden pollen don’t release you from the cursed urges. 

They shift. Working in a rugged battle of dominance and rapture. 

Joel and Javier fight over your mouth until you’re dripping with both of their releases. Frankie’s tentacles tease your clit and nipples until the point of oversensitivity before they’re coating you in his next release and slipping off of you. 

Marcus and Dave are possessed with brutal passion and savage dominance. They work in tandem, driving into you with power, grunting and muttering at you until you’re coming again. And… again. 

Working together, their tentacles tangling, they spread you wide and fill you to the brim. 

“You can take more,” Dave murmurs darkly, stroking your trembling thighs.

“Yes,” you begged.

“Good,” Marcus affirms, his limbs stroking over your stomach and breasts, pinching your nipples until you cry out.

You don’t know how long it lasts.

The men come in waves, their releases thick and hot, filling you until it drips from your body and mixes with the glowing water. 

Joel growls as he fills you for the last time, his tentacles shuddering before pulling out.

Frankie moans as Javier brings him to another release, their tentacles stroking and tangling together before turning on you once more.

Marcus’ limbs hold you open, his thrusts brutal and steady, while Dave whispers dark, filthy praises into your ear as he claims every inch of you.

When you come again, it isn’t soft and divine—it’s violent and shattering, your body convulsing helplessly as every nerve in you dissolves.

By the time the golden haze begins to fade, you are spent—thoroughly wrecked, body weightless and depleted in their arms.

Joel’s tentacles finally still, his broad chest heaving as he stares down at you, a hint of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

The vortex’s pull at your body, but it doesn’t feel like a rescue.

 You catch glimpses of their faces. Joel’s dark gaze lingers, heavy with something you can’t name. Javier smirks, but it’s softer now. Frankie murmurs something you can’t hear. And Marcus and Dave—unrelenting even as the golden light separates you—watch you like you’re theirs, and this isn’t over.

@/saradika-graphics

if u read this, u are a treasure and i love u, pls choose one (1) prize from the chest:

[legendary-pink-dot]

Bush Pilot

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving, and lots of it), fingering, semi-public sex, truck backseat shenanigans, seatbelts as restraints, established relationship, fetish/obsession for Frankie's hair, and a bit of masturbation (m)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: A drive to an isolated beach to watch the sunrise, some time to kill before dawn, soft aftermarket seatbelts, and Frankie's superior night vision.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". The inspiration for this one came from a line in my fic Airport Pickup. This fic took FOREVER to finish as I've had very limited writing time lately. Hope you enjoy it. All my love to my magic sluts/cheerleaders who don't have to hear my whining about this fic anymore yay: @imalrightllama @basicoccult @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen

You wake up to a bump in the road and an indigo sky. Not midnight dark anymore, but not quite twilight yet either. The dashboard clock reads 4:27 AM and you know it's correct because this is Frankie's truck, and everything about it has been meticulously maintained. Its owner is particular that way.

Frankie notices you stir and twines his hand into yours, resting it against your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. "Hey, perfect timing. Almost there."

"Sorry, fell asleep. I hate mornings." You crack open the passenger window, breathing in the crisp pre-dawn air. A bracing whiff of ocean salt fills your senses as you start to rouse.

"I know. It'll be worth it, cariño, promise. The sunrises are amazing here."

Another 20 minutes on this quiet road -- nobody else out driving at this hour -- until Frankie slowly rolls the truck to a stop and parks. You get out and stretch your tired limbs.

No streetlights here, no moon, and the stars are mostly washed out at this hour, but you can hear the surf just steps away, lightly lapping at a shore that you can't see. You curse your crappy night vision, knowing that Frankie has the edge in seeing through dim lighting, with all the night flying and navigation he's done over his years in the service.

"We still have some time before the sunrise," Frankie says, giving you a hug and feeling you shiver. You sigh into his hug, and he rests his chin on the top of your head for a minute or two. "Come on, let's wait inside. I've got blankets in the back seat."

You both climb into the back seat of the truck, and he unfolds a crazy-looking 1970s-style afghan.

"Where did you get this thing? Standard military issue?"

"Don't be mean," Frankie laughs, wrapping the blanket around you both and snuggling in. "My abuela made it for me a long time ago."

"Does she know it's your truck sex blanket?"

Frankie shuffles closer, sliding a hand up your chest and around your neck to pull your face close. "I've never used it for that." He kisses a whisper against your mouth. "Yet."

As you make out, slow and sweet, Frankie presses you further into the corner of the seat until you feel something dig into your side. It's the shoulder seatbelt and as you push it out of the way, you're surprised at how soft and silky it feels, like some luxury fabric instead of an industrial strip of webbing, and you stroke it with your hand.

"Aftermarket belts," Frankie says, watching you with a pleased expression. "The stock ones were too scratchy and uncomfortable."

"Too scratchy? That sounds like a made-up problem."

Frankie smirks. "I like my passengers to be comfortable." He slides a hand slowly down your body, his knuckles gently tracing your curves, his palm coming to rest over your center, already heated from the make-out session. "Would you like me to make you more comfortable?"

"Mmmm, yes please," you purr, kissing him more forcefully this time, nipping his lips and searching for his tongue with yours. You find it, tangle with it, suck it into your mouth, so focused on the kiss that you don't even notice he's holding your forearm and has gently wrapped the webbing of the shoulder belt around it twice.

He pauses, breaking the kiss and allowing you a second to check what he's doing. "Is this okay?"

"Very okay," you breathe against his mouth, unsure exactly what he'll do to you once you're restrained but eager to find out. He'd discovered early on in your relationship that restraints were something you liked, and he loved to indulge you. "Keep going."

--click--

Frankie smiles as he slots the latch into the seatbelt buckle and locks it into place.

The webbing is soft against your skin, and a little loose when you give it an experimental tug. "Tighter," you rasp, excitement growing fast. He adjusts the tension with the built-in clip until it's perfect for you.

You snake your free hand into his hair, already desperate to touch what you can and desperate to get your mouth on his again. He allows you to tug on his curls as you kiss, but only for a moment. His hand grabs your free forearm, forcefully this time, and pins it to the back of the seat.

"None of that," he tuts gently, wrapping the other side's shoulder belt around it. "We came here to see the sunrise, remember? Don't have much time."

--click--

"But Frankie..." you whine, testing the pull of the seatbelts and finding no slack. "I wanna feel you."

What was the line between obsession and fetish? It was something you often wondered about. His hair, his medium-brown hair that loosely curled and held shimmering flecks of silver, drove you absolutely mad. Every time you met up the very first thing you did was bury your fingers in it, the tips of the curls spiky on your palms, feeding some sort of physiochemical need you couldn't name and didn't really care to. Not being able to sate that need in this moment made you physically ache.

The seatbelt was wrapped around your forearm with the intention to let you slip out of it easily enough if you had to. But did you want to? Cravings are strong, but the deliciousness of prolonging the ache even stronger, and at this moment you don't know which you want more. The anticipation never felt so good.

Frankie senses your turmoil. He sits back and makes eye contact in the growing light, and runs a hand slowly through his hair. He even plumps the curls at his nape and fluffs one long curl that's fallen over his forehead, smiling innocently. You know he can see your fingers twitching. Bastard.

"Something wrong, cariño?" he smirks, and you can't hold back a whimper as you feel yourself clench around absolutely nothing.

"Francisco, you're a fucking menace."

"I know, I know," he soothes. "And you love it, don't you?" He leans forward and shakes his hair right into your face, but before you can swear at him some more, his curls are gently stroking your collarbone that's naked and exposed by your low-cut sundress. You whimper again, this time a pathetically needy sound, and he takes pity on you and caresses his hair over your bound forearms and hands, the ache in your fingers abating from finally, finally reaching some kind of goal.

"There you go, that's it," croons Frankie, kissing your skin swelling out between the webbing, moving down your arm and up to your shoulder. "Just a taste for you. More later. I want mine now."

In a single movement he hikes up the hem of your sundress with one hand and lifts your hip, and slides the other hand down the back of your underwear to pull them down your legs and off. Gripping a bare ankle in each hand, he spreads your legs as wide as he knows is comfortable for you. You feel split open, exposed and excited, and he's barely touched you yet.

The light is so dim that his eyes are in shadow for you, but you know they're wide and dark as his gaze takes you in, his face so close to your center you can feel his breath on your inner thighs.

"Can you see enough to work down there?"

"Of course," says Frankie, sounding almost insulted as he gently shifts your hips to pull you closer to his mouth. "I'm used to flying before sunrise. You know, I can land almost anywhere, in any terrain, because..."

You groan, knowing what's coming. "No, please... no aviation jokes..."

"...I'm a certified bush pilot." He snickers into your thigh, kissing it hard to try to mask his laughter.

"Bush pilot, really? That better not be a complaint about my wild foliage or something."

One of the things he had made clear early in your relationship, in his quiet and unassuming way, was that your grooming habits and preferences were none of his damn business. A refreshing attitude after years of dating men who had lots of unsolicited and unwanted opinions about your pubic hair and how they wanted you to maintain it. As if it existed just for them. Fuck that. Frankie never tried to change you -- he simply adapted to whatever was. One of the reasons why you adored him.

"Oh no, cariño," Frankie's voice drops deep in that way you know he's genuinely serious. "I fucking love your bush." He lowers his face to your mound and gently tugs a few hairs between his teeth. You hiss at the prickly feeling, sharp but not painful, slipping into a loud cry as he dives his tongue deep into your entrance to eagerly prove his point.

You'd never been with someone who loved pussy eating as much as him. Maybe it mirrored your obsession-sorta-fetish for his hair. Impeccable sexual compatibility, you and Frankie.

It's different each time, and this extra-early morning he explores every fold with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, scratching the surfaces and then delving deeper. He doesn't even need to look up at you to know that your eyes are shut despite the dark and that you're lost in feeling.

Every change in your breathing, the tenor and pitch of your sighs and moans, the little wiggle of your hips when his tongue flicks here instead of there. Those are the cues he looks for and the only ones he needs, and he quickly takes you as high as you can go and stays with you all the way back down.

Frankie is relentless, barely giving you time to recover before latching back onto your clit, nudging you past your overstimulation, somehow knowing just how much extra you can take. He always knows.

You barely catch your breath before he's absolutely devouring you again, lightly capturing your folds between his teeth and exploring each one as if he's kissing your mouth for the first time, moving his head to approach your center from every possible angle from his confined position and adjusting his hold on your thighs to match.

He gently slides a thick finger inside you. The stretch is a lot, it always is with him, and he lets you adjust to it before adding a second finger, and presses them as far up as they'll go, his callused fingertips teasing the edge of your most sensitive spot.

Your hips start to move of their own accord but his free hand holds you down as he keeps his fingers inside you right where they are, demanding you concentrate on feeling the pressure and stretch instead of seeking motion.

From above he almost chews on your clit, which you never considered to be a thing you'd like but you are suddenly now forever feral for, and you wiggle your hips as much as you can, desperate to get him exactly where you need him most, giving only one fleeting thought to anyone else parked at the end of this road who might be hearing your loud moans right now.

With his tongue and his fingers he holds you in that sweet limbo state, your conscious mind wanting it to go on forever but your body craving release. You can't choose which one you want more, until you see the first rays of the sun peek out over the horizon and it distracts your mind just enough for your body to fall over the crest again, louder and more intense this time, gushing and squeezing and fluttering around his fingers until he slowly pulls them out.

You were so blissed out that you never noticed Frankie had been pressing and rubbing his crotch against the floor, the seat, whatever he could find while he was eating you out. The back seat of the truck is quickly filling with light and you watch him unzip his jeans just enough to pull out his cock, hard and leaking.

If you weren't so zoned out, if he just gave you a few minutes to recover, you'd be happy to help him, but he's too impatient and fucks his fist with sloppy motions. It's a hypnotic sight, the pinkish tip peeking out between his thick fingers and then disappearing for a second in a desperate rhythm, and you slide your hands free from the seatbelts just in time to grab his hair and give the curls a hard pull, seconds before he comes in hot spurts across your thighs and swollen cunt, choking out a cry that again made you glad he had brought you to this beach so early in the day.

Thankfully, he didn't get any on the blanket. You shake it out and wrap it around both of you as he snuggles up beside you on the seat.

"Good?"

"Good. Very good."

"Yeah."

Your breaths gradually slow as you watch the fireball in the sky inch higher, your hand mindlessly finding his hair and repeatedly twisting a curl around your finger.

The truck cab finally fills with full daylight, showing you an inviting and isolated strip of beach, and no other vehicles. Frankie was right -- it was worth getting up early for this sunrise. And it was amazing.

"Frankie?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Tell me more about what it takes to be a bush pilot."

[marvelstars]

Compassion as unlimited love

Obi-Wan and Yoda believed there was no turning back from the Darkside, that´s why Obi-Wan didn´t deny the fact he meant to kill Anakin when Padme asked him and why Padme wanted to take Anakin away from everything and why Obi-Wan kept himself hidden on Padme´s ship instead of going with her to try to bring Anakin back to his senses together.

His mission was to kill Anakin as punishment for his betrayal on the Jedi Order and his attack on the Jedi Temple. Acording to Yoda Obi-Wan´s mission was to "take Anakin out of his misery" because "Darth Vader had consumed him" that´s the Old Jedi Order approach to sith, to kill them because once you fall to the darkside it will forever dominate your destiny and in Anakin´s case as one of their own and member of their Jedi lineage, this was personal, so there was also revenge involved. Obi-Wan left Anakin to die burning alive because he wanted him to suffer and he was sure that was going to be enough to kill him, at no point he expected him to survive.

This is also why Yoda and Obi-Wan keep Luke in the dark about Anakin´s familiar connection to him, they were not sure how to approach the fact they were bassically telling Luke he had to commit patricide to defeat the Sith, it wasn´t something they liked but they thought it had to be done. They were suprised by the fact Vader told Luke the truth because they saw him as a being of complete darkness, inhuman, twisted, evil more machine than man and so unable to feel a connection or a wish for his Son to be with him.

But he survived because Darth Sidious rescued him. Sidious had his own attachment to Anakin, he saw him as something that belonged to him. He also still believed he was the chosen one, in the sense his power could help him keep the force in darkness and support his rule this way.

When Luke told Obi-Wan he could not kill his own father out of moral principle and that there may be a way back from the darkside, Obi-Wan answered him that then "The Emperor has already won" "You were our last hope" this means that Obi-Wan expected Luke to either kill his father or be killed by him because there was no going back from the darkside.

The definition of Compassion as "unlimited love" is Anakin´s personal take to the Jedi principle of "compassion at the center of their jedi life philosophy" in answer to Padme´s question "Are you allowed to love, I thought the Jedi were not allowed to love?" but this wasn´t a generalized view in the old Jedi Order, this was Anakin´s personal take on it.

This is also why when Luke stopped himself from killing Vader, Luke rejects both the darkside the Emperor and his offer of power represents and also rejects killing his father out of a sense of justice as "the ends justifies the means" or to defeat the Sith that he exclaims "I am a Jedi like my father before me"

Vader comes back from the darkside because Luke forced him to remember what he used to believe, his real self, how he once believed in compassion as unlimited love, he believed if he helped enough he could solve the problems of the galaxy, he remembered how much he loved his Son, his family, Padme and Obi-Wan so he decided to sacrifice his life defeating his master, because he was reponsible, personally responsible of the sith becoming as powerful as they did in the Empire even if he also loved the Emperor and he did this out of compassion for his Son knowing this would bring an end to the Sith and the Empire.

Shmi and Anakin with their "the biggest problem in the universe is that nobody helps each other" and showing how helping made the galaxy better, they definitely made a difference for Naboo.

Anakin´s definition of compassion as unlimited love that he practiced during the clone wars is a theme of SW, Padme and Luke are the characters who embody the principle of "compassion as unlimited love" in relation to their compassion for Anakin after he fell to the darkside, is a love that can bring people back from the darkness which the old Jedi Order thought was impossible. When Obi-Wan choose to teach Anakin how to become a force Ghost was to show him he forgave him. In the Star Wars Saga it´s the story biggest message and why the story is about the Skywalker family.

[qqueenofhades]

Is it normal that I’m legitimately so scared of saying pretty morally tame things like “I don’t want to talk about genocide because it makes me severely uncomfortable” or in general expressing my political opinion.

Like i’m not even kidding when I say that all my drafts are just my possibly offensive (probably not) political takes i’m just so scared of everyone leaving me it’s not even funny.

Anyway i also think that if you talk about Palestine but not Ukraine you are a victim of Russian Propaganda™️

I’m sorry I don’t know why i did this have a nice day ok baiiiiiii

Here's the thing. You and every other average social media user should not have to masquerade as a sudden in-depth expert on every single social, political, humanitarian, etc. crisis that we are dealing with in this wretchedly miserable excuse for a timeline. It should not be a baseline expectation on you that when you log onto your little social media in your little average life, you have to come up with The Correct Opinions on everything and if you don't, you're "perpetrating oppression" by not vigorously spreading misinformation, instead of simply admitting that you don't know what to do, you as an average citizen are not in a position of making this change and therefore don't actually have to spend every waking minute obsessing about it, and that maybe, just maybe, you'd like to spend more time informing yourself until and/or IF you decide you want to talk about it. This is the same as the Instagram Activists (TM) who traumatize themselves to the point of PTSD by constantly consuming torture and/or war porn and/or graphic content about murdered children because they "don't have the right to look away." Actually, you do. You are able to make choices to control your personal social media use and to set boundaries as to what you do and do not want to do and/or see, rather than insisting that the only moral choice is to literally mentally destroy yourself with all the weight of human suffering in the world and then expected to act as a de facto expert on all of it, on pain of being Cancelled. This is a stupid, irrational, unhealthy, and generally idiotic expectation. You should not have to take part in it. Nobody should.

Likewise, I think that this is a large part of why people are so scared to voice any opinion that goes against the Prevailing Groupthink: they are afraid of losing friends, of having nasty bad-faith internet trolls say mean things about them, being accused of being a "bad person," or otherwise being guilt-tripped, shamed, and blamed for not centering their entire existence around something that they cannot actually do anything about. Once again, people think the only way you can be Known to Oppose Something Problematic (tm) is if you post on social media about it all the time. Forget whatever you might be doing offline, in your real life, or otherwise; it "doesn't count" if you don't make a big virtuous display of your Rightthink, or you will be viciously harassed. Now, look, I am old and/or tired enough that I don't give a shit what stupid internet users say about me, but I can tell you that I sure did when I was younger, it was incredibly painful to be on the end of those kinds of attacks, and it's (again!) not something you should just have to expect as a baseline level of gaslighting and harassment. As I have said. This is Tumblr. It is a stupid blue website mostly for fandom and/or three in-jokes. This is not a platform where we are expected To Do Social Justice all the time, nor should it be. As for Elon Musk's Twitter: yeah. No.

Also: yes, if you do spend all your waking moments obsessing over Palestine, but say nothing whatsoever about Ukraine and/or openly support Russia, you are in fact very much a victim of Russian Propaganda and you 100% support genocide when it's done by an "anti-western" state that you support for that reason alone. You only care because you can use the cause to make yourself look morally superior, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with opposing genocide on a basic, universal, or fundamental level. The end.

(I hope you have a nice day too. The anger in this is not directed at you. I support everything you've said here and hope that you're able to set healthy boundaries and protect yourself.)

[wholelottaprompts]

Dance Fever Prompts

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

from Florence + the Machine's Dance Fever album

I was never satisfied, it never let me go.

I am nobody's moral center.

I am committed now, to the feeling.

I couldn't help it, yes, I let it in.

You know I deserve it.

Come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong.

You can take your complaints straight to the lord.

They put crosses on the doors to try and keep me out.

You said this could have been the best thing that ever happened to you.

Heaven is here if you want it.

Sometimes I wonder if I should be medicated.

Did I disappoint you?

I used to see the future and now I see nothing.

Do I wait for time to do what it does?

I'm always running from something.

I told the band to leave without me.

I'm back in town, why don't we go out?

I'll get the next flight.

Well, did you miss me?

There is no bad, there is no good.

Being clever never got me very far.

Just when you think you have it figured out, something new begins to take.

I don't love you, I just love the bomb.

You could never hold me, you like me better in your head.

It's all in my head.

I always lived in my head.

You'll be sorry that you messed with me.

I'll show you what it means to be sad.

What strange claws are these scratching at my skin?

Did mommy make you sad?

I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king.

Do I just remind you of every girl that made you mad?

"You're too sensitive", they said.

Am I quiet enough for you yet?

I never thought it would get this far.

Okay, but let's discuss this at the hospital.

I just kept spinning and I danced myself to death.

When I'm dancing, I am free.

Song always made sense to me.

You said that rock and roll is dead, but is that just because it has not been resurrected in your image?

Sometimes I see so much beauty, I don't think that I can cope.

I'm thinking about her.

You wouldn't want me, would you?

Why don't you give me a call?

Am I your dream girl?

When someone looks at me with real love, I don't like it very much.

I met the Devil, you know, he gave me a choice.

I guess I got my wish.

I've blown apart my life for you.

Is this how it is? Is this how it's always been?

All my friends are getting ill.

The very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most.

It wasn't me, it was the song.

I was never as good as I always thought I was.

I know I may not look like much

I don't know how it started.

Is this something that you would like to discuss?

You know I'm still afraid.

Can you see me? I cannot see you.

Can you hear me? I cannot hear you.

I've been expecting you, I'm ready.

But quiet and still.

I'm still crazy and I'm still scared.

Do they speak to you?

I should've come with a warning.

Something's coming.

[renthony]

Some recs for adult animation I enjoy:

People always seem to think I only watch kids' shows, so here's a list of animated television shows I adore, that were all made with adults in mind:

King of the Hill - Genuinely didn't think I'd like it, but I actually really love it? I expected something that was basically just The Simpsons or Family Guy, but got a surprising amount of emotional depth from the main cast. Bobby Hill is my son boy.

Futurama - I am legally obligated to list Futurama. I have watched the entire series so many fucking times. I'm going to watch the reboot and we all know it.

Disenchantment - It's more than just "Futurama medieval fantasy" but tonally, they are pretty similar. I enjoy it immensely. Bean is a #bicon, and that's fucking canon <3

Samurai Jack - The original show aired as a kids' show, but the revival apparently put it into the adult category. I haven't gotten that far yet, but holy shit, it's so good so far. Even the "kids' show" part is pretty mature, imho.

Bob's Burgers - I fucking love Bob's Burgers. I need to catch up on the more recent seasons. A sitcom that DOESN'T have parents who clearly hate each other? Whaaaat?

Harley Quinn - I'm not caught up, and there are aspects I have critiques of, but overall, it's been fun as fuck. I LOVE this interpretation of Ivy so fucking much.

Metalocalypse - My dad's a metal musician, so this was on in my house all the time when I was a teenager. I haven't watched it in *years* but I still reference the early seasons in conversation constantly. The Duncan Hills will wake you, motherfuckers.

Big Mouth/Human Resources - They are better than you think they are, and the "ugly style" reminds me of classic Klasky-Csupo. Compare it to Rugrats and tell me it doesn't have similar caricature styles. Story-wise, it nails the exact blend of panicked awkwardness I felt as a disaster tween, it has SO MANY queer characters. They dramatically improved on their more problematic aspects after getting called on it in seasons 1 and 2. And Human Resources made me sob like a little baby in the episode with Kieth from Grief.

BoJack Horseman - Starts off as a goofy gross-out humor sitcom but very quickly becomes a serious drama. Incredibly heavy and dark, but holy shit the catharsis. Delves into a lot of musings about morality, celebrity culture and Hollywood, generational trauma, and the perpetuation of cycles.

Tuca & Bertie - Goofy slice-of-life about characters navigating their 30s. Lots of musings about family, trauma, sexual abuse, queer dating in your 30s, friendship, and trying to survive it all. I relate so fucking much to the main cast.

Magical Girl Friendship Squad - It's a magical girl cartoon about milennials. Their magical girl weapons are birth control pills and a bong. It's fucking amazing. I'm really sad nobody else seems to have heard of it. :(

Little Demon - Sitcom about the Devil's daughter. Unsure if it's going to get a season 2, since it's about to get taken completely off of Hulu. Still worth watching if you can, because it's so fucking good. Centers on a teenage girl navigating Being A Teenage Girl while also dealing with her dad being the Devil and her mom being a traumatized mess who's figuring her own shit out.

Q-Force - The advertising did this show so fucking dirty. It was genuinely fucking funny, and it was clearly made with love. This isn't straight people making fun of us, this is queer people making queer comedy. Watch it.

Arcane - Arcane's politics are all over the place and I am in my "Silco Was Right" corner, which is right next to the "Magneto Was Right" clubhouse. But goddamn, the animation is gorgeous and the story is intense.

The Legend of Vox Machina - I haven't watched Critical Role, so I can say with confidence that this show is fucking amazing even if you have zero interest in the original gameplay streams. Fantasy animation for grownups, where they can show blood and titties, my beloved. <3

[pomefioredove]

As the president of VilYuu nation what are your speculations for manga!Yuu for Pomefiore installment, considering the manga version of each Yuu serves as the foil for the overblot boys ✨️

(Or they should be, but tbh I only Yuuta who served this purpose the most clearly as he looks like how Azul was in the past yet he is happy and content, unlike Azul. I wished we could have seen Yuuken's and Yuuka's backstories explored more to mirror Riddle's and Leona's.)

For Vil's Yuu, I'm thinking of child actor whose fame is rapidly vanishing but is still dedicated to their work until they're tossed into twst 🤔 But again manga Yuu has all been average high school students so idk, maybe they're in some clubs which involve performing arts? Or the average fan who is fond of innocent type of idols like Neige hot idols like Vil? Anything's possible and I'm not sure if I can contain my excitement until the Pomefiore manga is finally out 💕 (which will happen in 2 years if we're lucky, considering how long it took Heartslabyul manga 😭)

admittedly I don't keep up with the mangas so I am reading this all as you explain it to me, but if they were a foil, they would contrast him more so than not, yes?

so it actually would make more sense for yuu to just be an average high school student. even more than that. make them a nobody, a complete introvert, someone who hates being looked at

I think the most effective character foils are ones who contrast the main character's superficial qualities (which, in this case, would be vil's elegance, style, fame, talents, etc), but mirror their repressed thoughts and feelings. make this yuu someone who struggles with feeling inferior, make them insecure about their morality, make them someone who is a loner, not by their own hand, but by being villainized and isolated by their peers

I guess I would go for a backstory that's more like, yuu as a young child who wasn't socialized properly (I think this would parallel the film industry in vil's background well). but they're a terrible actor, and thus can never lie about anything. they're blunt, they don't fake smile, they express disgust and contempt often and easily... others call them mean and scary and they were othered, and so they grew to fit the role of the villain. almost unashamedly so.

they avoid people, they hate being the center of attention, and they hate feeling judged, which creates a lot of conflict between them and vil for a long time. "don't talk to me, don't look at me, I hate you" type of edgy. lots of self-hatred, and a deep bitterness towards others they think of as perfect. what they feel for vil is almost what vil feels for neige

but yeah idk lol. I was imagining a fem yuu for all of this because I feel like this sort of personality is way more interesting for a female character to have, but as far as I know all the manga yuus are male. just some speculation!

anyway tldr since this is mostly just me babbling

yuu is a terrible actor who can't so much as fake a smile

their bluntness and lack of expression makes them come off as mean and judgmental

they grew up being isolated and villainized by their peers because of it

they began isolating themselves as a counter measure, avoiding people, becoming introverted and lonely and hating attention/being looked at

they develop a deep hatred of "perfection" and people they consider perfect, which includes vil

[literaticat]

I sincerely hope this question doesn't come across as self-centered & apologize if it is. I'm a marginalized author & disappointed that neither my agent nor editor have reached out to check on me or to reiterate support for my poc & queer books under contract. I understand the week has been hard for them too, but the silence makes me feel... I just really wish they had reached out. Is that an unrealistic expectation to have?

Big hugs (if you want them!) -- I hope you are taking good care of yourself, it's been a very rough week for a lot of folks. (For future generations reading this: yes the 2024 election in the US just happened, yes a lot of people are feeling very *shattered* rn).

I gotta be totally honest: I have not reached out to my clients about this specifically either. If there was something I would have been emailing them about anyway, I acknowledged the tumultuous week and gave them love if they wanted it (sort of exactly how I did at the beginning of this ask!), and then moved on to the business at hand. If they have reached out to me, same. If they have said something on socials and I've seen it (which I don't see everything, or even MOST things), I've given them love about it; if they've said something to ME about it, same. But boundaries are a good thing, and I'm trying not to overstep.

This is for a couple of reasons. First, I don't trust myself not to have a breakdown, I'm barely holding myself together. (I had a panic attack and cried at the bookstore yesterday! Hot mess express here!)

More importantly, though, I just don't think it's my place to inject myself into people's personal or political lives. I'm pretty open about my politics, and if somebody wants to process something with me, I will absolutely hold space for that, but I don't want to get my crisis of faith in democracy vibes all over anyone randomly.

Basically -- everyone will process what happened this week in a different way -- some people are in a state of shock, or grief. Some are angry at Republicans, but lots are angry at Democrats, too, and hey, while I may not like that, I do acknowledge that it's a fact. As far as I know (!!!) nobody I rep is celebrating right now. But . . . I am fairly certain that some people I know didn't vote at all, or voted in some other way (third party?) due to their own moral convictions, and while again, that wouldn't have been MY choice, I can't begrudge somebody else making that choice for themselves. (But I don’t actually WANT to know if that’s the case!)

It's simply not my business.

We represent people from all walks of life, who have many kinds of experiences. As is probably clear, I consider myself very much a Democrat and pretty on the left of much of the party, but I am certain that there are clients of mine who are much more leftist than I am, and probably some who are more centrist or even (perhaps) more conservative than I am. What we all, hopefully, have in common regardless of anything else is respect for one another and our shared work, and I really don't want to damage that.

[live-from-flaturn]

From that prompt list: #41. But can I add to it? Not just overhearing the other person talk about their feelings, but these people know they like each other already (possibly already dating). But the one doesn't usually communicate those types of feelings to the other (not their love language) and the other overhears and is just rush of butterflies, glowing skin, heart flips and isnt mad because the one shows their affection in other ways. I hope this makes sense.

Oooooh this was a really fun idea to play with. I hope you enjoy this sappy character study that might be partially based on a true story about my stepmom asking my dad (her husband) where her husband had gone after surgery.

tw: medical environment, side effects of anesthesia

wordcount: approx. 750

Title: "Goodnight Kiss"

Chay’s leg won’t quit bouncing no matter how hard he tries, but he can’t help himself.

The sight of Kim in a hospital bed never fails to make his heart race. Even if the operation was successful and his boyfriend’s burst appendix has been entirely removed, Chay can’t seem to calm down. He knows that Kim is safe. He understands perfectly well that Kim is alive and breathing. His heartbeat forms a steady beep beep beep through the machine that almost soothes Chay’s frazzled nerves. Almost.

He won’t be truly calm until–

“Hnnn.”

Chay’s full attention snaps to Kim’s face. His perfectly manicured eyebrows have scrunched together at the center of his forehead and his mouth is pulled into a pale, thin line. The pattern of beeps coming from his heart-rate monitor speeds up by an increment only noticeable to Chay’s finely tuned ears. 

“Kim?” Chay barely holds back a grin as he leans closer. “Are you awake?”

Kim grumbles something unintelligible and his frown grows thunderous. Worry dives headfirst into the rushing current of Chay’s thoughts. 

“Are you alright, P’Kim?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he slurs. Still half-asleep and doped on painkillers, Kim’s tongue struggles to form each angry syllable. “Go away. I want my boyfriend.”

Chay bites the inside of his cheek and takes a moment to ponder whether he should call Tankhun for moral support. Drugged Kim is already a handful (Chay still giggles fondly at his memories of The Great Halloween Tranq Dart Incident), but he also can’t be sure if Kim is asking for him or someone from before. 

Before that fateful open house. Before their guitar lessons. Before they’d started dating. Before–

“Ugh, where the hell is Chay?!” 

“Oh, uh. Babe, I’m right here.”

Kim either doesn’t understand or doesn’t hear him. The morphine has his boyfriend in its clutches and is not letting go.

“How does he expect me to feel better when I can’t see his beautiful smile, huh?” Kim is immediately belligerent. “How am I supposed to heal without Chay singing me to sleep and playing with my hair? He’s so good at it, too. Hey, do you like head scratches?”

 Chay startles at the accusing finger pointed toward his chest. He nods hesitantly, “Yeah…”

“Then you should meet my boyfriend ‘cause he’s awesome at them.” Kim smirks triumphantly and then jerks as if he’s been electrocuted. His glazed eyes narrow into threatening slits, “Actually, forget I said that. I’m taking back my offer and shredding it for good measure. You should stay far away from my sweet, vicious angel. He’s mine and nobody else can ever have him or I’ll…” 

Kim tears up so fast he’s barely able to rasp out the final part of his statement: 

“I’ll make sure they never find the bodies.”

Well that’s… nice?

“You’re very sweet, P’Kim.” Chay stands and pushes his patient’s shoulders back against the bed. “But I think you need a bit more rest before you wake up properly.”

“I can’t sleep without a goodnight kiss,” Kim pouts. “And I only accept goodnight kisses from my boyfriend, so don’t even try.”

Chay thinks back on all the times he’s taken care of Porsche after anesthesia and puts on his most serious Medical Professional Face. “One moment, Khun Kim. I’ll go and fetch Khun Chay for you.”

“Hmph. Thank you.”

Chay walks to the door, slips outside, spins around for the hell of it (and to amuse the single evening nurse behind her station) and walks back inside. “P’Kim, the nurse told me you woke up?”

“There you are! Where have you been?!”

“I needed to use the restroom.”

“Oh…” Kim’s confusion is adorable. Especially when his bottom lip sticks out like it is. “I guess that’s okay, then.”

“Thank you. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Give me a goodnight kiss,” Kim demands, ever the little prince. “And… And play with my hair so I can sleep?”

“Alright, P’Kim,” Chay smiles warmly. His heart damn near explodes at the unrestrained grin Kim sends back, too loopy to hide a single drop of his obvious joy. “I’m happy to do that. Would you like a sip of water first?”

“Yeah, my mouth is gross.”

“I bet.”

Chay gently presses his lips against Kim’s warm forehead and thanks every star in the universe for second chances. 

[nobodyfamousposts]

I love the newest part of chloe's lament!!!

As always, the problem with all of chloe's plans Are that she doesn't think them though, because she doesn't think she needs too. She has it in her head that she has future knowledge, and so operates solely on that.

I am very curious as to which student overhead Chloe and Bustier. Sabrina or Adrien who already knows of Chloe's wish? A classmate with no idea of theyre even being a wish? Maybe marinette herself?

Thank you for writing and Sharin chloe's lament btw it's one of my favorit miraculous aus and I just reread it all when i saw the newest post <33

To be fair, it's not just her future knowledge.

The thing about Chloe (or at least the way I'm doing her), is that she has this perception of how the world works and how it SHOULD work based on the many years where the world DID work that way. For years, Chloe could essentially do whatever she wanted and not only were there no consequences, she was never even suggested that she was wrong or anything she did was wrong.

Look at canon: even in the few instances where Chloe "lost", she didn't really lose anything. At most, someone else "won" and she just didn't get something she wanted. And even when she was revealed to have been cheating or acting dishonestly, nobody really calls her out on it. She still at most doesn't get something she wanted. That the adults seem to ignore her behavior and even the narrative made more of an effort to woobify her didn't help matters.

Chloe in this setup is the prime example of someone who thinks she's the main character and the world is just supposed to make things work out for her. This is combined with her future knowledge to make her think that this is an advantage she can use to benefit herself...not realizing that the entire setup has changed and whatever benefits she had before that protected her from consequences are no longer there.

In her limited defense, at this point her future knowledge is really her only advantage. Through it, she knows things that most other people don't. But not only is she trying to use it for selfish reasons, she's trying to apply it in ways where it simply can't be applicable due to the changes already made by the setup of the world.

Half of the akumas Chloe knows about were created because of her. But Chloe isn't in a position anymore do to as many of them this time around.

Do you really think Princess Fragrance is going to happen? It'd be Marinette whom Rose would ask instead of Chloe, and while Marinette may not be able to personally introduce Rose to Prince Ali, she could still take Rose's letter to him. At the very least, she certainly wouldn't just rip it apart in front of her.

Vanisher? Sabrina and Chloe aren't friends.

Rogercop? Haha no. Chloe doesn't have a golden bracelet.

So yes, while she is acting on future knowledge that may not apply, the bigger problem is this "protagonist centered morality" Chloe has where she is operating under the belief that SHE is the protagonist and that things are just supposed to work out in her favor because she is herself. Because that's how they always did before.

But as a result of the Wish, Chloe gave that up. Not just the money and social status, but also the protection and ambivalence she received not just from the adults around her regarding her behavior. Chloe is getting first hand experience of what Marinette and others had to go through when it came to her, and she hates it. But what Chloe especially hates is that unlike her, people don't resent Marinette for being better off and she fails to see it's because of her actions.

It's easier to just act as if Marinette's manipulating everyone or that they're brainwashed than admit that Chloe caused her own issues.

The worst part is that Chloe could have turned her situation around at any point. Her future knowledge would have helped her do that. But that would require her to accept her position for what it is and more importantly, stop repeating her previous behaviors. And given it's Chloe, that's going to be the hardest thing for her.

As far as your question, I'm not going to reveal just yet which student it is. Though I will go ahead and say it isn't Marinette. She's still at the contest, marveling over the other entries and maybe even giving feedback to some of the contestants if they want it.

You're welcome! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!

[anarchomitsumi]

this is such an "oh get over it" dilemma but

you guys know my father pasted away in may. he had a store in our town and owned the property (he wasn't renting). so as his heir the property is gonna be partly mine now, plus my mother's who has right to some of the usufruct. and i have to choose what to do with it.

im a communist, and even if it sounds ridiculous i am 100% serious about it. i do not want to make money off of other people, especially not because im a landlord. i promised myself in adult age i wouldn't become self-interesed or competitive for money and turns out the time to make those choices has arrived way earlier than i would've liked.

having the property empty and closed is out of the question because turns out, owning real state has a cost !! taxes, water, gas, electricity, etc. and as an unemployed 19 year old i cannot afford that.

other option is selling it but this posses two problems: 1) my 5 thousand inhabitants town does not have an economy where someone would be interested in buying the property. 2) my house is directly above the property. I've grown up in this store, it's part of my house to me and i don't think im ready yet to part with it permanently. or risking it turning into a bar and not letting my mother sleep because of the noise. or what if the new owner just rents it themselves and i end up helping nobody?

option 3 is renting it. but like i said i don't want to be anybodys landlord. we already have a local business interested but it's not like i can go up to them and rant about the evils of renting property in communism's eyes or something. most i can try is fighting with my mother to rent it at a low price.

any option to turn it into a social center or similar community project is out of the question because my mother won't allow it

it probably sounds like a a ridiculous situation. a lot of people can't ever aspire to own property and here i am at 19 years old "suffering" because i own property and i can make money off of it. what a struggle.

i understand too that communism's purpose isn't to make me feel morally good. but i genuinely feel trapped between my desire to help others out, my town's frankly dying economy, and risking a break in my relationship with my mother due to idealogical differences.

i don't know what to do. i don't know why I'm posting this either. it's not like my college student mutuals are gonna have an idea of how to get out of this. idk.