#(if only because he can't really do anything about it)

[apricotbuncakes]

OP is so fucking awesome for including the sexual intrusive thoughts because yeah. People do have them. And they are distressing. But they're one of the types of intrusive thoughts that are hardest to open up about and seek help for, because they're so terrifying to admit you have. Like, even in therapy, I can't admit that I have them because I don't want my therapist to think that I actually want to act on them. I don't!! I really really don't. And having those thoughts are fucking awful.

I have to actively avoid the people I like if the thoughts get too intense, to try and redirect my line of thinking to something else before I can see them again. Because if I don't, the thoughts persist and persist, taking over my regular thoughts until I can't think of anything else but those horrible actions (and this applies to my intrusive thoughts about murder too, not just sexual ones).

People have started saying 'intrusive thoughts' when they mean 'impulsive thoughts' so when someone with genuine intrusive thoughts is honest about what that's like and what their thoughts say, people who have conflated the two assume "oh this person actually wants to act on their intrusive thought". Which yeah, if that were true would be awful in a lot of cases (not all intrusive thoughts are violent acts, such as the mind readers example, but that doesn't mean they aren't distressing or intrusive). But the definition of intrusive is 'unwanted, invasive'. Intrusive thoughts are unwanted and invasive thoughts that people do not want and do not want to act on.

Actually, one of the best videos I've ever seen about this is Thomas Sanders' Sanders Side episode about intrusive thoughts, and how to handle them. It genuinely helped me so much in addressing mine and I always recommend it, because through the acting, Thomas shows what it's like internally to have unwanted and invasive thoughts, and it doesn't shame the people who have intrusive thoughts in the process.

In the episode it's revealed that Thomas' intrusive thoughts are an extension of his creativity, but specifically the creativity he has shunned for being 'wrong'. (This isn't a one to one with my experience, I don't see my intrusive thoughts as part of my creativity, but the rest of this does apply to me). Thomas learns that trying to ignore the thoughts will only make them worse, and that to handle them he has to acknowledge that they exist, but also acknowledge that they don't make him a bad person for having them. Clearly he doesn't want to do the things the thoughts tell him to.

For myself, I've realized the best way to help with my intrusive thoughts is using them for creativity. I use fanfiction and put my intrusive thoughts in them, using my Blorbos to get the thoughts out and associate them with something creative rather than just the actions itself. It's why I have so many fanfics with noncon in them. I absolutely do not condone those actions. I'm just using the fanfics to get the thoughts I don't like out of my head (and I ALWAYS tag them appropriately so people coming across my fics know that there's dark content involved so they can avoid it). I also use them to examine parts of myself with related trauma, assigning aspects of my perspective of the situation to different characters.

It's also why I'm a huge advocate for no censorship in creative works. Because I know that just because someone writes something or someone doing a bad thing, that doesn't mean they condone it. I sure as hell do not condone the actions in my fics spawned from intrusive thoughts, but I still write them because it's a creative outlet, a way to get rid of the nasty buggers. And when I'm done I balance it out with something more positive to take my mind off things.

TLDR; Sexual intrusive thoughts are fucking awful things to have and are very distressing. People who have intrusive thoughts do not want to act on them because by definition the intrusive thoughts are unwanted and invasive.

[captain-huggy-bear]

comforting Quinn after one the awful games the canucks have had as of late

Oh he's had a rough time of it lately our Captain but I do feel like we're on the way up! Winning streak here we come! Fingers crossed, anyway!

The way Quinn storms into the apartment is the first sign that he's taking this run of bad luck hard, that this most recent loss has finally caused him to snap. The door is slammed open, slammed shut, his shoes are practically thrown off, he's stomping around like the entire world is against him. The way he pulls open the fridge is so harsh the door creaks.

All it takes is one little thing, the way a red pepper falls out of the fridge and rolls across the floor when Quinn's going to get something for dinner, for him to lose it a little.

"It's fucking bullshit!" You're watching silently from the couch, the way his shoulders heave, tense, so tense all the muscles in his back are pulled taunt, the way his head falls onto the fridge door, how his hands clench into fists, unclench, and clench again.

Quinn's not an angry person, he's not a yeller or a fighter. He's calm, collected, but sometimes it's all too much. You know he's not yelling about the pepper. He's yelling because this recent loss in a string of losses is the last straw, because he's fed up of carrying his team, because he's fed up of the disappointed fans, the stress of potential trades, all the bullshit and drama when he just wants to play good hockey.

There's not really any words that can help, you know that, so you don't say anything. You just pad across from the living area into the kitchen on quiet feet and slide your arms around his waist from behind. Your cheek presses into the middle of his back while you press as close to him as possible.

At first he seems to tense more and you consider pulling back, maybe this isn't what he needs right now and that's okay. But, when you start to loosen your grip Quinn's shoulders slump, tension leaving even as he grips your arms around his waist and pulls you back tight against him, like the thought of you walking away is too much.

"I love you, y'know? Even if things aren't going well, that's not going to change..." It's the only thing you can think to say as Quinn's forehead rests against the close fridge door, as you mould yourself to his back in an effort to provide some sense of support, some sense of belonging.

You've never seen Quinn cry, but this changes it all. Maybe it's the reassurance, maybe the love in your voice or just the fact that he feels like a failure of a captain, like he can't bring his own team together into a cohesive unit. Whatever it is, he cries in front of you for the first time, shoulders shaking silently as he sniffles and tries to wipe the tears away frantically before you can see them.

"This is so fucking stupid," You know he's talking about crying over the losses and you hate that he thinks it's stupid because it's not. His words are what have you turning him around so that you can see his face, the way his green eyes are red rimmed and water, the wet tracks that run over his cheeks.

"Quinn...it's not stupid. You're allowed to be upset. To be angry. You work so hard for this team...I get it, it feels like it's not paying off...not going your way..." You cup his face in your hands, his short beard scratching your palms as your fingers brush away some of the wetness on his cheeks, brushing away at each new tear that trickles out against his wishes, wetting his long lashes. "I don't know when it'll get better, when the wins will come in, but they will. You work so hard, it'll happen...you just gotta keep holding on a little longer,"

"Fuck..." His forehead falls against yours, leaning down as he moves into you, it's like he's trying to take some of your strength and you wish you could give him it all. Wish you could take every ounce of frustration, anger and sadness he was feeling and weather the storm for him.

His braced hand comes to your waist and you're careful when you put your hand over top of it, but it's intentional as you start the conversation you've been avoiding for weeks.

"You need to start looking after yourself more first. Starting with not playing with this hand until it's better." The way he looks down at you says it all, that he hates the idea, but you know better. Each day his hand isn't getting better, each game he's more worn down. He's going to break himself in two, he's going to cause permanent damage if he's not careful.

"But..."

"But?"

"We'll lose if I don't play...or lose worse anyway," the last bit muttered under his breath with derision, at the fact that even when he's on the ice the wins aren't coming...and when he's not? Oh, it's a whole lot worse.

"Maybe you need to have more faith in them, the guys are good...yeah, you're amazing, you're the best player on that team, but maybe you need to trust that they'll pull through for you? Maybe they need to feel like you can rely on them." Your hands slip from his cheeks, arms sliding to wrap around his neck gently, chest to chest, feet bumping against each other as you sway in the kitchen.

"I just...I don't want to sit out." You know Quinn doesn't. The idea of not playing hockey is like a nightmare to him, but you also know that makes him a bad judge of his own health, his own tolerance, when to quit. Sometimes he needs a reminder.

"I know you don't, baby...you live and breathe hockey...but I'm scared," The look he gives you is startled, like Quinn couldn't comprehend that his behaviour had any impact on you, his arms tightening around your waist as if that might protect you from your own feelings, "I'm scared you're going to permanently hurt yourself, Quinn...please, just...take some time off games."

There's a long pause where Quinn watches you, as if he's trying to figure out if you're truly scared for his wellbeing. Whatever he must see must confirm it for him, that you're worried about him, because as he slides his hands up your spine in a gentle, soothing caress, he agrees.

"Okay."

"Thank you..." You really do mean it. You're worried about him, day and night, but especially whenever he picks up a stick at the moment. Always waiting for the call that tells you he's done something permanent, hurt something beyond repair.

"I love hockey...but I love you more, baby." He hates the idea of sitting out on games, but he hates the idea of you worrying more, of the fear in your eyes at the prospect he's not resting properly, hurting himself more. If taking a few games off will make you feel better? He can do it...the team can't get much worse at the moment anyway.

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

☕️┆more than just coffee

kim hongjoong x gn! reader

│synopsis: the one where hongjoong finally makes a move

│genre: fluff

│trigger warnings: none

│roulette prompt 4 + hongjoong

You were sprawled across the sofa in Hongjoong's studio. Being his best friend meant regular visits to his studio were mandatory - especially when armed with his favorite iced coffee. Though if anyone asked you, the coffee was just a bonus - you were the real gift, a fact you never failed to remind him whenever he pretended to be annoyed by your surprise appearances.

"...and the deadline is in two days! TWO DAYS! How am I supposed to finish this track when the company keeps changing their mind about the direction?" Hongjoong ran his fingers through his blue hair, sprawling on his chair.

You watched him with a small smile playing on your lips, finding his passionate rant endearing. His dedication to his work was one of the things you admired most about him.

Mid-rant, he caught your expression and stopped abruptly. "What?" he asks as your smile only widens, making him suddenly self-conscious. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

You smile. "You're just really cute when you talk."

Hongjoong's face flushes a deep red, and he quickly spins his chair back to face his computer screen. "I-I'm not cute," he mutters, but you can see the tips of his ears turning pink. "And stop distracting me, I need to work."

You got up from the sofa. "Alright, if you really want me to go..." you tease as you take your bag.

Hongjoong's head snaps up immediately, his eyes widening. "Wait, no - I didn't mean..." He trails off, looking torn between his work and not wanting you to leave. "Just... stay a bit longer? Please?"

"Only if you'll agree that you are cute," you say as you come close to him, ruffling his blue fringe. It always surprised you how he maintained his hair so soft while bleaching it at least twice a month. He takes your wrist, his eyes searching yours. "I don't want you thinking I'm cute," he almost whispers, tone suddenly serious as the atmosphere changes. "Y/N... do you really see me only as your cute friend?"

Your heart skips a beat at his question, at the intensity in his gaze as he still holds your wrist. The playful atmosphere from moments ago has shifted into something charged with unspoken feelings. You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch in your throat.

"What do you mean?" you ask softly, though your racing heart tells you that you know exactly what he means.

Hongjoong's grip on your wrist loosens, but he doesn't let go. His thumb traces small circles on your skin, "I mean... when you look at me, when you come here with coffee and make me laugh even on my worst days, when you stay despite my workaholic tendencies... what do you feel?"

You let out an awkward laugh, the sound coming out more like a puff of air than anything else. Your heart is thundering in your chest.

"I..." you start, trying to find the right words while fighting the urge to deflect with humor like you usually do. Your palms are sweaty, and you're terrified of ruining years of friendship with what you might say next. "I come here because..." you pause, swallowing hard. "Because I like being around you, you’re my best friend..." The last part comes out barely above a whisper, and you can't quite meet his eyes.

Hongjoong's hands tighten slightly around your wrist, and you can feel him tense at your words. "Best friend," he repeats, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. "Fuck it," he mutters, rising from his chair abruptly. Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls you closer, leaving barely any space between you. His eyes flicker to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "Maybe this will change your mind," he whispers, and before you can process what's happening, he closes the remaining distance.

His lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, soft and hesitant at first, as if he's giving you a chance to pull away. But when you respond by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, he deepens the kiss, one hand moving to cup your face while the other wraps around your waist.

You pull back, your heart racing as you try to catch your breath. "Well," you say with a nervous laugh, "I don't remember this being in the friendship contract. Did we miss a clause somewhere?"

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, giving you a light push. "Really? That's what you're going with right now?" He drops back into his chair, crossing his arms with an exaggerated pout. "Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you make dad jokes."

"It's part of my charm," you say, but your voice wavers slightly, still affected by the kiss.

"You're impossible," he mutters, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitching, fighting a smile.

"I like you too," you blurt out suddenly, making Hongjoong freeze. "And not just as a friend. I... I've liked you for a while now."

His eyes light up, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "Yeah?" he asks softly, reaching for your hand.

"Yeah," you confirm, intertwining your fingers with his. "Though I have to warn you, the coffee deliveries might get more expensive now that we're dating."

Hongjoong's eyebrows shoot up, and he gives you an incredulous look. "Oh, so we're dating now? Just like that?" He leans back in his chair with an amused smirk. "I don't remember being asked on a proper date yet. The audacity!"

You laugh, squeezing his hand. "Are you saying you want me to woo you, Kim Hongjoong?"

"I'm just saying," he says with an exaggerated sniff, "that a person of my caliber deserves at least a proper dinner invitation before being claimed as someone's boyfriend."

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes fondly. "Kim Hongjoong, would you like to go on a date with me? Maybe somewhere that serves better coffee than what I bring you?"

His face breaks into that bright smile you love so much. "Now was that so hard?" he teases, pulling you closer. "And for the record, no coffee tastes better than the ones you bring me."

You pull him into another kiss, softer this time, filled with all the unspoken feelings you've held back for so long. When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his, both of you wearing matching grins. "So, about that date..." you start, but Hongjoong's already reaching for his coat.

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[steddieasitgoes]

Eddie helps Jeff and Grant move into their freshman college dorms. Eddie's not going to college; it took him six years to graduate high school. He's not about to put more time and now money into a dead-end education, but he respects the guys' decision.

They're upset the university's stupid roommate questionare didn't pair them together. They answered everything exactly the same, and yet they still got split up. It's bullshit. Eddie knows it, they know it, everyone knows it. But it is what it is. Jeff doesn't want to make waves with the school, and Grant's just happy they accepted his sorry ass, so they'll have to live with it.

Jeff, Gareth, and Grant are currently figuring out how they're going to smuggle a microwave into Grant's room. Eddie leaves them to it, already holding a box marked for Jeff in his hands. He saunters out of the elevator and down the hall toward Jeff's room, nodding his head at anyone who does the same to him.

College is weird, he thinks. No one has sneered at him -- not even the frat dude bro type who checked Jeff and Grant in earlier. Maybe it's true what they say, college is full of open-minded people. He'll let the boys be the guinea pig on that one.

Jeff's door is half shut when he gets there, which is weird because he knows they left it wide open. They still have to bring in his record collection, and even though he ditched hundreds at home, the box is still way heavier than it should be. Having to put it down to open the door is a no go.

Thankfully, the box Eddie is carrying now is rather light so he turns and uses what little ass he has to bump the door open before sliding inside.

He stops dead in his tracks as Jeff's roommate turns to meet his gaze.

Eddie doesn't believe in God, doesn't believe in angels -- he likes to think Demons exist, but that's more of an aesthetic thing than anything else -- but he's pretty sure he's in the presence of an angel.

No, he's certain he is.

The large window between the beds shoots rays of sunshine through the horizontal blinds, painting the guy in beautiful shades of yellow and orange. And jesus h. christ the shadow gives off the illusion of a halo around his gorgeous, lush, perfectly styled hair.

He's wearing a sweater -- how he's wearing a sweater in the sweltering heat, Eddie doesn't know, but he is -- with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Eddie can't help but let his eyes take in the miles and miles of sun-kissed skin, unmarked with ink like his own but decorated with freckles and moles that Eddie wants to trace, connecting them like constellations he spent decades staring at on the roof of the trailer back at home. And, okay, maybe a few other unholy thoughts also pop into his head -- sue him.

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at that. Of course Eddie's first thought upon stumbling on an angel is to wreck them.

"Hey, I'm Steve," the man says, extending a hand out to Eddie.

Jesus H. Christ, it's bigger than any hand has any right to be. Eddie's mind immediately wonders what else might be bigger than most. He can't help it.

"You must be Jeff," he smiles. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Yep, that's me!" Eddie says without thinking it through. He scrambles to put the box down and reaches out to shake Steve's hand.

It's a firm handshake, what Wayne would call "business-like," but it sends a burst of electricity coursing through Eddie's body. It's silly, really silly, but Eddie doesn't think his hand has ever fit so perfectly in someone else's before.

Maybe they're soulmates. He doesn't believe in those either, but he could if this Steve guys is his.

Steve smiles and drops his hand a second later and Eddie tries his best not to buckle under the loss of touch.

"What do you think of the place?" Steve says. His hands shoot to his waist, settling there as he gives the room a bitchy glance over. "It's a lot smaller than I was expecting."

"At least it's only a double," Eddie says. "My friend's stuck in a triple."

Poor Grant. As if losing out on rooming with Jeff isn't enough, he really got fucked.

Steve whistles lowly. "Damn, man, that sucks."

He squats then, digging through an already unopened box, and Eddie feels faint. His jeans were already tight, but with his new angle, they're stretched to the max, leaving very, very, very little to be imagined. And Eddie has no problem imagining anything, much less what the skin under those pale blue jeans looks like.

Steve's shirt rides up a bit as he leans over more, really sifting through the box now, and the tiny sliver of skin above the waistband of his boxers is enough to send Eddie into full-blown gremlin mode.

Maybe he should have applied to college.

"So, Jeff," Steve says, standing again and glancing between the two beds.

Neither has seemed to claim them yet. Jeff -- the real Jeff -- didn't want to be rude, and judging by the single box Steve's been looking through, he's only just started the move-in process.

"Got any bed preferences?"

Sharing it with you.

No, no! he scolds himself.

"Nope, have at it," Eddie says, casting his arms out wide and bending at the waist. He's not sure why he's done it, but by the time he registers how weird it might be, it's too late. So he commits to the bit, and it's worth it when Steve chuckles.

"Cool, cool," he nods. "I'll take this one, then." Steve shuffles over to the bed farthest from the door and tests the firmness with his hand. It gives just enough to make Steve smile. "I can work with this, if you know what I mean."

Eddie thinks he's really gone and died then because Steve honest to god winks at him.

Winks!

At. Him.

Eddie!

What the fuck.

"Yeah," he croaks, a little awkward and a whole lot aroused. He needs to get out of here before he jumps Jeff's roommate and accidentally gets him kicked out. Better yet, he needs to figure out how to get enrolled and kick Jeff out of his room himself. "Alright, well, I've got more shit to bring up, so I'll be back."

"I'll be here."

Eddie nods then bolts, ditching the elevator altogether and taking the three flights of stairs two at a time. Jeff's still arguing with boys when he gets down there, sweaty and out-of-breath.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Gareth snaps.

"Oh no," Jeff winces. "Is my roommate a dick? Did he chase you out?"

"No," Eddie pants, shaking his head widly. He reaches out with both hands and slams them down on Jeff's shoulders way harder than he needs to. "Your roommate, Steve-- he's-- I think I'm in love."

The guys burst into laughter.

"Here we go again," Gareth says, rolling his eyes.

"You just met the guy," Grant adds. "How could you possibly be in love?"

"You can't be in love with my roommate," Jeff scolds, shaking Eddie's hand off of him.

"Jeff, Jefferson, Jeffery," Eddie rambles. "I am in love. He is the man I am going to marry. The one who will father my children. The one to tame this wild horse--"

"You've slept with two dudes, Eddie. I don't think that makes you a wild horse," Gareth scoffs.

Eddie ignores him. He doesn't have time to deal with Gareth. Not when Steve is upstairs waiting for him.

"I need to go back to him."

Eddie moves to step around the three, eager to grab another box with Jeff's name on it and get back to Steve. Back to the love of his life. But Jeff blocks him.

"No. No. Absolutely not," Jeff says, reeling Eddie back in. "I have to live with this guy for a year. You are not going back up there and making it weird."

"Well then I have good news for you," Eddie says, wicked grin already breaking out onto his face.

"This can't be good," Grant mumbles.

"You don't even have to go up there. He thinks I'm Jeff."

"Okay, but you're not Jeff," the real Jeff says, crossing his arms. "I'm Jeff and I'm going to go to my room and introduce myself to my roommate and you're going to stay far, far, far away from him."

Eddie shakes his head. "You can't do that! He'll think I'm a liar."

"You are a liar," Gareth butts in.

"Eddie," Jeff groans. "I have to go up there! I live here. I'm Jeff. He needs to know the truth."

"Or, or!" Eddie shouts, full of frantic energy now. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, mind reeling a million miles an hour as the plan starts to form in his head. This could work. It could totally work. "How about I pretend to be you for the next year and you can be me."

"Dude, no!" Jeff scoffs. "I worked my ass of to get here. I'm not trading lives with you so you can try to fuck my roommate."

"Oh, I won't have to try," Eddie says. "He might have already offered."

"Oh my god. My roommate thinks I want to fuck him."

"Your roommate doesn't even know you exist," Grant corrects.

"What were you thinking?" Jeff shouts.

"He clearly wasn't thinking with his head," Gareth says.

"This is a disaster."

"No," Eddie says, shaking his head. He doesn't know why they're being so catastrophic about this. It's fine. It's all going to be fine. "Okay, new plan, I'll pretend to be you but only in your dorm. You can still go to class and do all the college shit. I'll only be Jeff to Steve."

"And where am I supposed to live?"

"With Grant."

"Asshole! I'm already in a triple! We can't house another person."

"And you're not even enrolled!" Jeff adds. "What happens when the RA finds out? I'll get kicked out and you'll--"

"Go to jail."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "I don't think people go to jail for impersonating college students, Gare."

"They might!" Gareth says, throwing his hands up. "Are you really going to risk going to jail just for a chance at fucking Jeff's roommate?"

"Well, I hope it would be more than fucking. I did say I was in love."

Gareth doesn't get it. The only thing he's ever loved is his drum set -- and he can't marry that. Not even in bumfuck Indiana.

He goes back to ignoring Gareth and focuses on Jeff. He braces his hand on his shoulders again and slinks down to his knees. He's not above begging. Not for this. Not for the angel that is Steve who is probably wondering where he is right now.

"Jeff," Eddie says, hitting the pavement. He retracts his hands from Jeff's shoulders and clasps them together in prayer. He's making a scene.

"Get up, you're making a scene," Jeff hisses, yanking him back to his feet. Eddie goes willingly and Jeff huffs. "Alright, alright. Let me think."

"You can't seriously be considering this," Grant chimes in. "Eddie's plan is shit. It'll never work."

"I know that!"

Eddie watches as Jeff paces in a circle with his eyes closed. If he wanted to, he could bolt right now. Grab a box and make a run for it. Lock himself and Steve in the room and not come out until he's sure Jeff won't rat him out. Holding Steve hostage might not be the best impression to give Steve though, so he stays put.

"Okay, how about this," Jeff says and Eddie gives him his undivided attention. "The two of us are going to go back to my dorm and we're going to set the record straight--"

"No! That's--"

"Eddie," Jeff says, firmly. "If you really do love my roommate or well, you want to eventually love him. You have to tell him the truth."

Jeff's right. He's always right that's why he's going to college on a scholarship and Eddie's not. But he doesn't like it. Steve's going to think he's a total weirdo and he'll never get a chance to see what's actually under those tight ass pants.

Still, Jeff's right.

"Fine."

Steve really is an angel because he doesn't even bat an eye at the truth. He does laugh, but Eddie doesn't mind that. He wishes he had his cassette recorder and a mic so he could record it. It's music to his damn ears, and he knows a thing or two about music.

Jeff and Steve hit it off and Eddie tries not to pout about it as he continues lugging in box after box. When Eddie's van is finally empty, Grant and Gareth meet up with them in Jeff's room. Steve introduces himself and Eddie can tell they're both silently judging him.

Yes, this is the dude he would risk going to jail for, Gareth. Eddie thinks, he hopes Gareth gets the message in the glare he shoots his way. He thinks he does.

It turns out Steve also has a best friend who just moved in, too. She's in a different building than them, but he's meeting up with her for pizza at the parlor down the street. He invites them all to go and Eddie says yes on behalf of all of them a little to quickly.

When they get there, Steve introduces them all -- Jeff, Gareth, Grant. He gets all their names right, even Gareth, but when he gets to Eddie, he smirks. "And this," he says, smiling as he slings an arm around Eddie's shoulder. "This is not-Jeff my not-roommate."

"Hi, Not Jeff," Robin says.

Eddie laughs and introduces himself to her with his real name and Robin nods before her eyes lock on with Steve. He can tell they're non-verbally communicating with each other. It's not unlike the way he is with the boys. One look is all it takes sometimes for them to know what he's thinking.

It's weird watching it happen from the outside and especially difficult when he's still stuck under Steve's arm. Not that he minds that part not at all.

Finally, her lips quirk up into a smile and she pulls her gaze from Steve, letting it land on Eddie. At the exact same time, Steve's name gets called and he excuses himself to get pizza, leaving the two of them alone.

Robin's smile falters just a bit as she takes a step closer to him, replacing the spot where Steve just was. "Just so you know, I'm obsessed with Murder, She Wrote. If you hurt him, I know where to hide your body."

Eddie doesn't have time to even think of a retort before she's scampering off to help Steve with the pizzas.

He might not be enrolled in college, but he has a strange feeling he's going to spend a lot of time up here from now on.

[summertimesadnessirl]

They literally just want to pretend that the whole last 50 odd years never happened.

It's so weird. Like? What did you do that you are like this, buddy? Let's talk about it.

Are you upset because you got programmed from birth to believe sex is evil and now you can't get off unless you think God is mad at you and you're committing a crime and one of the people involved in the sex hates it?

Have you heard of BDSM? Because we can literally simulate that feeling just for you using technology for the rest of your life without you having to take over the entire government and kill off a bunch of nice kids with blue hair and shaved eyebrows or who go by a word that makes you think you can't be a naughty boy for wanting to have sex wearing clothes from a different gender occasionally, and those people literally don't care if you wanna be called slurs for doing that when you have sex, believe it or not.

What's your deal? Did it turn out you don't like sex, you just like the idea of something mysterious and otherworldly and pleasureable that nobody introduced you to that other people are totally doing? Because we can fix you right up with drugs and intentionally confusing poetry.

Yeah. You can even start your very own mystery cult if you want, as long as you don't commit genocide or anything. We can all pretend to not know about your mystery cult. We can all pretend to be bad guys from your mystery cult. We can play that game until you barely remember your own name, it's fine.

Do you just need someone to take care of you, like in a disability accommodation kind of way? Or like, are you working too many hours? We can't really fix that with bdsm. We can play that but typically the people doing bdsm only want to play that for a few hours at a time before they need a break, but have you heard about the wonders of automation?

Yeah. We can automate a lot of the stuff that stresses you out like cleaning your floors and paying your bills on time and reordering your prescriptions and your groceries and stuff. It would work better if the minimum wage was higher and the average person got paid more often than biweekly, and we still really need to design housing with a washing machine in the bathroom that washes and dries your clothes instead of putting them in the hamper, but look, we made a little guy who lives in your computer who can take every meeting that should have been an email and turn it into a bulleted list for you. We can also do this thing where he draws pictures of your boss experiencing cartoonish violence or turning into like a weird bug when you are being bullied and it can protect you pretty well from The Emails as well. Yes. I know. The emails are scary.

If your job is really stressing you out you should meet my new friend fully automated luxury communism sometime. Their idea is that we should automate all the jobs where it seems like most of your day is spent kind of hanging out hoping that your boss doesn't realize you aren't working and getting a super high cortisol level for no reason or filling out forms to send to people who use the forms to fill out other forms who get approval via some more forms to make a phone call to a guy who works 20 feet away and give everyone a dividend so that they can work fewer hours and hang out. Yeah, there are a lot of people who believe this who enjoy fighting over the details of that, it's their hobby and also they're all afraid if they don't fight one another a lot they'll turn evil. No, not the sexy kind of evil, the other kind.

Do you need clearly defined rules that you are supposed to follow in social situations in order to feel safe, but also bdsm isn't your thing because you also need other people to follow clearly defined rules? Have you tried video games, team sports, or tabletop games? You might like those.

Did someone hurt you when you were young and call it gender and you didn't realize it because you thought that was just a normal part of growing up and you are getting uncomfortable flashbacks about that time, but talk therapy super doesn't work for you because talking about it makes it worse? That's valid. Have you tried psychedelic drugs yet? Psychedelic drugs have been used to fix that problem and many others like it for generations and generations. Using the magic of psychedelic drugs, we can make sure that you feel totally fine and safe whenever you interact with people being raised in a different way than you were and even carefully obliterate all traces of your childhood trauma for decades at a time. We also can continue to give you more, if that works for ya.

There's really no reason to do nazi shit at all.

Btw, this is how conservatives keep getting to claim that trans people are a new thing no one has ever heard, because our history and existences have continually been erased or obscured systematically through out history.

The most famous example was 92 years when the Nazis raided the library of the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, the medical practice where the term transsexual was first coined and the first gender affirming surgery was performed in in 1931.

What did the Nazis do after raiding the library on May 6th, 1933? You may be familiar with these images

It is happening again.

[kokokoula]

it's alright

TW: smut in the second section, but i make it as fluffy as possible i swear

a/n: um in my defence i just really wanted soft and cute smut and i couldn't find much. it is my first time writing nsfw ok, it will probably be a bit cringy. i'm not planning to write any more smut in the future, just spare me this one 😔��

---

it's well late into the night, but it's only now that both you and your coworker, tsukishima, finally end work at the sendai museum. as you take the lift down together, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud grumble. tsukishima doesn't bother to hide his laugh.

"shut up, i haven't eaten dinner yet." you scold him, your face hot.

"right."

at the sight of his amused face, your heart does a little flutter.

you're close enough to your reserved colleague, sharing the same shifts and all. not to the point of contacting outside of work, but there is still some kind of weird connection that you can't imagine having with anybody else. it gives you butterflies and uncontrollable smiles, makes you look forward to work, even. despite that, you shove it down. maintaining professionalism is a strict rule here.

the two of you are close enough.

"damn, i'm craving for good ramen right now." you lament as the lift doors open. he lets out a noise of acknowledgment and walks out. you're used to his nonchalance, and simply leave the building with him. you're about to part ways, till he calls out from behind.

"aren't you coming?" you stand there dumbly, not understanding his words.

"you want ramen, don't you? i know a place still open." tsukishima nods to the opposite direction. you widen your eyes. you know he isn't one to initiate these kind of things, and you've never hung out after work together before. you don't want anything to happen between you two... but one supper can't do any harm, right?

you grin and catch up to him.

---

you were dead wrong. incredibly wrong. you blame him for getting yourself in this mess.

because now you have the one you swore not to get too close to on top of you, in your bed, kissing you senseless.

it's your first time seeing him like this: his hair dishevelled, his lips swollen, and his golden flecked eyes without the lenses; he's even more beautiful. okay, if this is a mess, a mistake, it's a perfect one.

tsukishima sinks his cock into you. it stings a bit at first, but the feeling is quickly replaced by something else entirely better.

"fuck, you're so…" he groans and you bite your lip. you run your fingers through the strands on his nape in adoration and his hips snaps into you, eliciting a moan.

"hah, your fault." he starts thrusting, hard, and you give a cry out. all the while, he's cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away your stray tears lightly. it's a funny contrast. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing, nibbling, panting, moaning… shit, you can feel it coming.

"tsuki--"

"kei."

"huh?"

"my first name. kei." it's sacred.

"kei," you experimentally let the word roll off your tongue. you've never said it before, but it feels right. he takes in a sharp breath.

"good girl." he pushes your legs further apart to reach the spot that makes you see stars.

"kei!" his name comes to you so easily now, and you won't mind saying it a thousand times over. he rewards you with a rough, albeit sloppy, kiss. pinning one of your hands to the soft mattress, he intertwines his fingers with yours, gripping tightly. it's a small action, but it's an affectionate one.

you think you might actually be falling for him. it's probably a terrible idea, but maybe it's worth taking the risk.

---

the sun is rising on the horizon, and you'd just fallen asleep. meanwhile, tsukishima lies awake next to you, studying your face and listening to your steady breaths.

it must be creepy of him, he thinks, but he can't bring himself to look away. he has known you for over a year now ever since you joined the museum, and spent half of it pining for you. to end up here with you, is something he believed he could only dream of. kei brings his hand up to brush away the stray strands of hair covering your face, but stops himself before he does.

is he allowed to do this? to be this intimate? it sounds stupid, given that you two have just fucked. however, he has always made it a point to keep to corporate's rules, and now that he had just broken an important one, he doesn't know what to do.

tsukishima's mind runs in circles, but everything halts when you snuggle closer to his chest, a cute little frown on your sleeping face. he melts immediately, his face flushing red.

fuck it, he won't be able to not love you from this point forwards. he carefully puts an arm around your sleeping figure and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

right now, he'll just enjoy being with you, and that should be alright.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

"Buck's still baking."

There's a long pause following these words, though they've been uttered in such an alarming way. Apart from that, Tommy can't make sense of it.

"He's ... baking?"

"Yeah, well, you know," Howie stretches each word, he's chewing on them.

"I sure don't," says Tommy.

"Wait, has nobody told you?"

Disbelief is dripping from Howie's voice now, and Tommy can only bite his lips to not remind him of the obvious: no, nobody has told Tommy anything about Buck in the past months, and he's not dared to ask. That's the uncomfortable truth, and since he doesn't really know where his and Howie's friendship is to place right now, he doesn't say it. He doesn't need to, because Howie is quick to talk on.

"He's been baking since you two broke up," he explains, as if that would explain anything. "Breads and cakes and pies and whatever, he's just not stopping. At first, he said it distracted him from calling you, but now I'm not so sure."

Oh, thinks Tommy. His mind doesn't stop there, he did want to call me? Why didn't he? Why did he need distraction? What does it all mean? It's an endless cycle of why's, and his stomach kind of hurts about all the missed opportunities. His own fingers have typed messages, almost on their own, so many times. He's deleted them all.

"And now," Howie continues, "now Eddie's gone, and he said Buck came by to say goodbye and he brought him some cookies. He's made cookies for Eddie, so he's still baking, and Tommy, we can't take it anymore."

"You can't take it anymore?"

He's thinking about the constant ache, that Evan-shaped gap in his heart and mind and how it never went away, never got any smaller. Weeks turned into months, but the pain persisted, like caries eating away at teeth, gnawing away more and more of the enamel because it wants to get to the core. And the core, well. The core is his feelings, Tommy knows that. He's just not sure what Howie understands of all this. Why he would care.

"No. Our fridge is packed, the cupboards are loaded, Tommy, he doesn't stop baking, and we're paying for it! He's at our door all the time, not only at ours, he's been baking for Hen and Bobby and the whole dispatch and ... everybody, really. But it still doesn't stop. There's tons of baked goods!"

"You... you called me because you're sick of cake?" Tommy asks, he can't believe it.

"The cake is a lie!" Howie almost screams now, close to hysterical. "Why are you two not talking? You need to talk."

He calms down a bit, takes a deep breath before adding, "It's not the cake, Tommy. It's ... he's sad. He's unhappy. He's not well."

"I can't fix him," Tommy snaps.

"You're sure about that?"

Yeah, Tommy, are you?

"Look, Howie, I don't really know what you expect me to do."

"Talk to him," he replies, as if it were really that simple.

But isn't it?

"You're guilt-tripping me because I'm the one who left," Tommy says.

What he thinks, however, is that it's been months, how can Evan still be unhappy? How can he still be sad? The answer is obvious.

"Yeah, does it work?" Howie replies. "Because we don't know what else to do, Tommy. At least talk to him. I know you want to."

That's bold.

"Why would you say that?"

There's a typical Howie-laughter, a low chuckle close to a crack.

"I got friends at your station," he claims, which is probably not true, but Howie is a prankster. Howie knows how to pry into secrets. "So I know," he continues, "that you pounce on every hour of overtime. You've slept in the hangar. You're not dating anyone. You're on some strange diet that is apparently so time-consuming that you haven't had an after-work beer since you broke up. Shall I go on?"

Tommy curses at the satisfaction in Howie's voice, but what can he say? All of that is true (and some is a lie, and Howie knows it).

"All of this means ..."

Don't say it, thinks Tommy.

"... Buck's still got a chance."

That's not quite the right conclusion, because he never not had a chance. This is Tommy thinking he didn't have another, that he didn't deserve it.

"Please," Howie pleads, "we don't need more breads and cakes. And Buck deserves to be happy again. You know he was happy with you, right?"

This is not Tommy's fault. And it is Tommy's fault. And maybe, maybe it's just a big misunderstanding. Something adults can work on, even if they - he - said some hurtful things.

"You think he would bake me some cookies?" he asks, and he's not even joking.

[beelanddiavolosimp-blog]

Somno mention!!! Obey me brothers with a reader who’s into somnophilia? Maybe also Barbatos? 💚

Ofc ofc!

Obey me brothers with a somnophilia Mc

Lucifer

He often deprives himself of sleep so he is more than excited when he learns of this kink. He can finally relax but it won't be forced upon him to sleep as well? A win win for him. He of course asks repeatedly if you're okay with it and once after about a hundred asks he is on board. He often goes slow. He doesn't want to disturb your sleep too much and dragging out the sex leaves him sleepier at the end. But if he was really riled up or irritated that day you will be woken up with rough poundings he just couldn't hold back.

Mammon

He is on and off with this. He sometimes sleeps early and sometimes sleeps very late. He loves this information because usually whenever you nap out in the open he really takes advantage of it. He doesn't care if his brothers are around or not he's taking that damn chance. He isn't rough per say just fast still pleasureable ofc. He is very random with this due to his random sleep schedule and well him sleeping naked just helps with this kink as well.

Levi

He didn't believe you at first as he usually does. He kept re asking if it was okay alike Lucifer and it took a thousand responses for him to get it. He was scared at first and only used his hands but as he became more comfortable he started to almost do it nightly since he finds it hard to sleep as well. He's usually gaming but with you infront of him and willing to be fucked even when sleeping makes it more appealing than some game. He also isn't too intimidated by sex since you aren't staring directly into his soul which he loves ofc but it's still a little much for him. So this works out perfectly. He is usually slow but he is loud ASF.

Satan

He was intrigued by this of course. He was a bit confused on how it would work. Wouldn't you not be aroused since you're asleep? Oh boy was he wrong on that. After practically experimenting on your body he gained a nice flow of things. He often times wakes you up by accident because he becomes a bit too rough but with a few breathy apologies and his cum inside you (or on you) it doesn't seem all that bad.

Asmos

He enjoys his beauty sleep so despite many beliefs he doesn't feed into this kink often unless it's where you are napping during the daytime. He will play with you out in the open like Mammon because he has no embarrassment or restraint when it comes to you. He is slow but also drags out very strong orgasms that tend to wake you up for just a bit only to return back to sleep as he cleans you up. After care king (when he's not the one getting plowed)

Beel

With this gained information your pussy/ass will be sore ASF. He is usually up late at night because he can't sleep due to being hungry. Instead of destroying the fridge he gets to destroy you🤗 He usually tries to be gentle but let's be honest he is anything but easy to take. He also is a service top so the pleasure is spiked high with him. He will eat you out for hours too and just tell you to go back to sleep if you randomly wake up. (Yeah right)

Belphie

He ofc loves when you do it to him so he will return the favor whenever he is awake when you're not. Again he doesn't care who is around he will be on you. He loves using his hands because fucking is a little too much sometimes so it's often him either eating you out or fingering you. If he feels riled up enough to fuck you it's quite rough and he does it to see how tough he has to be to wake you up. He doesn't stop regardless but still. He also loves to mark up your body as he does so which is what actually wakes you up since his ass bites hard on purpose so the marks last longer.

Barb

He is alike Lucifer in not being able to sleep doing way too much. After learning this he feels an odd sense of excitement. He usually likes when you're awake for your sessions together. But as he watches your sleeping figure squirm from his touch he doesn't believe it's so bad. He purposely edges you even as you sleep because he wants to test how far he can get you until you wake up. He ends up enjoying it a bit too much.

[random2908]

Ok, I have a lot to say about scientific glassblowers.

First, luckily, there are a lot of them in China who are very good. If, like me, you work in private industry, the government has rules against buying Chinese components. But there's at least one American company (FireflySci) that launders Chinese custom scientific glass components, so you can still get them. If you're in academia you can buy direct from China and save a ton of money, if you or a colleague knows enough Chinese to be able to find these glassblowers on your own.

Within America, you have to know, the quality varies immensely. Scientific glassblowing is one of those trades that takes like 20 years to master. So there is a huge tension between the old masters who are really really good but have significant limitations in their capabilities because they're using old techniques; and the younger glassblowers who are learning or inventing new techniques but don't have the hand-skills to pull them off successfully. In larger shops, you can have a mix of ages, and so get around this a bit--but larger shops mostly don't do (serious) custom work. And often these larger shops are an in-house shop within an even bigger company.

For a lot of things, though, any scientific glassblower will do. In which case, you can still find them scattered all over the country. When I was dealing in glass a lot at a previous job, we had a long-standing contract with a glassblower about two hours away, who did all of our simpler stuff. There was a closer one, too, 20 minutes away, I'm not sure why we didn't go with them, I think because they had too much work already to take a long-term contract with us. So, yes, you can still find glassblowers, although not in large quantities.

But sometimes you need something really precise. This is science, after all. And your local glass shop just can't do it.

So then you have to find an old master using newer techniques. (I recommend Mike at Spectrocell in Pennsylvania, careful of the spelling--there are many similarly named companies--but he sounds very old over the phone.) (I know a lot of scientists will say Jay at Precision Glass Blowing in Colorado is the only guy they will go to for serious work, and I have some rude things to say to such scientists; not that Precision Glass Blowing does a bad job (...at the glassblowing part, that is--buyer beware if you ask for extras from them, but their willingness to offer extra services, such as chemical handling, is why everyone uses them in the first place), but they're not the only, or best, option out there.)

Get talking with an old master, and they'll constantly complain about how they've run out of apprentices. It is a real problem. It is a dying art, within the United States. (And, despite "scientific" in the name, it is very much an art; "scientific" refers to the customer base.) When I was collaborating with the University of Michigan at a previous job, the Chemistry Department's glassblower, Roy, was complaining that he was in his 70s and it had been several decades since he last had an apprentice, and he was going to retire any day now and the university would have no one to replace him with. (It wouldn't at all surprise me if he's retire by now, and if you could no longer get custom glass in-house at the University of Michigan.)

The irony is that there's still significant demand! Not as much as there once was, because you can buy mass-produced beakers now, you don't have to go to your local scientific glassblower for some of the simpler components. But for anything at all custom? For anything at all delicate? That's still done by hand. There's still a glassblower, somewhere, probably in China, whose handicraft that is. But like all trades, scientific glassblowing in the US has been almost entirely undercut by the availability of cheap labor (even cheap skilled labor, even cheap mastery) in other countries.

the world is running out of glassblowers and yet you want to become a fucking doctor

[chaoticwriting]

FENTON CRIME FAMILY 4

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Damian straightens out his shirt a little as he stands in front of his siblings. He doesn't know why nor would he admit that he is a little nervous right now. They are currently at the theater room waiting for whatever Damian has prepared for them. Except for Dick and Jason, all of the siblings are here.

Tim: Would you explain to us already why you want us here?

Damian: Silence Drake. I am gathering my thoughts here.

Steph: Ugghhh, just tell us already. I am already close to cracking up Cass to confess who she is hanging out with.

Cass: No you aren't.

Steph: Yes, I am.

Duke: Umm, guys. I think Damian is ready.

Suddenly the lights turn off and the projector starts to show a slide show.

Damian: So, I thank each one of you for making time to come to this meeting today.

Tim:*Whispering* Oh wow, he must really need our help if he even thanks us for just being here.

Damian:*Glaring at Tim* As you all are aware, I am going out on an outing the day after tomorrow. Although I am sufficiently trained in proper dressing up, I would like to have a second or maybe third opinion.

Steph: You mean fifth opinion? Cause there are like 4 of us here.

Damian: It is a figure of speech, Brown. I'm sure you are not stupid enough to not know that.

Tim: I think he is trying to insult you but that sounds like a praise to me.

Duke: It's because you are a weirdo. How about we get back on track? So, what do you want our opinion on?

Damian turns the slide and a selection of clothes appears.

Damian: I need you to give me your opinion on which set of clothes are the most suitable for my outing.

Cass: What is the specific criteria for the selection?

Damian: I want the clothes to flesh out my features more.

Duke: As in making you look more handsome?

Damian: Yes.

Tim: Why do you need to look more handsome? I thought you are just going for some outing?

Steph: Shit! Don't you see it, Tim? He is going on a date. Look at those clothes. Those are the clothes that he only wears if there is a special occasion.

Duke: You are going on a date? With who? Does Bruce or Alfred know?

Damian: I already told Alfred about my outing. I am holding off on informing father of this event until there is any further progress. As for who, it is none of your concern.

Tim: Wait. Then why do you want our opinion on what you wear?

Damian: Because all of you have experience in relationships before. I would have invited Grayson if not for his fashion sense.

Duke: Fair warning, though. I am not good at these clothing things. It is usually Isabella that chooses my clothes.

Damian: Of course I know that. But given you are in a relationship with Ortiz for a long time already, I would assume her sense of fashion has already rubbed off a little on you.

Steph: Wait, so we are just gonna ignore that he is going on a date? Aren't any of you curious?

Tim: I already got her files. Name is Dani Fenton. 15. No school. Lives in the Bowery. Her sister is the therapist that Bruce is seeing. Has a brother. Her internet history is very clean. Like super duper clean. Almost tailored to make it seem like that.

Duke: Chances it is forged?

Tim: Likely. But I can't seem to find anything about her. Whether it is physical or online.

Cass: Are you sure she is safe?

Damian: Yes.

Steph: I'm not gonna stop you from romancing her but considering who you are the son of, we might need to prepare just in case.

Duke: Oh yeah. Hopefully she isn't anything like that. The last thing we need is another rogue in Gotham.

-Crime Alley-

Red Hood: So, why do you want to meet?

Spectre: I have information that you might want.

Spectre (Ellie) throws a file with a big red 'SECRET' on it onto the table. Red Hood picks it up and opens it.

As he flips through the pages, his breath becomes more ragged. His eyesight slowly turns more green and he could feel his blood pumping at a higher rate as his anger slowly builds up while reading the file.

Especially when he reads the part where they are part of the government. How dare the government do this? Not only are they killing people, they also label them as non living.

Red Hood: What do you want me to do with this information?

Spectre: It is up to you really. Since you are technically a hero, I decide to give this information to you first. However, do know that if you wish to take action, please do it quickly. A lot of "people" wish to have a piece of them.

After Spectre says that, she stands up from her chair and goes out of the room. Red Hood watches as the young gang leader leaves his office. Eyeing the file, he will call the Outlaw tomorrow. There is a government base to be blown up.

[melercies]

pairing(s): nam-gyu x (gender-neutral) reader headcanons (squid game + post-squid game)

warning(s): dark/toxic relationship dynamics, including manipulation, gaslighting, possessiveness, emotional/psychological abuse, violence, obsessive behaviors, power struggles, mature/suggestive themes in some parts, death (nam-gyu + reader separately), drug/alcohol mentioned, my best interpretation of the character and lowercase use intended.

author's note: i decided to write some relationship headcanons when it comes to nam-gyu specifically. i will eventually write for thanos too, but at the moment, this guy is rotting in my brain. <//3 please let me know if i missed anything! likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated!

when it comes to nam-gyu, his idea of love is driven by his deep need for some sort of validation. if he feels that you're not paying enough attention to him, he might resort to making subtle gestures, lingering touches here and there or making you feel guilty for not putting him first.

your eyes gaze onto his figure, noticing the sudden shift in his demeanor. he was practically sulking and was slightly distant, trying to get you to notice him again, whether being more charming or taking actions that demand attention. "how can you be so cold to me? after everything i've done for you?"

for nam-gyu, love isn't about mutual respect or a deep emotional connection. it's about ownership. he wants to feel like he has you, body and soul. it makes him see love as some sort of possession, not someting fluid or free. you are his, and he makes sure you know it. clearly, he enjoys the power struggles in the relationship, pushing you to your limits just to see and test if you'll stay with him.

nam-gyu would never admit it, but he has a deep insecurity within him that drives for his actions where he is terrified of being abandoned, of not being enough. under all that exterior of his, there's a childlike need for affection and approval. the problem is that this vulnerability of his is masked by his pride and narcissim, making him push you away even if he desperately needs you.

sometimes when you call him out on his behavior, he'll twist your words, making you question yourself. he has his ways of making you feel guilty, even when he's the one in the wrong.

the dormitory was dim, the faint hum of distant murmurs filling the tense air. you sit on the cold floor, arms wrapped around your knees, trying to process what just happened. nam-gyu crouches in front of you, hands on his thighs, tilting his head with that infuriating smirk. "c'mon, you're really giving me the silent treatment?"

you glance up at him, jaw tight. "you didn't have to do that." your voice shakes with frustration. "that guy wasn't a threat. you didn't have to—"

"oh, so now i'm the bad guy?" he scoffs, rolling his eyes before leaning in, his hands settling on your shoulders. his grip was firm, gentle enough to seem affectionate in a way, but strong enough to remind you who's in control. "i did what i had to do. he was looking at you like he had a chance. what was i supposed to do? let him think you were up for grabs?"

you shake your head, trying to pull away, but he holds you still. "that's not what this is about, nam-gyu! you—"

"shhh," he coos, pressing a finger to your lips. "you're overthinking again, sweetheart. i know it's scary in here, but i'm looking out for you. you know i wouldn't let anything happen to you, right?" his tone is soothing, almost sweet—like he's comforting you. like he didn't just break a man's fingers for daring to talk to you.

you hate how your resolve starts to crack.

he leans closer, his forehead almost touching yours. "you trust me, don't you?" his voice drops, low and coaxing. "i only do this because i care about you. you'd rather be with some nobody who can't even protect you?"

the worst part? some twisted part of you believed him. he cups your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek as his lips ghost over your ear. "just stick with me. i'll get us out of here. you don't have to worry about anything—i'll do the hard part." the weight of his words felt like they were pressing down on you like a collar around your throat. and just like that, he wins. again.

nam-gyu makes it clear from the start: you stick with him, and he'll keep you alive. but it's not out of pure love—it's about ownership. his protection feels suffocating, but in a skeptical place like this, it's certainly better than being alone.

he'll steal extra food if he can, but he won't always share. if he does, it's usually because he's in a good mood, but pretends to not act as if he doesn't care—or because he likes seeing you beg for it. it was ridiculous.

"fine, fine. here, open your mouth," he teases, pressing a piece of stale bread to your lips. "see how generous i am?" if you hesitate, he tuts, shoving it into your mouth himself. "what, you don't trust me?"

the sleeping quarters are chaos, but nam-gyu always makes sure you're curled up besides him. sometimes, he keeps an arm around your waist to make sure you don't wander and let himself know that your presence is still by his side. especially within these fucked-up kid games.

when he suspects or catches someone else getting a bit too close to you, it doesn't end well for them unfortunately. a fellow player offers to help you? oh, no problem. nam-gyu makes it a personal mission for himself to make sure they don't make it through the next game or their life a living hell. he doesn't even try to hide it.

"told you not to talk to just anyone. guess they didn't listen." he spoke, shrugging, your eyes stare at him in disbelief after he had killed them.

nam-gyu practically lives for the moments where he can get under your skin—physically and emotionally. he loves watching every of your reactions, the way you try to act unaffected when he's so close, touching you just enough to leave you aching for more. no matter how many times you try to push your mind off of him.

whispers of alliances, occasional scuffle, and the ever-present tension of survival was all there was, but none of that mattered right now. not with the way nam-gyu had you backed against the cold metal bunk, his hands braced on either side of you.

"thought you were gonna sleep without saying goodnight?" he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. his eyes gleam under the dim lighting, filled with something dark, something..hungry.

you huff, trying to push past him, but he doesn't budge. instead, he presses closer, his breath ghosting over your lips. "tsk. rude," he drawls. "after everything i've done for you? keeping you safe, feeding you...and you won't even give me a little gratitude?"

you glare at him, but your resolves wavers when his fingers brush against your hip—just barely, just enough to make your eyes glance down and breath hitch. his smirk deepens, that teasing little shit. he knows.

"what's wrong?" he coos, tilting his head. "nervous?" his hand slides lower, skimming the waistband of your uniform, teasing and testing as he watches your face for any reactions. you swallow hard, glancing at the other players—most of them asleep, others too wrapped up in their own survival to even care. still, the risk sends a thrill up your spine.

nam-gyu notices. he thrives on it.

his lips brush against your jaw—so light, so fleeting it almost doesn't happen. then, just as you start to lean in, he pulls back with a quiet chuckle. your eyes widening slightly by him retracting. "get some sleep," he whispers, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip before finally stepping away. "you'll need your energy for tomorrow." and just like that, he's gone—leaving you breathless, flustered, and completely at his mercy.

usually it doesn't happen all the time, but sometimes, rare quiet moments during lights out happen with nam-gyu. nam-gyu lets his guard down. just slightly. "when we get out of here," he whispers, "we'll start over. just you and me. no one else." he says it like it's a dream—one you both know probably won't come true unless luck is on both your sides.

if you make it out alive, but he doesn't? whether he went out protecting you or because of his own recklessness, his final words haunt you. maybe it was him trying to act tough, a cocky smirk on his lips or maybe, in his last moments, he was soft—gripping your hand weakly and whispering, "you better win. don't make this all for nothing." the light in his eyes slowly dying down as your grip on his hand tightens, refusing to leave his side as the pink guards come by to place his body into one of those black-and-pink coffins.

no matter how he treated you, a part of you aches knowing you made it and he didn't. even if you tell yourself it was for the best, you can still hear his voice lingering in your head—taunting, possessive, maybe even affectionate in his own twisted way.

you'd flinch at familiar smirks. you turn when you hear someone laugh like him. sometimes you swear you can hear his voice when you're alone, murmuring, "miss me, babe?"

if you were the winner, you can't just enjoy it. not without thinking about him—about what he would've done with it. would he have taken you away somewhere? spent it recklessly? it doesn't matter. because now, you'll never know.

a jacket, a ring, something small that he always had on him. you don't even realize why you keep it at first. but one night, holding to your chest or staring at the item, you would find yourself admitting quietly: i miss you.

if nam-gyu makes it out alive, but you don't? denial. that's what he feels at first, he doesn't believe it as they announce the player numbers that have been eliminated. he waits for you to show up. even after the game is over, he expects to turn a corner or see you amongst the crowd of remaining players and see you. however, when reality finally sinks in, it's not pretty.

if he witnesses your death in front of him, he fucking snaps. whether it's screaming your name, lunging at whoever caused it, or making a promise right then and there—"i'll kill every single one of you fucking—" he does not go quietly.

if he's the last one standing, the prize feels...empty. he'll still blow it on reckless things—clubs, alcohol, drugs—but none of it fills the hollow ache in his chest. every victory tastes like ash without you there to enjoy it with him.

you were the one thing that kept him (somewhat) grounded. without you, he spirals. he's quick to throw punches, to lash out at anyone who reminds him even slightly of you. it's easier to be angry than to feel the loss.

no matter how self-destructive he gets, there's one thing of yours he keeps—an article of clothing, some accessory of yours, maybe even a stupid joke/line you used to say. sometimes, when he's sure that no one's looking, he presses the item to his lips and mutters, "you should've been here."

late at night, after too many drinks or he's so high from overpowering drugs, he would lean back against his seat and mutter, "what, no snarky comeback? you'd be rolling your eyes at me right now." then, silence. and for the first time, he hates it.

[hy6erion]

hiii i have a request! could we get some pervert!jayce who stays up late at night touching himself to the thought of you? i wanna know what he fantasizes about ;__;

thank you ily!!!

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐣𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐭! 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞, 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧/ 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 ⇰ 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝/ 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲

It's late. The lab is empty, and he's alone-just him, his thoughts, and the unbearable ache between his legs. You left hours ago, but your presence lingers, burned into his brain, into his skin.

The way you stretched before you left, arms above your head, spine arching just enough to make your shirt ride up. The sliver of bare skin, the subtle dip of your waist. The waistband of your pants sitting low, teasing him with just a hint of something lower.

You didn't even notice what you were doing to him. Didn't notice how he'd stopped mid-sentence, lips parting, gaze shamelessly trailing down your body.

Didn't notice the way his hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palm, the only thing keeping him from dragging you back and pressing you against his desk.

You'd smiled at him before walking away. Something simple, something casual. But it wrecked him. That fucking smile. Like you weren't the reason he was going to spend his entire night restless, hard, and frustrated.

Like you weren't going to be the reason he ends up here, in his chair, breath heavy, cock in his hand, pumping slow strokes because his mind won't let him think about anything else.

Like you hadn't just left him with an impossible craving, an ache so deep it burns, curling low in his stomach, making it impossible to think about anything but you.

His hand tightens, his thoughts spiral. He imagines you just like that, bare and waiting for him.

How easy it would be to pull you close, press his mouth to your stomach, kissing his way lower. How he'd peel your clothes off, watching the way your body shivers under his touch.

The sound you'd make when he finally drags his lips between your thighs, tasting you, groaning against your skin because you're better than he ever fucking imagined.

Would you be shy about it? Would you squirm under his gaze, cheeks burning as you try to press your thighs together?

Or would you be bold, spreading them wider, teasing him with that wicked little smirk that drives him insane?

His grip on himself is rougher now, jerking faster, chest rising and falling in sharp breaths.

He groans at the thought of stretching you open, watching as you take him inch by inch.

The way your legs would wrap around his waist, your nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him like you'd fall apart without him.

Your body rocking up against his, desperate, breathless. Your voice cracking when you whimper his name-"Jayce, please."

Fuck, he wants to hear it. Wants to hear you beg for him, wants to make you desperate, make you so fucking needy that you can't think about anything but him.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you. He'd start slow, deep, making sure you feel every inch of him. He'd murmur against your lips, his voice rough, telling you how good you feel.

He'd push your legs further apart, watching the way your back arches, watching the way your mouth parts with every thrust.

And then he'd ruin you-gripping your hips, pounding into you, swallowing every gasp, every moan, every desperate sound you make.

He'd make you scream his name, make you sob from pleasure, make you come so hard you're shaking beneath him.

Would you be able to take it? Would you let him fuck you until you can't think, until you're wrecked and whimpering, begging him to stop because it's too much-but he knows you don't really want him to stop?

He's Close. Too Close. His strokes are faster, sharper, chasing the edge as his muscles tense. He groans, head tilting back, sweat beading along his brow.

His other hand grips the armrest, knuckles white as he imagines how tight you'd be, how perfect, how fucking good.

His name falling from your lips. The way you'd beg for more, for him. The way you'd look at him after, wrecked, ruined, utterly his. But fuck—he can't stop there. Not in his head.

Would you let him take you again, even after the first time?

Would you let him flip you over, press your face into the pillows, pull your hips up and push himself back inside, even when you're still sensitive?

Would you let him fuck you like that—his hands gripping your waist, his weight pressing down against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he tells you how fucking perfect you are?

Would you let him come inside? Fill you up, let it drip out of you, let him push it back in with his fingers, his cock, keeping you full because you're his?

Would you let him keep going?

Would you take it? Would you let him wreck you completely?

And then he's gone. His breath stutters, his body tensing as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over his stomach.

He shudders through the aftershocks, his name still echoing in his head, your touch lingering like a phantom on his skin.

His heart pounds, his body lax, utterly spent—but his mind is still filled with you. Even as he cleans himself up, the heat still lingers.

Because tomorrow, he'll see you again.

And he already knows-he won't be able to stop thinking about you.

[babyangelsky]

Okay. I had lunch, dripped barbecue sauce on my shirt, got the barbecue sauce out of my shirt, watered my plants, watered myself, and now I'm finally ready to put some thoughts down.

The thing most largely on my mind, apart from you know...everything?

The implosion had to happen this way.

And it had to happen this way because Sei and Kazuaki had already resolved not to end their relationships.

Complacency is a trap that's very hard to break out of. It almost tricks you into believing that change isn't worth it even if on some level you're aware that it's needed. Except in this case, the change has already happened. They agree to stay as they are so nothing will change and nothing will be destroyed, but it's been changing and that change has gone willfully unacknowledged.

Or it was going unacknowledged, I should say. But it can't anymore because Sei and Kazuaki both broke pattern.

I thought it was odd that Kaori made no mention of how her boyfriend took off in the middle of the night in the pouring rain and didn't come back. Their relationship is very broken but surely that would be a noteworthy occurrence.

Especially given the timing. He takes off moments after she rejected his attempt at intimacy and then just doesn't say anything? Just says she was bored and that's that?

Nope. That is not in fact, that. Kaori didn't say a word only because she never says a word. She exists in her relationship with blinders on. She likes everything about Kazuaki except that he's a man and won't question what that means or why that might be. She's content with the lack of intimacy, knows that Kazuaki isn't, and chooses to live with him asking her for sex instead of saying anything.

She's just as complacent as he is, albeit for different (possibly comphet) reasons, and since she's chosen not to think about it, it's been pretty chill for her.

Until Kazuaki broke pattern.

He didn't go back to his side of the room after her rejection like he always does. He went off-script. He left and didn't come back until the next day and that is a noteworthy occurrence.

So noteworthy, as a matter of fact, that she checked his phone after saying herself that she isn't the type of person to do that. And she didn't just check his phone, she left the house with it!

But not without first smashing the storm glass that Sei gave her on the floor, because in reading those emails, her blinders were torn off. There is no pretending anymore.

For her, or for Fujisawa.

He won't say anything either, but his face more than speaks for him. He knew Sei was lying him before Sei even made it out the door and he was not happy about it. Sei thinks Fujisawa is hiding something from him and I think he's right. What's more, I think that what Fujisawa is hiding is his displeasure and his jealousy.

Because after having seen this episode and the preview for next week's, there is not a doubt in my mind that Fujisawa is jealous. Not because he has romantic feelings for Sei, which I really don't believe he does, but because Sei is breaking pattern.

Everyone in this show is complacent. Everyone. But for Fujisawa in particular, I believe it's less about accepting the way things are and more about needing things to be a certain way. @respectthepetty went more into detail about that here.

And so far, the way he needs things to be IS the way they have been. Nothing has shaken the boat. The towels have all been white, there's been no TV, no parties, no flashy clothing, no one talking to Sei without going through him. Even Sei's attempts at connection and Fujisawa's repeated rejections are part of it because that's also happening the way it's supposed to.

But now the king of non-disruptive design is being disrupted. Sei is going places. He's talking to more people. He left the house in the middle of the night and lied about where he has going and Fujisawa has put himself in a position where he has to pretend to believe him. He has to pretend that nothing is happening.

Except that he can't, because now Kazuaki's phone call has utterly and completely destroyed any hope Fujisawa might've had to be able to bury his head in the sand and carry on as normal.

And he is not going to react well to having his control shaken.

When complacency is this profoundly seated, dragging everything out into the open and being forced to deal with it is the only way for an actual sustainable change to happen. You almost do have to be removed from choice because breaking pattern isn't enough.

You have to break EVERYTHING apart to such a degree and in such a manner that you cannot put it back together in the exact same way it was before.

[matchingbatbites]

The woman is fucking stunning. A goddess amongst mortals, a vision sent from the heavens to bless any who may see her. Eddie could honestly go on, but she has to return her focus to the man currently standing at the counter and not the beauty that just walked through the door.

"Here's your change," she says as she passes over the few coins and receipt. "Pickup is at the end of the counter, and they'll call your name when it's ready.

The man gives Eddie his thanks before walking away, and then Aphrodite incarnate is stepping up to the counter. God, she's even more beautiful up close. The slant of her nose, the artful swoop of her chestnut hair - the twin moles on her cheek that are eerily familiar for a reason Eddie can't quite place.

"Welcome to Black Roast Café, can I have a name for your order?"

"Hi there," the woman says with a soft smile, and god, Eddie feels bad for ever making fun of Jerry Maguire. You had me at hello, indeed. "Uh, Stevie is fine."

Eddie nods and types the name into the system. "Okay, Stevie, what can I get you?"

The woman - Stevie - doesn't even look at the board before she rattles off her order. "Can I please get a large, iced caramel latte, with three shots of espresso, a pump of white chocolate, and extra whip? Oh, and a butterscotch blondie."

Eddie's brain shudders to a halt. The order is specific, unique, and it's one she's heard before, from- well if she's being honest, from the only man that's ever made Eddie question her lesbianism.

Steve had been so beautiful and so kind. He was her absolute favorite customer before he'd moved away two years ago, following his best friend when she transferred to a different university to complete her master's. Eddie had mourned just a little, had grieved the loss of sunshine he brought to her days.

Eddie's eyes snap to the two moles on the woman's cheek and everything clicks into place. "Oh shit! You're back!" she says, her filter absolutely failing her. Stevie's smile fades a bit, replaced with a tinge of nervousness as she shifts in place.

"Oh, uh, I didn't- I wasn't expecting you to-"

"Remember you?" Eddie cuts in as she finally punches the order into the register. "Honestly, your order is a hard one to forget. Clearly I was right about all that sugar going to your hips."

It's a gentle tease, one she used to make back when- before, because the order really is just so sweet. It works the way Eddie hoped it would, because Stevie just laughs softly and smooths her hands over her full, curvaceous - fuck, Eddie, head out of the gutter - her hips.

"Yeah, I could probably stand to cut back a little, huh?"

"Don't you dare," Eddie retorts, offended at just the suggestion. "If anything I encourage more, because you're- you look amazing, actually."

The woman blushes, so pink and pretty, and bites into her lower lip the way Eddie wants to. "You think so?" she asks as she hands her card over to Eddie.

"Uh, totally. Like, you were attractive before - and that's coming from a lesbian - but now you-" Eddie pauses, taking a second to run the card as she shrugs. "You're like, glowing. And it only makes you more beautiful."

There's no response from Stevie as the receipt prints, and it's not until Eddie is handing back the card that she sees the stunned look on Stevie's face, her flush even darker. Fuck, that might have been too much.

Before Eddie can apologize though, Stevie takes her receipt and blurts out "I think you're hot."

Huh?

"You do?" Eddie asks, and Stevie nods.

"I've always thought you were hot. But you have the little-" She points to where Eddie's nametag is, to the little lesbian flag sticker that she stuck on it. "The sticker, and like- My best friend, Robin? She's also a lesbian, and she's talked about how annoying it is when guys hit on her and I didn't want to be like that, so I never said anything."

God, Stevie's just as sweet as she used to be, and much more considerate than Eddie even knew. She probably wouldn't have minded getting hit on by Steve at the time, and now that Stevie is standing before her, more beautiful than she's ever been and claiming that she finds Eddie attractive? Well, there's no way Eddie can't make a move.

"How long are you in town?" Eddie asks.

"Oh, uh, we just moved back, actually. Robin finished her master's program and got a job at a local museum translating documents and artifacts."

"Okay, that's cool as hell and I definitely want to hear more about that, but first- Do you want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

The question seems to surprise Stevie, and it takes her a second to process it. "Are you sure? Even though I'm-"

"The most beautiful woman I've ever seen and way out of my league? Yeah, I'm pretty sure, sweetheart. And I'm not above begging if I have to."

Stevie blushes again and oh, Eddie is already addicted to the way it floods her cheeks, is in love with how alive, how happy she looks. "Then yeah, I'd really, really like that." She grabs a pen from the nearby cup and scribbles her number on the back of her receipt before passing it to Eddie. "Call me when you're off?" she asks, and Eddie nods, beaming.

"The moment I clock out," Eddie promises, and Stevie giggles - giggles! Stevie's name is called and Eddie is thankful that the store is practically empty, because for a second there she genuinely forgot where she was.

Stevie gives her a wink and a "Talk to you later, Eddie," and Eddie barely waits for her to leave the store before she's adding Stevie's number into her phone.

"Okay," Chrissy says as she slides up beside Eddie. "Who is she and how did you get her number so easily?"

Eddie grins as she saves the new contact under Stevie 🩷🌹😍 "That, darling Christine, is my future wife."

[imaginespazzi]

Alright so I slept on it, distracted myself and I have now cooled down considerably. Since I am no longer looking at the game through completely rage-filled glasses, I can vent coherent thoughts now.

LAYUPS

FUCKING LAYUPS

Listen losing games is always hard, but the sheer stupidity that lost us this game is hard to discern in words and really starts with layups. We make literally 3 more, and we would have won. The most simplest there is in basketball and we decided that we wanted to suck at it. And look you don't make every shot, of course you don't but HOW MANY FUCKING OPEN LAYUPS CAN A TEAM MISS?

Brief positive interlude, before I start yelling: KK ARNOLD I LOVE YOU. I am so proud of this girl. A true competitor from start to finish. Never fucking scared of the moment, always ready to do everything she can.

Aubrey Griffin is starting to look like herself again. She was so good last night and everything we're used to seeing. Just keep healing bbg, we're gonna need you real bad.

Sarah Strong, consistent queen as per always but she made that freshman mistake at the end and while it would be hypocritical not to acknowledge it, I really can't hold it against her because homegirl was the only starter locked in from start to finish and for some fucking reason we didn't go to her nearly enough in the second.

And now let's get to the venting

Jana El Alfy I cannot keep defending this. YOU ARE 6 FUCKING 5. Look I have had so much to say about her not getting the time she deserves but oh my fucking god, I don't know if I can defend this anymore. Missing easy ass layups, somehow letting people a feet shorter shoot over you like??? I cannot

Kaitlyn Chen girl what the fuck are you here for? Cardio. She pleasantly surprised for me exactly two games but nope, I was right the first time. There is absolutely no reason, other than a likely promise Geno made while recruiting her, for her to be starting over KK.

Ashlynn Shade, you are so lucky girlie that you play with Paige and Azzi and they also both had shitty as fuck nights that I will address in a second because girl, that's the only thing saving you from not being lashed out into oblivion on other social media sites right now. I have absolutely no idea she was ever in the game let alone how she was getting minutes over KK. Defense? Atrocious. Offense? MISSING WIDE OPEN LAYUPS AND THREES. No one pissed me off more this game than Ash because shit should've been easy for her and instead she missed every single chance she had.

Paige saw all those tweets manifesting her freshman year Tennessee performance by a bunch of people who don't know anything else about that game except for the magical shot at the end and voila, she performed exactly like that. Maybe worse. And don't worry friends, I'll be yelling at her coach in a second but the one thing I can't complain about today is that he didn't put the ball in her hands because he did and we saw it in the assists but she didn't play up to the mark at all. And for as much as her performance was a classic case of shots not falling, her shot selection was uncharacteristically bad last night.

Y'all know that look Paige talks about when it comes to Azzi? The soft one? I saw that look on her face immediately as soon as her first shot didn't go in. And I knew it especially when KC was wide open under the basket and Azzi somehow missed her, that she was most definitely in her head. But the worst thing is, that I actually think she almost got back in rhythm, almost got rid of that look, almost got out of her head, by the end of the 2nd with the sequence of FTs > deflection > 3 and then all of that went to shit because she picked up those two quick fouls. And then she never got back into it again, partially because of her own self, partially because this team still isn't doing enough to screen for her/run plays for her and partially because her coach was doing the most ridiculous subbing routine with her. Making her play the third with 3 fouls, then she finally hits a 3 at the end AND THAT'S WHEN HE BENCHES HER? Keeps her out of the game in first 5 minutes of the 4th, lets her lose any semblance of rhythm and then subs her in? I don't even know what to say.

Geno Auriemma WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU

This man had the audacity to sit in the press conference and blame every fucking thing on Paige when he, our hall of fucking fame coach, made the most costly mistake of this whole game with that dumb as fuck timeout. STUPID STUPID STUPID

And then of course the lineups and substitutions, ridiculous shit.

SIGH

The worst thing is, I don't think Tennessee beat us last night. We broke the press. We held them to 7-28 from 3. The boxscore has us beating them in so many places but at the end, we beat ourselves.

And it all comes down to the fact that maybe we just don't have the mentality.

Last night really drained a lot of optimism from me but these are my girls and the potential is infinite. I'm always gonna be rooting for them and little itty bitty hopeful part of me will always think we can win it all but I think, we're gonna need a lot of things to just miraculously go right.

[realtapiocafan]

https://www.tumblr.com/realtapiocafan/774877061591515136

When I say that body language is telling me… I mean I’m how you can see the adoration these two have for each other it’s SICKENING 😭

found a version of the photo to just. look and appreciate them (credit to christopher polk but like. i needed a version without the getty watermark) and now i shall yap!

when i tell you i stopped breathing when i saw this photo, i'm not kidding. let me just attempt to put into words why this photo has me fucked up beyond belief.

op was very real for this. looking directly into each other eyes is very hot.

that's not a thing you really do with someone you don't know well, because uhh. it just gets awkward. but with someone you DO know, with someone you know so well that you don't even have to speak, that you can just smile at and they'll smile back and you feel so content in your HEART???

that's really, really fucking hot.

the eye contact actually makes my brain go brrr. both of them crinkling their eyes in JOY and not even paying an IOTA of attention to anyone else, because who tf even cares about the world around them? like 'lost in each other's eyes', is literally the only phrase i could use -because that's what they're doing!

the only thing that matters, in this moment, is just each other. nothing else.

this is literally what i'd imagine this moment to be: joe just playing with his phone, wondering where ja'marr is, still thinking about ja'marr as a model and god he may have discovered a new kink and -- "Joe!"

and he looks up and oh. there he is. joe stops breathing, not that he's really aware of, not that anyone really notices. because it's ja'marr with a smile like the sun and all crinkling eyes and joe can't help but grin back, doesn't understand how anyone could ever not grin back when faced with ja'marr fucking chase. does he really need to breathe when beautiful, stunning, gorgeous ja'marr is right in front of him, fresh off walking a runway? no. no he does not.

they know each other too well to need any words and that's. holy cow, but isn't that the height of romance? to know someone to that level, where you don't need all that small talk and shit. to just be so content with the person you love, that you don't even have to say anything. you know them so well, that they don't need to say anything out loud -you already know what's coming out of their mouths.

in my mind, they just stand there in silence for a few seconds. like a couple of idiots <3. ja'marr grinning ear to ear, joe's smile creeping up because he can't help it, both of them swaying towards each other like magnets...

you focused on the body language, anon, and YES. just ---there's no tension in either of them. shoulders relaxed, eyes crinkling, smiling. i doubt they're even aware of the camera. again, it's just them. just them, looking in each other's eyes and utterly relaxing. they're each other's safe space, the calm in the storm.

it's just ---'oh it's you' type of love. not just 'oh it's you and it's always been you and how could it have ever not been you' -but 'oh it's you. you're the reason why i feel safe. you're the reason i can relax with you in a way i can't with anyone else'.

and this sums up the entire picture, why did i even type all that ugh.