#*mine: TL Scene

[arachniasbride]

Two tropes I love equally. ♡ 

[samwpmarleau]

JAMIE & KEELEY            ↳ 1.04 For the Children

[deus-ex-mona]

when freedom is in sight!!!!!!!!

[chamisulgrape]

make you mine 𖤐 [l.hs]

After finding out that Sunghoon's been keeping you from the rest of them, Heeseung makes it his mission to remind Sunghoon who the real boss is.

ᢉ𐭩 part one (boss!sunghoon) | part two

pairing → boss!heeseung x secretary!afab reader word count → 4.9k tags → office au, boss!heeseung, secretary!reader, boss!hyungline series smut tags → pwp, dubcon, unprotected p in v, bondage/choking (with a belt), degradation, blowjobs, floor sex, breeding kink, free use kink, dom/sub elements, lots of spit/drool, mention of free use relationship with boss!hyungline, reader is a whore for hyungline & she's playing the long game, tl;dr just lots of nasty smut warnings → one line mentioning that boss!heeseung and boss!jake get it on behind the scenes and inviting reader to join them... :3 not proofread as always a/n  → part 2 of boss!enha series finally out! reworked from one of my previous wips, pls reblog or leave me asks/comments if u enjoyed hehe that would make me very happy :3

♪ i wanna taste the crush, i wanna feel, i wanna lay you down, i wanna string you out, i wanna make you mine

minors dni.

You aren't surprised when Heeseung seeks you out, rather, you’re surprised by the purpose. 

You’ve just finished another late night meeting at the office, when Heeseung asks you to stay back. It’s late, around midnight, but it’s Heeseung, all of your bosses' boss, so you can’t really refuse—you shouldn’t. If Heeseung asks someone to do something, they listen—you always listen. 

You ignore the questioning look Sunghoon sends you. The rest of your bosses filter out slowly, along with the remaining executive staff and managers. 

Sunghoon lingers, shooting you another look of concern before he turns to Heeseung, who’s on his phone, leaning back in his chair at the very end of the table. “Heeseung, it’s pretty late, can’t you talk to her tomorrow?” 

Heeseung doesn’t even spare him a glance, still typing away on his phone. “This project is due in a month. She’s falling behind. She needs to catch up to everyone else.”

You know it’s bullshit. You know Sunghoon knows that it’s bullshit—but it’s Heeseung, and Sunghoon can’t argue against him. Sunghoon exhales, shrugging his laptop bag over his shoulder. He ducks down to press his lips against your cheek, lingering for a few seconds before pulling back. 

“I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay.” You nod. Sunghoon presses another kiss to your forehead before he leaves the conference room, leaving you and Heeseung alone.

“Heeseung,” you shift your weight on your feet. Heeseung is so, so far, but his presence suffocates you with his authority.

Heeseung finally looks up at this. You fidget awkwardly under the heavy gaze Heeseung’s looking at you with. “Hm?”

“What—what were you talking about?” You swallow. “We can go over everything now.”

Heeseung hums, voice low and deep. “Sure.”

You swallow, again. Heeseung walks over to the projector, plugging his phone into the USB port. Heeseung scrolls on his phone for a few seconds, before calling you over. 

“You wanna choose a song? Some background noise. Just to help us think.” Heeseung asks over his shoulder. You cross the room, stopping once you’re behind Heeseung, peering over his shoulder to look over at his phone.

“You can choose, Sir. Anything.” You reply, stepping back to create some distance between them.

“Anything?” Heeseung repeats. 

You shuffle your feet. “Yeah, anything is fine.”

Heeseung makes a sound in response, before he snorts. You furrow your brows in confusion. 

“What?”

Heeseung’s reply comes a second later. “It’s just funny, isn’t it?”

“What’s funny?” You, out of curiosity, lean forward to see what Heeseung is laughing about. 

Heeseung snickers, throwing his arm over your shoulders and handing you his phone. “Watch for yourself.”

You make a small sound, taking the phone into your hands. You regret it as soon as you do. You recognize it immediately—it being the video Heeseung is laughing at. You recognize it, in horror. 

“Press play, _____.” Heeseung says, voice smooth. 

“Heeseung—Sir, this,” you suck in a breath. “I can’t watch this.”

Heeseung pulls you closer and does it for you, pressing play on the video himself, murmuring a watch carefully. Your eyes go wide at the sound of the video echoing throughout the room, and the video playing on the huge projector. 

“Heeseung!” You look at him, horrified when you remember that Heeseung’s phone is connected to the speakers. 

Mortification washes over you at the sound of Sunghoon’s voice coming from the speakers and the sight of Sunghoon’s cock in your mouth—the same video Sunghoon recorded of you days ago. “Maybe I’ll send these to your bosses, hm? Let them all know how much you like this. Maybe I’ll let them take turns with you too.” 

Your fingers tremble around the phone. You’re too horrified to look anywhere but the screen. Your cheeks burn when you hear Heeseung laugh, his hot breath hitting your ear. 

Heeseung’s lips brush against your ear, and you vaguely register that the proximity between them has lessened; your shoulder digging into Heeseung’s chest and Heeseung’s arm still around your shoulders.

“Keep watching. It gets better.”

“Maybe even Jongseong. I see the way you look at him. You look at him the same way you look at Heeseung; the same way you look at me. Like if he asked you, you’d let him fuck you right then and there.”

You hear yourself whine in the video—you’re sure the whole company hears it, and you’re pretty sure your whole face is aflame with embarrassment. You want to cry—to run, to hide. You’re mortified. 

Heeseung stops the video, snatching the phone from your hands and turning it off with a click, leaving it on top of one of the speakers. He looks at you expectantly. You don't know what he wants, too horrified to even think clearly.

“Heeseung—this isn’t—it isn’t what you think it is.” You try, swallowing the lump in your throat down. 

Heeseung raises a brow. “What isn’t? The part about you wanting to fuck me, or the fact that Sunghoon’s cock was in your mouth?”

You inhale sharply. “No—it’s not like that.”

“It’s funny, we all knew Sunghoon had you wrapped around his finger, but we didn’t know it was like this. In the company bathroom too? God, he has you so desperate for him. Didn’t know you had it in you, Secretary _____.” Heeseung licks his teeth, and you let out a shuddering breath.

“That’s not true—it’s not like that.” You repeat. You sound like a broken record now.

“What? So you don’t want to me to fuck you? Sunghoon said if I asked, you would. Maybe it’s not me you want, maybe it’s Jongseong—no, don’t tell me, Jaeyun?” Heeseung has a sardonic grin playing on his lips, and distantly, it reminds him of Sunghoon. 

“What?” You feel exposed—naked under Heeseung’s gaze—like you’re being scrutinized.

Your boss of over three years. Heeseung, the man who hired you himself, interviewed you himself, chose you out of hundreds of women. And now here you two are. Cat and mouse. You’ve played right into his hands.

Maybe Sunghoon was never the one who had control of you. It feels like the real boss was here all along. Waiting for you—wanting you.

Heeseung’s grin never falters, it only widens as he steps back to shrug off his blazer to let it fall to the ground below him, leaving him in a plain white button-up shirt. You stare at the fabric—and oh my god, what’s happening. It’s not that you don't want it, you just never thought it would happen this way, not like this. Not this quickly either.

“Well?” Heeseung tilts his head, sending you an unamused look. You can’t tell if this is real; Heeseung was always hard to read, hard to figure out. “I don’t have all day.”

You gulp. “Heeseung—I don’t—I don’t even have anything on me. We—”

“That’s okay. It’s better that way,” Heeseung reaches out to pat your hair, finger brushing through tangles. You feel like a joke. The feeling of embarrassment never fades, instead, settling into your body as a comfortable buzz. “Get on your knees and get me wet, okay?”

Maybe it’s the anticipation, or the respect you have for Heeseung—or the fact that you’d do absolutely anything Heeseung tells you to—but you nod, brain and body moving on autopilot. Your mind is fuzzy, radio static. Heeseung pushes you down by the head, down until your knees hit the floor with a soft thud. 

“You’re so good for Sunghoon, you’ll be good for me, won’t you?” Heeseung murmurs, still petting your hair like you’re some sort of dog. You nod eagerly, hands coming up to grasp onto Heeseung’s thighs. 

Heeseung’s lip curls at the contact. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, Heeseung.” You reply quickly, obediently removing your hands quickly to rest in small fists by your side. Heeseung shakes his head lightly, and you salivates in anticipation when you hear Heeseung’s belt hit the ground. 

“Good. Get to work, Secretary _____.”

That’s how you find yourself like this: on your knees, your fingers gripping the hem of your skirt in an attempt to keep your hands down, and Heeseung’s cock, thick and heavy, resting on your tongue.

Heeseung isn’t as big as Sunghoon is, but for what he lacks in length, he makes up with girth. He fills up your mouth better than Sunghoon does, his cock stretches your lips just right. Your lids are hooded as you peer up at Heeseung through your lashes, trying to gauge his reactions so you know when to swallow, when to suck, when to graze your teeth against him the slightest bit.

“Stop fucking drooling,” Heeseung growls, voice low. You whine in response, it’s not like you can help it. “I don’t like it messy, didn’t Sunghoon tell you?”

You try your best to nod, just to show Heeseung that you do know, and that Sunghoon did tell you. You make a sound around Heeseung’s cock, causing Heeseung to groan lowly, pressing in deeper, deeper until the head of his cock barely brushes the back of your throat.

“You’re just like Jaeyun. Both get so dumb for cock that you can’t help but drool all over yourselves, like fucking whores.” Heeseung licks his teeth, smirking.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. Heeseung only laughs lightly, running a hand through your hair. “Jaeyun’s sloppy, but at least he knows how to suck cock properly. You’re just boring. How do you get Sunghoon off like this? Doesn’t he teach you any better?”

Heeseung pulls out, frowning at the sight of the spit that’s collected in your mouth spilling out the corner of your lips. You chase after him, making a sound of protest at the lack of cock in your mouth. Heeseung lets you mouth at his tip for a moment before yanking you back by the hair.

“Has Sunghoon fucked you today?” You shake your head with a wince, but stay pliant under Heeseung’s hold. “Good. Then I’ll be the first.”

The thought of coming home to Sunghoon, Sunghoon knowing that Heeseung got his way with you first, Sunghoon smelling Heeseung on you—the thought makes your body vibrate, shake with anticipation.

“You’re so eager. Just like a dog.” Heeseung hums. His voice is sweet like honey, contradicting his words. Heeseung licks his teeth, grinning, and your stomach churns. “Maybe I should treat you like one, hm?” 

Heeseung releases his grip on your hair then, bending down until he’s squatting, eye-level with you. His eyes roam over your figure, and you feel so small under his gaze. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Heeseung says, and you respond with a nod. You’d take anything Heeseung gives him. Always.

Heeseung’s lips curl into a smirk, eyes burning holes into you. “Good. Sit.”

You choke on a breath. When you doesn’t comply, Heeseung frowns at you. “Didn’t you hear me? I said sit. Down.”

Heeseung reaches out, laying a hand on your shoulder, pushing you ever so gently. You follow, legs spreading wider and wider until your ass meets the rough carpet floor. Heeseung smiles then, petting your hair again. “Good girl.”

You inhale sharply, and swallow. Your cheeks heat at the praise, and you preen inwardly. Heeseung cards his fingers through your hair, before his hand falls lower, fingers brushing against your cheek before they grip at your chin. Heeseung tilts your head to the side. 

“You’re so pretty. Does Sunghoon ever tell you how pretty you are?” Heeseung asks, and you nod. “It’s a shame Sunghoon got to you first, me and Jaeyun would have so much fun with you. But Sunghoon shares, doesn’t he?”

You gulp. As much as Sunghoon likes to tease you about the other members, You know that he’s possessive, more than just jealous and selfish. Sunghoon doesn’t like to share, he just likes the thought of the members wanting, and not being able to have. Sunghoon likes to come out on top.

You shake your head, and Heeseung releases his hold on your chin. “Tsk, he’ll just have to learn to then.”

”Does Sunghoon ever mark you?” Heeseung reaches behind you, and you hears the clatter of something on the floor before you see Heeseung’s belt in his hand. 

You swallow. “No, Heeseung. I don’t let him—the company would see.”

Heeseung’s lips turn down, and he frowns. “Shame. You’d look so pretty with marks, wouldn’t you?” You nod, squeezing your thighs together at the thought of wearing Heeseung’s marks—having Sunghoon seeing Heeseung’s marks on you. 

Heeseung seems to read your mind, because the next words that come out of his mouth are, “I’ll make sure to mark you good. I’ll mark you so that Sunghoon sees it for days, so that every time you look in the mirror, you’re reminded of me.”

You don't get a chance to reply before Heeseung wraps the belt around your neck and pulls you forward lightly. Heeseung secures the belt around your neck, and you cough when the buckle digs into your throat. Heeseung tightens it, looping one end through the buckle. 

Heeseung stands then, holding the strap of the belt in his hand. He yanks the belt suddenly, and you fall face-forward, choking on a breath as your cheek presses into Heeseung’s thigh. You hear Heeseung laugh, and your face burns with mortification. Heeseung doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that his cock is still out, brushing against your hair. The realization causes you to hide your face in between Heeseung’s legs, ashamed.

“Look at me,” you take a deep breath, shaking your head. “Your boss is asking you to do something.”

You pull back, carefully, to look up at Heeseung. You gnaw on your lip, blinking up at Heeseung with wide eyes. Heeseung tugs on the belt again, and you let yourself be pulled, chin resting against Heeseung’s thigh as you maintain eye contact. Heeseung’s cock brushes against your cheek, and you are suddenly filled to the brim again with want. You have to swallow your saliva down when your mouth pools with spit. 

You whine, chin digging into Heeseung’s leg. Heeseung toys with the end of the strap, and he coos. “What? What do you want? Tell me.”

“Heeseung,” you pout. Heeseung knows what you want, he’s just being mean. 

Heeseung tilts his head, humming. “What?”

“Heeseung, please.” You plead, eyes scrunching up when Heeseung pulls on the belt again. Your neck already aches, and a dull pain settles in throughout your spine.

“You want me that bad?” You nod, and Heeseung’s lips twist mockingly. “How am I supposed to say no to you when you look so pretty for me?”

Heeseung grips the belt tighter as he moves to stand behind you, and your heart beats rapidly, anticipation growing again. Heeseung pushes you forward harshly, and you let out a startled yelp when your chest and cheek hit the dirty carpet. You swallow down the sudden disgust and try not to think about how filthy the floor is. You want Heeseung too badly to be worrying about how dirty the floor must be.

With your face turned to the windows, in the reflection, you can still see Heeseung like this. You also see yourself; face and cheeks pink, hair a mess from Heeseung grabbing at it, and your dress-shirt crinkled and pushed up to your stomach. 

Heeseung squats behind you, belt strap wrapped securely around his hand. Heeseung gives it another tug, and you wince in pain as the buckle digs deeper into the soft skin of your throat. You can already feel the belt-shaped bruises forming—and you can’t stop yourself from whining because you want them. You want so badly to sport Heeseung’s marks, to see how Sunghoon reacts to seeing the bruises on your neck—bruises that aren’t his.

Heeseung runs his free hand up the back of your leg, fingers barely brushing underneath your skirt. You whimper, and you mumble out another please. 

“Please? Please what? You have to tell me what you want.” Heeseung murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt. 

You press your thighs together, squeezing them in an attempt to give yourself any sort of friction or relief. Heeseung tuts, pinching your leg as he reprimands you. “Stop.”

“Heeseung—touch me, please,” you breathe out, begging. “Need it, I want you so bad—please.” 

Heeseung’s thumb rubs against your flesh, soothing over where he pinched you. “So polite. Should I give you what you want?”

You try your best to nod, cheek rubbing against the floor. “Please, Hee—Heeseung, please.”

Heeseung lets go of the belt, leaning back and letting the strap fall to the floor. You shiver as Heeseung pulls your skirt and panties down harshly, throwing them off somewhere to the side, before—

“Fuck, this is why Sunghoon doesn’t share. He doesn’t want anyone else fucking you because you have the prettiest fucking pussy.” Heeseung exhales slowly, and you shudder, legs subconsciously spreading wider to present yourself to Heeseung. 

You take a shaky breath as the cold air hits your cunt, goosebumps forming on your bare legs. Heeseung is staring between your legs like he can’t look away.

“Could’ve been fucking you here before Sunghoon did,” Heeseung runs both of his hands up your thighs, stopping at your ass. He spreads your cheeks apart slowly, watching as your hole flutters at the contact, clenching around nothing. “I don’t blame him, would’ve kept you in my bed too if I knew you looked like this.”

“Heeseung, touch me, please—need you so bad.” You say, voice cracking, dripping with desperation as you raise your hips the slightest, pushing back against Heeseung’s hands. Heeseung squeezes your cheeks once before removing his hands, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

“Does Sunghoon fuck you here?” Heeseung asks, running a finger through your slit. Your hips buck, and you moan, nodding. You press your lips together to hold back another moan as Heeseung spreads your lips apart with his fingers. 

Heeseung exhales shakily. “Of course he does—how could he not? He probably fucks you in the office too, when we’re all working, huh? Is that why he drags you off so often? To fuck in the bathroom while we’re all here?”

“Heeseung, please.” You whine out, teetering between wanting to cry out of frustration or begging for Heeseung to just touch you already.

“You can be patient, can’t you?” Heeseung sighs, shaking his head lightly. “Thought I taught you how to wait like a good girl.”

You sniffle, holding back tears of frustration. You nod, lips curling into a pout. “Yes, Heeseung.”

Heeseung smiles, satisfied with your answer and obedience. He drags the pads of his fingers through your slit again, brushing lightly over your hole before retracting them and repeating the motion. 

“You’re so wet, you’re practically dripping. Do you like me that much?” Heeseung teases. You squeeze your eyes shut, and nod again, bashfully. “You’re so cute, aren’t you?”

In a second, Heeseung’s hands are on your hips, raising you until you’re ass up and holding yourself up with your palms. Heeseung smooths his hand down your back, squeezing the side of your hip. You hate how your stomach constricts at the position—hates how your hole leaks and coats your inner thighs with more slick. 

“Want it?” Heeseung runs his fingers through the mess, dragging his fingers up until they hover right against your hole. You give a full-body shudder, eyes falling shut. 

“Yes, please—Heeseung. Please.” You sniffle again, and Heeseung hums, thoughtfully. When you open your eyes, Heeseung is holding onto the belt strap again. You clench at the sight of him.

Heeseung circles a finger around your hole, pushing in the tip of his finger before pulling back. You whine, head falling forward. You hear Heeseung swallow, loud and clear in the quiet meeting room.

“Stop whining like a bitch. I’ll give you what you want.” Heeseung says, sharply, before yanking on the belt as he pushes three fingers inside of you without warning. 

Your reaction is instantaneous; you practically sob, moaning so loud that you hear it echo throughout the room, and fall face forward onto your chest. You hear Heeseung click his tongue, fingers stilling where they are, knuckle-deep inside of your cunt.

“You’re so fucking noisy,” Heeseung hisses. “Sunghoon never teach you how to be quiet? I’m not gonna fuck you if you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Sorry—I’m sorry, Heeseung, ‘m sorry.” You mumble out, then bite down on your bottom lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised if you broke skin. You try your best to stay quiet as Heeseung rubs at your clit with his thumb, moving the fingers he has inside you slowly every few seconds.

Heeseung tugs on the belt in time with every circle of his finger, every rub at your clit is another tug, another pull. You can feel yourself leaking slick around Heeseung’s fingers and down to your thighs, you can hear it so loudly each time Heeseung crooks his fingers inside of you.

Heeseung pulls his fingers out then, detaching himself from you completely. You clench around his fingers in an attempt to keep them inside of you.

“No, no, no! Heeseung, why! Don’t,” You stammer helplessly, so painfully empty now that Heeseung’s fingers aren’t inside of you. You choke on a sob, a plea. “Don’t stop! Why’d you stop?”

You lift yourself off of the ground, weight resting on your forearms as you turn back to look at Heeseung. Heeseung gazes back at you, and there’s a sort of fondness in his eyes that contradicts the small, uninterested frown on his face. 

Heeseung drops the belt to reach further, hand gripping the back of your head and his thumb digging into your cheek. All the air leaves your lungs when Heeseung forces you down again. You stay pliant, cheek pressed firmly against the floor once more.

“Stay down. Did I tell you that you could get up? I don’t fucking think so.” Heeseung punctuates it by pressing you down harder, and your cheekbone aches with the force of it.

“No, Heeseung. ‘m sorry,” you mumble, cheek squished between Heeseung’s fingers and the floor. You feel saliva drip out the corner of your lip, making a mess between your cheek and seeping into the carpet. “I’ll be good—I’ll be good for you, Heeseung.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue, giving your head one last squeeze before he lets up, leaning back onto his knees again. “You’re so difficult. I thought Sunghoon would’ve taught you better, but he just lets you act like a spoiled fucking pillow princess.”

You exhale shakily, breath coming out in short huffs. The way Heeseung treats you is so very different from Sunghoon. With Sunghoon, you can press all his buttons. You can tease and make snarky remarks all you want untll Sunghoon snaps, until Sunghoon fucks submission into you. With Heeseung, you know better than to speak out of turn. You know to remember your place. 

“I’m sorry, Heeseung. I’ll be better, please, I’ll be good for you,” you trail off with a whine, high and needy in the back of your throat. “Heeseung, please.”

“You’re a whore,” Heeseung hisses. Your pulse thrums with excitement and adrenaline and then fear when you feel the head of Heeseung’s cock brush against your hole. “Bet Sunghoon doesn’t even have to stretch you out before he fucks you, ‘cause your cunt is already all used up and fucked loose, just like a bitch.”

You scream when Heeseung pushes into you, hips flush against your ass and cock deep inside of you, the girth stretching you open so nicely and painfully that you can only cry helplessly, your head a spinning haze of pain and submission and pleasure.

“God, and you’re a screamer too? Sunghoon must have so much fun with you.” Heeseung says lowly, pulling his hips back until the tip of his cock catches on your rim, and then punching back into you. 

Your cheek rubs against the floor with every thrust Heeseung delivers. “Heeseung! Fuck!”

Heeseung yanks you up by the belt, using it to pull his hips forward, timing every thrust with another tug. The buckle of the belt has rubbed the skin of your throat raw, but the pain only adds to the growing coil in your stomach. You want Heeseung to make you bleed, you want there to be bruises—scars. 

“Heeseung—so good! It’s so good, Heeseung,” your eyes roll back when Heeseung’s cock hits you just right, rubbing against your walls and pressing repeatedly into the spot that makes your vision go blurry. “Oh, fuck, Hee—”

Heeseung speeds up his thrusts then, gripping the belt tightly in his fist as he slams into you, so strong that you have to claw at the floor, nails scratching and digging helplessly as you try to find anything to steady yourself as your body rocks forward. Heeseung presses his back to your chest, leaning in. “You can’t get pregnant, can you?”

“No—fuck, I can’t. Birth control.” You shake your head, hair falling into your eyes. 

“Shame,” Heeseung says, disappointed. “Would’ve knocked you up, let Sunghoon know you’re walking around with my kids.” Heeseung groans and stills his hips, pressing further into you, deeper. You whimper, clenching around his cock when you feel Heeseung twitch inside of you. 

“Heeseung! Want it, please, please!” You babble incoherently, mind going blank at the thought of Heeseung claiming you from the inside, breeding you.

“Yeah?” Heeseung groans, hips snapping forward as he tugs on the belt again, relishing in the way you bare your neck in submission. “You want my kids? You’re a shitty secretary anyway. You’d be so much better in my bed every night, letting me fuck you pregnant.” 

You cry, switching between moaning out small please’s and Heeseung’s, too fucked dumb to think straight or talk properly. 

Heeseung laughs behind you, speeding up his thrusts again. “You’re so obedient. You just take what’s given to you, hm? Like a fucking dog.”

Tears spill out of your eyes, and you love it. You love feeling used by Heeseung, feeling helpless and pathetic and below him, feeling like nothing but Heeseung’s pet to fuck. The thought has you clenching around Heeseung’s cock again, and it’s music to your ears when Heeseung groans lowly.

Your moans are high and whiny and loud, so loud that Heeseung has to reach out with his free hand to muffle you, fingers digging into your cheek so hard that you think it’s going to bruise.

“You’re too fucking loud. What’d I tell you about being loud? It’d be nice if you didn’t just sound like a whiny bitch all the time.” 

Heeseung fucks you fast, and your ears and senses are all focused on him; your mind is livid with the thought of Heeseung Heeseung Heeseung and your ears are filled with sounds of the small squelches of Heeseung fucking into your hole. 

Your cries are muffled behind Heeseung’s hand, and you have to breathe in sharply with every punch of Heeseung’s hips. Your orgasm builds up quickly, you’ve been on edge ever since Heeseung fastened the fucking belt around your neck.

Heeseung removes his hand to fist it back in your hair instead, pulling your head back so high that your neck aches, pain spreading all the way to your lower back and through your bones. “Say my name.”

“Heeseung! Heeseung, Heeseung, fuck, Heeseung!” You cry out in a painful mix of torture and pleasure. 

Heeseung growls, low in the back of his throat as he yanks on the belt with more force. “Say my name. Again.”

“Heeseung,” you moan, trailing off into a desperate sob. “Heeseung! Heeseung, Heeseung, ah!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna make sure Sunghoon knows I fucked you. Gonna cum in you, let Sunghoon know that he’s got my sloppy seconds.”

That’s what does it for you. Your body seizes up, and you tighten so hard around Heeseung when you finally cum hard. Your body wracks with shivers as you cum around Heeseung’s cock. You nearly black out, and you fall limp under Heeseung’s grip.

“Fuck, fuck.” Heeseung groans, fucking you through it. 

“Heeseung! Heeseung, please, please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for at this point, head muddled and fuzzy in a post-orgasm bliss. 

Heeseung follows shortly after, hips stilling deep inside of you as he cums, filling you to the brim and claiming you from the inside. You bask in it, satisfaction fills you. This is what you wanted, this is what you’ve been waiting for. 

You breath heavily as you catch your breath, still slumped on the floor. Heeseung pulls out, and you grimaces at the feeling of warm cum dribbling down your thighs. 

“You know, Heeseung, that was kinda fast.” You say, and Heeseung yanks the belt so hard that you get whiplash.

Heeseung snorts, his grip tight around the belt. “I bet I lasted even longer than Sunghoon does.”

You shake your head with a smile, glancing at the clock that hangs in the corner of the room. You squint, taking a mental note of the time. “You think you can last longer than Jay?”

“I know I can.” Heeseung rolls his eyes, dropping the belt and pushing himself off the floor to clean himself up.

You huff, licking your teeth with a smug smile. “I’ll see.”

“What, you’re planning on going to him next?” Heeseung snorts, again, before kneeling down in front of you. He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up. “Why don’t you come play with me and Jaeyun, hm? We’ll treat you good, better than Jay and Sunghoon can.”

You shudder, clenching around nothing as more cum trickles out of your hole. Heeseung tilts his head with a smirk, “Yeah?”

“Maybe.” You keep your voice steady, but you’re sure Heeseung can see your lips tremble. 

Heeseung hums before standing up, stretching his arms above his head. “Clean yourself up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

a/n: it's finally out !! each of the parts will showcase different dynamics, if u didn't notice what i was doing already! i wanted to show and write the different dynamics that reader has with hyungline :3

masterlist

[dakusan]

hi dear! i've been in absolute love with your writing ever since i found out about this blog when it was just a tiny baby with a few posts~ thank you for always bringing such artistry and poetry to the tl, you're so incredible at this!!

i really like your fluff posts, and since sunday is knocking at the door already, i'd like to ask you about something really specific! - how would the skz guys act like on special occasions like birthdays, anniversaries, valentine's day etc? would they express their love in gifts? words? would thay plan special dates or just keep it lowkey at home? would it lead to soft sex later, or are these invitations for special nights? hehe

looking forward to this!! thank youuu ❤️🌹

hi angel~ 🥀 thank you so much for this message — my heart genuinely melted rereading it a few times (ok like seven). i'm honoured you’ve been here since the baby blog days, and i'm so grateful you trust me with your fluffy fix on a Sunday 🫶🏻🌷

now onto your request — skz on special occasions

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

bang chan.

Chan plans for weeks. No, months. Every anniversary, birthday, Valentine’s — he treats like a sacred ceremony. Think midnight flower deliveries, long handwritten letters sealed with wax, and playlists named after inside jokes only you two understand. He’ll take you to the beach just to watch sunrise in silence, your hand cradled in his lap like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth. He doesn’t just say he loves you — he proves it in 38 layers of forethought.

And yes, it ends in sex. Slow, reverent, worshipful. Like every kiss is an oath, every breath a prayer. You cum under his praise, and he holds you after like he’s grateful you chose him.

⸺⟡⸺

lee know.

You won’t think he’s planning anything — until he shows up at your door in all black, with one hand behind his back and a gaze that says: “Don’t ask questions. Just follow.” He’ll cook for you in silence, pour you wine, pull you onto his lap mid-dinner. Gifts? Subtle but haunting — something custom-engraved, or scented with your favourite perfume. Words? Rare but devastating:

“No one else gets this version of me. You know that, right?” He doesn’t do fireworks. He is the fire. And the sex? Hushed. Heated. His mouth against your throat as he fucks you with the same intensity he ties his shoelaces — precise. Ruthless. Like he’s undoing you on purpose.

⸺⟡⸺

changbin

Anniversaries? He’s up at 6am blasting music, making heart-shaped pancakes, aggressively loving you out loud. He gives you a gift every hour on the hour — from cheesy keychains to letters written on napkins. Expect a slideshow of your selfies set to emotional music and tears in his eyes when you say thank you. He feels everything, deeply, loudly, honestly. And when it’s time for bed? He whispers how much he loves you in between kisses, until the kisses turn to soft bites, then full-body worship.

Sex with Bin on special days is passionate. Focused. Filthy in its sweetness. “I love you so much I could ruin you.” And he might.

⸺⟡⸺

hyunjin

Your entire house is covered in rose petals by noon. He’s written you a poem and painted something in your honour — probably a surreal portrait with tears made of stardust. He plans elaborate dates in art museums, rooftops, hidden gardens. But the real gift? The way he looks at you — like he’s trying to memorize your soul.

And when the lights are low? Hyunjin makes love like it’s a scene in a French film. Lots of whispered “I can’t believe you’re mine”s, shaky breaths, and hands tangled in hair. It’s not sex. It’s cinema.

⸺⟡⸺

han jisung

Jisung forgets until the day before. But then he overcompensates insanely. He’ll write you a three-minute diss track about anyone who ever hurt you. Make a PowerPoint slideshow. Cry while gifting you a badly-wrapped necklace that cost him his soul. He panics. Then he overdelivers. Every. Time. Words? Yes — panicked, heartfelt, often cursed.

“I fucking love you, okay?! Like so much it makes me want to eat drywall!” And the sex? Chaotic divine comedy. He’ll start off trying to be romantic and end up moaning your name like a worship chant, crying a little, holding you so tight it’s embarrassing. But you love it. He means every second.

⸺⟡⸺

felix

Felix goes soft mode on special days. He makes breakfast in bed with glitter pancakes and blueberry syrup. He decorates the house like it’s your birthday at Disneyland. He gives you themed gifts — a crystal for calm, a note for comfort, a photo album with glitter tape. He doesn’t just celebrate the occasion. He celebrates you.

And at night? He’s so gentle, it’s almost spiritual. He lights candles. He asks permission even after a thousand times. The sex is slow, worshipful, and little giggles between moans. You end up crying. So does he.

⸺⟡⸺

seungmin

Acts like he doesn’t care. Teases you all day. Calls your birthday “mid” while secretly planning a surprise party with all your favourite people. He gives gifts he pretends are practical — but they’re always thoughtful, personal, perfect. Words? Rare, but lethal.

“I don’t say it often. But I’d rather die than lose you.” He makes you feel seen. Even when he’s roasting you. And when the lights go out? He’s a menace. Dry wit, soft touches, and filthy pillow talk in that calm voice — it’s psychological warfare. He’ll edge you until you’re crying “Please”, then kiss your tears like they’re holy water.

⸺⟡⸺

jeongin

He’s shy about it. But you find out he’s been counting down to your anniversary for weeks. He gives you a small box with a silly doodle he drew. Inside? The most meaningful thing you’ve ever received. He fumbles over compliments, blushes, then suddenly drops the line of the century.

“You’re the only home I’ve ever wanted to build.” Dates are chill — stargazing, ramen shops, movie marathons in PJs. But the sex? Oh. Jeongin on special occasions pulls out his hidden dom side. It’s quiet, breathless dominance. You blink and you’re pinned. “I want to make you remember this day every time you close your eyes.” He means it.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

thank you again for this delicious ask 🥀🌙

[remxedmoon]

You should tell us about color psychology that sounds cool as hell

YES… HA HA HA… YES!

GGGOD I WISH I WASN’T OUT OF THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW. but i’ve been thinking about colors literally all day so you all get to be subject to my madness! sorry this is long and rambly wauaua. nightmarishly long post under the cut.

okay. first things first, a few basics. color theory and color psychology tend to get confused a lot in discussions, but they usually refer to different things. color theory is more about we physically perceive colors (color wheels and color schemes the like), while color psychology focuses on our emotional response to colors. if you’re familiar with the children’s hospital color theory post, that poster wasn’t actually talking about color theory, but color psychology (and also it’s incredibly surface level and heavily misunderstands the subject because in what fucking universe does the quantity of positive associations with a color matter more than the context it’s used in and sorry i have personal beef with this tumblr post).

color theory is also a special interest of mine but i’m not gonna touch on it too much here because it’s not entirely important. mmmaybe another time…

essentially, certain colors (and color combinations) have associations in our brains and that affect our behavior and emotions. these associations are also very much affected by the context a color is used in. colors don’t exist in a vacuum! so while red can symbolize passion and love when used in something like a dress or a bouquet of flowers, it has a very different connotation when it’s, say, splattered on the walls or smeared on the ground in a snail trail.

or for a less Children’s Hospital Themed example, i’ll put my euphrasie and king designs here!

(of course the saturation and brightness of these blues play a massive part in how they’re perceived but this is not a post about color theory this is n)

and, of course, combining colors in a piece can also change their meanings!! i’m about to get real fucking normal.

i’m gonna be focusing on the color combo of red and yellow here because it’s the one that’s most relevant to my art (and also it’s really interesting.) basically, seeing these two colors together activates the part of our brain that controls our appetite, making us actually feel hungry. this is why so many food companies use red and yellow in their branding! it’s neat stuff!!

also, if you’re familiar with it, this is why the mv for butcher vanity uses this color palette!! along with red’s general associations with danger and blood, the color combo also physically induces hunger. pretty fitting for a song about cannibalism!

(there is also red’s association with lust and passion and how that intersects with the double meaning in the lyrics but i cannot derail this post into being an analysis of butcher vanity i’m sorry. we’d be here all week. maybe another day... wipes a tear from my eye)

and i think this might be the reason why some people feel hungry when they see my art, even when i’m not drawing food. while i don’t tend to use red outright, most of my art has very warm undertones (red-oranges and yellows especially), which could be activating that hunger response??

(ah fuck color theory managed to weasel its way into this post again)

admittedly this part is just speculation on my end. i think my rendering style and Shapes also play a role in it, but it’s interesting for me to think about!!

this is only scratching the surface of how complicated colors can get. i was going to go on an entire tangent about color grading and how green lighting can make a scene feel unnerving but this post is already Too Fucking Long. aaaa super sorry if this is Rambly or hard to understand!! i’m not Entirely sure how much the average person knows about color theory and psychology so if there’s any confusing terms here i’m fine with adding stuff for clarity!

wauauuaa thank you so much for asking!!!! i love talking about colors.

tl;dr colors have a bunch of different emotions and meanings tied to them, but you’ve gotta pay attention to the context in which it’s being used. so maybe take a step back before you put that thick red trail on the floor of your children’s hospital.

[hannahhook7744]

Why Franklin and Maryann Portman are the Worst™ (Part 1)!;

I want to preface this by saying that I know that by no means Franklin and Maryann Portman are the actual worst parents in fiction or in this series even. 

Of course they aren't. 

But that doesn't mean that I can't still refer to them as the worst™ for them being shitty. Even if I do believe that on some leave that they do care about/love their son. 

I also wanna point out that it's been awhile since I read the books so I'm going off my memory and the wiki for this. So I may forget some context of why this or that happens, and if I do that, feel free to comment it down below respectfully. And if I forget something that you find shitty that they did, also feel free to reblog or comment it down below because I would love to talk about these characters and fandom more.

Am I saying that Abe Portman is 100% perfect and did nothing wrong whatsoever? No, that would go against how his character is betrayed in the books—as a flawed traumatized man who did his best to be there for his family and keep them and himself (as well as others) safe and went about some things the wrong way. 

 Now that that's out of the way…

According to the wiki:

“Jacob was born on Halloween, and up until he was eight years old was convinced by his parents that trick-or-treating candy was birthday presents (something apparently revealed in Hollow City).” 

These people are rich. 

R-I-C-H. 

Rich enough that Jacob’s dad can study birds and volunteer and write mine books that he never publishes without the worry of them not having anything to eat. 

R-I-C-H enough that Jacob comments that “I did love her, of course, but mostly because loving your mom is mandatory, not because she was someone I think I'd like very much if I met her walking down the street. Which she wouldn't be, anyway; walking is for poor people.” And rich enough that they gave their kid their four year old sundan so that they could get a brand new car. 

And for eight years, they had their son believing that candy was a birthday present. 

1. Now, look. I get it. Birthday shopping is hard, especially for a little itty bitty kid but not actually having the money to buy your only kid gifts and choosing not to because people are handing out candy on that day anyway? That's not a very nice thing to do for that long. 

They let him go through three years of school thinking that and we never learned how he found out that was a lie. That's not even including the fact that the rest of their extended family let this lie continue (assuming they knew). 

Can you imagine if Jacob found out because he mentioned this to his classmates or a teacher? Maybe a teacher or family member could salvage the situation but little kids can be brutal, especially towards other little kids who they think are wrong and considering we know that in that same year, Jacob was pants-ed causing him to stop believing anything Abe said…. It's not entirely out of the realm of possibility tl believe that one of Jacob's classmates got in a fight with him over it and caused some kind of embarrassing, painful memory. 

Though I guess it's a good thing they didn't get Jacob birthday presents that early on considering my second point. 

2. The birthday scene. 

Look at his birthday scene. 

This scene? Shouldn't really exist. 

Not because I hate birthday scenes but because Jacob literally told his parents he didn't want a party which under normal circumstances is a reasonable ask within itself. But these? These aren't even normal circumstances. 

Jacob doesn't want a party because the one person he'd actually want there, in his own words, is his grandpa. His grandpa who died in his arms nine months before and who Jacob has been viciously mourning for said nine months. His grandpa whose death caused Jacob's ‘mental breakdown’. 

Whose house they had also cleaned out recently, doing shit all for the now sixteen year old’s mental health and grief. 

But what do his parents do? 

Throw him a surprise party.

A surprise party.

For their jumpy traumatized son who found his grandpa bleeding out in the dark after getting attacked by a monster (or ‘rabid dogs’) and who has been sleeping in the fucking laundry room. 

Why on earth would going against his wishes be good for him? He said he didn't want a party and under these circumstances, it's even more understandable. If you really want your son to socialize or to celebrate, then get him a cake or some food he likes and invite his friend over. Talk to him. 

Don't throw him a party he doesn't want and don't throw the kid who's been having non-stop nightmares about the monsters who killed his grandfather a fucking surprise party. 

To make matters, in this party:

One of his uncles he’s not close to tries to spring a summer trip to his house on him, listing shit that he likely knows Jacob doesn't like with no previous warning to the kid himself (his parents were just planning to ship him off, whether he wanted it or not). 

They're calling Jacob's apparent disorder ‘his thing’. 

And nobody is actually getting him anything he wants. Just shit they've been gifted and are trying to get rid of. 

Gifts like CD's of country Christmas music or subscriptions to Field and Stream (because his Uncle Les thinks he's outdoorsy, this one I can understand slightly since Jacob did want to be an adventurer but still). 

The only exceptions being:

 1. The key to the family four-year-old sedan, which Jacob is embarrassed to be receiving in front of Ricky (who Jacob hasn't talked to in a long while after a fight they had). 

And 

2. A camera Jacob had been wanting for ages (since last summer) from his parents….who likely only gifted it to him because of his dad's new book.

Which leads to his mom drunkeningly making front of her husband at her sixteen year old’s birthday party…. Real classy. 

Oh and 3. A book that belonged to Abe that Jacob's parental Aunt Susie snagged trom the house when they were cleaning it out. A book titled “The Selected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson”. 

She gave this to him, saying it was from Abe because he'd written Jacob's name in it. 

Thoughtful right? 

Well everyone else doesn't think so because they go quiet. Jacob's mom, Maryann even while drunk, tries to say it was thoughtful and that she didn't know Abe was a reader.

Meanwhile Jacob's dad, Franklin, is barely hiding how pissed he is. 

Like dude. 

Dude. 

Do you really hate your own dad so much that you don't want your grieving son to have even just a book of poems that the only member of the family who he was close to left for him? Are you still, even after that disastrous day where you cleaned out the fucking house with him there and fought with him, refusing to let him have any ties left?

To be fair, you can say that this is because of his own history with Abe and that it's because Jacob is in a worrying state. But that doesn't really hold up considering that they let Abe babysit Jacob often and fill his head up with stories they thought he embellished  due to his own trauma and because they thought that Jacob was well enough to handle trashing and donating all of his dead grandpa’s stuff. 

Sure, they don't take the book from him but the fact Franklin can't even hide how pissed he is is shitty. 

That's not even considering this little tidbit here:

“My mother leaned toward me and in a tense whisper asked if I needed a drink of water, which was mom-speak for keep it together, people are staring.”

….

Do I even need to say anything?

The fact that Jacob thinks this probably means that his parents—or even just Maryann—have said this to him before. Frequently so, even. To the point where he's trying to escape the room, feeling like he might cry, and instead of thinking that his parents (or anyone in this family) might be able to potentially comfort him in this hard moment, this is what he's thinking. 

It's infuriating.

But not as infuriating as my last point for now!

3. Franklin sent his then fifteen year old son to deal with what he thought was his dementia ridden, war world 2 veteran father having a PTSD attack/episode. 

Franklin gets called when he's volunteering at a bird rescue in what is either early afternoon or night by his worried fifteen year old said who tells him that Abe called him ‘flipping out’. 

He asks if he's taken his pills today and Jacob tells him Abe wouldn't tell him. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would go and help their poor ailing father who may be having an episode or PTSD attack about the war, what happened to his family. The monsters. 

At this point, any reasonable adult would send their son home out of danger and call up a friend or sibling or in-law to go deal with the situation. 

What does Franklin do?

He sends his fifteen year old, who is at his job, to go check on Abe. Who again, Franklin thinks is having an episode. 

Now, even if there was a chance that Abe would still recognize Jacob and wouldn't be a danger to him, who would risk sending their son to check on an ailing relative by himself when there's every chance that when Jacob gets there he'll be having flashbacks to the horrors he witnessed. I mean, it's understandable if you or another adult is there and need help calming the man for you to maybe have your teenage son there. Especially if he may be caring for him one day out of choice.

But sending your fifteen year old there by himself to handle the situation when he probably won't know what to do and when he probably hasn't seen one before?

And doing that when you know that your dad was in a war and still has a sea of weapons hidden away behind lock and key (a key which you have) because you can't be half assed to tell the shelter your volunteering at that there's a family emergency?

Franklin literally sent Jacob into a traumatizing situation that could turn dangerous (for Abe or Jacob, if Abe didn't recognize his grandson) under the assumption that all of his paranoid dad's weapons are stored away. 

And what did Abe die with in his hand?

A box cutter. 

Which just proves that Abe had things lying around that he could use as a weapon if needed. Things he could improvise with. 

Just think for a moment about what could have wrong if Abe wasn't actually in danger from a wight but something he was actually imagining—a memory from his past. Imagine what could have happened to Jacob if Abe had mistaken him for a burglar or a wight or what Franklin thought he was imagining.

Jacob can't fight. 

It's dark. 

Things could easily go wrong.

And what would happen if they did?

Jacob would be hurt and traumatized or dead and Abe would likely be in a horrible place if he wasn't, all because Franklin didn't care enough about his dad to go check on him himself. Hell you can he didn't even care about Jacob enough here, because he didn't care about what Jacob could possibly see if he sent him to deal with his grandfather.

Like, not only is he being incredibly shitty to his son but to his own ailing father who was at the very least convinced he was in danger and who was actually in danger (for all Franklin knew his dad could have actually heard someone breaking in but he didn't even take the time to think about it). 

That's all I have time to write for today but there's several other things that they do that are pretty crappy where their son is involved that I will happily discuss.

Hope this doesn't disappoint, @kallmeweirdhprroe .

[uhhhh-em-draws-stuff]

Ik everyone and their mother has a Jackie lives AU but

HERE’S MINE!

TEEN TL:

Nat and Travis(only sane ones) come back from hunting and drag her back in

They put her in the hot water like they did Lottie.

Her right ear was black with frostbite so Shauna had to cut it off, with Misty and Ben’s supervision obviously. She has permanent cold burn on the right side of her face, neck, and hands.

She’s essentially in a coma for half of season 2, she’s in an out of consciousness and only awake to eat and then goes right back to sleep. Shauna barely leaves her side, only goes to cut up meat.

Jackie eventually maintains a normal consciousness cycle and gains back some of her strength about a week before Shauna gives birth.

Jackie and Shauna hadn’t been on speaking terms since that night. But when Shauna gives birth, Jackie’s the one holding her hand and trying her best to calm her down. When Shauna realizes that her baby didn’t make it, she throws her self into Jackie’s arms and sobs. they don’t talk about it.

During the chase game in the opening scene of season 3, she’s lurking around the circle and Misty tosses it as she gets pushed over by Shauna and they win the game. She dangles the necklace in her hands and says “ooo tough loss, shipman” (I’m sorry have such a vivid vision for this)

During the feast scene Mari says “thank god Jackie you used to have you on a fucking leash” to Shauna

She was going to gather firewood when she runs into the scene of Shauna and Melissa macking, she stares for a few seconds before sneaking off

Her defense during the trial is “why would I burn down the cabin when I was in a significantly weakened state, where I needed shelter? It’s a miracle I’m alive right now”

Many many many MANY passive agressive comments abt Shauna and Melissa

Her leaving wilderness fantasy was a shower

Was very much team “let’s get the hell out of here”

During the hunt, she trew Melissa off of Shauna and gave Shauna the opportunity to run, and then ran the other way herself, once again they don’t talk about it

She was not part of the black box plot, still being iced out by most of the girls

IN BETWEEN TLS:

2001-got married young to a son of one her fathers business partners, private ceremony, just their parents and them. Never had any kids

2002-attends Shauna’s wedding with her husband and parents, her and Shauna end up hooking up (“I wish I could’ve married you”) in the bathroom, and guess what? THEY DONT TALK ABOUT IT

Jackie and Shauna don’t speak much over the years, just “happy birthdays”and a “congratulations” when Callie was born

2005-Her and husband moved to southern New Jersey.

ADULT TL:

2021-her and husband get a divorce so she moves back to Wisayok to her parents place

About a month later, she gets into a fender bender with, guess who, SHAUNA!!!!!!!!!!!! They awkwardly exchange pleasantries and Jackie panically offers to pay for the damages

They don’t speak again for a few days, but then Jackie runs into Shauna at the hotel when she was looking for Jeff, they end up having dinner together. They end up drinking too much and hooking up in Jackie’s car. (w a beautiful scene of it cutting back and forth between adult them and teen them, representing that this is not a new feeling for either of them)

Soon after affair starts and they do high school like activities to feel like the 17 year olds they were when they fell in love

Basically imagine all of the adult TL team up scenes +jackie bc I’m lazy

On and off affair continues

[draculasfavoritewife]

Wild Honey

Summary: Gale is one stubborn son of a bitch, but if anyone could get him to open up, it's always been you.

Pairing: Gale Hawthorne x fem!District 12!Reader

Warnings: ANGST. Idiots miscommunicating and falling out. Heavy tension, sensuality, and implied smut at the end. Also by far the most sexually charged eating scene I have ever yet written, SO sorry everyone, that really deserves its own separate disclaimer lmao. Ye have been warned.

I would like to preface this by saying I know Gale stans sometimes receive hate, and while I do not condone his more problematic actions, I do deeply understand why he is the way he is -- most of my favorite characters in any franchise have done morally challenging things, but I will always fall in love with a survivor, and most times in dystopian fiction survival is messy and comes at the cost of someone else's. It is also worth mentioning that I was watching Hunger Games during one of the most difficult periods of my life a year ago, when a loved one's life was hanging in the balance and Gale became the comfort character I turned to in order to cope. He will always hold a particularly fond place in my heart 🖤

tl;dr -- If you don't like Gale Hawthorne, feel free to not read. No reason to be mean to anyone :)

*Takes place during Catching Fire

He hasn’t been the same since she came back.

That much is clear to anyone two degrees north of blindness. But it could be anything, really. His work in the mines is draining on both body and soul, the added responsibility of being the Everdeen family’s sole provider as well as his own would exhaust anyone.

Yet Gale Hawthorne is probably the only one who could still be standing tall at this point, his proud stride never faltering, shoulders broad enough to hold up all of Panem if he had to. 

The man’s just tired, people say.

Tired and angry at the world, let him be. 

What else is new?

Gale has been wearier than a young man should be and angrier than most could know for as long as you’ve been part of his life.

It’s not that. 

No, it’s the sadness darkening his gray-blue eyes and the new tightness in his full lips that you see setting in whenever he looks at her. Whenever her eyes dart away to seek out Peeta’s instead, or stare straight through him at the phantoms of horrors he would never quite understand. You see him reaching out more often, trying anything and everything to bridge the yawning rift that has opened up between him and Katniss ever since her return, and see how with each misplaced gesture, every time he tries to be soft, another piece of him turns to stone inside. 

And it breaks you, to watch and know you can do absolutely nothing about it. 

You’re surprised to find him hunting alone the next time you go out beyond the fence; you would have assumed she was with him as she usually is. You’ve known Gale at least as long as she has, but perhaps the fact that you don’t rely on him for sustenance has made the two of you less likely to travel together.

And besides, whatever complicated relationship the two of them had, you had never wanted to insert yourself into that mess. 

But for whatever reason, today he is alone, anger and something deeper sharply visible in the movements of his nimble fingers as they field-dress a wild turkey on the floor of the small clearing you’ve emerged into, his brow furrowed and mouth harsh. 

You say nothing for several minutes as you pull your bow and quiver from their stash, testing the pull of the string, fiddling with a crooked fletching on one of your arrows. Your relationship has always been different from what he has with Katniss — you would be lying if you said you weren’t sometimes jealous of how much time she gets him to herself, but you also doubt that he talks to her the way he does to you.

There are pros and cons to not needing him in the same ways. 

“What?” he snaps when you’ve stood there too long; he knows you’re too efficient to need that much time to prepare your gear. 

You shoulder your bow, staring down at those heavy eyebrows, long ebony lashes, and the rainy-sky eyes that are still stubbornly avoiding yours.

“I don’t know, Gale. You tell me.” 

He sighs, long and annoyed. “You’re gonna stand there all day if I don’t, aren’t you.” 

You give a noncommittal noise and make a show of leaning against a tree to keep watch for Peacekeepers while he finishes his work. 

The thanks you get for that is little more than a grunt. “Well don’t get comfortable, I’m almost done. And keep up — I still need more than this or we’ll have a lean few days.” 

“When have I ever not kept up with you, Hawthorne?” You raise your eyebrows at him, playfully miffed. 

There it is, the cocky smirk that pulls one corner of his pretty mouth slightly higher than the other. “That a challenge, Spark?” 

You roll your eyes in mock disdain of the nickname he’s used forever (“because you’re small, but I know you’ve got a blaze in there somewhere” he’d half-teased). “Why, are you gonna try and run away from me?” 

It’s his turn to shrug. “How badly do you want to talk, I guess?” He’s loading the bird’s carcass into his satchel, wiping off his hunting knife and preparing to head out. 

A quick grab and you’ve shouldered the bag instead, ensuring he can’t abandon you now without also abandoning his prize. “Pretty damn badly, I guess.” 

Gale huffs a breath out through his nose. “God, you’re stubborn.” 

“Look who’s talking.” You brush past him, aiming for a deer trail that takes you through some hidden haunts that usually yield rabbits and even some bigger game on occasion. “Now come on, spill. You’ve been acting more pissed than usual, and that’s saying something.” 

“Hm. Very funny.” He easily lifts his own hunting gear once more and falls into step behind you. “Hunt first. Talk later. I’ll be even more pissed if we scare off our dinner.” 

You turn and give him a brisk nod, grinning to yourself when you face forward again. 

It may not sound like much, but that was practically a promise that he will talk to you eventually. 

And you’re nothing if not patient enough to outlast him. 

The times the two of you have hunted together, your ambition and his tenacity tend to be a deadly combination, and as luck would have it, a rare buck deer had crossed your path today, resulting in an even more substantial promise of survival than the turkey. As the two of you worked quickly to prepare the carcass for packing it out, you could feel the tension ebbing away between you, could tell by the way Gale’s strong shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched that the immediate worry of ensuring his mother and younger siblings had enough to eat this week had faded.

He would never say as much out loud, but you know it keeps him up at night when they do go hungry, can imagine how he must pace the floors of his house at night, cursing himself for falling short of the herculean standards that the loss of his father set upon him.

He should be able to sleep somewhat peacefully tonight, knowing they will survive another day thanks to him. 

“That was a good shot,” he says after a while of working in silence, and there’s a deep-running warmth threaded through his tone. “You really slowed him down.” 

You shove his shoulder, making him laugh and then scold you for jostling him with a knife in his hands. “Not so shabby on that killing shot yourself, Hawk-eyes. You’ll have food for awhile.” 

“You’re not getting away without some of it,” he insists. “It’s as much yours as mine.” 

And because you know refusing Gale an act of service is a surefire way to start an argument and guarantee his sullen silence again, you agree that you’ll take a sizable portion back to your family when the two of you head back. Placated for the time being, he finally lets his tongue run — about how he’s managing in the mines, what his siblings have been up to, how even in the midst of his exhaustion, he still lives for the end of the work week when he can escape to the forest again. There are new themes of thought that surface and submerge like fish between his words, murmurs of rebellion, thoughts of standing up to the Capitol at last, but they are hushed and quickly moved on from. 

No matter how much you might support him, he doesn’t want to worry you too much yet. 

“What about you and Katniss?” you finally prod, trying to ignore the familiar jolt of envy that tastes so sour on your tongue whenever you say their names together in the same breath. 

He stills; when his eyes flicker up to yours again they’re guarded and cold. “What about me and Katniss?” 

“Well, she’s conspicuously not here with you.” You flick flyaway hairs away from your face in irritation, the damp air making them cling to your skin. “Don’t be like that, Gale. I’ve been your friend long enough to not deserve your cagey act anymore. Let me in. Please.” 

He stares up at you for so long from his position kneeling on the forest floor, you standing over him, pleading him with your eyes to let someone else shoulder part of the heavy load he carries for once. And you’re struck by those traitorous thoughts again in the silvery silence — how unreasonably lovely he is, with that sharply angled jawline, and those softly curving lips, that thick dark hair you’ve always secretly wanted to tangle your fingers in as he leans down, your name on his tongue and a teasing glint in his melancholy eyes — 

“I think I made a mistake,” he finally mutters. “I know I can’t understand fully what she’s seen or who she is now, but is it completely wrong of me to just wish things didn’t have to change?” 

The man who means more to you than anything has never looked more lost and uncertain than in this moment of admission, and you sink to your knees in front of him, suddenly overtaken by a wave of softness that takes a second to fully process. “I’m sorry, Gale, I am. We all change, and I know how it feels to wonder if someone still cares or not.” You shake away your own uncertainties you’ve been having ever since she came back and he’s been chasing her attentions around.

“It’s only natural to want to pick up right where you left off, I get it.” 

His gaze sharpens, though the rest of his face remains calculated and unreadable. “Have I been ignoring you lately, Spark?”

It seems like a genuine question, as if running back through the last few months in his mind he now acutely senses your absence from them. 

You reach out, trailing the tips of your fingers ever so lightly down his cheek. The gesture isn’t novel, you’ve used it to comfort him before, especially when you aren’t sure how much physical contact he wants on a given day, but something feels different about it today, some electric shiver passing between you that makes his mouth twitch and causes you to pull your hand away as if shocked. 

“I need you too, Hawk-eyes,” you murmur, almost under your breath. “I need you.” 

To your dismay, the intimate moment abruptly ends; he tears away from the echo of your touch and is on his feet again in an instant, eyes now pale and hard as ice as he smolders down at your upturned face. 

Reeling with confusion and hurt, you try to understand what just happened. “Gale, wait! What did I —?” 

“It’s that damn word,” he half-snarls, but you hear the raw pain bubbling beneath his attempt at anger. “Need. My family needs me, the District needs me, Katniss needs me to be there when she can’t find what she needs from anyone else. Everyone needs me, Spark.” 

You stare wordlessly into his face, silently begging him to help you understand. His eyelashes glimmer with droplets from the mist and maybe something else, the anger draining away as quickly as it had appeared. 

“I would just like to be here because I’m wanted for once.” 

He’s gone in only a handful of long strides, the undergrowth rattling in his wake. 

And you’re left alone in a space all at once too cold and quiet, wondering what the hell it will finally take to make it through those impenetrable walls and at last touch his solitary wounded heart. 

The sun has sunk lower in the sky by the time you find the fallen tree beside the stream and discover its unexpected bounty. You’re not too far from where you left the deer, knowing neither you nor Gale can pack it out by yourself, but far enough away to give him space if he goes back there first. 

He and his prickly attitude leave your thoughts momentarily, however, when you see the bees returning to the gutted form of the dead tree. Where there are bees there might be honey, and your mouth waters at the distant memory of that sweet, energy-filled delicacy. You swiftly fall to the work of building a small, smoky fire and holding the billowing branches underneath their main entrance, waiting for the buzzing to slow and finally fade out before carefully peeling away some of the cracked wood and extracting your prize, leaving a piece behind of course for the hardworking insects to enjoy themselves. 

Wrapping the majority of the honeycomb in leaves that you know are safe to be in contact with food, you settle at last in a spot looking over the water, ready to enjoy a taste of your labors.

Closing your eyes, you let the first drop of sun-warmed sweetness land on your tongue, and the sound of appreciation that escapes your throat is shamelessly suggestive of something else.

So you freeze for a second in horror when Gale’s familiar voice rumbles through your senses. 

“So is this your little secret, or were you planning to share with me?” 

You compose your thudding heart and suddenly hot face, glancing up at where he now towers over you, arms crossed over his broad chest and a wicked smirk on his handsome face. By the high-tilted eyebrow that asks a sensitive question without really asking, he definitely heard you, and he wants you to know that. 

So you hold eye contact with him, even as the thick honey continues to drip down, painting your tongue in cloudy golden shades of wildflower sugar.

And to your gratification, you don’t think you imagine the way his eyes dart away ever so briefly, or how his own tongue runs across his lower lip. 

“I was gonna share,” you finally say, your own voice coming out slow and sticky after swallowing. “But I didn’t know where you’d run off to.” 

“Hm. I’m not convinced.”

He lowers his tall body to the ground beside you, reaching for your piece of honeycomb, and because he seems to have let go of his earlier flash of annoyance, you let him take it, gaze now glued to the entrancing picture of him as he opens his own mouth and lets the sweet amber substance drizzle between his parted lips, tongue lifting to capture any stray drops that threaten to escape. 

“Don’t be selfish,” you tease, but it comes out strangely heavy, and something kindles deep in your chest as his eyes slide sideways to pin themselves to yours.

It’s an oddly incriminating image almost, though you couldn’t name why, to see him stare you down like that with fresh honey glistening on his lips and fingers; he, however, doesn’t seem to feel any such sense of indignity. 

Without a word, he holds the waxy section out once more, his free hand coming up to your face so that his thumb gently coaxes your lips apart again. 

“You want more?” he asks, a silky hum. 

You have no idea if he’s even talking about the honey anymore, but you nod anyway, too breathless at how close he is, how much bigger he is than you. 

So he complies, trickles the comb’s gleaming goodness into your mouth with an intense focus that you can hear in the roughness of his hot breath as it washes across your skin. His chest is inches away from yours, one of his muscular thighs resting between your legs. You’re aware that your own breathing is turning shaky, and you gasp softly when a splash of honey rolls from the corner of your mouth and starts running down your face. 

Gale is quick, but not quick enough, and though his other hand catches some of the rogue rivulet, he can only watch as the rest rolls to your chest, landing on the stretch of exposed skin right at the tops of your breasts, a single drop of gold hovering just above the scooping neckline of your black shirt, daring him to take some sort of action to solve the predicament he has caused. 

His eyes move up from the now very rapid rise and fall of your chest to your widened, startled gaze.

You look like a wild animal he’s surprised on the hunt, and he now finds that he fiercely hopes whatever comes next doesn’t spook you away. 

“Can I?” he whispers, honeycomb now forgotten and set aside. 

You nod your assent, keeping your focus fixed on his face. 

A hand approaches your body with all of the steady patience you’ve seen him exercise when stalking his prey, and the touch of two fingers to the delicate skin below your collarbone is warm and gentle. His hands are beautiful too, broad and long-fingered, the veins that hint at his great strength clearly delineated in the low-slanting sunlight.

You watch like a fascinated outside observer as those work-roughened fingers swipe the honey away, a shiver fluttering across your flesh as you feel the way he smoothly follows the swells of your bust and the dip between. 

He catches the tremor he caused and pulls away, looking back up at your face even as he licks the honey from his fingertips, and you wonder what’s running through his mind, and if it’s nearly as incendiary as what that simple action sends through yours. 

“Alright?” 

It’s a one-word question that leaves his mouth as something like a purr, though you sense the true concern behind it.

He worries he’s gone too far, and he’d never forgive himself if he pushed you into anything you didn’t want, no matter how small. 

He cares about you too much for that. 

“Yes.” You blink and gather your scattered thoughts. “Better than alright. Gale…?” 

He leans even closer, bringing your faces only a mere breath apart.

The blue-gray eyes have gone as feathery soft as mist in the early morning, and the sight makes your chest ache with something you cannot quite name. 

“You didn’t get all of it. I’m still sticky.” 

Gale searches your expression for confirmation, wary of his next move. “You know what you’re asking?” 

Your hands are on his chest now, and you can feel that despite his much more outwardly collected demeanor, his heart is beating just as hard as yours. 

“I want your help,” you tell him firmly, and you feel the way that simple word, want, finally pierces his armor, makes him twitch like the bite of a gnat. 

So he bends down, and the moment his mouth connects with your chest, time stops. 

It’s a lightning strike, crackling through your entire body. 

His lips are cool, chilled by the evening air, and they’re every bit as perfect as you’ve always imagined. You could stay there forever in the mesmerizing trap of his kiss, but the addition of his sultry tongue, sweeping a slow track along the path his fingers had gone only a few minutes before, is what fully unravels you, sending his name from your own mouth in a whine and prompting one of your hands to slide up his neck and into his hair — and it, too, is everything you’ve dreamed of, dense and wild and begging to be tamed by your grasping desperation. He growls in surprise at the unexpected sensation of your fingernails, but you feel rather than hear it, the vibrations of his voice thrumming deep inside your body. 

You know the entire exchange must only take a few minutes, but it seems like an eternity that he’s there, sucking the honey trail from your skin, his still-sticky fingers leaving behind more prints that he also endeavors to remove. You pull his body closer to yours, until it seems you breathe one breath, share one heartbeat as he rocks you back and forth with the barely restrained desire to push you over until he can cover you completely. 

But it can be deadly to lose concentration in the woods, especially so close to nightfall, and regretfully the pair of you pull away in unspoken agreement, staring at each other and trying to understand fully what just happened. 

“We should get a move on,” Gale finally huffs. “That deer won’t carry itself.” 

Temperamental, taciturn Gale.

Always concerned with the practical side of things. 

No more words are exchanged between the two of you as you pack up the day’s yield and slip back into the somewhat relative safety of the Seam. The meat is stored away at Gale’s house (he knows you’ll come back for your share, or else he’ll find you and force you to take it) and at last there is really nothing more left to do, so you step out the door and into the lengthening shadows. 

When you look back, however, he’s still standing there in the doorframe, and there’s a tentative curiosity written across his face, a reluctance to have this be goodnight and goodbye until his next free day. 

And you could lie and say you don’t feel the same way, but you and Gale have never lied to each other. 

“What?” you tease, echoing his demand of much earlier. 

He opens his mouth, then closes it again and shrugs helplessly. “I…I don’t know, Spark. Where do you want…this…to go?” 

You ponder that, taking in the familiar sight of him with warm fondness. He looks tired, shoulders slouched and face smudged with gray dust from the mines, but there’s something different there tonight, a fragile hope behind his resting sullen expression, some aura about him that pleads with you not to leave him alone tonight. 

Even a man as strong as Gale Hawthorne has his limits. 

So you give in to temptation. 

“The washtub at my house is bigger, you know. And we both could use a hand cleaning up.” 

He steps down from the threshold to follow you back to your home. 

You know what you’re really offering to him. 

And so does he. 

When you wake with first light, he’s already long gone. Only the dip in the other side of your worn mattress remains to suggest another body was actually there. 

You’re not surprised, and not really hurt. He has his job to get back to, after all, a family to feed and a whole village to look after. But you wonder briefly, after having watched him fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you and his face hidden in your chest, long eyelashes leaving butterfly kisses against your flesh, what it would be like to watch him wake up, too. 

You imagine his eyes are even prettier then, hazy with sleep and not yet hardened to withstand the day’s toils ahead. 

Last night feels like a strange dream of lukewarm water and skin on skin, sporadically interspersed with starkly clear images of his well-muscled form and those clever hands traveling across the width and breadth of yours. When you close your eyes you can still feel his heavy weight on top of you, pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you feel oddly empty and untethered now in its absence.

Only the dark blossoms his mouth left behind on your body and a selection of new — but not unpleasant — aches tells you that what you shared was in fact as real as this morning. 

What it means going forward, you don’t know. 

But you don’t regret a single moment of it. 

As you dress and prepare to head out for the day, your mother’s voice calls you into the main room. “One of the younger Hawthorne children brought you something — said it’s from your friend.” 

You see it there on the table, a folded scrap of rough paper and a single daisy, still fresh enough to mean he probably cut it on his way back to his house. 

A small smile creeps across your lips as you unfold the note. 

Spark — 

I don’t want this to be just a one-time thing. At least, not if you feel that way too. 

Sorry I had to go. I wish I could have stayed. 

You may not need me to survive, but you made me realize something. 

I need you. 

— Gale 

Hastily re-folding the paper, you tuck it away into your shirt pocket, close to your heart. 

Stubborn Gale Hawthorne. 

He’d never been much of a talker, so you know just how much those simple three words at the end of his message really mean. 

For the man who needs no one to admit he can’t go on without you?

He might as well rival the old poets in their epic declarations of love. 

Gale is much like the wild honey that started all of this, you realize, as you snatch a piece of the comb on your way out into the harsh world beyond. Once you manage to get past his defensive sting, there are so many intoxicating flavors to taste within. 

And whatever he still needs to work out with Katniss…. 

He doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing. 

[philomelas-tongue-says]

could you please explain how that post about funerals and marriages being the same thing just different is an ancient greek opinion?

indeed I can! thank you for the very polite request, anon; you are in luck because I literally gave a presentation dealing with this this week, so I have quotes at hand and everything!

the short version is that, in evidence we have from ancient greece (especially literature, and within that especially athenian tragedy, but also including things like ritual practice and gravestone inscriptions), sometimes marriage and death are conflated with each other. it's an especially common association for women who die before marriage.

the archetypal mythical association is Persephone, with whom you are likely familiar; she is abducted (and yes, she is abducted, she doesn't choose to go down to the underworld) by Hades, god of the dead, to be his bride. she is, quite literally, married to death. the Homeric Hymn to Demeter is where to go for her story!

another is Iphigenia; she's the daughter of Agamemnon, and she's sacrificed to Artemis in order to allow the Greek army to sail to Troy and kick off the Trojan War. In Euripides' play "Iphigenia at Aulis," her father summons her to the harbor where the Greek ships are stuck using the excuse that she's going to be married to Achilles. toward the end of the play, after she finds out the truth and decides she is willing to be sacrificed, she says: "Sacrifice me, go and sack Troy. For this will be my memorial through a long time, and it will be my children, and my marriage, and my fame." (translation mine, but you can also see a public-domain version in English here.) she explicitly equates her death with her marriage! for her, it's the same thing!

Antigone does this in Sophocles' Antigone, too; when she goes to be buried alive, she addresses the cave where she'll be buried as "o tomb! o bridal-chamber!" and when she's talking about her death in a scene before this, she says, "I will marry Acheron," which is one of the rivers which flows through the underworld.

you can also look to Polyxena, the Trojan princess who is sacrificed to be Achilles' bride in the underworld; in order to be married, she has to die!

the association isn't only mythological; we have evidence of funerary inscriptions (so, text carved into funerary monuments) which talk about those graves being something given "in exchange for" or "in place of" marriage. the most famous one is the Phrasikleia statue.

if you want to learn more about it, Rush Rehm's book Marriage to Death is probably the place to start; it's academic, but IMO written pretty accessibly.

tl;dr: in ancient Greek tragedy (and some other places), marriage and death are often conflated with each other, particularly in the case of young women who die before marriage; hence, the idea that "funerals and marriages are the same thing just different" is an extremely ancient Greek idea.

[fakemouthstaticpilot]

Can we talk about how, now that Lou has been seen on the show again, and Tim has told us that he's going to be in the 2 parter, how he's starting to post 911 specific posts again?

None of this "hidden message to my fans to decode" crap.

Also, the fact that from our sleuthing, due to one innocuous little building post, we already figured he was in the 2 parter.

But the fact that it appears that he and Oliver were filming on that building, together, quite possibly alone, at sunset, and a crew member used the song "Love and Sunsets" in their story from that shoot.

I have been burned by song choices before (looking at you "The Night We Met" and 15x20 of Supernatural) but this does feel different.

And I know that the buddies feel over confident about Buddie happening, but what's new?

An acquaintance of mine, who is very GA, and I were talking. She hasn't seen 11 yet, but was so happy to hear that Tommy came back. And she told me "I'm sad Eddie's leaving".

The GA doesn't see Buddie.

The GA likes Tommy and sees that Eddie has left, purchasing a home and giving his lease over to Buck.

Yes, Eddie could come back, and the living situation would have to change, but it was done this way for a reason.

A reason we won't know until the season is over.

Look, if we didn't know what we know about 14/15 and Tommy, maybe I would be worried, but I'm not.

Also, know that Lou doesn't like sex/makeout scenes unless they serve a purpose in the story is really making me think about the narrative the show is writing with those characters.

Tl;Dr I have full faith that Buck & Tommy are endgame.

[karabell]

Color Theory in Cinderella Boy

There’s some silly stuff happening with colors, and in this probably brainrot post, I will be using my art brain to over analyze the heck outta this (for those who are interested, though I find it fascinating!)

**This post includes a scene from todays new ep (53), so make sure you read that first!**

So, I first stumbled upon this discovery sorta by accident. I use Clip Studio Paint for my artwork, and I often end up with an average to 30-50 layers per drawing, and thankfully Clip Studio has an option to color-code your layers to make things more manageable.

For my CB drawings, I defaulted to using green for Chase, purple for Buddy, and blue for Deacon. It made sense to me, because of the casts ‘default’ outfits feature these colors:

We can also see these colors in some book outfits:

Chase’s green outfit in We Need to Talk About Buddy, Deacons shirt in Beach Boys, and the blue accents in All That Glitters

What I noticed though, was that these aren’t the only colors they are seen in, and in fact, out of all the other colors, two in particular stand out

Specifically, pink for Chase, and orange for Deacon

Something to note is that these colors are nearly perfect complementary colors to each other. Even Prunella seems to have this theme, with her red hair and green shirt.

Now, it is generally good for character design for outfits to have good complementary colors to make them stand out, but me thinks that Punko went even further with this.

The thing is, Buddy really only has purple in his color scheme (unless out count every shade of gray and black).

We see him in some other colors, but mainly it’s purple:

Like, a lot of purple.

(Other examples include Toffee Break, Beach boys, Sick Day, etc)

Pretty much all but two of Buddy’s ten outfits have included some element of purple.

But then again, up until recently, he’s only been a villain. A foil to Chase. The black and purple suited him, for a while, because he was only ‘evil’. (This also leads me to believe that future Ex Libris members will also wear black in their outfits to fit on theme. In Dreams by Day, a presumably Ex Libris worker is wearing a black shirt).

But now? It’s Buddy’s story too. He is becoming a protagonist. And that means getting a new color, possibly one that compliments purple.

And what color flowers bloomed when Chase saved him?

Yellow.

This is leading me to believe that Buddy will have a major character shift at the end of season 1 / beginning of season 2, where yellow is included in his outfit colors. And maybe, S2 will feature Buddy’s story more as he becomes a protagonist ‘,:3

TL;DR: Colors are important to CB characters, and Buddy is gonna be a protagonist soon.

I’ve actually been forming this theory of mine since like, the beginning of October, and the amount of serotonin that filled my brain when I saw those flowers, and seeing that my theories may be true could literally flood a city.

Thank u for reading :D

[galaxymagitech]

Do you think you could talk about, or point out a previous post, that talks about Jack and Janet’s Canon relationship with Tim?

Fanon ranges from abusive, neglectful, and loving at such a wide range that it can be confusing for people new to the comics.

(Thankyouthankyouthankyou for the ask! I've always wanted to write one of those big canon relationship analysis meta posts!)

So, the answer is: Potentially all or any of the above.

This is going to require...a long explanation, because there is a lot of wiggle room and nuance in the Drakes' portrayals.

TL;DR: Tim's parents were very absent, but affectionate when they were around. They probably ensured he had somewhat adequate supervision by sending him to boarding schools, but because we don't know if they were aware he was unsupervised over school breaks it's unclear how much. They almost definitely didn't hit Tim. While there are a few scenes of Jack that some people interpret as emotional abuse, I personally don't think that Jack is emotionally abusive. Overall, the Drakes weren't parents of the year, but they loved Tim and probably managed to do the bare minimum for him.

Neglect/Emotional Neglect

This has the most basis in canon, especially emotional neglect. It's not nearly as extreme as in Fanon, but...it's present, to some degree.

Fanon: Tim never got the normal family experience growing up.

Reality: True.

Despite seeing his father as family, Tim states that he never felt like part of a family before Bruce. And Tim has some...odd ideas about family, potentially including that kids need to pay their parents back for raising them. Tim feels like his parents didn't raise him--and that's pretty much correct, he was raised by boarding schools.

Fanon: Tim’s parents were constantly off traveling and he often didn’t know where they were. They were rarely in contact with him, and Tim feels like they don’t have time for him.

Reality: Yeah, this is accurate.

Tim’s parents are constantly gone and he doesn’t know where they are. Earlier, there was this discussion:

Bruce: Tim…have you spoken to your parents about your being here? Tim: My parents? Actually…I don’t know where they are now. Dad’s a corporate exec and they go all over the world. They haven’t called in a while. Bruce: Do they do that often? Not call? Tim: It’s no big deal. They’re so busy. I guess they forget.

(Emphasis mine.)

Tim seems to have accepted that his parents rarely contact him, and in fact frequently forget about him. Definitely sad, and definitely going to affect him.

Maybe you consider this emotional neglect, maybe you don’t. It depends on what you consider to be a parent’s duty. Do they have to be around and interact with their child and make him feel like they love him? Or do they just have to provide a minimum amount of adult supervision and guidance, whether them or a boarding school, to keep him taken care of and safe?

Fanon: Tim’s parents left him completely alone to take care of himself, and he had to feed himself and take the city bus to school and couldn't go to the hospital when he got sick.

Reality: Tim was at boarding schools, but was sometimes alone on breaks by 13. It’s unclear how much earlier than that he was temporarily left alone for school breaks.

Now, we can argue that being raised in boarding schools isn’t exactly healthy for a kid, but maybe that’s normal for the Gotham upper class.

So, Tim was mostly supervised throughout the year at boarding school. The “vacation week” (and the future weekends where Tim visits Bruce to train without his parents’ knowledge) is when it gets murkier.

Tim is 13. Can a 13-year-old go a week without being supervised? Or really…was it considered acceptable for a 13-year-old go a week without being supervised in the late 1980s? I’m not sure. It’s also unclear how long this has been going on. Did 11-year-old Tim spend vacations home alone? Or is this a new thing?

EDIT: Apparently leaving a 13-year-old alone for a week without checkins would have been considered neglectful, though not necessarily legally actionable. The Drakes might or might not have been aware that Tim wasn’t at boarding school, but if they were aware, it would have been neglect. Source: My mom.

Later, Tim is training at Wayne Manor during summer vacation, when he gets a postcard from his parents forwarded from his school. That means his parents sent him a postcard to his address at school. So, they believe (whether through Tim’s lies or lack of care) that he is at boarding school for the summer. Maybe they think he’s staying at school for his other breaks as well.

If you want to interpret it as neglect, maybe the boarding school doesn’t offer summer housing and his parents didn’t care enough to think about it—or forgot, just like they forget to call him. More likely? They just signed Tim up for a summer term, but Tim noped out of there.

So, Tim had adequate adult supervision for the most part, but may have been neglected at times.

Love

This is, in my opinion, the most drastic difference between Fanon and canon. Tim's parents absolutely loved him, and it shows.

Fanon: Tim’s parents never touch him or show affection for him. They never allowed him to be a normal kid.

Reality: When present, the Drakes treat Tim with affection, and he appears to engage in Normal Kid Activities. Here’s Jack holding him at the circus, and a nine-year-old Tim playing with trucks on the floor as his parents watch TV.

And that postcard from earlier? Signed "Love, Mom and Dad". Not "Sincerely, Jack and Janet Drake," or "Don't be a nuisance, your mother and father". Simple, caring, normal sign-off. Also, here's Jack telling another parent he loves Tim:

Abuse

It's hard to prove a negative, but the Drakes don't seem abusive to me. Still, there's the occasional scene of Jack being controlling, and one could theoretically argue that Jack Drake was mildly emotionally abusive. It's not contradicting canon, but it's not canon either.

Fanon: Tim’s parents hit him.

Reality: Probably not. Jack, at least, didn’t.

Fanon: The Drakes were emotionally abusive.

Reality: Maybe. It really depends on your standards.

This is the scene most often cited for Jack Drake being emotionally abusive. It’s probably the closest to abuse Jack has come in a comic , and while ripping a TV out of the wall and looming vaguely aggressively isn’t exactly good parenting, I wouldn’t call it abusive. Your opinions may vary.

Conclusion

The Drakes weren't great parents. I don't think sending your kid to year-round boarding school and making him feel like he's never been part of a family is good parenting. Whether it's outright bad parenting depends on your parenting standards, your idea of how long a 13-year-old can be left alone, and your interpretation of a few panels. But the Drakes were definitely not cartoonishly abusive and/or neglectful as often portrayed in fanfiction.

[shallowseeker]

Hii! I really like your blog and your analysis. I've seen some people saying that Dean is canonically bisexual and I wanted to know your opinion about that. I absolutely think he is bi and I do think the show was trying to point at it multiple times, not only thru subtext, but text itself (or just actual scenes that don't even include dialogue at all). Just like they did with Destiel, I feel like some of the people involved were VERY aware of their choices for the show and that includes writers, directors, set designers and even actors sometimes. However, I don't think they were actually able to make it canon on the show that Dean is bi, even if it was extremely hinted at. What are your thoughts about this?

Thanks for stopping by, but I think there are better blogs for this than mine... gender and sexuality aren't my areas of hyperfocus. (@ilarual's queer reference tally is amazing; and @deanwasalwaysbi WILL school you in the set design of flamingo bars. Maybe some others can chime in for references?)

I also think there's imho a lot of strange rigidity floating around about what "qualifies" as "canon." For example, are all of these things you mentioned ("writers, directors, set designers and even actors sometimes") not a part of canon? These elements are a huge part of the TV creative process, no?

I think my view boils down to: if the cookie looks like it has chocolate chips in it and it tastes like it's got chocolate chips in it, no one should have to tell you it's a chocolate chip cookie for you to recognize it. These days, audiences act like they need a characters thumbs-upping the camera and saying, "Gosh golly gee, this is a really tasty chocolate chip cookie I'm eating here!" like we're a PBS Kids Show, and it's just... maybe it's an audience trend, but I find it baffling.

Maybe we don't need a "Blue-Clues" style revelation of the thing that's so strongly built into Dean's plot that I love you not only made it out of the writers' rooms and into the script, but into the hands of the actors, and the outtakes."

I think that, at a certain point, Dean’s feelings for Cas are so far past the event horizon that they had to be architecturally mapped into the show’s seasonal structure—the beats, the arcs, the emotional payoffs.

Sometimes we call something “subtext” anytime it’s not on-the-nose, hand-holding dialogue, but that does us a huge disservice. Maybe recognizing what’s happening and seeing those so-called “extremely hinted moments” isn’t “reading into subtext”—it’s JUST basic reading comprehension.

TL;DR: When a character’s feelings or dynamics are baked into the story’s structure—the beats, arcs, and payoffs—calling it “subtext” is a cop-out.

It’s not “subtext” when it’s a narrative constant driving key turning points—and Dean and Cas as a couple-relationship shape the stakes, tension, and plot progression. Their connection hits clear romantic beats—i.e. the mixtape, faith/disillusionment cycles, and widow/resurrection arcs.

That’s just story.

[avcnturine]

𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗔𝗡𝗧 𝗥𝗨𝗟𝗘𝗦 𝗨𝗣𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗘 !

for a long time, i've encountered what i guess you could call a massive pet peeve of mine in threading with others and didn't really say anything about it outside of to occasional partners because it seemed like such a widely-accepted phenomenon that i felt like i just had to tolerate it. but i found myself losing a lot of enjoyment whenever i did encounter it, so ultimately i'm deciding to make it part of my rules on my blogs because honestly i just can't anymore.

tl;dr: when threading with me, please treat all dialogue written in my post as taking place uninterrupted. in your reply, please do not reply to each bit of dialogue my character says line by line as if there had been ic space provided for your character to talk in between. there wasn't.

the not tl;dr version: when i write a post with my character speaking, i do so with the visualization in my head that my character says and does all the actions in their post largely uninterrupted——as is, i assume that your character does not verbally or physically obstruct them from whatever they're doing for my whole post ; or else, obviously, they wouldn't be able to be doing it.

this is the underlying realism & immersion issue with when my partner's replies have their character respond to every line of dialogue separately. for example:

in my post: my character says A, then there's some narration. then they say B. some more narration. maybe they switch topics to C.

in your post: your reply essentially covers the same span of IC time that my post does. you have your character reply to A when it was said, then B when it was said, then C.

the problem with this is that if your character had replied to A at the time that my character said A, my character might not have said B at all. your character's reply would have changed the course of their thoughts at that moment of time, their attention, and probably kept them on the topic of A.

but this is no longer possible because i already wrote B and C.

this issue forces me to have my character either ignore your character's replies to their earlier comments completely because the scene already moved past them, or do the same thing as you and reply to your A, then B, then C separately too. but at this point, this scene no longer makes sense. our characters are essentially existing in 3 different times at once and having 3 different conversations at once in order for this to happen, and we're leaving no room for the conversation to have progressed naturally ( i.e. B would never have been raised if the conversation about A had continued ).

if this were actions instead of dialogue, you would not read a reply where the other person's character ran up the stairs and into the bedroom and then write in your reply that your character stopped them from running up the stairs in the first place, obviously, because then the rest of your partner's post wouldn't make sense. it's the same thing with dialogue so why do we do it there 😭.

in a real life conversation, people tend to answer C, the very last thing that was said, first. it's because it's the most recent thing and thus freshest in mind. often, in the course of answering C, people forget A and B because their brains stop holding onto them. on occasion, they might latch onto A or B initially and would ignore anything said after whatever caught their attention to answer that instead. or they might answer C, and then go "also, on the topic of A/B..." afterwards if they do remember and wanted to go back to it.

you will notice that this is more in line with how i tend to write my replies in a dialogue scene, because this is a more realistic representation of how conversation happens. when dialogue is replied to line-by-line, it breaks down the realism of the scene and eventually we get into a situation where our characters are having 3+ conversations at the same time. continuity falls apart.

please try to be mindful of this when threading with me. now that i've been upfront about this, i reserve the right to remind thread partners like with any other personal rp rule or request. i know this might seem like a very minor hill to die on, but immersion is something that does majorly impact my morale as a reader and writer. thank you if you read all this.

[cursed-sonic-opinions]

a friend of mine and i were yapping the other day and our shared opinions and criticisms sort of turned into a bit of a public service announcement so here goes lmao

firstly- all writing has flaws, but this is not a reason to dogpile someone for liking one author more than another or for disliking an author, or to attack the author directly for being flawed. so if we were to say that we dislike some parts of the way evan and ian are writing, but enjoy some others, you shouldn't be sending hate to us for that opinion, tattling to the authors, or running to the authors to scream that we're right. you disagree, move on, you agree, move on.

so now going into the bulk of it- this fandom has a weird view of ian vs evan's writing, and it's because of popularity. both evan and ian got into archie because of their fanworks, but because evan had the extremely popular ghosts of the future under her belt, the fandom leaps to defend her from all criticism, while letting ian take a bunch of negativity.

this magnetizes flaws in ian's writing making it seem earth shattering, and ignoring flaws in evan's writing making her seem perfect. so if one person says they don't like the direction a pivotal scene takes, it's "excuse me, that's evan stanley, revered author and artist for the comics and creator of gotf, show a little respect", but if someone says they don't like the way a line was written, it's "of COURSE it was ian flynn, let's go send him a death threat." because we knew evan before her time on archie, but we only knew ian once he made his debut in archie, so a lot of us see her as a person to respect solely because she was a fan creator turned important figure in official media even though ian was too. and the only reason ian doesn't get that treatment is because his work wasn't as well known as evan's.

it's also worth noting that evan tends to do ship teases in her issues, mostly silvaze though other ships have been seen in her work or implied through small details (whether you interpret future growth as romantic or not, the background colors match the mlm flag, for example). however ian is trying to move away from a lot of ships featuring major characters, like sonamy. this is also due to the mandates, which, if those are what's keeping him from also teasing ships as often as other writers, evan is seemingly not held to as strongly. so either the mandates need to be all inclusive or lifted, and the second really WILL give us archie 2.

but this isn't to say their work is horrible! i'm not saying that because evan likes silvaze and because ian has to work with mandates their work is bad. there's a reason ian is known as the guy that saved the franchise, and a reason evan got so popular in the first place. the issue here is that people are putting certain creators on a pedestal, calling others the devil, and telling anyone who disagrees to die.

tl;dr: stop harassing people for their opinions on the authors, they're all flawed but all have something to enjoy, and please critique kindly instead of being rude about it.