#Compassion Idle

[wickedzeevyln]

The Pulp of a Sour Smile

Cardboard Bed On the birth of a sweltering day,he found tomorrow gagged and taken,plastic-skinned people in a van,green-eyed dwellers of glass towers,the hours flattened into a card,and the screen on the machine reads declined. For a decent meal for the lot,signed a waiver, signed his life away,wet cardboard and shopping bags for a blanket,this life is nothing but a deathbed.dragging down the…

[idlenight-art]

Sure, Sylas 'the Dark Urge' Morte is officially the party leader. But every choice will be passed by his boyfriend first, just to be sure.

[honestmouse20]

ough wait i just had a realization. I may be super late to this but like, what if part of the reason Lloyd was so fond of harmless pranks and ‘being evil’ (stealing candy) was because of his Oni side. It was chaos right, like he ran around looking for friends/attention yes, but he also was just having fun causing pure weird chaos. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t ‘evil’ enough for school, he was never evil. He was just part Oni and had a natural affinity towards causing mischief bc it made his Oni side happy. 

I also think he never fully Stopped pranking the ninja. He tuned it down because he was aged up and yk, they’re usually pretty busy saving Ninjago City from destruction yet again. But I bet he still does it. Maybe he doesn’t steal but I bet he’ll hide favorite pens/important tools from the others just to see their reaction. They all know it’s him. 

[randomly-generated-posts-machine]

deltarune webbed site -gate political compas

[saisons-en-enfer]

Personal mental health masterpost:

Hey, so I’m making this post to give some clarity into my situation for anyone that cares so there is a mutual understanding; especially because I tend to spiral in real-time on tumblr

Preface: I know this is my blog but I don’t want that to be a basis for my deflecting the responsibility of my own mental well being onto others and make people suffer because of it, especially because when I’m down I’m extremely avoidant, self-centred, and may be unintentionally callous (no I’m not just saying that lightly, I’ve been in so many situations on tumblr and IRL that I say something that is extremely insensitive but that wasn’t my intent leading to so many “sha you can’t say no one cares I’m talking to you/sitting here with you how can you say that”) and I need to also own up to that and admit that sometimes my feelings are false and my thought process is jagged

I’ve hurt someone that is really important to me on here multiple times over this and sadly but deservedly they will never be in my life again (though they will always be important to me). I don't want this to be an insincere "I'm sorry I was wrong, please forgive me" but rather to come clean and say that it has happened and I just want to make sure I take actions so that no one who cares about me on here will ever go through the same situation with me; I love the connections I have tumblr beyond words so it's time I act as such

The crux of my dilemma: as I'm sure you all know, I don't desire much to be alive for multiple reasons that I wont get into, and I cant really end my life because I am practically unable to inflict such harm onto other people just because I'm having a hard time. I have exhibited suicidal behaviours irl numerous times but each time I either went through it successfully with coping, asking for help (usually on tumblr), and if worse comes to worst asking to be hospitalized (which happened 6 months ago after I lost my job). It's complicated to talk about so feel free to send asks or DMs if you want to know more, I do exhibit suicidal behaviours on here (by talking or implying how much I don't want to be alive and saying that I'm in unbearable pain, both of which are true) but I seldom think I'm a danger to myself. I would say I have more suicidal ideations (henceforth SI) than behaviours.

I was first diagnosed with depression when I was 21, by 24 I was diagnosed with major depression (clinical) along with GAD, OCD (obsessive in negative thinking), later at 26 with ADHD, and, last year with a mood disorder (yet to be configured, consensus right now is that it is just very unstable mood)

The mood instability is important to highlight because I can pretty much show you days in which my posts go from cheery to mellow throughout the course of a single day.

Tumblr to me is a very personal and emotional scrapbook, when my mood crashes or i get triggered by something, and go on an SI spiral, first thing that happens is that i panic really hard especially because I get caught in the trap of "oh I have to live again tomorrow and experience all of this again and live my life with this mind" and when I'm in that trail of thought, shit goes south real fast and I start having physiological symptoms; I can't breathe properly, I get chills etc. so it's either I sit with those feelings by myself (because I'm not brave enough and trust many people IRL to seek help; something I'm working on) or, I release it onto here as posts. I know it's odd but in my mind having a breakdown in public (similar to my tumblr outbursts) is more helpful in that people either ignore you in which case you will have sense to know that there is none but yourself that can bring you up in which case you pull yourself together and move forward, or people do take notice and show kindness and support and help you fight your way through to see another day. Whatever the case, at least your not weeping alone so to speak. It sounds callous and even attention seeking but i don’t believe it’s inherently wrong, it’s a call for help.

The attention seeking part of it I concede my approach is terrible and I’m such an asshole for constantly firing from the hip with saying shit like “I don’t want to be alive, Im better off dead” and other things of the same ilk no matter how much I mean it and feel the depth of those words so closely. I will be better; when I’m emotional I’m not rational so I don’t do what I always do, step back and think am I approaching this person correctly. My cousin told me “if you’re having a hard time, than don’t say things like that to freak me out… say hey K I’m a bit sad today, I need a hug, I need some love, I need to get out of my head a little”

I'm taking mood stabilizers twice a day, whilst this has been deemed to be enough since I tend to have a strong outward facade and keep composed if my mood falters until I'm alone in my room and my interactions with people irl has been functional, I fear it's not enough and I may have to bring it up even though it means more meds (which btw coincidentally my mother just walked in my room reminding my of my next psychiatrist appointment soon). It's just very hard to bring up my tumblr behaviour up in therapy because as soon as I'm honest about my posting, they will just want to hospitalize me... it's not conceivable in most people's minds that yes I dont wish to be alive but I don't necessarily want to kill myself.

Which brings me to this part regarding my etiquette on tumblr:

All text posts pertaining to my mental health, should it imply SI I will tag as "SI posting"

I will NOT be tagging really sad songs as of now, but I can certainly do that if people would like me to

When I post something concerning you can choose to ignore me altogether if you'd like I will not hold it against anyone or be upset or fall prey to the line of thinking that "no one cares" because I know beyond a doubt that people actually DO care

If you do see such a post and want to help me genuinely, interacting with the post (like or comment or whatever) however small helps me so much and makes me feel so much less alone and gives me strength to push through

You can also start a conversation with me and talk about anything at all that also gets my mind off of things

I promise ill try my hardest to just ask for support instead of just posting extremely concerning text posts

EDIT: im also open and welcome any suggestions people may have on this matter and how I can be better

I keep my promises very seriously and just over a week ago I promised someone I really care about that I will try and be better and I very much intend to do that.

Thank you so much for patience and kindness and just not giving up on me when at times I've given you ample reasons to do so, I love you so much

Much love

[writers-potion]

Writing Female Fighters

The Heroine Must. Fight.

Today's female protagonists cannot sit on the side crying and breaking down or whimpering as the battle ensues.

Readers want to see autonomous female fighters who can at least defense themselves with courage and adequate skill.

Not all women are the same, but the heroine should get her butt moving.

Less Muscle, but More Flexibilty

The average woman is shorter than the average man, which makes it more difficult to wield a long sword or slam something down on the opponent's head.

A woman who works out can plausibly be stronger than a male couch potato, but if her male counterpart works out as much as her, the man is going to be much stronger.

On the other hand, the center of gravity in a woman's body is lower than a man's which makes it harder to knock her off her feet.

She is also more flexible, which gives her advantage in grappling fights, making use of complex landscapes, or deflecting blows.

A woman's small size can also be an advantage if her opponent has only ever trained with male opponents. His big hands might not get a good grip on her slender limbs.

In historical fiction, giving your heroine good muscule build can be tricky as exercise was generally considered harmful for women, with some exceptions for horseriding any maybe archery at best.

In such cases, make your heroine an accomplished dancer or an eager horsewoman, or the only girl whose father considered to be son replacement and thus, gave her a boy's education.

Women of lower classes who couldn't afford to be fashionably weak will be plausibly stronger, perhaps even more than an idle gentleman.

More Room for Negotiation, but Prolonged Ruthlessness

In the Suspense part of your fight scene, females are more likely to negotiate and talk more, strategically trying to descalate the situation rather than attacking on a momentary impulse.

Generally, women are less aggressive than men and remain level-headed longer than her male counterparts, opting for non-violent methods first before using force.

Exceptions apply if she is trying to protect her children (or someone who she cares for as a child). Mothers can be tigresses.

A female pre-fight conversation may be: "If you had not done so-and-so and betrayed me with so-and-so, we could have been good friends as I thought we would be." "What do you mean? It was in fact you who brought bad blood between us. I can still hear you laughing with so-and-so, taunting me, purposefully making me look bad -" "But that was so long ago! If you want me to say sorry about something so insignificant, you should have just said so: I'm sorry. There. Satisfied?" "Ha! I can't believe you say that so easily. You still don't get it, do you?" "Who's being petty and unreasonable now?"

A male pre-fight conversation will be shorter: "Who's the coward now?" "You're wrong." "Prove it." "Bastard."

Compared to men, it will take more time for a woman's fight hormones (adrenaline, neurotransmitters and such) to kick in.

She would be slower to engage initially, throwing reluctant punches and thinking, but she'll grow more and more violent and lose all rational thought and compassion, and once she's in full flow, may not stop even when her opponent begs for mercy.

When writing a male-female duo, you can show him going for the first blow while she observes and strategizes first. When he's past his peak and panting, she is flying about left and right. Later when the tension wears off and she becomes wobbly and teary, she can rely on him to have recovered faster and distract other teammates so that they won't see her cry.

Plausible Skills and Backstory

In many cultures and time periods, the general attitude of society towards girls is that they have no place in fist fights or martial arts, unlike how it is encouraged for boys of the same age. So if your heroine has physical prowess that surpasses typical 'fitness' or is hidden, build a backstory of how she's obtained it.

For modern heroines, it can be as simple as signing her up for martial arts classes or yearly membership at the local gym. For historical fiction or girls with strict 'feminine' upbringing, it can be trickier.

It can be related to profession: maybe she was an erotic wrestler, catfighter, or an assasin who thought killing was more honorable than prostitution. They may have dabbles with it for a short time and is now trying to hide their past from their respectable employer or fiance.

It can be family backstory: Perhaps her mother was an accomplished martial artist or she had to fend for younger siblings on the streets from an early age. Maybe she was the only girl in a family of many boys who refused to be the punching bag.

Inexperienced Female Fighters

A woman with no fighting experience or training is likely to resort to one of these on instinct:

Try to talk herself out of the situation, attempting to persuade or negotiate for her life.

Grab something to use as a weapon. This instinct seems to be stronger for women than it is in men.

Use her hands to try and break free, or kick (often wth little success)

Pull hair

Scratch.

In a serious fight, pulling hair and scratching won't be helpful, except when the police come to find her body, they would find the opponent's DNA under her fingernails.

Plausible Weapons and Clothing

All of the above applies to scenes where both parties have no weapons, or has the bare minimum (like one dagger each).

Weapons are equalizers, and if your heroine is pointing a gun at her opponent she will definitely NOT hesitate to be the one to shoot first.

When giving your female character a weapon, choose one she can plausibly use. It would take an unusually brawny woman to wield a great medieval longsword.

For historical fiction, give your heroine something she'll plausibly own. Swords and firearm were a no-go for women, but archery was borderline acceptable.

For clothing starters, you definitely CAN NOT dress her in a tight miniskirt and chainmail bra with long, flowy hair and multiple silver chockers. Unless she's trying to seduce her way into her opponent's bedroom, and he has a chainmail bra fetish.

A practical heroine will have her thighs covered, preferably with leather but at least with fabric, since a lot of blood flows through the thighs and a slash would be critical.

She'll keep her hair tied, tucked under a helmet, braided back, etc. so that it won't impede her vision.

She'll support her breasts with a strong sport bra. In a historical eprioid, she'll either tie her breasts tight with a fabric bandage or support them with some kind of leather corset.

Invent a female version of male fighter clothing of the time you are writing about if it doesn't exist.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[innocentsystems]

tag duuump

[kachowden]

I usually leave the notifications for tumblr off but I'm turning them back on just so that I'll be notified when you post

Have a gift 🫶

──── ୨୧ ────

Yandere!Therapist x GN!Reader

TW: NSFW, Dubcon/noncon masturbation(?), phone sex?? Phone play?? Cameron’s questionable moral compass. Drabble(?)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

Warm candlelight breaths amber into the surrounding dishes and furniture. Idle chatter fogs over the dining crowd of businessman, waiters and families alike. The sound of expensive wine poured into equally expensive glass.

Listless honey eyes stare dully at the glamour around him, fluffy lashes draped over in boredom as the group of classily dressed men and women chatter on, high class laughter grating his sensitive ears incessantly.

And yet through all the noise he hears it. A familiar ringtone that brings a sparkle to his eyes and has him suavely, yet eagerly fishing out his phone, cheeks warming ever so slightly at the contact that glows in his hand. His eyes trace the curve of the individuals features, the memory that plays being a recollection of when the photo was taken, and without his knowledge, a warm smile spreads past his lips.

“Excuse me..” his warm, soothing voice bleeds into the tables, his chair soundlessly pushing against the waxed tiles of the restaurant as he stands. “I have to take this..”

“Oh?~ Cameron, don’t tell me you’ve finally found yourself a partner..~ and here I was hoping you’d stay..picky.” A feminine voice calls to him, dripping in tasteless syrup that sours his smile, only slightly. The charming grin he sends back encouraging a small spiel of giggles from the other guests mouths as they watch the very handsome man straighten himself, politely.

“Nothing quite like that…just a client, actually.” He assures, though the denial dries his tongue unpleasantly enough for him to take a quick sip of the sparkling water he had ordered, before stepping fluidly around a waiter who had just reached their table, the smell of fresh food hardly catching his interest as he sped through the restaurant and to his car.

His thumb presses the accept button, and he nearly sucks in his lip with the anticipation.

“Dr. Cameron?”

“Darling…” he breathes in a tone far more than friendly, eyes closing as he hears the laugh oozing ichor into his ear, hardly deterred by the speakers crackle. “How are you? Any problems?”

“No, nothing like that..you just said that if I found myself feeling a bit in my head that I could call. This isn’t a bad time is it?” The worry in their voice sends his mind reeling already, chest stuttering with a shaken breath. He finds himself missing the pressure of a certain garment on his skin, sinking floral patterns into the flesh with each breath. But there was no sense in wearing it if his favorite patient wasn’t there to see it.

The brunette laughs, a charming and warm sound that barely hides the beat of his thundering heart. His cheeks burn and sweat a little, the affects of their voice so close to him muddling his mind slightly, as he eases into the leather seats of his car. Even though he is aware it is just a phantom, he cannot help but to lean into the imaginary feeling of their breath against his neck.

“Hardly. Never a bad time for you at least, My darling. Tell me…what’s on your mind?” he pauses, nearly surprised to find himself out of breath, as their voice begins to tickle his ear. They talk thoughtfully of their day, and he hangs onto every word, responding perfectly despite the way his eyes nearly roll back, and he finds himself shamefully squirming against the sweaty seats of the much too hot car.

“…..I just feel..I don’t know it’s like I’m experiencing this range of emotions but it’s so….I just can’t tell if I’m over reacting you know?”

“Of course....”

He counts his blessings when the phone doesn’t pick up the sounds of his labored breaths, or the metallic click of his belt buckle. Normally, he would find himself with a bit more composure. More decorum, at least in the presence of others.

But, perhaps it had been too long since their last talk. Perhaps he had been a bit pent up lately. Or perhaps he had even had a few too many sips of that wine earlier. But in this moment he finds it too far out of his realm to care.

The sound of their voice is like strings that tie pretty bows around his body. Pulling at his wrist, and bringing his hand lower and deeper into the fabric of his cotton boxers. Their voice carries his fingers into a vice grip around a pulsing hot mess that begs for their touch. And when they pause to check on him, having heard the sharp hiss of air that left through his lips, he nearly comes undone too fast.

“I’m..alright, Darling, just…continue speaking for me. I want to hear more about how you felt when you ran into your friend this morning..”

Despite the gutter that his mind stews in, his thoughts catch ever so dutifully onto their every word, eyes glossed with a murky sheen of lust and adoration, body flushed with the evidence of their power over him.

His thighs shake when he’s close, and there’s only a brief moment of shame that slithered into his mind, disgusted with himself for getting off to their moment of vulnerability, but it’s washed away by the sheer euphoria of his finish, and he barely has time to stuff his mouth with his shirt to muffle the drawn out whimpering moan that breaks through. And still he’s listens. His place in your retelling hasn’t been lost, as if his finger had followed along the words of your story as he read.

And even when you ask him for feedback, there is not a stutter to his words.

“You know darling…I think there’s a lot we could discuss about this. How about you come in tomorrow? We’ll make it an early session.”

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Club Wear Voice Lines

Club Wear Jade does not have a vignette.

When Summoned: The mountains; a place that stimulates all five senses― Come, you should revel in this sensation as well.

Summon Line: I have my canteen, compass, and flashlight... That's everything. Fufu, I seem to have become quite accustomed to climbing mountains..

Groooovy!!: Even when visiting the same location a second time, the scenery always presents something new. The mountains are truly fascinating.

Home: Well now, time to head into the mountains.

Home Idle 1: Rainy days in the mountains are just as wondrous. Take moss, for example. There is a vast difference between the ambiance of wet and dry moss.

Home Idle 2: This coming weekend, I plan on heading into the mountains before the sun rises. There are some flowers I wish to see that only bloom in the early hours of the morning. Fufu, I must make sure I don't oversleep.

Home Idle 3: I think I've been able to have a better understanding of how humans use their legs to carry themselves ever since I started hiking. As they say, what one likes, one will learn to do well.

Home Idle - Login: From singing birds to chirping insects; from the crisp fresh air of nature to the flora each distinctive in their own way... [sighs] The mountains are superb. No matter how many times I go, I am always in for a new, surprising treat.

Home Idle - Groovy: I'm ecstatic to have you listen to my mountaineering tales. Here, have another cup of tea. I still have much to tell you.

Home Tap 1: I always make sure to wear a hat while sketching in the wild. Last time, I became so single-minded in my sketches I contracted a sunburn so strong my skin chafed terribly.

Home Tap 2: I attempted to regale Floyd on my climbing exploits, but he feel right asleep within a minute of my telling my story. What a shame we cannot enjoy this hobby together.

Home Tap 3: I've heard the Gargoyle Research Club only has one member. I fear it truly is difficult for those of us with more refined hobbies to find like-minded individuals.

Home Tap 4: I have been keeping minutes in my journal of all club activities ever since its establishment. You wish to read it? Go right ahead... But please promise you won't be startled no matter what you read within its pages.

Home Tap 5: The weather in the mountains are prone to change rapidly. When venturing into the mountains, I wholeheartedly recommend an outfit such as this that is easy to remove or put back on.

Home Tap - Groovy: I smell like dirt? It must be because I was studying some vegetation earlier. I was laying flat on the ground, after all.

Duo: [JADE]: I'm honored to have this time together, Malleus-san. [MALLEUS]: It's much too soon to be impressed, Leech

Requested by @pomefiwhore.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeaky Clean 5

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: damn, boy.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“So, if you terminate contract without two weeks’ notice, terms state you owe the agency an admin fee.” Jan explains over the phone. 

You sit in your car with her on speaker, idling behind the store, shellshocked.  

“How much?” You ask. 

“Based on how long you’ve been with us, four-fifty.” 

“That-- four hundred and fifty? That’s a week’s pay,” you exclaim. 

“Yes, well, we’d have to overextend other staff and then there would be training and recruiting. Seeing as you’ve not completed your probation period, we would be taking a loss.” 

“A loss? I’d still work, just for another client.” 

“There’s a lot of cleaners with seniority, they get preference. I’m sorry, but those are your options,” she says. She has no compassion, it’s all just money to her. 

You stare at the brick wall ahead of your car. Never mind about going inside. You’ll make your boxed macaroni with water tonight. Maybe as you scroll the job boards. If you get something quick, you’ll be able to cover the fee. 

Or. 

Or... 

Or you’ll have to face him again. 

You grip the wheel tight. It isn’t even your car. The fee comes out of your pay too. This whole thing is a grift. You lean forward and rest your head on the vinyl ridges. 

You see him, standing in front of the door, in his body armour and helmet. A man who could snap you like a twig. You exhale with a quake and roll your eyes back against the swell of heat. You have no choice. Not unless a miracle comes and you don’t believe in those. 

You drive home. Your apartment is small. Especially compared to his townhouse. How rotten. Look at you. Living at the bare minimum, living off his scraps based on how well you clean his floors. It’s not fair. And he can just do whatever he wants. Because what, because he wears that costume? 

You’re not hungry. You scroll through job boards. It’s all this bullshit AI training. You know it’s garbage. $100 an hour, yeah, you’re sure it will hit your bank account smoothly. Oh and Jan didn’t miss the non-compete clause. If you quit, you can work for another cleaning agency or even freelance for at least a year. 

Sleep is fractured by your anxiety. Every time you close your eyes, he’s there. Each time you move, you feel his hands on you. Your skin crawls and your insides burn. Why? Why you? Would it be the same if it was anyone else who’d taken that job? 

You stare at the ceiling as the sun rises outside your window. As the light shifts, your nerves flurry. You don’t want to get up. You don’t want to go back. 

You flinch as a soft click comes from the kitchen. There’s a length of wall between the rest of your apartment and it. A bachelor with nothing more than a clunky radiator and scratched floorboards. Another click and the grind of the coffee machine. 

You sit up, chest thumping furiously. You’re dreaming. Your frail human condition finally forced you into submission. It’s a nightmare. It has to be. You're sure of it as he appears from behind the wall, leaning on the plaster with smirk. 

Steve’s hair is slightly askew. His cowl is gone but the rest of his suit is still in place. All but his gloves, tucked into his belt. 

“You know, I was always taught not to give up. Why do you think I am who I am,” he grips his hips as he pushes away from the wall and approaches you with decisive steps. “You don’t just roll over and let the world win.” 

You blink. It’s not a dream. You’ve never felt anything more real. 

“When you get a no, you don’t stop until you hear yes,” he stops at the foot of your bed, “or until they can’t say anything.” 

“Steve,” you bend your legs and push yourself back against the metal headboard. “What...” 

“You know, it’s funny. They didn’t tell me all the side effects.” He turns and sits on the side of the bed. “Nope. They said ‘it’ll make you strong. And big.’ That’s about all they told me,” he bends his leg and brings his foot onto his knee. He unlaces his boots, the ends of the laces snapping on the leather. “They don’t tell you how much you can hear. How much you can feel. Or not feel.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head, “either they didn’t care or they didn’t know. I can’t say which is worse.” He wiggles the boot off and switches boots. “Don’t tell you that your body turns into this callous shell. The caffeine in a cup of coffee does nothing. Nope. You’re body’s on overdrive. You get nothing. You only give.” 

He rips his other boot off and drops it. He sighs and leans forward, his elbows on his thighs as he bends his head. He smooths his blond hair. 

“I can hear through a car. Even from a block away. Even through the brick wall. And I can hear your heart beating from ground level,” he sniffs and rolls his shoulders, holding his head. “I can hear it right now too.” 

You’re silent. Paralysed. It’s all a game to him. He’s been following, watching. Even if the thought crossed your mind, you wouldn’t have caught him. He shows himself when he wants to be seen. Exactly as he does at his place. 

“I just want to feel one fucking thing that makes me feel alive,” he sits up. 

You stare at him. He slowly looks over his shoulder and meets your gaze. “I put the coffee on. Your head’s throbbing. Migraine. The cells in your brain are compressed. Lack of seratonin due to lack of sleep.” 

Your mouth falls open. He can tell all that. No, another job was never an option. Quitting, like he says, isn’t a choice. Why doesn’t matter. Why is a stupid question. Why won’t change what is about to happen. 

“Have a cup, take a shower, relax,” he commands. “I want you to feel it too.” 

[cyberclouddream]

How to Spot: Water Signs Edition

Cancer Rising

- emotionally reactive and take everything personally; their sensitivity is off the charts so they approach new people cautiously

- appear maternal, caring, and empathetic but their mood swings are noticeable; if you make them feel disrespected or unsafe they withdraw and shut down

- expensive spenders, investing in flashy things to feel better about themselves; their need to appear wealthy can lead to financial stability, as their self-worth is tied to how much they have

- constantly worry that they’re being misunderstood or that they’re words are imperfect; their siblings or neighbors might feel like they’re overly analytical or nitpicky

- obsessed with creating the perfect home, and their need for balance can cause them to avoid confrontation at home, leading to passive-aggression there

- easily jealous and need to feel emotionally secure in romantic relationships, and tend to take their desires too far

- hate being tied down to schedules, craving flexibility so much in their day-to-day life that can lead to a chaotic lifestyle l

- tend to attract partners who are older or more established, drawn to those who are stable and dependable

- distant yet controlling, justifying it by saying they’re just being responsible

- intellectualize things too much when it comes to intimacy and deep emotional transformations, avoiding getting too emotional

- come off spacey or unrealistic when they discuss their beliefs or travel plans, rarely committing to concepts or places

- bold and assertive in their career but may rub people the wrong way; they push hard for the top but their impatience can sabotage them

- social life is usually built around people they’ve known for years, and they don’t adapt well to changes in social dynamics; they have a knack for getting in with the right people

- emotional escapist, intellectualizing their emotions in an almost clinical way but the emotional truth remains untouched

- fill their head with noise and distractions to avoid dealing with the raw emotional pain, which can cause them to be prisoners of their own mind; this can lead to insomnia and anxiety

Scorpio Rising

- magnetic and intimidating at the same time, drawing people in with an impenetrable boundary

- often go through major life upheavals, handling it with an icy resolve

- their moral compass is shaped by experience and their gut instincts rather than tradition

- aren’t afraid to task risks with their finances, usually because they believe they will always bounce back

- people may find them too intense or driven, but they’re on a mission to win, even in mundane areas of life

- they hate idle gossip or shallow talk and would rether have deep, meaningful conversations; they prefer to have control over thoughts and words, wanting to be understood on their own terms

- often feel alienated at home, even if it’s self-imposed; they prioritize mental freedom over family ties

- attract odd living situations or have an abnormal family dynamic

- get lost in their creative pursuits and when they fall in love with someone, it’s all-consuming

- at work they’re fiercely competitive, even if they don’t make it obvious; if you’re slacking at work they may call you out mercilessly

- often push themselves to the point of burnout, and may expect the same intensity from others

- can be possessive and overly demanding in love, preferring those who offers stability without making them feel vulnerable; jealousy is always lurking underneath the surface

- ask a lot of questions in sensitive topics, but don’t expect them to answer any in return

- retreat into their shell if their beliefs are challenged or if they feel insecure about their knowledge

- often obtain high positions or become well-known in their field; their career success is frequently linked to their ability to project confidence and control

- have a small, tight-knit group of friends who serve specific roles or purposes

- they want their inner world to be aesthetically-pleasing and orderly, which can cause them to face challenges with reconciling their idealistic and emotional needs with reality

Pisces Rising

- they have a vague, dreamy demeanor and a tendency to blend in rather than stand out; they’ll end up being whatever you want them to be without realizing it

- people either feel drawn to their seemingly compassionate nature or find them frustratingly inconsistent

- they act fast to make money but just as quickly blow through it; they may struggle with jobs that require any real focus or consistency

- they prefer slow, comfortable conversations that don’t rock the boat, withdrawing when things get too deep or challenging for their idealistic world

- they’re not the most articulate, preferring to convey emotions through art, music, or some indirect form of communication

- likely to live in several places over their lifetime, since they can’t settle one what an open and free home feels like

- they are sentimental and often romanticize the past, partners, or projects, which can lead to melodrama and disappointment

- prone to neglecting themselves until a dramatic situation forced them to pay attention; desire to be the center of attention without putting in real effort in their routines

- attract partners who want to “fix” them, which can feel patronizing or irritating; they may end up in codependent relationships where their partner micromanages them

- prefer to avoid responsibility in financial or intimate matters; they can feel dependent or even resentful in shared financial matters

- end up with complex, unspoken beliefs that are hard to share with anyone, and they can get lost in the quest for these hidden truths

- they may inspire others with their idealism but struggle with consistency and discipline; they just want their work to feel meaningful and expansive

- they carefully choose friendships that benefit them on the long-run, and may came off cold or distant when maintaining these relationships

- may idealize being a “lone wolf” but won’t admit it outright, even to themselves

- they’re chaotic and detached from emotional expectations, prone to sudden and erratic shifts in their mental state that makes them hard to understand

[ckret2]

idk if you've ever answered this before (probably, the answer is always probably) but is Bill, like... capable of empathy? Of sympathy? Of love (any kind) or compassion? I guess what I'm asking is how does he relate to other people? Are they all just tools and idle amusements, or does he develop any actual genuine (positive??) attachment to them?

Everything I know about him comes from 8+ year old memories of a cartoon I haven't rewatched since, and discourse I see through your blog, so I'm not sure what the canon consensus is but your word is god enough to me on at least your specific interpretation of Bill.

(I guess it would be moot to ask why he's so fucked up. Feel free to ignore any and all of this ask, it's 12 AM and I'm trawling the web before bed)

for my specific interpretation of Bill? Have this post about empathy and a couple of posts about romantic love. (Okay—three about romance.)

But now let's forget about my interpretation and talk canon.

Empathy! You can roughly split empathy into two categories: "I can logically identify and understand what you're feeling" empathy, and "when you're sad i feel sad and when you're happy I feel happy" empathy.

We absolutely know that Bill has "I understand what you're feeling" empathy, because he uses it again and again to manipulate his victims. He has VERY good emotional intelligence. He understands his victims' insecurities, their desires, how to make them feel happy, angry, ashamed, trustful, mistrustful; he knows when and how to manipulate them based on their mood to maximum effect; etc. We see it in how he manipulates Dipper & Mabel in the show; we see it in how he turns Ford against Fiddleford in Journal 3; we see it in TBOB and on thisisnotawebsitedotcom in the way he talks about how and why he manipulated Ford.

We have no evidence he experiences "I feel what you feel" empathy. That doesn't necessarily mean he DOESN'T, but there's no evidence for it. Never see him get excited just because someone else is excited, never see him cringe sympathetically when someone else is hurt. You could say "maybe on top of being a manipulation tactic, when Bill relates to Ford's estrangement from his family by talking about his destroyed universe, he's also feeling empathy for his situation," but you could also just as easily say "nah it's just manipulation."

Common sense would say well, if he feels other people's pain, it would be harder for him to manipulate, betray, and hurt people so blithely. But we're not talking about common sense, we're talking about canon evidence! It's possible for empathetic people to hurt other people; they can just... learn not to care about that person's feelings. Which is particularly easy to do if the target is someone the person sees as "less important" or dehumanizes them. Bill sees everyone as less important than him. We can't rule either way on whether or not he's got a capacity for emotional empathy we just never see. All we can say for sure is he doesn't appear to turn it on for anyone we see.

Though we see him come close. Although he doesn't feel with any of the Pines, we can see him relate to Ford (during Weirdmageddon, throughout TBOB), to Stan (on TINAWDC), and to Mabel (in TBOB and the Dipper & Mabel's Guide book) via projecting his struggles and beliefs on to them. But in a way this is sort of, reverse empathy?; it doesn't let him feel how they feel, but it makes him assume they feel the way he does.

Sympathy! The definitions of empathy vs sympathy vs compassion are contested so I'm gonna present the definitions I'm using for this post: empathy is "i [feel/understand] what you feel" and sympathy is "i care about how you feel." There's a couple of moments in his interactions with Ford in TBOB that are blatantly manipulative (when he shows Ford what's left of his dimension; to a lesser extent, when he "helps" Ford celebrate his birthday) that might also secondarily be fleeting displays of sympathy. It's ambiguous.

Compassion! Compassion is "i'm moved to help because of how you feel." There's a moment in TBOB when he gets so irritated at Puritan misogyny that he teaches a bunch of Puritan wives how to be witches and has a girls' night burning men at the stake with them. He apparently gets no benefits from this himself, aside from funsies. Is he motivated by compassion for the ladies or ONLY by irritation at how boring the men are? Again, ambiguous.

In TBOB when discussing his exploits in the Nightmare Realm, he mentions freeing patients from insane asylums and criminals from prisons. He also repeatedly mentions disliking captivity. He might be motivated by compassion derived from empathy for prisoners. He doesn't present his motives.

Love! He calls the Henchmaniacs his "family," repeatedly brings up their worries about being erased from reality, and says he takes his party hosting duties to them very seriously. We don't know whether he actually cared about them, or merely called them a family in recognition of their consistent loyalty and obedience. He's pretty disrespectful/violent toward them but that isn't incompatible with being emotionally invested in them beyond their utility. We don't have confirmation he cares for them, or confirmation he doesn't.

Hidden in TBOB and absolutely riddled through TINAWDC are references to his parents caring about him and tender quotes. When he's so blind drunk he doesn't know where he is, he tries to call his mom and asks her to make him a sandwich after school. We know he resents how they pathologized a mutation he was born with; beyond that we can't confirm whether or not he loved them; but just beneath the surface, he's unceasingly haunted by how they loved him.

Romantic love! I wrote a post about the evidence for/against romantic attraction in TBOB. He's confirmed to have at least two ex girlfriends; in the book, he mentions missing them both. He mentions having "seduced" galaxies; we don't know whether these seductions were sexual, sexual+romantic, or metaphorical. He denies having in the exes in the same book where he discusses them, and claims that love is the pupa for hate.

You can choose to interpret this multiple ways. To me it reads most strongly as "he's been in love but sucks at maintaining a relationship because he's an asshole, and he's got sour grapes about it"; but you could read it as "he wants love but his relationships fall apart because he can't feel it and he doesn't examine why" or "the relationships were based on something other than romantic love" and not technically be wrong based on the evidence we have. What we know for sure: he's had multiple relationships; he misses them; he tries to deny they happened; he claims love's dumb.

Genuine attachment to his tools! Bill claims torturing Ford was normal Henchmaniac hazing and he wanted him to join the gang. (Dubious evidence of emotional attachment.) He goes on a raging bender when Ford refuses to join him and escapes before Bill can torture him into joining. (Stronger evidence of emotional attachment.) In Weirdmageddon, seconds after Ford tried to murder Bill, he asks Ford to join him and then turns him into a statue he carries around everywhere when Ford refuses—and this is BEFORE he discovers Ford might still have a practical use for him.

On TINAWDC, he has an exchange that boils down to "Ford was just a tool?" "You say that like it's a bad thing!" "So you never cared about him?" "I didn't say that." He goes on to refer to Ford as his pet and henchman. Demeaning—but, people do feel positively toward their pets.

(It may be worth noting he also calls Teeth the Henchmaniacs' pet. Maybe this is a consistent element to how Bill relates to sentient people.)

There's evidence in TBOB that he felt similarly about his first human henchman, the shaman—at minimum, he's very bitter when the shaman turns on him and he says he's gonna find a "new best friend."

Summary: There's evidence that Bill develops facets of positive attachments to the people around him; but we don't have any evidence that any of these attachments ever added up to a positive & healthy relationship. In all the relationships we see in depth, the toxic aspects outweighed the positive ones.

Summary of the summary: Bill has the capacity for healthy relationships but is too big a douchebag to utilize it.

[theelfsongbard]

Jealous Astarion Drabbles

Cw: brief mention of breeding

Word count: 1235 words

Astarion glares daggers through the canvas of his tent in your general direction. He hated the way you made him feel weak and uneasy. Every reassurance, each offer extended to him to drink from you, the way your kindness weaves its way into little unnecessary niceties that you give your companions. He couldn’t understand why your actions threatened to make him fall for an illusion of trust. There must be a catch to all of this. There always is, he just hasn’t found it yet. You are an unexpected problem because despite his racing mind telling him otherwise, he can feel himself slipping into complacency around you. He finds himself enjoying your company beyond what is needed for a mere travelling companion and he *burns* with a feral desire that he doesn’t understand. He wants to claim you as his own, to fill you and be the only one who can know the whole of you inside and out. Every draw of blood that he takes is a battle to temper his own imaginations before he loses control of his carefully crafted facade.

He wants to act quickly and secure you to him as soon as possible, for he sees the lingering affection in the wizard’s eyes when you draw near. *Competition* is all that repeats in his mind like a resounding threat of a challenge. He doesn’t like Gale, and Gale doesn’t seem to like him, even if it’s not for the same reason. He chooses to believe it is though, only because it fuels his want for you, even in the unsteady waters of his burgeoning emotions.

For now though, he has more pressing urges to attend to and the straining in his trousers just will *not* do.

~~~

The days pass with ever increasing tension for Astarion. Despite the unusually sunny weather they were experiencing that he usually adored, Astarion was feeling absolutely wretched. Wretched and angry. And on top of that, his campmates thought he was jealous. He scoffed as he sat on the ground beside you and Gale, dressing his kill just as you instructed and taught him. Jealousy? It could not be further from the truth.

He was not jealous when he came back from his hunt with his prize only to find you dancing with Wyll. He was not jealous when he saw the way he pulled you close enough for your lips to brush and he was certainly not jealous when The Blade invited you to *practice his swordplay* later on. If he were being honest, Wyll was a man worthy of making anyone swoon, even Astarion. If only his moral compass were less of an impediment, he may have thrown himself at Wyll. But this was the hand he was dealt, and the Blade was threatening his little bid for protection from you. After all, how could he win his favour if he wasn't *The Favourite* in your eyes?

But the way Wyll’s eyes trailed after you as you sauntered over to assess his kill and the way he had put his hands around your waist just moments before made him want to rend the monster hunter to pieces and to announce to him that you were *his* territory. When you weren't looking, he made sure to send what he hoped was a frightening enough message to the warlock, baring his fangs for good measure.

Now, sandwiched between the idle conversation you shared with Gale, he couldn't see how his life could get any worse. His list of competitors was growing and given your warm reception to both, it would only be a matter of time before someone initiated a romantic relationship with you. Astarion was a seducer and had no idea what to do to romance someone. But clearly, it was time for him to start learning if he wanted to make things work. Either that, or it was high time that he started disposing of some of his less savoury companions. The sound of your laughter, genuine and untamed as Gale recounts his shenanigans with his cat is enough to convince him of it.

As his hands work mindlessly, his thoughts drift to something more fun. The smell of you sitting so close beside him sends a pang of familiarity down to his gut and at the same time fills him with arousal and passionate imagination. He thinks of how you might look stretched around his manhood, keening with pleasure as he thrusts into you, filling you full until you're overflowing, over and over until your mess becomes the proof to the entire camp that you are spoken for.

He imagines you below him and on top and all the delicious ways he might have you, wants to nuzzle into your breasts and drink from you as he loses himself in the pleasures of your flesh. And for the first time in an eternity, he even wants to lie with you, holding you close to him your back to his chest, keeping your safe and tucked against him for all eternity. Something stirs in him and he isn't sure if he likes it. This is too tender, too vulnerable and another weakness that he doesn't need.

He's only doing this for protection. Nothing more and nothing less. These are just part of his plans to seduce you, he’s only sorting out the details to make sure everything is perfect.

Mildly, he’s aware of the twitching in his trousers and the slight wetness dribbling from within. Excusing himself rapidly, he stalks off to the forest, away from prying eyes to indulge himself a little. All these thoughts are so distracting and it would do him no good if his campmates saw him in such an unbecoming state.

He needs to be alone for a little while. Yes, he just needs to clear his head because he doesn't need to be thinking about you when he has Cazador, a tadpole and his protection to contend with. But trying times call for trying measures and when he makes sure that he’s far away enough to not be heard or seen, he loosens the ties of his trousers just enough to slip himself free. Already, he knows that he’s going to need a trip down to the river to wash his undergarments, soaked with his arousal as it is. But he can't seem to find himself annoyed by his predicament.

Leaning against a tree, he closes his eyes, wrapping his hand around his length and stroking himself to the thought of you. Imagines you taking him in hand or into your mouth. But his hand is corpse cold, so void of the flush of life you have in you that it brings him back to reality with a growl of frustration. This is nothing compared to how you would feel around him.

And so with increasing vigour he rubs one out, alone and cold in the forest, watching as his seed dribbles and spurts out, landing in the dirt. Wasted. How he would love to stuff you full with it, right up to the brim, keeping it inside you until your belly starts to swell with the evidence of what he has done to you.

If only you knew what kind of effect you had on him. Maybe you would take pity and indulge him.

[littlefireball]

ʜᴊ|ɴᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ᴜꜱ (ᴍ/ᴀ)

Happy Birthday to Hongjoong~

ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ (ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ ᴀꜱ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ~ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ �� ʙɪᴛ)

ᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴅꜱ ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ x ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ 

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ꜰᴇʟʟ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ ꜰᴇʟʟ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ|ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ (ᴏᴏᴘꜱ)|ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴋ*ʟʟɪɴɢ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.8ᴋ

other members

Summary: He initially aimed to wield Cupid's arrow to ensnare your heart, hoping you would devote yourself entirely to him. Little did he realize that he would end up being the one to give up everything.

Hongjoong reclined on his majestic throne, his fingers interlaced as he scrutinized the list of angels before him, his gaze sharp and predatory. Whispers of insurrection had begun to ripple through the celestial realm, murmurs of discontent brewing against his iron-fisted rule. Tsk, just a bunch of tiresome guys. Perhaps the abundance of idle time in heaven had led them to entertain such foolish notions of rebellion. Hongjoong, with his towering arrogance and self-obsession, saw no flaw in his reign. Clearly, a firmer hand was required to govern these lesser beings; any hint of compassion would only serve to deepen their moral decay.

Naturally, he couldn't simply brush aside the swirling rumors, yet he needed someone to handle the grim tasks for him─eliminate anyone who crossed his path. With their help, he could reclaim his lost reputation under the guise of delivering justice. How perfect the plan is! But, who would he find? 

A sudden knock echoed through the room. "Come in," he commanded, setting aside the documents that had occupied his lap. In walked Cupid, the God of love, his gaze fixed on the ground as he approached the throne. "Your Majesty," he murmured, kneeling on the plush carpet, his wings gracefully draping beside him.

"Is it true that your arrows possess the power to make people fall in love with me?"

"Indeed, Your Majesty," Cupid replied.

"Good," he said with a nod, turning to descend the stairs, his hands clasped behind him. "The throne of the queen has remained unoccupied for quite some time. Now is time to consider it," he murmured softly, though this was far from the truth. Deep down, he was unwilling to let anyone encroach upon his authority. Yet, he knew he must feign concern to keep everyone in the dark.

"Of course I know everyone loves me but I need someone willing to sacrifice themselves for me." He bent closer, a sinister grin curling at the corners of his mouth, making Cupid not dare to meet his gaze. "Am I right?" 

"Ye-yes…" 

Hongjoong straightened up, striding over to Cupid to grab his bow and arrow, fiddling with them playfully. "Okay. It's none of your business now. Get out." 

Cupid slowly backed away, his steps echoing in the vast chamber. As he reached the door, he paused, hesitating before turning to face Hongjoong once more. "Your Majesty, be warned. The consequences of such an act may not be as simple as you think." 

Hongjoong's expression did not change, and his voice was cold as ever when he replied, "Do you understand the meaning of 'none of your business?" He shifted his gaze from the weapons to him, said "I said Get Out. Don't make me twice." 

Cupid nodded and apologized, slipping out of the room and leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts and the arrow in his hands. Now here's the problem─who should he shoot? The room fell silent as he scanned over the list of angels before him. He knew that Cupid's power was not infinite, and he would need to find a suitable target to use the arrow on. The idea of someone falling in love with him was abhorrent to him, but he saw it as a means to an end. He would use this power to quell any further whispers of rebellion and strengthen this grip on the celestial realm. 

He needed someone who would be both powerful enough to be a threat and vulnerable enough to be manipulated. 

But is it enough? The answer is No. 

Obviously. 

"What's on your mind, Joong?" The gentle caress on his cheek brought him back from his thoughts as you leaned in to plant a soft kiss on his lips, your smile lighting up the moment. "You space out." 

"I'm just wondering how I'm so lucky to have you by my side" he replied, his hold on your shoulder firm as he drew you nearer, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. You laughed softly at his sentiment, nestling your face into the warmth of his neck.

"Don't lying~" 

"I could never. I'm the King of Gods, Y/N." 

You lifted your chin to catch his eyes, which wandered to your lips. With a silent understanding, you shut your eyes, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. The kisses grew more intense as he hovered above you, the warmth of your body igniting as your nipples pressed against his chest. There was nothing but only your kissing sound rang in your ears, bringing both of you to pleasure.

An addictive pleasure.

Yes, the King of Gods. How could he fall in love with you? Though he never openly confessed it, his body revealed the truth. Each time his gaze fell upon you, a deep-seated desire awakened within him.  He found it impossible to resist the urge to possess you, to make you his own. Physically. What began as a stare soon escalated into a touch, a peck, a hug, and finally sex.  It was the work of Cupid's arrow; he accidentally wounded himself when he shot you. And that's how this tale unfolds. Actually he could eliminate the effect of Cupid's arrow, as long as he healed the wound, but he never did it. Maybe he got used to it, to you being there beside him, fulfilling his every whim.

He chose you for a reason. It's simple; you are strong, loyal, and above all, you love with a passion that defies logic. He spent lots of time gathering information on the various angles and their strengths and weaknesses. You were the most perfect one, fulfilling all the requirements he needed. 

"Y/N?" he murmured, pulling away from the kisses, his voice a gentle whisper.

"Hmm?" you replied, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, feeling the warmth radiate from him.

"I need you to do something for me," he said, taking your hand and bringing it to his soft, pink lips, where he pressed a tender kiss against your palm.

"What is that?" 

"The angels." His voice was resolute as he tightened his grip on your hand. "Kill them all." 

You frowned for a moment, but it quickly transformed into a smile. "Yes, my lord." 

"You're not asking why?" 

"I'll do everything for you, no matter how hard, as long as you ask, " 

"Oh my dear. You're really my good girl." He leaned down to kiss you again, prompting a delighted giggle from you.

"So can I get some reward?" You tilted your head, pulling him closer. 

"Of course you can. My lovely girl." 

You both drew closer, lost in a fervent kiss that ignited the air around you. His hands eagerly sought yours, intertwining fingers with a firm grip as he buried his face into the curve of your neck. His lips brushed against your skin, tracing the delicate patterns of pink and purple hickeys that adorned you. Each caress sent waves of warmth through you, making you feel as if you were melting away, surrendering completely to the moment. Breathy moaning flew from your tongue as something solid rubbed against your sensitive clit, the excitement built up within your body. 

Your legs climbed up to his waist, encircling him to pull him nearer. Each subtle movement of his cock sent waves of sensation through you, teasing you until you found yourself pleading for more. He won't do anything even if he has an impatient temper. He needed you to beg, begging for his alms, his mercy. His proud spirit would never allow him to fulfill the desires of others without a sense of triumph. He would only grant his "gifts" when he could relish the power that came from your desperate pleas.

"Please…please…joong. I need you." You let out a small whimper as everything was too gentle for your liking, the emptiness almost driving you to lose control. An evil-like smirk came out from his body as one of his hands reached down to grip his cock, moving up and down to rub your clit with its tip. He made sure you could feel every hard press, every movement, every vibration when he let out a low growl.

"Oh baby, see how beautiful you are." He stared at your reddened clit covered with his pre-cum, flattening his thumb to press against your bud. You tumbled as the sudden pleasure rushed through your mind, feeling your bottom lip begin to shake as he kept brushing. "Tell me baby, do you want my cock, huh?" 

"Ye-yes. Please fill me up with your seeds, my lord. I need you." "Good slave." Your broken voice stopped as he shoved his cock into your cunt without warning, making you hold your breath. Shutting your eyes tightly, you let him to batter your sweet spot to chase his high and enjoyment. 

Not knowing why. Your heart twisted painfully at the sound of the word 'slave.' It wasn't the first time he had labeled you this way, yet the sting felt fresh. Was it merely a dirty word used on the bed, or did it reflect the reality of how he perceived you? Memories flooded your mind, taking you back to the beginning. When did your feelings for him begin to blossom? And when did he start to see you in a different light? What could possibly draw a King of Gods to a mere angel, one without power or the strength of the other goddesses?

It seems like everything suddenly changed overnight. 

"You space out." A commanding tone escaped his lips, prompting a startled gasp from you. His hand moved to clutch your cheeks, applying a firm pressure that stung. As you blinked open your eyes, you found his gaze locked onto yours, brimming with fury and envy. He squinted, scrutinizing you like a predator assessing its next target. 

"Are you thinking about other men?" 

"No. My lord. I could never do that."

He leaned down, his hot breath pooling against your skin,sending shivers down your spine. "You can only think about me, understand?You're mine, only mine." 

You were hesitant for a while but you soon brushed aside the doubtness within your mind, wearing a smile and repeating what he liked to hear. 

"Yes, my lord. I'm yours, forever yours." 

"You better remember this." Before he finished his words, he shoved back with all his might, plunging your spot over dead on. "Joong!!" Your back painfully arched at the way his hard tip battered your ruined cunt; his fat cock rubbed along the curve of your wall harshly to ensure you feel every vein of that. A powerful push after a powerful push. He suddenly stopped thrusting and got off the bed, clenching your ankles to tug you to the side until your ass hung in the air. His cock pushed back to your cunt once his fists clenched around your wrists for balance, plunging your depth again. 

You let out a broken moan as his ball slapped your ass and his thighs hit yours, producing a loud skin slapping sound. The jolt of the impact radiated from your thighs, enveloping your entire body in a wave of pain that left you breathless. Tears streamed down your face, spilling over and soaking the crumpled sheets that bore the marks of your tumultuous struggle. Watching you in this state, he felt an unexpected pang of sorrow, though he quickly dismissed it. It was just that damned injury, he reasoned, not any deeper feelings for you. Gradually, he eased his pace and intensity, allowing you a moment of respite. With a firm grip, he lifted you and settled back onto the bed, positioning you on top of him.

"Ride me." 

Almost without thinking twice, you started swaying your hips in a circle, rubbing each other's pelvis at a steady pace. His cock went so deep in this position, let alone the way he pressed you lower by gripping firmly on your waist. "Joong…it's too much…" "Oh dear, don't you want my seed?Huh?" "Ye…yes…" "Then fuck yourself harder and make me cum or I'll fuck you until you pass out." It wasn't a decision you could make; it was an order, and you had no option but to obey him. A quiet whimper escaped your trembling form as you started to move rhythmically, letting him penetrate as deeply as possible.

"Oh fuck, Y/N. That's so good." He leaned his head against the pillow, a deep moan escaping his lips, enjoying how your velvet wall was tightening around his cock. There was something intoxicating about witnessing his blissed-out expression; it felt like you had finally brought him joy. Yet, this moment felt altered. A nagging sensation crept in, making you feel like nothing more than an object, a plaything. Why?What happened to your mind? 

"Baby, cum for me. I need to feel you." 

But you couldn't as the pain had already replaced the pleasure. He sensed your uneasiness so he pulled you down without a word, making you laid on him completely. 

"What's wrong?" 

"No-nothing." 

"You worry about the mission?" 

"Huh?" You raised your eyebrow but soon nodded. But you knew that's a lie.

"Don't fret, darling." He brushed his lips against your forehead, a playful smile dancing across his face. "It's a piece of cake. I'll lend my power to you, and you'll take them down effortlessly. After that, no one will disturb us, and you'll be my wife, my queen."

He vowed once more, fully aware of your longing, your weakness. You craved more than just a physical connection; you yearned to be his true partner, his other half. Yet, he kept your bond a secret from the world, merely whispering that he would marry you someday. Each time, you found yourself softening, placing your trust in him. Perhaps love truly was blind.

"You promise?" 

"Of course, sweetheart. I would never deceive you. He wriggled you to the bed, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. "Let's finish what we started," he murmured between kisses, effortlessly erasing any lingering uncertainty from your mind.

—-----

Y/N, what are you doing?!” your partner yelled, agony etched across his face as he pressed his hand against the gaping wound, desperately trying to halt the blood that seeped through his fingers. “Are you…trying to kill…us?!” His sword fell from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he gasped for air.

With your blade, stained with his blood, you pointed menacingly at him. “Just following orders.” In a swift motion, you lunged forward, your sword gleaming in the sunlight as you aimed to strike.

Just as you were about to slice through his throat, a massive beam struck you from the side. “Damn it!” There was no time to evade the blow. An earth-shattering explosion erupted the instant the beam made contact, engulfing you in a cloud of smoke that choked the air with its acrid stench.

“Did I do it…?” your partner whispered, the glow at his fingertip dimming as he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The smoke gradually cleared, revealing the heartbreaking scene before you, yet you stood there, unmoved. The recent assault had been devastating, but Hongjoong's strength had mended your wounds and lifted the "curse" that had plagued you.

"What have I done...?" you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your thoughts. A rush of memories surged through your mind like a relentless wave, momentarily paralyzing you in its wake.

“Hands up!Put down the weapon!” You spun around in terror, your heart racing as you beheld a squad of angels, their weapons drawn and aimed directly at you in perfect synchrony. You recognized the armor they wear and their roles─the army of the King of Gods. 

“Get her!” Before you could react, darkness enveloped you as they pulled the triggers and stole your power. 

—----

Hongjoong stared out the window, savoring a sip of wine while he awaited your return. Once you completed the last elimination, he could leverage your involvement to restore his tarnished reputation in court. By shifting all the blame onto you, he believed everything would finally revert to the way it once was: The archangel's strength had diminished with the departure of his followers, leaving him unchallenged; soon, he would gain renown for his pursuit of justice.

And the wound left by Cupid's arrow….?Well, he would heal it. Maybe. His understanding of his own heart was murky, clouded by the belief that everything stemmed from that fateful shot. True love seemed an impossibility for him; to him, you were merely a means to an end, a plaything. As long as you served his needs and followed his lead, he would reciprocate. This was the narrative he spun for himself, blind to the way his heart ached at the mere thought of your leaving. 

"Finally, no one can bother me anymore." An evil-like laugh echoed in the chamber. 

—---

Upon discovering the massacre of countless angels at your hands, he feigned outrage, wrongfully charged you with insurrection, and swiftly took you into custody. As you knelt before the temple, your wings draping beside you, you lowered your head in submission to Hongjoong's decree.

"Do you know what you have done?" Hongjoong asked.

You lifted your chin, locking eyes with him. There was no warmth in his expression, just the thrill of imminent victory. As you averted your gaze, a weight settled in your chest under his stare. You knew you had to utter the words Hongjoong longed to hear. "I sacrificed the lives of soldiers to eliminate the demons," you declared coolly, betraying no hint of regret.

"They were not just soldiers, but your brethren, your fellow warriors!" The archangel on the judgment seat curses loudly, heartbroken for the companions you sacrificed. 

"I apologize for being direct. Angels chosen to defeat demons are destined to become martyrs. From the moment we were created, we have been ready for a noble death in combat..." You followed all the words Hongjoong taught you before. 

"Absurd!" The archangel's booming voice interrupts your explanation. "Y/N! As an angel, you are meant to hold life sacred and not justify such careless disregard for it with false reasoning! Merely being born as warriors does not give you the right to treat life so frivolously!" 

"Silence!" Hongjoong's cold voice cut through the archangel's roar. "Y/N, I once saw you as a loyal and formidable angel. Your unorthodox methods were accepted by me. But I never anticipated that you would overstep boundaries and disregard life for your own ambitions."

"No…I…" "Y/N, for betraying the divine, you shall be stripped of your angelic status and condemned to live on Earth until you reform yourself."

"No!!" Your cries fell on deaf ears as no one heeded your pleas. "Take her away to prison and set a date for her execution," the heartless judgment sealed your fate, and despite your frantic denials, it was all for naught.

—---

 Hongjoong returned to his chamber with a heart full of joy, having finally achieved his dream. Yet, as he swung the door open, he was met with an empty room, devoid of any warm welcomes or affectionate kisses. How could he have overlooked your absence? You were supposed to be there, weren't you? He shed his clothes and sank into the sofa, yearning to pull you close, to feel your presence beside him. But all he grasped was the emptiness of the air. No one was there. 

"Tsk…"He sighed softly, glancing at the cut on his finger with a hint of irritation. Flopping onto the sofa, he tried to shake off the nagging thought. Yet, a chill crept over him, and instinctively, he called out for you, "Y/N. Cuddle." He longed for your comforting presence, just like always. He soon realized he missed your existence again, feeling more annoyed. Why? He shouldn't behave that way. The truth is, he didn't have feelings for you. Or did he? If that's the case, why did he long for your presence and feel a deep ache in your absence?

He straightened his posture, his fingers weaving through his hair as he pondered for a moment. Perhaps it wasn't so painful to have you close by. After all, having a compliant angel by his side wasn't a bad thing at all. He could still rely on you to fulfill his desires. Yes, it was perfectly fine that he wished for you to remain. 

As he made his way to your cell, a sense of conviction washed over him. He dismissed everyone else, feeling a thrill of anticipation at the thought of being embraced by you once more, just like before.

The door creaked open but you didn't come out.

"Y/N?" He felt a twinge of disappointment when you didn't envelop him in kisses. Little did he know just how deeply he had missed you. 

You reclined in the cell, your eyes fixed on the moon's glow. Upon seeing him, you sank to your knees, the sharp clatter of metal resonating through the space.

"Your Majesty." Your tone was icy, sending a shiver through the air. Hongjoong's brow furrowed, struggling to adapt to the chill in your demeanor. 

"We're alone here, my dear." 

"No. Your Majesty. I beg you, don't address me that way." 

Hongjoong's heart sank as he realized the change. He stepped closer, trying to read the emotions in your eyes. "Y/N, what's wrong?Why are you so distant from me?" 

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resignation. "Your Majesty, I cannot bear the weight of your expectations any longer. I'm not the obedient angel you seek." 

"What're you talking about?" 

"I've wanted to be more than just a pawn in your game. But I was wrong. No matter what I did, you just saw me as a tool." 

"Who told you that?" He let out a nervous chuckle, looking guilty.

"Cupid's arrow." 

"What?You…?" Hongjoong's heart contracted as he took in your words. He didn't expect you to know the truth. 

"How did I know that? Do you want to ask?" Your eyes filled with pain and a hint of defiance, tears streaming down your face. "Thanks to your power. It heals the wound left by the arrow." 

"No, I…Y/N…don't be like this." Hongjoong stumbled over his words, his voice a mere breath against the silence. His heart twisted painfully, overshadowing any joy he felt upon achieving his aim. Could a mere scratch evoke such torment? Certainly not. He had been captivated by you for ages, yet he had been too oblivious to see it. 

"You don't have to pretend to love me anymore. It's over." 

"That's not acting." Hongjoong took a step forward, his hand reaching out to you but you flinching away. 

"Yeah, you're right. You're not acting as it's what you want to do." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head and your tears falling faster. ""You manipulated me to eliminate anyone who stood in your way. You made endless promises to earn my trust, yet not a single one has been fulfilled because you never intended to let them into your heart."

"No, Y/N." He pulled your hands into his, gripping tightly as if he feared you might slip away. "I can make you my queen, my wife. I haven't forgotten any of the promises we made. Just please, don't act like this, alright?"

"Why can't you understand?Hongjoong?" You took your hands back, letting out a heavy sigh. "I can't be with you the way you want me to be. I can't be your obedient angel anymore." 

Hongjoong's heart sank as he realized that you were leaving him. He had never felt this way before─the fear of losing you was consuming him. 

"Y/N, please stay with me. I need you." 

"You just need a slave, not me." 

Hongjoong watched you sit down on the chair with your eyes closed. His heart was heavy with loss. He had never realized how much he needed you until now. "I understand." He stepped backward, tears filling his eyes. His sad voice made your heart sink, you shouldn't though. 

"I know what I need to do now." He let out a bitter smirk before walking away from you, leaving you alone in the cell. 

—----

From that moment on, Hongjoong slipped away from your world. Even after mending the ache left by Cupid's arrow, he struggled to let go. His days blurred into a monotonous routine within the confines of his room, where he gazed at the familiar walls, lost in memories of the moments you shared. He sought someone to fill the void you left behind, but no one could ever occupy the special place you held in his heart. He longed for your presence, for your touch, for your warmth. But all he had was the memory of your final words and the emptiness of his chamber. 

It pushed him to the brink of madness, leaving him in a constant state of irritation. He felt utterly misunderstood, with no one to offer him solace. Despite the pleas for compassion from those around him, he stood unmoved. The once-familiar feelings of superiority and joy he had derived from this situation had long since faded away.

There was only one way to deal with this problem─Make everything go back to the past. 

The moment of reckoning has finally come, and you find yourself bound to a pillar at the heart of the execution ground, staring at Hongjoong, who presides over the judgment from his elevated seat, flanked by angels and deities who harbor a deep loathing for you. 

A chilling breeze caresses your cheeks, making the hem of your white skirt flutter softly; your disheveled hair obscures part of your face, yet it cannot shield you from Hongjoong's piercing gaze. Perhaps the pain has dulled your senses, and while fear should grip your heart, you feel nothing but a profound stillness. All you desire is to escape this torment and leave the haunting memories behind.

The judge's voice echoed in the courtroom as he started to deliver the verdict. You shut your eyes tightly, indifferent to the portrayal of you as a monster, a devil steeped in vile deeds, with some even daring to claim you were in league with the devil himself. Meanwhile, Hongjoong, perched on the elevated platform, gripped his fists in silence, each word striking at his composure. Though his expression remained impassive, the tension in his hands betrayed him, veins standing out starkly against his skin.

"Y/N has committed a heinous crime and should be executed upon questioning!"

Hongjoong rose from his seat, striding purposefully toward the execution platform. The gods gazed at him, their expressions a mix of reverence and disbelief. Wasn't this he yearned for so long? Yet, it felt wrong. Instead of triumph, his heart ached as if it were being ripped apart, and no amount of admiration could fill the void of sorrow within him. Especially when he met your calm gaze; it was as if his heart was ensnared by thorny vines, leaving him breathless. Perhaps he didn't truly understand love; all he knew was that the agony of loss eclipsed any pain he had endured before.

Thus, he yearned for your return, for you to stay by his side forever.

With a fierce determination, he raised the long sword, its blade crackling with the energy of lightning, pointing it skyward. Dark clouds gathered ominously overhead, and a thunderous roar echoed through the air. Lightning danced across the heavens, illuminating the swirling storm, causing gasps of terror to erupt from the onlookers. 

His eyes blazed with a brilliant light as he felt every ounce of his power converge at the sword's tip. With a swift motion, he brought the sword down, unleashing a torrent of lightning that struck the unsuspecting gods around him. The explosive force sent shockwaves through the air, and you could only watch in horror as the once-sacred temple transformed into a nightmarish battleground.

Paralyzed by fear, words escaped you. Before you stood a figure descending slowly, a bloodied bow and arrow in his grasp—Cupid's arrow.

"Y/N," he murmured your name softly, but it sent a shiver down your spine. He advanced toward you, each step drawing closer, and you could only stand frozen as his shadow enveloped you, tightening its grip.

"I said I never forgot my promise." 

"What're…you doing…?" 

"I can make you my queen now." He pressed the arrow firmly against your chest. As you gazed into his eyes, reason slipped away, leaving only confusion. Yes, you felt utterly foolish. How could he possibly let you escape? He was determined to seize everything and everyone he valued, regardless of the cost.

"Hongjoong…" 

He ignored your words. 

"You belong to me, now and always. You know you love me, and there's no escaping this." His voice was a soft whisper against your ear, punctuated by a tender kiss.

"And no one will bother us anymore." He struck at your heart like an arrow, causing a sharp gasp to escape your lips. His arms enveloped you, his touch a soothing balm against the ache.

"Will you stay with me forever, Y/N?" 

With a slow, deliberate motion, your hands found their way to his waist as Hongjoong broke your handcuffs, pulling you closer. 

"Yes, my lord." 

A warm smile spread across his face as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers trailing down to caress your cheek before resting gently under your chin. 

"That's my good girl." 

You were his, again.  

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Of Sauron's Lust on Season 3

Now Sauron's lust and pride increased, until he knew no bounds, and he determined to make himself master of all things in Middle-earth, and to destroy the Elves, and to compass if he might, the downfall of Númenor. He brooked no freedom nor any rivalry, and he named himself Lord of the Earth. A mask he still could wear so that if he wished he might deceive the eyes of Men, seeming to them wise and fair. But he ruled rather by force and fear, if they might avail; and those who perceived his shadow spreading over the world called him the Dark Lord and named him the Enemy; and he gathered under his government all the evil things of the days of Morgoth that remained on earth or beneath it; and the Orcs were at his command and multiplied like flies. The Silmarillion

Oh boy, Sauron's lust will increase and know no bounds in Season 3; this is a description of the "War of the Elves and Sauron" from Tolkien.

What kind of mind palace shenanigans will happen in Season 3!? Now that Sauron has a open line of communication via bound, and has already “bore a hole” to “slither in”to Galadriel.

Let’s see another example of when “evil lusts” in Tolkien lore: 

Then Morgoth looking upon her beauty [Lúthien] conceived in his thought an evil lust, and a design more dark than any that had yet come into his heart since he fled from Valinor. Thus he was beguiled by his own malice, for he watched her, leaving her free for a while, and taking secret pleasure in his thought. The Silmarillion [Lúthien dances for Morgoth on his Dark Throne, before she puts him and all the host of Angband to sleep with her magic singing]

Tolkien comes back to this "evil lust" Morgoth felt for Lúthien on several works:

…Yet I will give a respite brief, a while to live, a little while, though purchased dear, to Lúthien the fair and clear, a pretty toy for idle hour. In slothful garden many a flower like thee the amorous gods are used honey-sweet to kiss, and cast then bruised, their fragrance loosing, under feet. … A! curse the Gods! O hunger dire,O blinding thirst’s unending fire! One moment shall ye cease, and slake your sting with morsel I here take! In his eyes the fire to flame was fanned,and forth he stretched his brazen hand.Lúthien as shadow shrank aside. ‘Not thus, O King! Not thus!’ she cried. … …And her wings she caught then deftly up, and swift as thought slipped from his grasp, and wheeling round, fluttering before his eyes, she wound a mazy-wingéd dance… The Lay of Leithian, The Lost Road and Other Writings

"Nay," saith Melkor, "such things are little to my mind; but as thou hast come thus far to dance, dance, and after we will see," and with that he leered horribly, for his dark mind pondered some evil.  Book of Lost Tales vol.2

Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband. What could she do to give him pleasure, and save herself from the lowest dungeons? He reached out his mighty brazen hand but she shrank away. He is angry but she offers to dance. Commentary to the Lay of Leithian (The Lays of Beleriand)

Celeborn was his name. We met in a glade of flowers. I was dancing and he saw me there. Rings of Power, "The Eye", 1x07

Wait, what? I’m not implying Sauron will impersonate Celeborn, mind you. Only that there is already a reference to Galadriel dancing in “Rings of Power”.

Celebrimbor’s father (who was the most evil among all sons of Fëanor) also lust after Lúthien (like Celebrimbor himself after Galadriel in Tolkien lore):

...why Curufin looked with hot desire on Lúthien [...] thereafter never near might win to Lúthien, nor touch that maid" Lay of Leithian

Apparently, Charlie is right. Sauron might ravish Galadriel, yet. Her mind, of course.

Dead dove enjoyers: come to collect your ship.

[starryhutcherson]

clapton davis fic where hes just like, super flirty and its really cute and the reader is oblivious to this but eventually clapton is like "damn it why cant you get the hint" so he opens up to the reader?&;&:& tysmm

━━ UNSUBTLE SUBTILITY

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x reader warnings: swearing, brief depictions of blood word count: 2500+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

The presence of Spring in Grizzly Lake brought a lot of things; including sporadic bursts of heaven-yellow sunlight, greenery spiraled across branches of previously barren tree skeletons, and, most importantly for students of Grizzly Lake High School, the promise of the Spring Fling Formal that was set to occur in the midst of May. 

For Clapton, this prom meant one thing; achieving his goal that’s been looming over him since freshman year — ask you out. Theoretically it’s a simple process, but if it was truly as easy as it sounds it would have occurred the very moment his eyes landed on your figure that first day in beginner spanish. 

You were the embodiment of perfection, punctuated through your gleaming smile that enraptured anyone in a ten mile radius, and the way the sun seemed to spread across the expanse of your cheeks, soaking you in the rays of heaven itself. Clapton was about ready to propose that day, and he didn’t even know your name. 

Now, roughly two years later, he was still amidst the same dilemma, the one in which he actually had to do the asking-out part. He was sure by now you would have picked up on his inherently obvious attempts to entice you, but you remained oblivious, so he decided he’d have to fully commit if he wanted to capture your attention. The art of unsubtle subtility, if you will. 

And so, forty three minutes into the depths of an agonizingly dull pre-calculus lesson, he confidently taps your shoulder with a fractionally tense hand, and indulges the tug on his heartstrings when you turn around, framed by the delicate glow of mid-morning spring that he adores so much. 

“Something wrong, Clapton?” Your voice cleaves through the classroom ambience of idle chatter and textbook pages being flipped. He flashes a boyish smile in hopes to flutter your heart in the same way you flutter his. 

“Do you get any of these questions?” 

“Yeah, they’re not too bad,” you reply, offering an ephemeral that renders his throat tight. 

He glanced down momentarily at his worksheet, adorned in scrawls and scribbles, yet lacking a single legible answer. His vision trains up back to you though, as it always does. He thought you’d easily detect the unspoken question for your help, but you remained stationary in your seat, as if waiting for him to say it. He couldn’t tell if you were genuinely that heedless, or if you were toying with him. Cat and mouse. 

“Seriously? When did they even teach us all this?”

You shrug mindlessly, and a lock of hair shifts from its position on your shoulder. He’d give anything to rope his fingers through it. “A while back. Why, you need some help?” 

Yes. He’d like your help, your compassion, your hand in marriage…

“Wanna walk me through it?” He tosses you a hopeful expression, and you answer back with a simple nod, sliding your chair along the cheap linoleum floor with a scrape, until the pair of you are sharing his desk, impossibly close. 

Your velvet voice is stringing sentences right down the expanse of his spine, though your attempts to help him understand logarithmic differentiation were ultimately futile— how was he supposed to concentrate on anything when he could feel your words blooming on his skin? See every freckle and divot etched into your face? He could taste his own heartbeat as it melded against his throat.

“So, this helps to avoid complications like the product rule and the quotient rule when— Clapton?”

He cocks his head up, trying to ignore the swell in his stomach when he hears the way his name sounds braided between your sentences, it suits your voice so well.

“Yeah? What’s up?” 

“Are you even listening?”  

Shit, no he absolutely wasn’t. How could he? Your proximity allowed him to see you. Like, properly see you. 

“Yeah. Totally. Logaramic thingyation,” he murmurs with overt certainty, and a puppylike grin. 

You snicker. “Couldn’t even get the name right?” 

He’s internally collapsing, though he manages to force some words out of his struggling brain. 

“Hard to think when you’re here.” He doesn’t dare sever the eye contact between you, hoping to hone the tension as long as possible, until he shatters you. His lopsided grin shrinks in a moment of brevity; you’re so close and he can smell you and your very essence. He’s sure that his ulterior motive is conveyed, through the way his eyes explore the breadth of your figure, never leaving, never faltering— yet to his pure irritation, all he gets is a blank expression and a confused chuckle. 

“Why is that?” You ask, and he wants to grab you by your shoulders and shake you. Are you really that dense? Your face is about as expressive as a rock, and you seem not even partially affected by the flirty wink he sent your way moments prior. 

“You’re kidding, right? Come on.” He fires back, raising a brow with a daring smirk. He wants you to inquire. You don’t. He realizes that trying to get you to take a fucking hint was about as impossible as teaching him calculus. 

You force out an awkward laugh that makes his skin crawl with defeat, but he doesn’t back down. “Come on what?” 

He refrains from the urge to say “me”, and instead huffs a sharp exhale through his nose. He’s moments away from spouting some lame compliment when the shrill cry of the bell interrupts his train of thought, and a tide of students eject eagerly from their seats and spill out into the corridor for lunch. 

Your friend approaches the desk with a quirked brow, reaching for your arm and mumbling something into your ear that’s intelligible to Clapton, tugging on you to try and steer you away from the classroom. And from him. You nod in response to her comment, before momentarily glancing back over to Clapton.

“I gotta go, Clapton. See you soon though, see you in History!” You send him a parting wave with a gentle flick of your wrist, before turning off and disappearing down the long stretch of corridor beside the classroom. His eyes follow you for as long as possible before your figure is consumed by the wandering horde of students, and he lets a grumbly sigh escape his parted lips before he packs up his belongings. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. 

*:･.・゜゜・

Clapton’s second attempt at alluring you resulted in more or less the same outcome. He’d entered the cafeteria, instantly bathed in the overwhelming odor of lysol and lard. His prior plan was to grab a doctor pepper, maybe a sandwich, and head over to his typical table to talk a painfully uninterested Sander’s ear off about you, but he scrapped it upon spotting you waiting in the cafeteria line, immediately changing course and veering over in hopes of a successful conversation.

He cuts in front of an unsuspecting freshman, ignores the irritated “What’s your deal man?”, and ‘accidentally’ brushes up to you until your bodies knock, and you spin around in confusion. 

Your face mildly relaxes in recognition, and he takes this as progress.

 “Hey. Getting lunch?”

“What else would I be doing?” You ask. Swing and a miss. 

He clears his throat a fraction, not allowing this to throw him off his game. 

“I dunno, maybe you just really like standing in lines,” he teases, and you laugh back. 

“Especially if the line is for overpriced cafeteria food,” you add with a grin.

The pair of you share a laugh, and Clapton marvels at the fact that you can look so irresistible even in the harsh fluorescence of the cafeteria’s artificial lighting. The pair of you fall into a partially awkward silence, and he follows your line of vision, watching as you observe some students hanging a hand painted banner advertising prom for the entirety of the cafeteria to see. ‘Spring Fling Formal, get your tickets now!’ glistens in white gold lettering. He prays he can take the banner up on that offer. 

“Are you doing anything for it?” A bit of a jump from the casual conversation, but he was itching to entice you and couldn’t risk missing his chance. 

“Hm? For what?” His lips twitch into a gradually familiar downwards smile. “Prom,” he says, gesturing at the banner, obnoxiously pink in hue and decorated with scatterings of hastily painted daisies. 

“Oh. Maybe— I’m not sure, it’s kinda ages away.” Yup. An impossibly distant period of two weeks. Clapton’s jaw ticks uncomfortably at the prospect of the narrowing window of time. He can’t afford to screw this up.

“Right. Sure. Are you… interested in anyone in particular though?” He probes, hoping that you notice the searing spark of desperation that lingers in the loop of his irises.

“Eh. Not really. Are you?”

His ego suffers a blow at your total ignorance to his pining. He’s on the brink of combustion; unable to endure the cosmic irony of having you so close yet so far. He pictures you for the umpteenth time, glittering in a dress that matched your eyes and his tie. A slow dance to a Sting song, his eager hands situated either side of your waist. You’d stare up at him with a dazzled guise, illuminated by the scintillation of indigo disco lights, and his tongue would delve into yours as he soaked up the saccharine flavor of the fruit punch lingering on your lips. 

“Yeah.” He states bluntly, staring at you as if you hung each and every star. “Yeah, I’m interested in someone.” 

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah? Who?”

He clears his throat. “Someone special. Someone super special.”

“You should ask them!” “Easier said than done,” he chuckles humorlessly. 

Your lips part as you go to investigate further, but are interrupted by the scowl of the lunch lady barking at you for your order. He notes it, mac and cheese plus a diet sprite— you’re handed it moments later, and your vision is torn from him and towards your small circle of friends seated across the cafeteria, who are waving you down. You’re gonna leave again? 

“I better go sit down, but, uh, you should definitely ask that person to prom. Be upfront and everything. Y’know, you only live once, and all that, right?” 

He swears he’s going to implode at the unbridled irony of this entire situation. Be upfront. He’s been upfront! 

“You know it,” he quips weakly as you slink away. 

He’s been showering you in signals for months, and you’d always abandon them, his attempts for your acknowledgement left festering as sour memories in his head, things that made him roll over with shame in bed at night, and all for what?

He brainlessly orders his doctor pepper with a monotone grumble, feeling the frigid prick of the can’s condensation gather in his palm as he wonders what the hell it’s gonna take for you to take a damn hint. 

*:･.・゜゜・

After yet another failed interaction, Clapton had spent the span of the rest of the week stripping his words to the marrow. Every conversation he indulged in with you involved his inner thoughts spouted in their rawest form— cocky compliments, lingering touches, looks of intense pining and yet somehow you continued to miss them. Every. Last. One. 

He was nearing his wits end, teetering on the cliff of insanity and seconds away from taking the plunge. Maybe he was the one who needed to take a hint. Maybe you were trying to tell him that you weren’t interested and he wasn’t giving it up. It was a sickening notion, one that thrashes wildly in his stomach. He didn’t know much, but he did know that he’d never be satisfied until he knew your stance on him for certain.  

He was just gonna say it. 

In hindsight, it wasn’t Clapton’s smartest move to deliver the question in the midst of a dodgeball game, but his thoughts were warped and he decided now was as good as ever. His voice was barely even audible beside you over the screech of tennis sneakers scraping the gym floor and the continuous sound of rubber balls coming into contact with student flesh. 

“Hey!” He exclaims. 

“Hey?” You say back, turning to him momentarily. Yet again, he wonders how you do it. Hair blown back effortlessly, skin glistening with a fragile sheen of moisture that is hardly off-putting, if doing something it aids to soften your otherworldly glow. Meanwhile, he was panting like an old dog, hair matted to his forehead in sodden chunks beneath his obnoxious sweatband. 

“I needa ask you something!” It’s sink or swim. His teeth graze the inside of his cheek for a moment, his gaze varying between you and the opposing court, to prevent a dodgeball to the head. 

“Yeah?” Sink or swim sink or swim sink or swim. “What’s up?” He melts at the sight of your semi-breathless smile.

“Are you still dateless? Like, to prom?”

Your forehead creases, and you return the sideways glance. “Um, yeah. Why?”

With a delayed exhale that rings heavy in the pits of his lungs, he turns his entire body to face you, which in turn makes you face him as well. 

“Look, I’ve been trying to say this for months. Well, not months. Maybe weeks. Whatever– point is, it’s been a while. Like seriously, a long fucking time. And I swear I’ve been so obvious, but clearly not obvious enough because you’re still, like, totally unaware or whatever. But, like, basically, I was wondering— I’ve been wondering if—” “Clapton!” You exclaim hurriedly, splintering his stammered sentence in an instant. He barely has time to cast his visage front on, before a dodgeball with an extremely strayed trajectory soars gracefully through the current of the air and hits Clapton square in the face. Guess he wasn’t paying enough attention after all. 

An expletive leaves his lips, muffled by the wail of your gym teacher’s whistle. His head is temporarily a warped whirlwind resembling TV static, though the feeling fades fairly quickly.

You turn to him in a mild panic, noting the faint trickle of glossy crimson that has started to spill from his nose. “Holy shit! You’re bleeding! Lemme take you to the nurse.” 

He can’t help but twist his lips up to form a slight smirk as you place a worried hand on his bicep. The touch scars on his nerves, your fingers like an angel’s caress. 

In all honesty, he feels fine, but you offered to take him to the nurse— was he going to give up that delightful invitation? No. He was not. 

The pair of you are excused from the gym, trekking down the hallway in an atmosphere of silence so thick it’s practically tangible. Upon arrival at the nurse, Clapton’s seated in a shitty plastic chair, holding a paper towel held to his nose and tipping his head slightly backward. He couldn’t believe that his one chance of actually spitting his desperate question out was interrupted by a stray dodgeball. A goddamn stray dodgeball. 

You linger in the doorframe, taut as a coiled spring. The nurse, underpaid and painfully unsympathetic, leaves the pair of you once she deems Clapton to be ‘good enough’, in her exact words. 

You approach him, taking the scarlet-spotted tissue and holding it to his face for him, a gesture which turns his insides in on themselves. 

“Hey Clapton? What were you saying before?”

Shit. 

“What?” He croaks gutturally, trying and failing to play dumb. He knew damn well what he was saying. Prom with him. 

“You were asking me something. Before you got, y’know, obliterated by a flying dodgeball.”

He snickers feebly, even if for a moment. “Oh, yeah.”

You open your eyes wider as if to say, “Well?”

The climate in the room seems to sink heavier, cradling the scent of antiseptic and drying blood. Clapton’s words fizzle out on his tongue no matter which way he arranges them in his head, but he knows he just has to get it out—- rip off the band-aid, break the ice, all of that. 

His eyes, big and wide and drinking in your face so dangerously close to his, melt into an unmistakable question. He counts himself down in his head. Now or never. 

“Prom. I was asking if you wanna go to prom.” He takes a staggered breath. “With me, I mean.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

The genuine beam you erupt in subsequent to his words is enough to ease his nerves. It’s enough to make him soar, actually. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” That wasn’t a no. That wasn’t a no. His heart hurts with hope. 

“I tried to. You’re just… you kinda suck at taking hints.” He chuckles. 

You roll your eyes, picturing every moment leading up to this one that you spent with him. Upon further reflection—- yeah. Yeah, you clearly did. People don’t look at friends the way he looked at you.

“Shit, I kinda definitely do,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t let the quiet last long.

“So…?”

“Oh. Right, yeah. Clapton, I’d love to go to prom with you.”

The smile he wears is irresistibly contagious. Finally. Finally. Two long years of craving you; two years of memorizing every quirk and curve and contour. He knows it’s sort of ridiculous to get so elated about some forgettable high school dance, but the image he can see so vividly in his head; the lights and the dress and the swarm of butterflies that comes with your killer smile… it’s worth every awkward exchange, every word that’s fallen on deaf ears.

“Seriously?” He asks, reaching for your hand and wallowing in the way you so brainlessly accept the touch.

“Seriously.”

“Good. You won’t regret it.” 

And something inside you tells you that he’s absolutely right. 

reminder, my requests are always open

masterlist

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