#I feel like this is a p good representation of me

[thesmollestsnek]

Huh. I just realized that my hair is even longer than I think it is. Which is fuckin impressive, coming from me, considering. I normally think of my hair as waist length. But uhh, I showered just now and apparently it’s actually down to my hips? Which is fuckin wild, like damn. I know I literally never get haircuts but I somehow wasn’t expecting this, normally it’s in a braid and even when it’s down it’s wavy enough that I didn’t realize. There’s not like, an actual point to this ramble, just. I happened to look in a mirror right after showering and was surprised at how long it actually is, I didn’t think my hair could actually get this long, it’s never gotten more than like an inch below my waist before. I guess the most recent addition to my hair care routine’s been having even bigger effect than j thought.

[dollfacefantasy]

Ddlg Chris, this, ddlg Leon that... They're good, but mommy Ada is what im looking forrrrrrr (I already KNOW you'll get me kennykins)

mhm i'm picking up what you're putting down hehe

ada wong x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, mommy kink, thigh riding

tags: @nexysworld @d10nyx @pupthepokemonenthusiast

"Come closer for me, babydoll," Ada purrs as she guides you across the couch into her lap.

Her plush lips meet yours in a series of soft kisses. Soft fingertips glide over your thighs to your hips. The swell of her chest pushes against yours. She's all you can smell, and it's absolutely intoxicating.

The two of you had been lounging around the house, both not wearing much to start with. Fortunate for you, only wearing panties on your lower half makes the rush of pleasure that much more intense when you roll your hips down on her leg.

She huffs out a laugh and pulls back a bit, taking in the sight of your swollen, wet lips.

"Greedy girl," she coos teasingly, coasting her thumb under your chin, "Wanting more already?"

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod.

"Yeah? You'll need to use your words for me then, baby," she says.

"I want more," you say softly, eyes timid as they connect with hers.

"I already know you want more," she taunts. Her hand sweeps back down to squeeze your waist in tandem with her other one. "You can beg for me better than that."

A whine falls from your lips, but that doesn't cut it. "P-please," you begin, "I wanna feel good."

Her smile grows, but she doesn't say anything to imply you've satisfied her command.

"I wanna be good for you. However you want. Please?" you continue.

"Please what?" she asks in response to your pathetic display.

How could you have forgotten the magic word?

"Please mommy?" you whimper.

"My smart girl," she says, her voice low and seductive.

She pulls you closer on her lap and adjust you so only one of her thighs is slotted between your legs. You get a few more kisses as she pulls you down on it.

"I think I need to teach you some self-sufficiency so I don't have to coax everything out of you," she whispers against your mouth, "I want you to make yourself cum."

Your eyes blink open. You whine softly and reach for her hand, wanting her to make you cum instead.

"Ah ah," she tuts, "Maybe later if you put on a good show for me."

The promise of her hands on you later was enough to convince you to start rolling your hips like you'd been doing before. You grind yourself down against her thigh, letting your clit drag against her.

"C'mon. You're a big girl. You can do better," she teases and leans back. Her hands remain on your hips, giving you little guidance. "I can feel how wet you are. I know you want to move faster."

So you do. As was typical in your relationship with Ada, she spoke it and you obeyed her words as if they were enchanted. Your hips rut against her, displaying an accurate representation of the passion inside her. You moan and your head tilts back as the pleasure blooms within you.

"There you go," she coos, "Such a good girl for mommy, doing what your told. I suppose this is pretty natural for you. Like a needy puppy in heat."

You gasp, feeling your face heat up. In your present condition, words weren't an option. Your mind had been reduced down to a haze of need and desire. All you can do is lean forward and bury yourself in the crook of her neck. Your hips keep rocking the whole time.

"My baby," she chuckles. Her hands slide around to your back and rub it soothingly as if trying to calm you down. You pant against her smooth skin, nuzzling it like an affectionate puppy.

"Feels so good," you whimper, practically drooling on her throat.

"I can tell," she says.

Her palms leave your back and snake between your two bodies to fondle your breasts. The sensation draws more mewls from you and makes you hump her leg faster, chasing that blissful edge that was just in reach.

"Mommy," you whine, "Can I cum soon?"

"Look at you, actually remembering to ask for permission," she praises and plants a kiss on the side of your head.

"Can I?" you whine again with desperation. You had asked in advanced because you knew she would draw this out, but the brink of ecstasy was still quickly approaching.

"Look me in the eyes when you ask," she says.

You force yourself up and look into her eyes.

"Mommy, can I please cum?" you say, making sure to include any words she could tack on to make you ask again.

"Can I?" she mocks.

"May I? Fuck," you whimper. Your hips sputter as your release is impending.

"Yes," she says with a small laugh, finally permitting you to topple over the edge.

You come apart on top of her, bucking your hips wildly as euphoria crashes over you. Your head returns to its spot against her neck. You ride out the pleasure until it dwindles down to a fizzle.

When you're done, she guides you to look up at her, rubbing her thumb across your lips.

"Such a good girl," she coos. She then smriks, briefly dipping her thumb between your lips. "I think I offered you something if you put on a good show."

Her other hand dips into your panties.

"I'd say you've earned it."

[willsimpforanyone]

Hya!!I was wondering if you could do a poly!solangelo x child of posioden!reader smut. Like a bit of a friendly/cute tease of how Nico keeps falling for posioden kids. I hope your having or had a good day! Also your work is like the meaning of a MASTERPEICE!!!!!!!! Thank you😁

thank u for being so patient and so sweet about my work! <3

all characters are over 18, they have an apartment or something together etc. also i made the reader amab!nonbinary because i don't have enough representation of enby sex with a dick

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Even I could feel the heat from Nico's gaze as I blowdried my hair, ruffling the strands between my fingers. I smirked to myself, making eye contact with Will as he brushed his teeth.

"Do you think he thinks he looks brooding?" I stage-whispered, feigning secrecy between myself and the taller of my partners. Will snorted, and immediately sputtered toothpaste over the sink.

"It went up my nose!"

I cackled, throwing my head back and turning off the hairdryer to set it down on the bathroom counter. Nico's voice growled (read: whined) from the open door of the bedroom- "That's karma for laughing at their stupid comment."

"Aw, the edgy bastard can't handle being called an edgy bastard?" I teased, coming to lean against the doorframe as Nico stayed propped up on his elbows, laid on the bed.

He stuck up a middle finger and I blew him a kiss.

"Be nice to the edgy bastard," Will cooed, coming to wrap his arms around me from behind and hooked his chin over my shoulder. His minty breath brushed cool over my cheek. "You know how he gets about Poseidon's kids."

The other middle fingers came up as Nico flopped to lie flat on his back to swear at both of us. "I am not- I don't get like anything, fuck the both of you."

"Is that on the table?" I grinned, leaning back into Will and feeling his hands drag from my waist to my hips. Nico emitted an indignant, affronted noise that mellowed out into something approximating curiosity. Interesting. "Answer me, baby, do you wanna fuck both of us? Or... do you want both of us to fuck you?"

Will's hum vibrated through my ribcage and he nosed at my cheek. "Maybe he wants to see you all powerful and shit, I think. Powerful the way that P-"

The speed at which a pillow thumped into the both of us was honestly impressive, and I shrieked a laugh as it smacked into my (and therefore Will's) face. Nico was now sat up, arms crossed and a disgusted expression on his face. "Don't even, do not bring that name into our sex life, that boy was a mistake I wish never to repeat."

"Hey," I pouted playfully, picking up the pillow and throwing it back. "That's my half-brother, y'know."

Nico threw his hands up in the air and flopped down onto the bed. "Why, why must you remind me of that, do you hate me? I won't let either of you fuck me if you remind me that I'm dating the half-sibling of the first guy I had a crush on when I was 14 when I am now 24 and a whole ass adult who would like to not talk about dumb 14 year old love."

"Hey!" Will protested, waddling with me over to the bed and dragging me down onto it with him. "I have no relation to He Who Shall Not Be A Part Of Our Sex Life."

I had to agree that he deserved the second pillow to the face that Nico served him, and I wiggled out of Will's grip to go crawl over to the son of Hades. "Won't mention it again, Neeks, promise, I'm sorry."

The pout I recieved was adorable and I was utterly powerless to resist kissing it. I was rewarded with a shy smile and hands coming to rest on my shoulders. "Thank you, baby, I appreciate that."

I nodded, kissing him once again. "Now, seriously, do you wanna fuck? 'Cause you were definitely eye-fucking me in the bathroom and I wanna know if you're up for more."

Nico hummed, nodding his head and bumping his nose with mine. "Mhm, yes, I do, I would like to be fucked because I'm warm and still kinda sleepy and frankly being between the sea and the sun sounds incredibly appealing."

The soft whine came from Will, who squirmed over to bury his face in Nico's hair. "I love you so much and you're quite romantic really and I wanna hold you while you get fucked because I don't want to, like, do that bit right now. That okay?"

"More than okay," Nico replied softly, a hand leaving my shoulder to scratch gently at Will's golden halo of hair, freshly washed and smelling of roses and honey. I hummed an agreement, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"You can hold him together while I take him apart, hm?"

I felt the shiver of Nico's body and by Will's hidden smirk, I could tell he did too. Hefting himself up, Will crawled over to the headboard, making grabby hands at his boyfriend. "Come here, you." He recieved a pout, Nico's head tilted back to look at him and exposing his pale olive-toned skin to me quite nicely. Will rolled his eyes fondly and reached out to heave Nico up into his arms. "24 year old adult my ass, demanding to be carried everywhere."

I shrugged, grinning and crawling over to curl my fingers over the waistband of Nico's worn sweatpants that are only acceptable to wear to sleep. "He can be a pillow prince if he wants- what are you gonna do, say no?"

"...no, I'm going to indulge him every time because life was mean so I won't be," Will mumbled, face smushed into Nico's hair, voice dripping with affection.

Nico shifted uncomfortably, the skin of his cheek caught in between his teeth. "You don't have you, y'know? I'm not- if you don't want to, I'm not gonna make you." He looked at me, nerves spiking with worry that he's somehow forced us into this.

"Neeks, we want to do this," I reassured him gently, pulling at the elastic of his sweatpants and murmuring the words into the soft skin of his lower stomach. "Will just wanted to hold you, and you were totally okay with that, right?" He nodded. "And I know that if I didn't want to do this, I could say so and we'd do something else, right?" Another nod, then a blink and a visible steeling of his nerves and a softening of his body.

"Yeah, of course, anything, anything you'd want," Nico whispered, fingers tangling with Will's as they both watched me ease Nico out of his sweatpants and gently pull his thighs apart.

I brushed a kiss over the inside of his thigh, laying down on my stomach. "Right now, I wanna make my boyfriend feel good while our other boyfriend looks after him, does that sound good?"

"Colour, baby?" Will murmured into his ear, reminding him of the traffic light system- green is good, yellow is slow down to a stop and talk, red is stop immediately and transition into aftercare.

"Green, green, I'm good," Nico breathed, eyes locked onto me as I pressed my lips up his thighs. I blew softly over his dick and he inhaled sharply, the same moment he twitched under my attention.

The first swipe of my tongue had his stomach muscles tensed, lip caught between his teeth. Grinning, I looked up at Will. "Lube, please, loverboy." Will rolled his eyes but blushed at the name, obediently grabbing a bottle from the bedside drawer and passing it to me.

Holding it in one hand to warm it up a little, I used the other hand to wrap firmly around Nico's dick, holding it just so I could get my lips wrapped around the tip. The twin inhalations from the boys above me were fuel to the burning heat in my abdomen.

"F-Fuck," Nico whimpered, fingers squeezing tight at Will's as I dragged my tongue around the head, coaxing him harder and harder in my hand. Slowly, I took more into my mouth, feeling the familiar weight of his cock on my tongue and sucking very lightly. The taste of precome burst on my tastebuds and I shivered in delight that my tough, edgy, extraordinarily powerful boyfriend was so easy to please.

Will's lips were pressed to Nico's ear, voice soft and lilting. "Aren't they pretty, huh? They look so good with their head between your legs, does their mouth feel good, baby?"

"M-Mhm, r-really good, so warm, shit-" Nico gasped as his cock bumped the back of my throat, hips jerking up but Will moved both pairs of their hands to hold him down.

"Behave, Neeks, let them do the work," he hummed, kissing Nico's temple. I flicked open the cap of the bottle, releasing my grip on Nico to drizzle some lukewarm lube over two of my fingers.

I pulled my mouth off him slowly, blinking up at my boys through my lashes with a cocky smirk on my face. Nico already looked wrecked, my poor love. "Ready for more?"

His nod was almost frantic, and I laughed softly. "Alright, just relax, I've got you, hm? Will's gonna keep you nice and warm and grounded, okay?"

I rubbed ever-so-gentle at his hole, getting him used to the feeling before easing the tip of my finger inside. Nico threw his head back against Will's chest, gasping.

"Shh, I know, I know," Will cooed as I pressed in further, making sure not to hurt him as his hole swallowed up my finger to the knuckle. I moaned at the sight and the feeling, hips pressing into the bed as I dragged the finger back out. "Feels good, doesn't it? They're so good with their hands, so good at getting you ready for them, shh, don't squirm, be good for us, baby."

Nico's eyes were lidded and heavy, cheeks flushed down to his chest and lips parted in shallow breaths. He looked gorgeous and I kept my eyes on his face as I slipped a second finger inside him along with the first.

He keened, back arching and toes curling. Soft, almost sleepy moans fell from his lips and I soaked them up like ambrosia. "Beautiful," I whispered, pulling and pushing my fingers into the tight, hot heat of Nico. I could feel him relaxing, acclimating to the feeling and loosening up under my touch.

"B-Baby," Nico panted, hips making aborted little rolls despite Will holding him down. "More, p-please, want more, wanna feel you."

Will chuckled lightly, nuzzling into Nico's pink cheek and looking down at me. "You heard the man," he grinned. "Give our pillow prince what he asks for."

I saluted from between Nico's thighs. "Sir, yes sir!"

Nico scrunched his nose, a playful smile tugging at his bitten lips. "Cringe, ew, stop immediately, I will not let you fuck me in some kind of military kink scene, you two can negotiate that firmly without me."

Laughing, I crawled up to be face to face with him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "You don't wanna be the lowly soldier being taken advantage of by his captain and their general?"

"No," he declined flatly, one eyebrow raised in disgust. "No, I do not want that."

"Spoilsport," I pouted, leaning over Nico's shoulder to press my lips to Will's as well. "Guess I'll just have to fuck you without the honourifics." I opened the lube again, hissing slightly as my wet hand wrapped around my sensitive skin, pleasure and desire running thick through my veins as I knelt back between Nico's legs.

Will smothered a laugh, arms moving to wrap around Nico's ribs under the t-shirt he was still wearing. His eyes met mine and he winked. "You'd look hot in the uniform, though." Nico smacked a hand over Will's mouth, then repeated the action with mine when I opened it to reply.

"Enough! No military kink in this bedroom while I am also in this bedroom, and especially not when I am waiting impatiently to be fucked by my partner!"

"I love it when you get demanding," I smirk into his palm, leaning over him with one hand settled on the bed and the other guiding my dick to rest teasingly against Nico's hole. He clenched and released, making a punched-out sound as I applied the barest amount of pressure.

"You're such a tease," Will laughed, smoothing his hands down Nico's sides. "Let the poor kid have it, come on."

"I'm 24!" Nico protested, wriggling slightly to look back at Will. "Just 'cause I'm younger than both of you- oh!"

He choked on his protestations as I finally pushed in, head breaching his tight hole. My head dropped forward, chin almost to my chest as I moaned lowly, his warmth pulling me in little by little until I bottomed out. Nico's hands scrabbled for purchase at my shoulders, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get used to the feeling.

"Just relax, deep breaths, baby," Will soothed, voice liquid and silky to my ears. "It's okay, I've got you, do you need anything?"

Nico shook his head jerkily, focusing on breathing as I stayed as still as I could, holding myself up over the two of them.

A hand pushed my hair out my face and I looked up at Will. "You too, hon- I'm literally wrapped around our Nico-" (our Nico, ours) "-but I've got you too, do you need anything from me?"

I melted inside, his striking blue eyes feeling safe and lovely and not for the first time I thanked the gods that I got to fall in love with both of them. I shook my head, a small, shy smile pulling at my lips. "I'm okay, I'm good, just waiting for Neeks to be okay."

"I'm okay," Nico parroted, hips rolling experimentally and I gasped harshly at the sudden sensation. He smirked, despite being slightly floaty. "I'm ready, are you finally gonna give me what I want?"

I laughed breathlessly, just once, before I moved my hips. I pulled out and pushed back in sharply, revelling in the yell the action dragged out of the man underneath me. I repeated the movement over and over, fingers curling harshly into the bedsheets and stomach tense as I pound into my emo pillow prince over and over.

"This good enough, huh?" I gasped out, grinning in satisfaction as Nico only nodded his head. He squirmed and twitched against Will's chest, hands grasping at my body wherever he could reach.

Will gently spread Nico's legs further, hooked Nico's knees over his own and suddenly Nico yelped, cock jumping against his stomach where it had been smearing precome over his skin. I grinned, aiming for that one particular spot again and again, reducing my boyfriend to a moaning mess of pleasure as he melted into the arms of our other boyfriend.

"There it is," Will cooed, teething over Nico's ear. "That's where it feels so good, doesn't it? Our baby, they're so good at this, found your prostate so easily, they know your body so well."

Both Nico and I flushed at the dirty talk, the sinful words of the child of Apollo who became an utter menace the moment he found out how his voice affected us. He kept going, muttering filthy things into Nico's ear just loud enough that I could hear him over the pounding of my heart in my ears.

"B-Babe, W-Will-!" Nico groaned, shaky hands clutching at the back of my neck. "Can you- please touch me, wanna come, 'm so close, baby, please?"

I snapped my eyes to Will, knowing that Nico might be too out of it to remember that Will didn't want to be too involved. "You don't ha-have to, sunshine, I've got him i-if you don't want to."

Will shook his head, smiling softly at me and dragged his hand teasingly down Nico's torso to palm at his neglected cock, flushed and weeping. "I've got him, I want to, we can make him come together, right?"

I nodded, breathless and beginning to chase after my own peak after focusing on Nico for so long. Will's long fingers wrapped around Nico's cock and I cried out as Nico's hole tensed around me at the touch, dropping my head onto his shoulder.

"Fuck, fuck, need- need Nico to come first," I pleaded, ever the polite gentlefolk even as I was falling headfirst (dick first?) into pleasure.

Will's hand jerked and tugged almost ruthlessly at Nico, sending him spiralling into an orgasm. He thrashed between us, a soft scream ripping from his throat as he came all over himself, white streaks staining his pink, blushing skin. I pulled out of him quickly, giving a throaty, choked moan as I released over Nico's stomach, hips twitching against nothing as I bit my lip hard.

Nico's eyes were closed, lips parted as he panted, but he waved his hand about until he found my head, dragging me down into a fierce kiss. We kissed until we were dizzy, tongues tasting like each other and bodies settling down from the highs.

"Love you," Nico mumbled, words pressed against my lips and I thrilled at the admission, just like I did every time.

"Love you too," I whispered back, nose bumping into his cutely.

"What am I, furniture?" Will joked, earning tired laughs from both me and Nico.

"Very comfy chair," Nico hummed, tilting his head back to press clumsy kisses into Will's jaw. "Favourite chair."

"Love you too," I whispered again, this time leaving a kiss on Will's forehead and he blushed at the simple affection, rolling his eyes and kissing my cheek back.

He sighed quietly, looking down at the mess we made of Nico. "You know you're for sure gonna need another shower, right?"

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this truly got away from me, and i blame the fact that i've been reading so much quality smut fanfic. hope you enjoyed!

[baphometsss]

We need to talk about spirit hand!Inquisitor

I've been trying to put this into words for a while but it's really tricky to explain. I'm gonna try anyway bc I feel like it's an important discussion to have

First though, a disclaimer: I'm not physically disabled. Everything I'm about to say is based on me trying to relate through my own experiences of mental illness, the experiences of a disabled family member who uses a prosthetic leg, and research into how to write disabled characters properly in my own personal projects (thanks to cripplecharacters blog for helping me understand it better!) So, you know, you can take it or leave it--and please feel free to add your own experiences! This isn't a call out post or anything, I'm just trying to put my thoughts into words and start a conversation in good faith

The problem with fanworks where the inquisitor's wooden prosthetic is replaced by a magic/spirit hand is that it falls into a really tiresome trope where the character has the limb replaced with a magical prosthetic that essentially nixes the disability entirely. It's called the Cool Robot Arm or Perfect Prosthetic trope and it plays into disability erasure in a big way. This is pretty frustrating when you know having a limb amputated is a big deal that comes with a lot of pain and long-term effects, even if the amputation procedure itself was free of complications. Prosthetics are also basically a whole thing of their own, but suffice to say they also come with their risks and problems as well.

The thing with representation is that it needs to reflect real life experiences if its going to approach anything good or meaningful. Video games like Dragon Age often attempt to do this, but they also often miss the mark. I know a lot of disabled (and able-bodied) people want to see better representation of disability in media, but when that fails, we have the opportunity to do better in our fanworks. It feels like a lot DAI/DATV fanworks jump into the magical prosthetic trope far too easily and without very much thought for how it negatively impacts that representation. The Inquisitor becomes disabled through losing their left hand, and that would be a complicated journey for them. This is not a part of their character that can be written away without losing a huge part of their story--regardless of how we role-play them.

For me personally, I try to balance it out by being realistic about both the prosthetic, the spirit hand, and the remaining limb. For example, prosthetics rub and cause blisters and other skin conditions. They can be bulky and heavy and cause musculoskeletal problems. Residual limb pain is thing and can be chronic and debilitating. Learning to use a prosthetic usually requires physical therapy, and some people just prefer not to use prosthetics at all, or only some of the time or for specific tasks. Much of the discourse around prosthetics is focused on making them indistinguishable from a natural limb, when practicality and comfort should really be the focus and not this ableist idea that differently limbed people should want a prosthetic that looks identical to the one that was lost. There are so many potential stories that can be written about this experience, yet we almost never see any of them. My mage Inquisitor has a spirit hand, but she doesn't use it much because it's difficult to maintain both that and use offensive magic in battle, and she doesn't have the mental energy to use it 100% of the time. It's also not that easy to use, even when she does have the energy. She only really uses it occasionally anyway (usually to make random shapes with it to amuse other people) and prefers her prosthetic.

To put it another way--consider how deaf/HoH people who get cochlear implants often continue to use sign language afterwards anyway, even if the procedure was successful. This is because a. it's their first language, which means verbal language is a new language to them and b. gaining hearing after a long period without it can be extremely difficult to adjust to. It can be overwhelming and even painful. The point is that just because aids and treatments exist, it doesn't mean that they're a one size fits all and each individual person will have their own journey in figuring it out. That's one of the things we should be writing about, rather than just nixing it away with a magic limb because it's the easier route and it doesn't require us to consider writing outside of our own experiences. And don't get me wrong, I get that it's scary. You don't wanna upset people with your writing or make them feel even more alienated. But you have to start somewhere and be willing to listen to criticism if you're going to get better.

Furthermore: ableism for sure exists in Thedas. Can you imagine how that would affect the Inquisitor? How they'd adjust from being revered as the Herald of Andraste with a divine mark on their hand to being almost killed by it? How their political enemies would use their disability against them? How they would be affected emotionally by having to deal with that ableism potentially for the first time? Would they find community among other veterans who have become disabled through conflict? Or would they isolate themselves and carry the burden alone? Would they experience mental health issues because of it? These are all examples of how ableism affects real people. Of course, none of this is negated by the spirit hand, but it's something I've seen very little attention given in fanworks.

For me personally, I also try to think of this through my own experiences of mental illness. I have chronic depression/Dysthymia, which is not exactly the same as clinical depression. It follows similar patterns to other mood disorders like Bipolar Disorder in that it's cyclical; my baseline is being moderately depressed, and then every 2 or 3 months I will go into 'double depression' which is where I experience an intensification of symptoms that mimic going into an initial depressed state, while aggravating the symptoms I already have. It's hard to explain it, but suffice to say, it requires me to take medication to control it. I don't like it, but it's the way my brain is wired up and I've been told by multiple professionals that I will always have to take medication for it (antidepressants and antipsychotics, although I don't take the antipsychotics atm). This medication causes a variety of annoying side effects that I have to accept as a trade off so I don't regress too far.

This is just one of the mental health conditions I have to contend with, but it's one that probably effects my life the most. I know it's not comparable to amputation or other physical disabilities and I'm not trying to say it is. But I use it to understand writing for disabled characters by, in conjunction with my research, empathising, by thinking of how much it would bother me if someone wrote about my life and did everything they could to ignore this very prominent part of who I am. I would have to ask why they were so keen to ignore it. Dysthymia doesn't define me, it's not something I'm 'proud' of per se, but it does affect a big part of my life; I've struggled with it every day since I was 10 or 11--so of course it's shaped who I am. I use it to imagine how frustrating it would be if someone tried to cover up or negate this part of me and then dressed it up with something like... idk. Magical anti-depression goggles or something, or worse still decided to make my story all about the goggles. It would make me feel like I wasn't a person with experiences worth writing about, that I would be fine if it weren't for this illness I undeniably have and can't help having. That my illness is akin to a personality flaw--an ableist assumption that Dysthymia sufferers in particular have to deal with, because it's a depression that does not go away and people think it's just our personality rather than an illness.

I personally found these posts x x x really helpful in figuring out how to write my inquisitor. Tbh cripplecharacters is invaluable anyway, especially their 'magic aids' tag for writing Inky. I really strongly recommend that you read them before writing about your inquisitor's prosthetic and their perspective on losing their arm. Listening to actual disabled people when writing disabled characters is the most important part of the process and it'll only make your work better. You really have nothing to lose by doing it.

Like I said, I'm not trying to call anyone out. I have most likely missed the mark just in writing this post, because it's not my personal experience. I do think the spirit hand is a cool concept. It's just not a quick fix and writing about it needs to be done more consciously than I think most people do.

[freelancearsonist]

Some Fools Fool Themselves

➔ Javier Peña x fem!Reader - 2.7k

➔ You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

➔ Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨ [please let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

The bright, glaring yellow waves of sunlight reflect off the surface of lapping pool water and cast it in a nearly green light. Javi’s dark eyes are transfixed on it through his polarized sunglasses as he marinates in the beating hot Colombian summer sun.

Javier has never questioned his dutiful determination before. He’s never wondered if the ends actually do justify the means. He’s been in the palm of Uncle Sam’s hand for so long that the lines have become blurry—that the consideration of moral superiority doesn’t cross his mind anymore. Not that it ever really has; that’s why he’s so well-suited for the job he’s in. He follows his orders, no matter the cost.

And that’s why you pose such an issue to him. You make him question everything. Every move he’s made, every goal he’s been so set on accomplishing for so many years. If he sends this shiny-sinister iceberg of a drug hierarchy tumbling down the way he’s always believed it should, you’ll be buried in the debris. And maybe, at first, that knowledge didn’t bother him. Maybe he even believed that you deserved that—to be crushed by the weight of your own empire.

If he did, he certainly doesn’t anymore—and it’s killing him.

He’s never been so shaken and unsure. Maybe that’s why the water has caught his eyes—it’s a visual representation of how he feels. Rippling and indecisive, desperate to cling to you yet eager to let you go just like the droplets that part from your form as you lift yourself onto the concrete lip of the pool.

You stride toward him with slow movements, and the dilemma vanishes completely from his mind.

”You look stressed,” you murmur as you kneel beside the lounger he’s sprawled himself out on and take his hand. “What’s wrong?”

”Just tired,” he hums in response. He runs the rough pad of his thumb over the back of your hand in an unconscious effort to sooth your worry over him. “Long night at work.”

You don’t know what he actually does—as far as you’re concerned, he’s just a lowly janitor at the embassy. You can imagine that such menial labor is thoroughly exhausting, though, and you’re determined to help ease his sore muscles.

”Flip over,” you instruct—and like a good agent, he follows orders.

For fingers that he’s noted time and time again are so much daintier than his own, they work wonders on his sore muscles. They work with skill and intuition, magnetically drawn to the worst knots in his back. The pressure is perfect, and it has him practically drooling.

When those skilled fingers of yours hook into the waistband of his swim trunks and start tugging them down, he doesn’t even think of resisting.

You’ve learned to do something that no one and nothing else has managed to accomplish in all his lifetime—you quiet his swirling mind. There’s nothing beyond the bubble of you and him. Nothing to worry about, nothing to accomplish. No ulterior motives to his presence here, shirtless and lounging like he owns the place. Like this isn’t your husband’s house that he’s supposed to be searching for intel. 

You coax him to roll over again onto his back. He can’t miss the heat of your gaze—the way your eyes shamelessly skirt down the broad expanse of his torso to take in the softly swelling length of his cock. He knows you relish in these moments—when all you have to do is look at him to get him going. You’re proud of yourself for it, for the effect you have on him.

It’s easy to forget, when you have him completely at your mercy like this, that you’re just as weak for him as he is for you.

”Missed you,” you mumble into his lips as you straddle his lap. 

He takes your hips in his steady grip—guides the pace as you rock against him. “It’s only been a couple days.”

”I know,” you whisper. You grind down harder than he means to allow you, drawing a deep groan from his diaphragm. “Still missed you.”

And then, because he finds it nearly impossible to lie to you: “I missed you too.”

He licks eagerly into your mouth before you can say anything, and you accept his tongue without complaint. Your fingers now move to his face, practically clawing in desperation to pull him closer and deepen the already heated kiss.

It’s been nearly a year of him hanging around here, playing his role in the act of your affair. He has you figured out to the most minute details—he knows all your wants, all your needs. He knows the exact sounds that he can draw from you when he sucks over the pulse point on your neck: a squeal as you begrudgingly push him away and mumble something about not leaving marks. He smirks and moves on to the next spot, knowing that you can’t resist for long. Knowing that you don’t even want to in the first place.

He knows that you’re eager for him in the same way he is for you—to please, to take care of. He sees it in action when you reach down and wrap your fingers around his length; when you let out a little breath at the way your fingers can’t quite fit all the way around his girth. You act surprised every time, no matter how many times he finds you in his lap like this. And he loves it—loves the way you practically soak through your little bikini bottoms at just the feel of him in your hand. 

“That’s it, bebita,” he murmurs close to your ear. “Fuck, that feels good.”

You hum your appreciation at his words, a silent thank you in the twist of your wrist and the tightening of your grip. It makes his hips jump, cock throbbing under your touch as he tries to fight your slow pace in favor of more intense stimulation. But you aren’t having it—you pin his thighs down with your weight so you can languish in torturing him.

He actually growls as your pace slows—a deep, rumbling, animalistic sound that goes straight to your panties. His restraint is slipping second by second the longer you tease him. He’s throbbing, aching in your grip; he would be embarrassed over how quickly you’ve reduced him to such a primal state if he had any blood left in his brain.

”Dámelo.” There’s nothing pleading or polite about his tone. This is a command, an instruction; an order you don’t dare disobey.

You pull away quickly, but you’re back before he can even process your absence. You’ve shifted to the end of the lounger, face deliciously close to where he’s aching to feel you.

”Relax, Javi,” you hum pleasantly. “Déjame cuidar de ti.”

”Then don’t be a fucking tease.” There’s an evident smirk in his tone, and it makes you smile as you slowly trail your tongue along his length, from the seam of his balls up to swirl around the thick, leaking tip of him.

He grunts as your lips seal around him, one thick-fingered hand coming down to gently urge you deeper. He’s not shy of being greedy with you; he knows how much you love the authoritarianism of his dominance. To let go of your mind and let him take the reigns. As much as you love to play at a power struggle, this is what you want in the end. To be controlled, to be guided. To take exactly what he gives you, exactly the way he gives it to you.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he groans with a buck of his hips that pushes him against the back of your throat. “Take it all.”

And always eager to please, you try your best to do exactly that. You open your throat as much as possible to accommodate his girth and do your best to tamp down the gag reflex that he’s bullying awake. Your nails dig into the meat of his hips as you let him guide you deeper, further—he’ll admire the little crescent moon marks later, alone in his government-issue apartment.

His unoccupied hand slips down the back of your neck and tugs at the string of your bikini top. He doesn’t get quite the view he wants with you choking on his cock, but reaching down to gently pinch and tug at your nipples is enough for him—especially with the little moans and vibrations you let out around his cock.

He tugs your hair a little harshly to pull you off of him when the pleasure compounds. You whine at the loss of his taste, and he groans at the shiny spit that links your swollen lips to his cock.

His breathless moan goes straight to your neglected cunt and makes you squirm with arousal. “Shit, sweetheart. Christ, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You shake your head and muster every ounce of seduction your lust-addled brain can generate as you trail open-mouthed kisses over his clenched thighs. “I’m real, Javi. And I really want you.”

Normally, he would want to get his hands on you. He would want to press his fingers deep into your cunt and languish in the embarrassing squelch of your arousal as he works you open for him. He would want to pull orgasm after orgasm from you until the pleasure is so blinding that you can do nothing but slump into his arms and take it. But you’re impatient today; it’s been more than a week since you last saw him, and that means it’s been more than a week since you felt anything remotely pleasurable. Your husband didn’t marry you for love, or even lust—he married you for convenience, for security. For cover to keep up appearances. 

Maybe Javi’s been taking advantage of that all this time—how deeply you crave the connection that you’re constantly deprived of. Maybe he should call this off now, before he takes anymore than he already has from you.

But he’s not selfless. He has his flaws, and his biggest one is that he’s irreversibly fallen in love with you. He craves that connection just as deeply as you do.

Your desperation bleeds into his veins and makes him dizzy with arousal. He nods as his throat bobs around a deep gulp. “Alright. Dealer’s choice.”

You only have to consider for a moment before you flip in his lap, bracing yourself forward on your arms in between his legs with your ass pressed snuggly against his cock. You grind lightly against him, and it’s almost enough to make him lose his head.

But just as quickly as his sensible thought leaves, it’s right back where it belongs. He grabs your hips harder than he should to drag you against his solid length and relishes in the deep moan you emit.

”Take what you need, baby,” is all the encouragement you need from him. You take him into your hand again and rise up onto your knees so you can tease his spit-soaked tip against your entrance. You look over your shoulder so you can see his reaction as you trace him around your slit; you relish in the hard set of his jaw, the clenched teeth that you can see through his parted lips as he fights the urge to slam you down hard onto him. He’d only be feeding into the bit—he knows your sole mission is to make him lose his composure. 

But it’s so hard not to when you’re looking at him like this—like he holds your very soul in the palm of his hand. The trust, the admiration, in your gaze is nearly enough to make him choke.

Thankfully, you choose this exact moment to sink down the length of him.

The sheer size of him is overwhelming on a normal day, and even more so today when you’ve not had your usual preparation. He bullies his way deep enough to fill your chest, stretching you to your very limit and maybe even past it.

But he’s prepared for it, for how staggering he can feel at first thrust. He grounds you to him with heavy hands on your hips and fits you snug against him. He whispers up at you, little encouragements and sweet nothings. His praise rings sweet and clear as he tells you how good you feel, how warm, how tight, how wet. He basks in the feeling of you soaking him all the way to the very base—in the feeling of your sweet juices dripping down him to soak the coarse patch of hair above his cock.

You pause when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, moaning in tandem with Javi at the way he twitches within your snug walls. It’s like the first time every single time you take him—you wonder if that’s what keeps him coming back for more. You’ve never heard him say he loves you, but you could believe it when you’re like this; when he starts rocking up into you with the sole intention of finding that one little spot that’ll have you shaking and sobbing in his arms.

”You’ve got this, baby,” he grunts in reassurance. “You’re takin’ it so well, honey. Tan perfecto.”

The praise runs up your spine from where you’re connected with him and lodges itself in your brain—it plays on repeat while you start bouncing your hips in an effort to match his pace. It draws a deep, heady grunt from him and pulls him into action. One hand grabs a harsh handful of your ass while you spear yourself on his length, and the other hand slides up the curve of your waist to find a nipple to roll between his expert fingers.

It baffles you, his ability to multitask. When you’re like this—filled to the very brim—all you can focus on is the delicious friction of his cock dragging against every sweet spot inside you. But Javi has a precious ability to attend to as many erogenous zones as he can all at once—something you admire more than you can put into words. His ability to rip you apart is completely unrivaled.

There’s a desperate fury to his touch as his hand slides over your hip from your ass, wrapping around you to circle your clit. It’s harsh and fast—the exact pressure that makes you tremble and scream.

And you do; you come with a cry of his name, cunt clenching around him in a vice grip that almost makes it impossible to keep up the pace. But he tries anyway—anchors your hips in his large hands so he can thrust up into you through your high.

The lounger creaks dangerously beneath you, but the sound is lost to your ears when you’re so thoroughly blinded by your pleasure.

Within a few moments Javi follows you, growling deep in his diaphragm as he spills himself hot and thick into your soaked pussy. 

You don’t think it’s ever been this messy before. All you can focus on is the hot, sticky mess slipping down your thighs. Javi can tell that it’s uncomfortable for you, so he reaches down and grabs your discarded bikini top to wipe away as much as he can. You’ve got plenty of others—and even if you don’t, your husband will buy you a new one without question.

He discards it back on the burning concrete once he’s satisfied with his clean up job, then leans back on the lounger and grabs a cigarette from the open pack on the table next to him.

He tries not to smile too much when you stay in place and snuggle into his chest. He really wasn’t a cuddler before you—but now, all he wants is to feel your warmth and weight against him.

It’s not nearly long enough before you look up at him with your pretty eyes and say, ”He’ll be home soon.”

”I’d better beat it then.” He flicks the ash off of his cigarette and pushes himself slowly to his feet—finds his swim trunks discarded on the ground at the foot of the lounger.

”Hey?” He pauses, brow furrowing at how small and timid your voice sounds in just that one word. He’s never heard that quality to your tone before, and it worries him.

”Yeah?”

”Just… please come back sooner,” you mutter. “I missed you.”

Javier Peña is a weak, weak man within these walls. He smiles the softest smile he can muster and pulls you into his arms to press a gentle kiss to your hairline. For a moment, he forgets that you’re not really his. “Okay. I will, baby.”

And he means it, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

THE END

➔ Translations: bebita - baby dámelo - give it to me déjame cuidar de ti - let me take care of you tan perfecto - so perfect

➔ A/N: thank you as always to @shakespeareanwannabe for putting up with my incessant questions and beta requests 🥹 title is from “love hurts” by nazareth

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[mania-sama]

A Look into Mental Health: Jujutsu Kaisen Analysis

"Being a child is not a sin." (Nanami Kento, Jujutsu Kaisen)

With the release of Chapter 251, I've seen many horrible takes from dudebros saying that Megumi has "sold" the team. This makes me unreasonably angry because of course it does, so obviously my next plan of action is to take all of my hour-long rants about the mental health of JJK characters and put it here, where said dudebros will never see my (correct) analysis in their entire life. Oh well.

One thing Gege is really, really good at is creating believable, undeniably human, and complex characters. Every character has a different set of motivations, beliefs, ideals, and especially mental states. The constant theme of Jujutsu Kiasen has been "Strength vs Weakness". While the clearest interpretation can be seen through the physical attributes of the characters (Gojo being the strongest sorcerer of his time due to his abilities, and Miwa being one of the weakest, again, due to her abilities), it is also directly applied to the mental strength of characters. No two characters are able to withstand the same trauma and come out the exact same, just as no two real people can process the same trauma. Not only is it a result of nature, as people are genetically different and therefore process information differently, but a product of nurture - in other words, character motivation and environment.

This is where we come to the current state of the manga, Chapter 251. The fated Yuuji vs Megumi debate. I keep seeing people wildly misunderstanding these two, and why it's so important that Megumi isn't standing up to fight, why he isn't able to handle his trauma, when Yuuji can.

Gege writes phenomenal characters. And I want to express just how well done they are, making Jujutsu Kaisen actually kind of deserve its popularity, because some people only care about power scaling. I'm going to touch on Megumi last, because understanding all of the other characters' makes his visible struggle that much more impactful.

1. Geto Suguru

I want to start this mental health analysis with Geto. He is the best representation of depression I've ever seen in Shonen. It doesn't take a hundred chapters to showcase a character's downfall. It doesn't take a hundred significant events to cause a character to break down. Gege shows the best, realistic mental breakdown using only a handful of chapters, and still makes it slow and painful.

Depression can start because of a big event, but it doesn't take more for it to worsen. Untreated, depression runs a vicious course that eats a person through slowly but effectively. It isn't one screaming session, hands clutched over the head and cursing God and the world. It's everything piled onto each other. It's coming to the end of that pile and realizing that nothing will ever change.

This is Geto Suguru's story. He has a big event: the fight with Toji and the failure to save Riko. But his mental health journey was fated to decline, even without the fight and failure. The root issue of his depression came from his ability: Cursed Spirit Manipulation. As long as he kept devouring the embodiment of every vile, human emotion, the more he would lose himself to that vileness. He wasn't changing anything; he couldn't help but continue to swim in negativity because that's all he could do.

Gege wasn't making a commentary on Geto's ability. He was talking about people, as they are, and how staying in a bad situation will not always make you stronger. It can, and most likely will, make you worse. A direct comparison to the sixteen-year-old Geto would be a sixteen-year-old at school, surrounded by people who bully and pick on them with harsh words. The kid will eventually consume all of that bullying, all of that negativity, into their being, because there is simply nowhere else to go. School is mandatory; they can't just leave. They eventually feel isolated, with all that vileness piled on. Even if they have friends, those people could never understand what it's like to put up with humiliation and cruelty day after day.

It's not rational to push away a support system, but who said human beings are always rational? People make mistakes. They don't make the right decisions. Geto didn't. He saw someone offer him a chance at change, a possible light at the top of his pile and twisted it to match his overwhelming negativity. He left and swore to destroy the world that made him the way he is, just as that bullied child may turn away from school and society in whatever form that may take.

I want to touch on the physical aspects of Geto's depression, too. I noted this in a previous analysis I did on him (his character is just that amazing, what can I say?), but Gege knew that the mind can't be affected alone. Geto was drawn with deep eyebags, a nod to an inability to sleep or needing to sleep all the time. Depression makes you tired all the time. Everything becomes difficult. He sits with his back hunched, resting his weight on his knees, like sitting upright is too hard. When someone speaks to him, he blinks and takes a second too long to look over or respond, like speaking takes too much energy. To me, it even looked like he was becoming thinner. It's extremely difficult to maintain a schedule of exercise and mealtimes when your mind is fighting an active war against itself.

Again, a beautiful representation of depression. Geto means a lot to me in this aspect.

2. Gojo Satoru

In comparison to Geto, Gojo's horrible mental health is a lot subtler. Depression isn't the correct term, but you don't have to be depressed to be sad. Sadness is his stagnant state; he has moments of bliss, goals to work towards, a reason to keep going, to continue living, to continue chasing the sun over the horizon, but he does return to the same place he is always at when the lights turn off and he's painfully reminded of this one fact: he is isolated.

All of Gojo's problems start and end with isolation. From the moment he was born, everyone knew he was different. He knew he was different. Through glimpses of his childhood and honestly reading between the lines, it's obvious he never played with kids his age. People don't just develop a superiority complex with their only drive to be better than literally everyone else for no other reason than to get better. It comes from somewhere, and in Gojo's case, it's from his young childhood. It seriously messed him up; even now, he can't shake the lesson that "Strength is the only way to success and happiness".

This is what made Geto so important. Geto was somebody who could share the burden of being the strongest. Geto was someone his age who understood him in a way Shoko could not, though they both were able to see Gojo beyond his capabilities as a Jujutsu sorcerer. Gojo then had somebody to base his moral principles on. Because he couldn't connect with anybody else, he had no basis other than strength. Geto taught him why it was important for the strong to protect the weak.

Then everything went wrong. Gojo became isolated again in his strength and lost the only person who could plausibly stand with him. "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru, or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest?" Gojo was young, then, and fresh-faced into his newfound godhood. He didn't kill Geto in that moment because he wanted to deny the claim that he is nothing without his strength, that he isn't as shallow as he was raised to be.

But he knew better. He grew older, he killed his best friend, and he realized that he was nothing without his strength. He never got over Geto. In order to cope with the guilt of being unable to save him when he left, he adopted a whole kid, thinking that if he wasn't strong enough to save Geto, maybe he could save Megumi. But there it is all over again - he never broke from the cycle of strength defining his worth. Saving Megumi would define his strength, right? It would prove Geto wrong, right? He raised Megumi under the same logic (that the only way to save his sister is to be strong), only ridding the boy of the crushing isolation.

In this way, Gojo isn't mentally weak. He didn't abandon society and everyone who loved him, instead choosing to hone the trauma of his isolated childhood into a weapon and teach the next generation to be better than himself. He isn't depressed, but he isn't happy. You can't be happy if you're alone all of the time. He hoped Megumi could be someone to stand by him, but in the end, he failed to save Megumi. His strength couldn't save him, just as it couldn't save Geto.

He isn't mentally strong. He isn't weak, either. He is horribly, painfully average. He's not weak enough to be saved, but not strong enough to save others. His childhood plagues him, but not to the point where it prevents him from living. He killed Geto but was unable to bury the body. Gojo is everything he never wanted to be.

As it turns out, strength can't buy you happiness. Gojo may have understood that, but he couldn't abandon it, even to the bitter end. Just as a human struggles to shed their conditioning. Not everyone can break the cycle, but we are always trying our best to work with what we've been dealt.

3. Okkotsu Yuuta

I'm putting Yuuta in between Gojo & Geto and Itadori & Megumi because he is, in a way, a bridge between the two. Geto and Gojo have lived their lives; their stories are complete and ended in tragedy. Itadori and Megumi's are not. They are still actively struggling and fighting their physical and mental battles; their stories have yet to be completed.

Yuuta's story isn't technically completed (ignoring everything that happened in the recent chapter with him for the sake of MY mental health), he is still a success story. He is the average protagonist who started from the bottom and ended up at the top. Only he, as Gege has done time and time again, has a slightly stronger focus on mental health than most other Shonen. He is success where Gojo & Geto failed, and the success that Itadori & Megumi are narratively striving for.

At the beginning, Yuuta was depressed and suicidal. He was bullied at school and involuntarily hurting others. Instead of becoming resentful of the world, he pushed all of the vileness inward. His guilt caused him to try to take his life, presumably multiple times, but Rika stopped him before he could succeed. His life was effectively out of his hands; he felt powerless with all of the bodies stacking around him, and he couldn't atone for "his" actions.

His mental health, as it was, was in shambles. Gojo then offered him a way forward. Yuuta's mental health did not improve overnight. It was when he made friends at Jujutsu High, and developed a support system, that he was able to relieve his anxiety and realize that life is not so bad after all. That all of this pain and suffering and loss - it will pass.

The most important thing to acknowledge when it comes to Yuuta is the sheer fact that he was not alone, nor did he allow himself to be alone. Unlike Gojo, who still had Shoko and Nanami after Geto left but refused to connect with them, Yuuta allowed himself to get close to those around him. They didn't know the suffering he'd undergone for so many years. They didn't know what it was like to be him, but that was okay. He knew that they had empathy, that even though they could never experience his life, they could still be there for him now when he falls.

When given the opportunity to surrender, Yuuta stands in the face of one Geto Suguru and swears to protect his friends and fight with Rika. He's so far removed from the boy who tried to kill himself at the beginning of the manga, and that's because he let himself be changed. He did not succumb. He had friends, he knew. People that would miss him if he left, and people whom he would regret leaving.

This stays consistent with his character. He doesn't let himself become isolated in his strength or his experiences. He's much stronger than everyone else in the room, he's a special grade and he knows that, but he still treats everyone like they are equals. Like they are his friends, like they are people who could share this burden of existence with him. This is something that Gojo couldn't accomplish, which lends to the fact that Gojo had a very off-hand teaching method when it came to mentoring Yuuta. Instead of influencing him under this idea of strength conquers all, he let Yuuta develop far away from the ideals of the Japanese Jujutsu Society.

And, in the end, the fact of him being physically strong - a special-grade sorcerer from the get-go - never helped him in his mental health. In fact, it made him miserable until he learned to get a handle on Rika. His winning or losing that fight with Geto wasn't the point of his character, it was reckoning with the fact that he is okay now. That he can embrace the ugly part of him with dignity instead of guilt.

4. Itadori Yuuji

Itadori's entire character is that he has an unbreakable spirit. As the only one who can bear the soul of Sukuna, he started off like Yuuta, only on the opposite end of the mental health spectrum. When we first see him, he's happy, spending his afternoons with the Occult Club and watching movies.

... What happened?

Like Geto, everything piled on very slowly. So slow that I'm not even sure he felt the true effects of everything he experienced up until the fall of Shibuya. It starts with the death of grandfather, whose parting words "Just save as many people as you can" haunt him even now during the final fight with Sukuna. He was never given time to properly grieve his grandfather, just as he never had time to grieve the brother curses, Junpei, Nanami, Nobara, Gojo, Higurama. At the end of it all, when the fighting is over, I have to wonder what will become of the boy that realizes he's lost most of the people he loved.

The one time he did try to process it, when he realized that he couldn't control Sukuna, was when he broke down in Shibuya. Sukuna leveled an entire city. For the boy who never wanted to kill another human being for fear of devaluing life, the weight of his weakness killing thousands was crushing. Then Nanami died. Nobara died (still hanging onto that unknown status but I digress). Both are right in front of him, and powerless to prevent Mahito from disintegrating their bodies. So, obviously, Itadori broke down. The boy with the unshakeable spirit, the only person who could contain the King of Curses, has his psyche completely shattered.

He laid on the ground, and he wouldn't have gotten back up if there wasn't somebody to help him, to be there with him. Todo pulled him back together, stitched back up the broken into somebody who has allies and people to fight for. Itadori has the success that Yuuta had, only Itadori did not come out of it with better mental health.

After the breakdown, his unshakeable spirit was nothing more than the will to keep fighting. He cares little for himself, and he tries to distance himself from people to prevent them from dying from his cursed hands. He is jumping, quickly, down the same rabbit hole that Geto fell down. One big event, and they realize just how tall the pile already is, and that it will never stop growing. Unlike Geto, however, he continues to get overbearing support from those around him. Against his will. He can't push them away, for they refuse to leave his side. Yuuta, Choso, Megumi, even Higurama. They won't let him fall. This makes him better off than someone alone, in a sense. He can withstand his trauma when others may not.

Even so, even so, there is only so much support, the lack of self-isolation, can do when the traumas keep actively repeating. When he says that he will gladly die to defeat Sukuna, it is not said with the same tone that another Shonen protagonist would say it. Take Naruto for example. If he were to go into a battle to protect, say, Sasuke, he would scream, "I'll die to protect him." We understand that his willpower is stronger than his self-preservation, but we don't get the idea that he actively wants to die. He'll die if he has to. Now, Itadori says the same thing, but about saving Megumi. He says, "I'll gladly die." There is something different. His willpower is leaps and bounds stronger than his self-preservation, but that's not only it. There is an undercurrent of severe suicidal ideation prevalent in Itadori's tone. It's not that he will die to win, it's that a part of him wants for this to be his final fight. For it all to be over. To save Megumi, then atone for the sin of being too weak to save Shibuya, or being unable to stop the Culling Games, or letting Megumi get hurt when all he wanted was to keep him safe.

I'd call it more along the lines of passive suicidal ideation. He doesn't plan to kill himself, but what would it mean for him to go into dangerous situations without protection? What would it mean for him to succumb to his wounds after he wakes Megumi's soul and kills Sukuna? To not even try to seek medical attention? He's guilty. He believes everything that happened in Shibuya and after is his fault. When faced with the executioner's sword, he was ready to die for his sins, if not for the goal of ending the Games. There is a fine line between willing to die for those you love versus wanting to die for those you love.

Right now, Itadori is fighting to save one person, like his grandfather said. He is not fighting to survive. And that's what people fail to understand about Itadori when they compare him to the other members of the cast. These power-scaling dudebros don't understand that their favorite OP main character has fallen apart at the seams, that his unshakeable spirit to save people doesn't include himself.

5. Fushiguro Megumi

Here we finally come to the question: Why can Itadori take it when Megumi can't? There is a very similar quote that you probably think of whenever you hear this question asked. It's from The Outsiders: "Dally is tougher than I am. Why can I take it when Dally can't?" The answer to this question that Ponyboy gives is the same we can attribute to Megumi. "And then I knew. Johnny was the only thing Dally loved. And now Johnny was gone."

The entire reason Megumi became a Jujutsu sorcerer was to protect his sister. When he was five years old and probably too young to understand most of the words Gojo said, he accepted the offer of training to become a sorcerer in exchange for Tsumiki's happiness. Every day, he fought to protect her. He only had one goal in entering the Culling Games: to prevent Tsumiki from having to participate.

It's easy to attribute Megumi's constant attempts at summoning Mahoraga to a lack of will to live - suicidal ideation, the same that Itadori now experiences. On one hand, I do understand that he has a fundamental lack of care for his own life, but on the other, I don't think that he intends to throw it all away every single time. He just didn't know any better. Ignorance can lead to death as easily as intentionally seeking it out. That's why he changes his habit after Gojo gives him a lesson in risking death versus dying to win; Megumi still has someone to live for, after all.

Megumi's mental health was already rocky from the start. Not that it was in shambles like Yuuta, but he wasn't fully stable. Like a lot of teenagers, he's moody, somewhat reclusive, and only really likes one or two people maximum. Teenagers aren't known for their sunshine mental health anyway.

Megumi was given time to grieve Itadori after he first died. This trauma of losing him in front of his eyes stuck with him, but he was allowed a grace period of two months to grieve with Nobara. He experienced Shibuya, too, but he still had that one important person to protect. His mental health was alright at this point, all things considered. As long as his sister was alive, he would be fine.

Sukuna knew this. So Sukuna killed Tsumiki using only the Ten Shadows Teqchnique. The one person Megumi spent his whole life dedicated to, was killed by his own cursed technique, his own failure to suppress Sukuna.

In the void of his soul, Megumi was alone. Truly, utterly alone. The only person nearby was Sukuna, the murderer of his sister, the murderer of thousands upon thousands of people. He drowned in the ceremonial bath of crushed curses to hold his soul down in the depths of despair, literally drenched in all of the vileness the world has to offer. Sukuna killed Gojo using Mahoraga's adaption ability, and before that, Megumi was forced to take several of Gojo's mind-altering domain expansions.

Already, he had given up. He gave up when his sister died, but the rest ground a pointed spur into his neck. When Itadori shakes his soul, Megumi is repeating, "That's enough." He was at the end of his rope a long time ago. What more is there to keep living for? He doesn't want to live with the blood of his sister, the blood of the man who practically raised him, and the blood of countless others drenching his hands.

Sukuna killed all of these people, not Megumi. But then, Sukuna killed of those people in Shibuya, not Itadori. Why can Itadori take it? Why can he keep fighting when Megumi lays broken on the ground? Itadori wasn't alone. And Megumi has never been known for his unshakeable spirit. That is the one thing that Itadori can hold over everybody else, the one trait that everyone admires. He was born to shoulder the burden of the world. Megumi wasn't. Megumi wants to die. He is not passively suicidal, for he has no goals left to complete, a plan to die within the body no longer inhabited alone. He is suicidal. He would drive a stake through his heart if it meant relieving his pain. He doesn't want to do it anymore. He's had enough.

And Itadori was in this position once, too? Perhaps not as directly, but he was there. Here is the moment that the protagonist gives the motivating speech to will someone to keep fighting, that life is worth living. I realized today that this is not something Itadori has done yet. He hasn't had a grand speech that's not been about his own willpower. He's never encouraged someone else to keep living in the way that you would expect from the main character. This is his moment, I suppose. He needs to be the person for Megumi that Todo was for him. He has to show Megumi that he isn't alone.

He needs to save Megumi when, all those years ago, Gojo couldn't save Geto.

I don't think some of this fanbase understands how horrible Gege has to be at writing if he just. Let Megumi get up to fight in Chapter 251. All this time, he has shown how Megumi has been defeated. He showed him crumbled on the ground, unmoving. It shouldn't be a surprise that all of the measures Sukuna took to ensnare Megumi's soul worked. Megumi is suicidal after the people he loves have all died because of his technique. God forbid a sixteen-year-old is unable to cope with his trauma alone.

Honorable Mentions:

There are a lot more characters in this story that represent/show mental illness that I didn't go into depth on but are worth mentioning. It was easier to only talk about the major characters since we spend so much time with them and I can fully flesh out everything that should/can be said about them. Anyway, here are a few more that are notably well-written in their mental struggles:

Yoshino Junpei. His story arc follows very similarly to Geto, except he is the bullied student I was making a reference to. Depressed, alone with a mother whose habits he can't stand, he turned to someone he thought could provide him a better life. Interestingly, he is a good representation of the type of children that tend to be groomed. That's surely what happened to him. Mahito used him, then discarded him for his own gains.

Ieiri Shoko. Her main struggle can be seen through her smoking habits. She's been through a lot, lost so many people, and has to keep healing sorcerers only for them to die. Eventually, she was able to come to terms with this. She kicked her smoking habit at the same time she kicked the vicious mental cycle of caring too much about the patient on her table. It's no wonder she picked up a cigarette, for the first time in a while, when Geto led the phantom parade.

Zenin Maki. She works as a very good contrast to Megumi. They both lost their sisters, the people they loved the most, but she turned all of her grief to killing the Zenin clan and gaining Heavenly Restriction. But this, this is because she could do so. There is simply nothing Megumi can do as a soul trapped in his own body. Her grief made her stronger, while for most, it made them weaker.

Inumaki Toge. He isn't seen a lot, but his story is ultimately quite compelling. A boy who hurt many when he was young. He turned his guilt into kindness, a will to protect. He tends a garden to raise plants healthily, for God's sake. He's one of the examples that shows Yuuta that your past actions don't define you, but instead, what you choose to do going forward.

I am not proofreading any of this before I post it. Sorry if it is borderline unreadable with spelling / grammatical errors.

[poppy-in-the-woods]

Braids

(Ok, let's see if I remember how to do this fanfic thing.)

Plot: Inspired by this post and the comments. Noah and reader have a little tradition after sex. Nick and the others find out, but teasing Noah backfires on them.

Pairing: Noah x Reader

Word count: 1571

Tags: fluff, smut, oral (both female and male receiving), profanity, p in v.

It started almost as a joke. One day, after sex, Noah’s mane was so messy you asked if he wanted you to brush it. Surprisingly, he said yes, so you grabbed your paddle brush and untangled his dark locks. Next time, you bought a brush specifically for him and had it ready on your nightstand. He sat still and let you run the brush through his hair, occasionally letting out soft moans.

“This is so relaxing,” he said.

It was for you, too, so you did it every time after you had sex from then on. The first time you braided his hair, you were joking about giving him a gold star for every orgasm he had given you (and it had been a busy night). You didn’t have gold star stickers, but you wanted to give him a little extra something. While brushing his hair, your eyes wandered over your vanity, landing on the little plastic box of hair ties you had bought the day before. You sectioned the pertinent hair and braided four little braids on the side of his head.

“Now you got your medals,” you said, half joking.

But he didn’t take it as a joke, not at all. He demanded his recognition every time you had sex from then on (he also liked the feeling of your nimble fingers working his hair, but he wouldn’t tell you that).

Then he went on tour and you missed him. A lot. It was usually hard to sleep without him next to you on the bed, when he was on tour it was extra hard. Fortunately, you were going to be able to join them for the stop closest to your home. You talked on the phone the previous day, before the show, all excited to finally be able to sleep in the same bed again and smother each other in affection.

“I can't wait to be with you again, hug you and kiss you,” you said.

“Yeah, me too,” he responded. “I dreamed of you yesterday,” he told you.

“Yeah? Was it a nice dream?” you wanted to know.

“It was. We had sex all day, and you gave me a lot of braids,” he laughed.

“Well, maybe we can make it come true,” you replied, playfully.

“I can’t wait. See you tomorrow, babe.”

Little did you two know that Folio was listening (he didn’t mean to snoop, it just happened!), and he ran to the others.

“Guys, I have finally solved the mystery!” he announced.

“What mystery?” Jolly asked absentmindedly, focused on his guitar.

“Noah’s braids!”

“I thought they were just braids,” Nick chimed in. “You know, that he was experimenting with new hairstyles and such.”

“They’re not just braids!” Folio announced. “Y/N gives them to him after sex.”

“How does that make them ‘not just braids’?” Jolly asked.

“Knowing Noah, they’re fucking medals” Nick.

Jolly chuckled at the pun, but he agreed. The number of braids never followed a pattern, at least not one he could see. The braids being visual representations of how much he had been ‘loving’ his girlfriend were as good an explanation as any.

The boys got their confirmation the day after the concert. You had been to the show the night before, hanging out and partying with them after, so they all slept in; not you and Noah, though. He woke you up at eight with a bountiful breakfast and after a while of cuddling and relaxing together, watching TV, he began kissing your neck and slipping his hands in your underwear, and you felt him getting hard against your ass.

“Shall we go back to the bed?” you asked.

“Nah. Let me finger you first,” he said.

“But you’re so hard,” you protested while he ran his fingers through your wet folds.

“And you’re so wet, and I barely touched you,” he chuckled. “Let me please you in all the other ways I can before getting inside you,” he whispered into your ear.

You nodded as his fingers penetrated you, moving deliciously in and out, curling and massaging your G-spot, eliciting a moan from you.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear how much you like it,” he said, voice low with desire.

He finger-fucked you, rubbing your clit with his free hand, until you came undone. You were still recovering from that when he slipped out from behind you and knelt on the floor before you. Maintaining eye contact, he hooked his fingers on the elastic of your pajama shorts and yanked them along with your panties. You hissed as the cold air hit your core, still sensitive from his ministrations.

“Babe, are you sure you want to…?” you began, but before you could finish the question, he was already between your legs, lazily lapping at your arousal. “OhGodNoah!” you gasped.

He laughed but kept on eating you out, his licks soon getting very purposeful and not lazy at all. He was a man on a mission (making you come again), and he fully intended to accomplish it. You allowed yourself to be more vocal this time; not that you didn’t enjoy it when he finger-fucked you, but Noah was a pro with his lips and tongue, and he loved to make you come. Soon your second orgasm was going through you like a tidal wave, so intense that you saw white for a moment, toes curling, eyelids fluttering. You moaned his name, a hand gripping at his hair, the other digging into the couch. He smiled at you, still licking at your clit, riding you through your orgasm.

When he got up, the mere vision of him (the lower half of his face still glistening with your juices, his hard cock straining against his sweatpants, tattoos in full display) was enough to turn you into a feral creature. You lowered his sweatpants in a swift motion, freeing his erection. You curled your hand around his shaft, pumping him slowly. Maintaining eye contact, you licked a stripe over the sensitive head, tasting the pre-cum leaking. He moaned.

“Babe, as much as I love when you blow me, I need to be inside you,” he said, reluctantly pushing you away.

You guys went back to the bed. Noah grabbed a condom from the box on his nightstand, opening it up and rolling it over his length. He wasted no time, fucking you fast and hard against the mattress.

“Fuck! Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Did I hurt you?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“Did I tell you to stop while we were at it?” you asked.

“No”

“Then don’t be an idiot, I’m fine,” you assured him.

You cuddled. Then fucked again. Then cuddled some more. Then you rode him like a cowboy going into the sunset. Then you took a shower together and had lunch. By the time you joined the boys in the spa of the hotel, Noah had almost half of his hair in braids, and you were not walking straight. Folio elbowed Nick, attracting his attention over Noah and you, and Nick tapped Jolly’s shoulder. They looked at each other, knowingly, but said nothing.

“The poor thing must be so raw,” Jolly whispered to the other two, watching you two at the hot part of the pool. Folio and Nick stifled a laugh.

You were sad to part ways with Noah the next day but, to be honest, your vagina needed some days off after what you did.

“See you in a couple of weeks,” you said, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek and then his lips.

“I already miss you,” he sighed, resting his forehead against yours.

You hugged him one last time before he got on the bus.

“I’mma put my coochie on ice as soon as I get home,” you jokingly texted him after you waved the bus goodbye.

“Should’ve eaten you out more,” he replied.

“Maybe. But I was there, and I enthusiastically participated. Don’t be sorry for what we both enjoyed.”

You saw him again for the second last show at the end of the tour, going straight to the hotel room after the concert. He made sweet love to you that night, very intimate and passionate. You loudly moaned his name as you came, back arching off the bed, inner muscles contracting around him, dragging him over the edge with you.

“I love you,” he said with a soft voice and hooded eyes.

“I love you too,” you replied, caressing his cheek.

He almost fell asleep while you were brushing and braiding his hair. He also let you be the big spoon, which didn’t happen often.

The next day, when he arrived at the sound check, the boys were surprised to see him with only one braid.

“Slow night yesterday?” asked Jolly.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Noah asked, confused.

“Looks like you were too tired after the concert for round two,” replied Jolly, pointing at his hair.

Noah blushed violently.

“You guys know about that?” he asked, mortified.

“You and Y/N are not very subtle, to be honest,” said Nick.

“It’s surprising, though, you always have at least two braids,” Jolly reflected.

“What can I say, that’s just how she likes it,” Noah said, shrugging while smiling, very full of himself.

“Dude, next time he meets Y/N to ‘hang out’ and he returns with braids, he won’t be able to fit his ego through the door,” Nick joked.

[goodgirlofglory]

Hiya doll! 👋 Finals month is still in motion, so I’ve been pretty quiet on the asks. But today I was feeling some sort of way, and I wanted to know if you’re open to this request.

“Bucky with a reader who is insecure about her body”

Basically, I see a lot of representation for plus size girlies on tumblr ( and this is no hate to anyone) but I wish there was also more representation for midsize girlies. Also for girls who are on the taller side, I’m talking 5”7 and up. I’m 5”7 myself, and wearing any shoe that gives me extra inches makes me feel like I tower over my friends or others.

Another thing is, if you do write for this ask, I was thinking that even though reader does have a low self-esteem, she puts on a front and seems like she has a majorrrrrr ego or god complex. So maybe, Bucky see through that, gets her down from there, and fucks her in front of a mirror 🫣🥵

And I oop-

Anyways, regardless to everything, have a fantastic day/night and rest of your week! I appreciate you 💜💜💜

Bestie!!!!🦋

I hope your finals went well!🫶🫶🫶

I am soooo sorry this took so long! It needed to sit with me for a while before I felt I could do it justice, and then life happened in the meantime ya'know.

Anyways I so dearly hope you like this🙏🙏 I resonated a lot with your prompt as a midsize girlie myself and channeled some of my own experience into it (though I have sadly never been fucked in front of a mirror by Bucky Barnes)💖

Anyway, hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are, you are a true gem 🫶✨️🫶✨️🫶

(Also can’t wait to hear what you think of this so lmk😘)

Just perfect / One-shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x secretlyinsecure!taller!midsize!reader

Word count: 7,8k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, explicit language, SMUT, bathroom sex, fucking in front of a mirror, dom!Bucky, unprotected p in v (be safe my sweet darlings), a split second of oral (f receiving), reader is insecure and has some harmful thoughts about her own body.

Summary: A rather dreadful Christmas party at S.H.I.E.L.D takes a turn for the better (and frankly therapeutical) when Bucky Barnes shows you that your self-deprecating thoughts about your body might not be as objective as you thought.

“Mid,” you muttered to yourself as you looked over your outfit one more time in the mirror, fighting down the nagging notion of not feeling entirely satisfied with the reflection. The little, black dress fit you perfectly, hugging your upper body like a second skin before flaring out in the shimmering, silk fabric of the skirt that reached just below your knees. Appropriate for a work party, while the hidden slit in the side of the skirt was just a little something extra cheeky for those who’d pay attention. You doubted anyone would. It fit your persona as a ruthless man repeller perfectly too. No flashy colors, no risque shapes, no cutouts and not too short. No fun either, but that wasn’t important here. The cleavage even appeared modest with the average size of your breasts. 

“Fucking mandatory Christmas party,” you muttered as you grabbed your bag and left your apartment to head to the Avengers compound for the second time that day. How is it even allowed to make an after hours social event mandatory, you wondered angrily as you got in the waiting cab. You kept adjusting your dress as the city slowly flashed by outside the cab window, second guessing everything about your outfit from the dress to the shoes to the bag to the red lipstick you’d dared yourself to put on, afraid it was too much and too basic at the same time. 

You knew it was ridiculous to feel so self conscious about yourself and your body. For all intents and purposes, you were perfectly and quite uninterestingly average, neither plus size nor skinny. You knew your plus size girlies had a way harder time being judged and disrespected for their size, and you didn’t want to be too skinny either, like malnourished. You were perfectly midsize, eating healthy and exercising for your body's sake, eating chocolate and pasta and drinking beer for your mental health’s sake. You were perfectly. average. midsize.

It was just that, the lack of appreciation and attention over the years has slowly chipped away at your confidence, and then your self-image, and then your self-esteem, to a point that it was difficult to even rouse any positive thoughts about yourself that didn’t feel half-hearted or mandatory for the girlboss-affirmation of the day. 

The one thing you had going for you, the one thing you felt unequivocally confident about, was your job. Working as one of the high level secretaries for Fury himself, you actually had quite the high seat in the house, with clearance, authority and trust from the big man on top himself. It also meant saying no to quite a lot of things and people on a daily basis, to stop people from charging into the director's office in anger, to be authoritative enough to make people listen and actually do whatever orders you delivered on the director’s behalf (and your own sometimes). The job, which you loved and had worked hard to get, was just a tad challenging to splice with a lack of self-image.

So you’ve built a ruthless, badass, girlboss, gatekeep, gaslight persona for yourself, known for being resistant to all flattery, all bribes, all flirting and all begging. Nothing got past you and everyone seemed just a little afraid of you. It was true, you’d garnered the nickname “the other she-hulk” among your peers. And though you embodied this persona like the most natural thing in the world, it was also a front really, for your honest to God lack of confidence in your everything average.

Oh yeah, except for your height, you realized as you got out of the cab at your destination and was hailed over by the other female colleagues in your department waiting outside the compound - the shoes you wore turned out to give you several inches of height on the other girls, even as they also wore stiletto-like heels. In the height department, you were just above average, which did not make you feel any better necessarily. 

Fuck. You looked like their fucking body guard, looming behind them like a giraffe as you made your way inside, them smiling and laughing, you affecting your haughty mask, the one that protected you the best when you were feeling a bit off-kilter. Better to deem everyone here below your interest before they even had a chance to assess you, right?  

The party was nice. They’d somehow managed to make the compound not feel like a concrete bunker, decorating almost every surface with some fabric or other, flashy reds and silvers and greens and blues, giant trees everywhere overloaded with decorations. Maximalism galore.

“It looks like Santa exploded in here,” you joked to your colleagues, receiving a bout of wild laughter in return. It hadn’t really been that funny, but hey, maybe you could be known as the “other deadpool” in the future if you worked hard enough on your comedy. 

As usual, the lovelier girls of your department got swarmed pretty quickly by guys. Recruits, officers, cadets, other secretaries - they all flocked to your group. You didn’t blame them, your colleagues were beautiful, witty, smiling brightly and exuding a sort of light that could only be rivaled by the sun. They were nice to everyone too, unlike you. 

You stayed and chatted for a bit. No one commented on your dress and certainly not the split at the side, and you tried not to let that get to you. This was a work event, after all, it would be inappropriate if they did come on to you or something. Your self-esteem whimpered quietly even so. 

It didn’t take long for the rest to get tipsy, and someone started blasting music somewhere, effectively switching from corporate mingling-mode to drunken tomfoolery-mode. You easily resisted getting dragged to the dancefloor, effecting a disinterested, above-it-all mask as your work friends pouted and dragged your arm in a petulant, though surprisingly endearing way. 

“I’m not debasing myself tonight, thank you very much,” you said, knowing it was harsh but only gaining a playfully scolding look before the whole gang bounced off to dance without you. 

You made your way over to the bar instead. A half-hour or so more and then you could safely leave without breaking any social codes, you thought with relief as you ordered another glass of champagne. 

Turning from the bar, glass in hand, you suddenly bumped into someone, champagne sloshing around the rim, a few drops spilling over your hand. 

“Hey, watch where-” you started, words dying in your mouth as you looked up…and up a broad chest, a thick neck and then came face to face with Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier himself. 

B-big, your brain supplemented eloquently as you stopped speaking all together. 

How was he so tall? Okay, so you knew he was tall, you’d encountered him regularly over the years and had always felt dwarfed by the tree-trunk size of the man, but you were in four inch heels, god damnit, and you still had to crane your neck to look into his eyes. They glinted as he looked down on you, and for a moment you forgot who you were supposed to be and nearly shrank in on yourself, feeling uncharacteristically small. 

“Sorry,” he simply said, giving you a once-over so quick you weren’t sure it’d happened at all, and then he leaned around you to grab a few napkins from the bar. He made quick work of taking the glass from your hand and wiping the stray drops of champagne from it, set it on the bar and then gently took your hand in his and wiped it as well. 

You could only stare in astonishment at the size of his hands, rough and calloused, but with neatly trimmed nails, engulfing yours and being so exquisitely gentle. He put the glass back in your hand and looked down at you with a pleased smile. 

You quickly amassed your indifferent mask, raising a haughty eyebrow at him, and stepped aside so he could order whatever he wanted. He’d at least apologized and cleaned up the mess he (and you together, admittedly) had caused. You supposed it was the best outcome, both for your pride and confidence. You didn’t step far from the bar, sure you would be back soon enough for another glass, and looked out on the burgeoning dance floor in front of you. 

“Why don’t you join?” a deep voice asked from the side. 

Looking over, Bucky had come up to stand at your side, looking out over the crowd as well, whiskey glass in hand. His strong profile was illuminated by the flashing lights of the dance floor, reflected in those baby blue eyes, and his hair was tucked back into a bun at the back of his head. His suit must have been tailored by sorcery or something, because it hugged him in all the right places, press neat and crisp, making him look both perfectly put together and indecently so.   

Okay, so maybe you had a little something of a crush on the guy. He was fine as hell, and always put this old school New York charm on you whenever you met. He was the only one who still tried to charm and flirt with you whenever he came to Fury’s office, and though you put on your unimpressed and uninterested mask, thoroughly shutting him down each time, you secretly appreciated those moments more than you would ever admit out loud. It felt nice that he at least treated you the same as all the other secretaries - he was the only one who still did. 

You raised your eyebrow, securing a bored look even as you wanted to ask with you?

“Not exactly my crowd,” you said instead, taking a swig at your drink. 

“No? Didn’t think you cared about things like that,” he said, smoothly challenging you. 

“Not exactly my music, then,” you said. Arrogance and low energy usually got people to leave you alone when you felt fragile. You turned to give him a fake, sarcastically apologetic smile. 

“Ah, I see. Too bad, would’ve loved to see how wide that split goes while you twirl,” he said, leaning closer to you, and in your shock the mask you’d held on so tight cracked, and you whipped to look at him. He’d noticed it?

You saw the pleased victory shining in his eyes. Cheeky bastard was trying to break you, trying to make you drop the haughty exterior, like he knew you were only putting up a front. And you’d let your mask slip and showed him he was right. And like you suspected he knew, it was the exact sort of thing you deeply, secretly craved someone to do. 

But it wouldn’t be that easy. Bucky could just be fucking with you, or making easy conversation. But he’d noticed the split in your dress, so he must’ve been looking, right? Just a little harder than everybody else. Still, it was out of the question to just drop every defense and wall you had now, in this room, just because of one comment from him. You quickly affected an unimpressed, almost fatigued mask, raising your glass to your lips. 

“Too bad, Barnes, I’ve already had my high school prom,” you said, delivering the line with just the perfect amount of arrogance and judgment. 

You felt his eyes lingering on your face for long moments as you stared into the crowd, refusing to meet his eyes and potentially let more slip. This shit was exhausting enough when people didn’t clock on to your farce. Still, a small part of you didn’t want him to stop looking, to stop showering you in this undivided attention that sizzled like carbonic bubbles on your skin. 

You immediately shut down your disappointment when he left without another word, telling yourself to be proud you didn’t beg or flirt or plead for his attention like everyone else did. You didn’t need anyone but yourself, you needed to remember that. 

The music shifted from some mainstream pop song to some very old jazz, and the sudden shift only had a second to register before Bucky appeared as from thin air, took your glass from you, downed the rest of your drink in one gulp (eyes shining with mischief as you gawked a little at him), ditched the glass on the nearby table and then promptly took you by the hands and hauled you out on the dance floor. 

“W-wait, I -” your words cut off to a little squeal as the soldier wrapped a strong arm around your waist and twirled you so your feet lifted off the ground, the skirt of your dress flying out. Your arms clung around his neck and shoulders as the world spun in a flurry of bright, flickering lights, and your feet didn’t touch the ground for ten solid seconds as Bucky turned and turned. 

When he eventually put you down, his arms didn’t let up much, keeping you firmly tucked to the hard planes of his stomach and chest with a hand that went around your back and held your waist on the other side. 

You schooled your expression down even as nerves and excitement and a fair share of actual, fucking excitement filled you from the unexpected dancing. You actually did like to dance a lot. You looked up and found Bucky’s eyes on your face, glimmering in the bright lights as he easily led you in some old timey couple’s dance that he apparently knew perfectly.

“This music more to your liking?” he asked, challenging and genuine at the same time, and you couldn’t for the life of you understand his angle. Why was he doing this? 

You knew people were watching, even as the dance floor was still full of other dancers making due with their modern dance moves to the old music. And though you did feel kinda nervous being so exposed, you couldn’t very well cut off this dance and leave - that would only make you look even more insecure than you felt.

So you soldiered through, putting on a mildly entertained, smug look and looking Bucky in the eyes. 

“It’s certainly something else,” you said, and watched as his eyes flared over with a sort of playful frustration, shaking his head a little at you, but smiling despite himself. 

“Drop the act, sweetheart,” he said then, low enough for no one else to hear, but it still made you bristle. 

“What act?” you said, making it sound nonchalant and innocent at the same time. “Just because you remember one dance from 70 years ago, I’m supposed to swoon?” you challenged, knowing the words were harsh but goddamnit, he was getting too close. 

A groan escaped him then, one you felt more than heard from the way your bodies were pressed together, and you flushed, not expecting that kind of response. 

He leaned down and murmured in your ear.

“I like it when you’re mean, but I’d like it more if you were honest,” he said, and your breath caught, the physical sensation of his hot breath on your ear distracting you to the point of stumbling a bit on your heels. His arm around your waist didn’t let you so much as twist an ankle, which made you feel even more heated. 

Before you could come up with a retort, Bucky flung you out in a twirl, making your skirt fly around you. He led you perfectly even as he almost threw you around like a ragdoll, and you had to admit you were amazed by how graceful you were even as every move and twist were orchestrated and led by Bucky. The crowd disappeared as you moved to the music, coming back to Bucky, being swung out again, your back to his front at one point, his breath hot on your neck, swinging out again and stepping past each other in swoops only connected by your hand in his. 

You met his eyes and saw the flash over with an intensity that made your skin prickle, with a hunger you could scarcely believe was meant for you, eyes raking over your body, lingering on the leg peaking out through the split in your skirt, your chest heaving in the low cut neckline of your dress, your face flushed and no doubt looking as amazed as you felt on the inside. 

The dance ended in a perfectly timed dip, Bucky holding you down and cradling your neck and the small of your back in capable arms, face so close you could feel his breath fan across your face, smelling of whiskey and spearmint. 

You smiled, couldn’t help it, you hadn’t had this much fun at a work event in years. Bucky’s eyes flitted about your face as he echoed your smile with a brilliant flash of teeth himself. Your heart thudded in your chest, and your eyes flicked down to his lips, those luscious, plump lips and oh holy fuck did you want to kiss him at that moment. A desperation you couldn’t quell seized you by your fucking guts and you positively throbbed. Your smile faltered, and you saw his fall too. Daring to look up into his eyes, you saw the same hunger reflected there, nearly engulfing you in its heat. 

Then the crowd returned, cheering, the music went back to some pop song from last year and reality dumped back in on your head so fast you almost made the mistake of scrambling out of Bucky’s hold. 

No, no, no, way too exposed, this was not how you planned this night…

You were actually proud of the way you managed to slowly extract yourself from Bucky’s arms, give a slow, bored “thank you,” and then calmly leave the room all together to escape to the ladies room. 

You had to admit, they hadn’t neglected the bathrooms in the compound, you thought as you occupied the space alone. They were kinda nice, big and spacious, marble and polished steel making the space comfortable and with an air of luxury compared to the practical, brutalist vibe of the rest of the building. 

You touched up on your lipstick, hands shaking a little from the excursion of the dancing. Okay, you needed to leave, you thought to yourself as you felt your skin still sizzling faintly wherever Bucky’s hands had touched you. Your nerves seemed newly awakened as if from a deep slumber, and it would not do to develop an even deeper crush on him. 

As if summoned, the door to the bathroom opened and Bucky stepped through, eyes finding yours in the mirror immediately. 

“I think you’re supposed to be in the next room over Barnes,” you drawled even as your heart picked up speed. 

He didn’t answer as he slowly crossed the room. 

You couldn’t help shifting in your skin as your body thrummed with an exhausting amount of nervous excitement. His gaze was level,possessing your attention like an iron grip. It was like he saw right through every mask and facade you tried to put on, right in to the very center, the very truth inside you. It lulled you and provoked you at the same time. 

“You’re in the wrong restroom, Barnes,” you said, even harsher, when he was about halfway across to you. He still didn’t answer. 

You spun to face him, anger welling higher. Who did he think he was, coming in here and stripping away the only scraps of protection you had, looking at you like he could read the thoughts as they appeared in your mind?

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” he answered as you glared at him, coming to stop directly in front of you, only inches between you, and the air there sparked with energy you just couldn’t deny you were affected by. 

You scoffed, fighting against the crumbling of your exterior. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted him. Couldn’t deny it, couldn’t help yourself as your muscles ached to reach for him, to press yourself against him and let him wrap his strong, safe arms around you again. To tuck yourself away into him and shut your mind off and just feel taken care of - in any way - by someone other than yourself.

A desperate thought occurred to you; maybe you could do this without losing face. If you went on the offensive, you could still hold control over the situation while still letting whatever was sizzling between you and Bucky explode, you thought a bit desperately as you held his stare, his eyes darkening as the seconds ticked by. Maybe you didn’t have to bare your soul for him in order to get a taste of what you wanted. You could just make it out to be a hookup at a party, something carnal but detached. Give your body to him while still guarding your mind and soul. 

Not giving yourself a moment more to stall, you surged forward, grabbed his neck and kissed him. He wasn’t as surprised as you’d liked by your sudden call to action. In fact, he seemed to come unleashed the moment your lips met his, a grunt sounding in his throat as he instantly wrapped one arm around your waist, his other going into your hair to keep your head firmly put where he wanted it. 

Yes

The kiss was filthy, hot breaths and open mouths and tongue on tongue almost immediately, like a dam of pent up lust had just erupted at that first touch for the both of you. He pushed you back so the marble counter dug into your ass, and plastered himself against you, groaning as your hands moved to map out his back. 

You fumbled to reach for the lapels on his jacket and he let up his hold just long enough for you to wrench his suit jacket off him before both pair of hands went on frantically groping and gripping and touching, and you couldn’t seem to draw breath into your aching lungs for all the burning desire that flooded your body. 

Bucky broke out of your heady kiss, gasping as he leaned his forehead to yours, hands gripping your hip and the back of your neck so tight it almost pinched you, and you relished the feeling. 

“Fuck,” he groaned between pants, and you liked the sound of that very much. 

You gave him a sultry and cocky “mhm” as you kissed him again, nipping at his bottom lip. When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you, his stare so fucking intense. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and that…was stepping into a territory you were not too keen on. You couldn’t have sentimentality at that moment. You couldn’t control your tiny wince either, trying to move on with another kiss, your hands dragging down the hard planes of his chest to entice him to move along. 

Bucky didn’t grant you that mercy. He apparently saw your wince as well as he saw the split in your skirt, and scrutinized you with a piercing stare as he reiterated between kisses. 

“So gorgeous,” he murmured and you tried your damndest to ignore it, kissing him more intently, hands moving a bit desperately to his belt, but an uncomfortable laughter escaped you either way. 

Bucky stopped your hands, grabbing them and putting them on the counter at your side before cradling your face firmly in his hands. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is he doing, you lamented as you looked everywhere but his eyes. 

“I mean it, you’re a gorgeous woman,” he said and you whined softly, not at all capable of hearing that. Whether out of a misguided sense of pity or because he wanted to get in your panties, you didn’t want him to tell you that shit just to placate you. You were already dying to get fucked, false flattery was of no need. You were practically soaking your panties already just from his kisses and his hands, one warm and one slightly colder, moving over your body like he couldn’t get to all of it quick enough.

“You don’t have to-” you started exasperated, squirming to get away from the intimacy of his proximity, the way he looked at you and the way he was cradling your face. 

“You see, this is what I mean. I think you’re hiding, doll. You don’t realise how fucking amazing you are, and you hide it behind a bitchy face and even bitchier words,” he said.

Words failed you then. The fucking audacity of this man to call you out like that. You were not prepared to be laid out like that, and you didn’t know whether to fight back with teeth and claws or to flee in your humiliation. 

Bucky must have seen your warring thoughts on your face, the simmering rage at being cornered and confronted like this, like an animal frantic with self preservation. 

“You don’t believe me?” he asked, and you could see a fierce competitive glint light on fire in his eyes, pouncing on the challenge.

In a flash, he’d turned you around and you met your own expression in the mirror above the sink. Bucky stepped flush against you again, and nestled the hard bulge in his pants right against your ass. You squirmed and whined a little. You wanted that inside you already. But Bucky held you tightly pinned between himself and the counter, his metal hand coming around to splay on your stomach, shining metal against the black silk fabric, effectively giving you no room to move. His hand was so huge, it covered nearly the whole area between your belly button and the underside of your heaving breasts. He propped his chin on your shoulder and captured your eyes through the reflection in the mirror. 

“You’re exquisite, doll” he whispered, his other hand landing lightly on your waist. This time you saw your own wince of disbelief in the mirror, instantly embarrassed at how revealing you were. Heat bloomed on your cheeks, both from his words and the way his eyes were just eating your body up in the mirror. 

“I’m nothing special,” you heard yourself murmur. 

“Oh, on the contrary, doll, you’re as rare as they come,” Bucky said, flesh hand moving to grab your hips appreciatively. “Swinging these hips all around the compound, your walk so sweet compared to that barking mouth you’ve got on ya,” he said, drawled a bit, his Brooklyn accent coming forth, kneading your hips and pulling you back to grind your ass on his hard bulge. 

Your breath hitched on a gasp, and your heart fluttered in your chest. He’d been watching the way you walked? And he liked it?

His hands came up to cup one of your heaving breasts. 

“Such elegant lines, perfect, round tits,” he murmured into the skin below your ears, and you trembled in his arms as his fingers teased a nipple through the thin fabric of your dress. 

“A neck that’s just begging to be sucked on and marked,” he continued before his lips sealed itself to that sensitive spot right below the hinge of your jaw and you gasped raggedly as sparks flew through your body. 

You were positively high on the novelty of his praise, but you just couldn’t quite believe it. 

“I’ve…a-always just thought I was so average,” you admitted, voice timid, nothing short of a whisper, and you berated yourself for revealing your insecurity so openly, even as Bucky’s lips let go of your skin and he nuzzled the hair behind your ear. 

“God, no,” he sighed, hand coming down to your hip again, guiding you to grind back on his bulge again, and fuck, he was hard, “I don’t get how you could even think that,” he said, and the genuine astonishment in his voice had to be real, or else he was a brilliant fucking actor. 

Your hips had started moving on their own now, steadily grinding between his metal hand on your stomach and the hard cock at your ass, sizzling sparks of heat traveling your body from the friction. You could feel Bucky nodding into the crook of your neck, encouraging and praising at the same time. 

“But I’m…kinda tall…surely y-you’d want someone shorter, m-more petite?” you heard yourself whisper, and you just had to ask him right out, to give voice to those incessant, nagging insecurities. 

He actually laughed then, a breathy chuckle against the exposed skin of your shoulder. 

“Are you kidding? You nearly gave me a heart attack in these heels tonight, baby,” he said easily, calm and honest and straightforward and it was like he wasn't even trying to convince you of anything, he was just speaking honestly. “And when you danced with me? How sexy and smooth and fucking alive you were as you let me spin you? Couldn’t take my fucking eyes of you, fuck, I haven’t been this hard in ages. Plus, you’re just perfect for me to fuck like this. Can’t you feel how perfectly your ass fits against my cock when you grind like that, huh? Can’t have that with a shorter girl, you were made for me, darling,” he said, breath growing puffy and you were almost shaking, both from his words and the blazing fucking heat they stoked.

A needy, whimpering sort of whine escaped you at that. It was perfect, your height to his. Perfect for you to nudge your ass against his pelvis and feel his hot lips and a sliver of tongue on the heated skin of your neck at the same time. 

“Do you believe me, now, sweetheart? Or do you need me to fuck it into you?” he asked then, a teasing lilt to his voice even as it dropped a fucking octave, rumbling over you skin, making you ache. 

You turned your head to graze your lips against his, recognising when he was posing a challenge by now, when his competitive side came out to play. You waited just a few seconds, letting your mingling, ragged breaths fill the silence, before answering, looking him straight in his eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” you whispered against his mouth. 

His reaction was almost instant. His metal hand came up to cradle your throat, pinning you close to him as his flesh hand had the skirt of your dress bunched up around your hips in a split second. His hand was between your legs in the next second, brazen and possessive and you fucking loved it, knees nearly buckling in your stilettos as his warm flesh palm cupped you there. A filthy groan sounded in your ear. 

“Fucking perfect pussy already soaked for me, huh?” he downright growled, fingers moving up and down your clothed slit, feeling just how wet you were through the flimsy fabric of your lace panties. “This pussy aching, huh? Hasn’t been fucked right in ages, I reckon? Some bastard left you feeling like less than just perfect?” he babbled as he began rubbing tight circles on your clit, making you keen at both his words and ministrations, mind floating up to the fucking skies on a cloud of endorphins and arousal. “You give me their names, honey, and I’ll make sure they never bother you again,” he said, dark intentions in an even darker, gruffer voice and you couldn’t stand still for the way you needed him. 

“Fuuuck, please, Bucky,” you whined, grinding your pussy down on his hand, soaking his fingers. 

“That’s right, baby, you take what you deserve, you take what this perfect body deserves,” he encouraged. 

“I need…I need,” you breathed, eyes closing as you rode the sensation of being touched like this, so expertly, too much one second and not enough the next. 

“What do you need, baby? Tell me,” he groaned into the skin of your neck. 

“I need…your…please, your cock,” you whimpered. 

His hands pulled back and gave your pussy a playful little slap, making you jolt and yelp in his arms, and the slight sting felt so fucking good. 

“That’s right,” he said, giving you a few precious seconds to collect your frayed, jumbled, melting mind as he frantically undid his belt and fly, pulling his cock out and pulling your soiled panties to the side to notch his cock at your weeping hole. 

He didn’t give you anymore time to beg before he pushed his hips forward and you both gasped raggedly as his cock slid in, perfectly to the hilt, your pussy sucking him in like it had a mind of its own. His whole frame, massive and rugged as it was, shuddered as he stood there with his cock buried inside you, and you opened your eyes to watch in astonished fascination through the reflection in the mirror as he took a moment to get a hold of himself. One hand flexed its grip around your throat, the other on your hip, grip so tight and you hoped it would leave bruises. 

He didn’t wait long until he started thrusting, pulling out almost completely before thrusting in again, forgoing any buildup and going straight to the main fucking course and you were so ridiculously relieved he wasn’t teasing you anymore. 

His hands let go of you and you fell forward, draping yourself over the counter so you could just feel the way his cock, thick and ridged and so fucking hard, dragged against your walls, yielding nothing as he speared you. 

“Need to see you,” Bucky breathed between pants as he kept fucking you. 

You felt the bodice of your dress loosen and realized he had undone the zipper at the back of your dress, peeling it off your arms and then hauling you the meat of your shoulder to straighten against him again, completely naked from the waist up. 

His hands were on your exposed skin immediately, mapping out your ribcage, squeezing the pouch beneath your belly button and coming up to knead your breasts, pulling on your nipples. He was like a man starved, all the while his cock was steadily pumping into you, pushing you higher and higher, the sounds from where you were joined filtering in through your haze of lust and pleasure like a sinful symphony. 

You opened your eyes to find his in your reflection, pools of incendiary desire following every minute twitch of your face. Your eyes flicked over your own face and saw the crimson flush, the sweat on your brow, hair ruffled, the scrunched up expression and heavy-lidded, drugged eyes. You looked a downright, embarrassing mess, your deepest pleasure so plainly written on your face, exposing you to the point of pain and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to lean back to hide in the crook of his neck. 

Bucky did not let you. 

“Oh no, no, no, don’t hide from me now, sugar,” he said, one hand coming up to pull your face forward, “look at me,” he ordered and you opened your eyes to his again. 

“See how exquisite you are?” he asked, hips slapping against your ass. “See how beautiful you look, taking my cock?” he asked, watching you watch him in the mirror. “Look at yourself,” he ordered, and you whimpered as you met your own gaze in the mirror again. 

There was an almost lascivious tilt to his voice as he kissed your neck sloppily and murmured. 

“Tell her she looks beautiful,” he said. 

You thrashed as much as you could in your pinned position, the counter digging into your hips, high heeled shoes barely touching the floor. 

“Bucky,” you whined petulantly. There was no way. 

“Say it, darling,” he warned before his hips slowed down to an almost complete stop, and that only made you thrash harder. “Oh, you want to come baby? Then look at yourself in the mirror and say ‘I’m beautiful,” he said, and you gawked at him in disbelief, humiliation and mortification burning hot on your cheeks. 

The hand not holding your face towards the mirror kept exploring your flesh as he waited, pinching and grabbing everywhere like he just couldn’t stop. You looked at yourself in the mirror, took in the simmering fire in your eyes, your lips with its bright red lipstick smeared all over. 

“Come on, darling, don’t you want to come? Won’t you let me make you come?” Bucky asked, spreading kisses down your neck as his eyes burned into your face through the mirror. 

You fought it for as long as you could, didn’t want to play these games, didn’t want to see your own vulnerability on your face as you said something you should believe but didn’t quite. 

Bucky grinded his hips all the way inside you and then stilled completely and your need won. 

“I’m beautiful,” you whispered, breath hitching as you saw the disbelief, the resistance in your own eyes, hating yourself both for saying it and not believing it. 

Bucky groaned in a resolutely pleased manner and started moving his hips again, languidly stroking in and out of your sopping cunt. 

“Again,” came his growled order from behind. 

Your resilience was weaker this time, with the tip of his cock reaching so deep, adding rhythmic pressure to that elusive spot in the deepest nook of your body that had your knees going wobbly. 

“I’m beautiful,” you said again, this time giving a low, timid voice to the words. 

Bucky groaned behind you, hands gripping you tighter as his hips picked up speed. 

“That’s right. Say ‘I’m gorgeous’.”

“I-I’m gorgeous.”

“Say ‘I deserve this’”

“I d-d - oh fuck - I deserve this - ah -”

“Say ‘I’m making Bucky Barnes crazy on a daily basis and I don’t even care enough to acknowledge it,” Bucky husked behind you. 

That made you actually giggle, though it came out more like a stuttering whine.

“I-I didn’t know,” you moaned, breaking your own eye contact in the mirror to look at his face. You honestly didn’t. Sure, you’d established a playful banter over the years, frequently sparking conversation whenever he was at your desk for something concerning Fury or you met in the halls or right after department meetings. But you’d honestly never considered you, just being you, could be driving a man like him crazy. 

Eyes dark as the ocean burned into yours from where his face was propped on your shoulder, mouth nibbling on the side of your neck and your earlobe as his hips kept up a punishing pace. It was becoming hard to string together coherent thoughts, your mind going hazy from the steady punch of his cock. 

He smiled against your skin, nipping it so hard you squealed a little, head swimming from the mix of pain and pleasure. 

“You’re killing me here, doll,” Bucky murmured playfully against your skin, hands moving again, skimming over your skin and kneading your flesh in such an appreciative way it had you blushing, even as you were steadily pounded by his cock, halfnaked in the bathroom at your workplace during a fucking Christmas party. 

It was all a haze, the way you were hurtling towards the precipice of your orgasm, his cock in your pussy, his hot breath on your neck, his hands roaming your body like a starved beast. The smell of his rich, musky cedar cologne and the hint of fresh, male sweat. And his eyes, devouring everything his hands didn’t touch. 

“I-I’m gonna…fuck, Bucky -” you stammered. You were so close. 

“I got you,” Bucky answered breathlessly, his flesh hand moving down between your legs to stroke your clit in fast, tight circles. 

You keened, vision blurring as your muscles seized, teetering on the edge. You faintly registered your own expression in the mirror in front of you, mouth falling open, eyebrows scrunching and a crimson flush high on your cheeks. 

You heard Bucky groaning behind you and trembled at the sound. 

“Fuck, there you go, baby, fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking - tight, god damn -”

And then Bucky was wrenching your face to the side and kissing you. And maybe it was the way his hips stuttered as you moaned into his mouth, or maybe it was the possessiveness with which he pushed his tongue into yours. Maybe it was the way his metal hand gripped you tighter as you started shaking, or maybe it was the sheer desperation in his kiss as he herded you over the edge that truly made you feel beautiful in that moment. Beautiful and blissed out as you spasmed on his cock, hearing his choked grunt as you pulled his orgasm right out of him.

You felt him throb in turn with you, his cum pooling hot deep inside you, the both of you nearly falling off your damn feet as you came together, the kiss disintegrating to a mere sloppy tangle of breaths and tongues.  

As you slowly came down from your high, your mind started whirring. Halfway preparing for Bucky to pull out and leave swiftly. To maybe give you a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, to push the skirt of your dress down over your ass and then make his exit from this very public bathroom. It wasn’t that you thought Bucky was some kind of sleaze, but it would be okay if he left it at that. You were a big girl, you knew people got carried away during a rowdy fuck, and if he left it at this, you would be fine. You told yourself as much, at least…

But Bucky didn’t leave. He didn’t pull out right away, either. Once you could both catch your breath, he reiterated his kiss, slow and thorough and breathtaking all anew. His metal hand firmly secured your face to meet his and his flesh hand gave your clit a few more gentle swirls, and you could feel his smile, fascinated and playful against your mouth as you jolted at the sensation. Whimpering a little at the overstimulation but keeping yourself completely still for it anyway, you were astonished by how sensitive you were and how fucking good it felt to have Bucky teasingly play with you as you basked in the afterglow. 

You squeezed around his cock still lodged inside you, and he gave a little grunt in response. 

“Careful, sugar, or I might get hard again,” he murmured against our lips, rolling his hips gently into your ass. 

“Is…is that supposed to deter me?” you asked, your snarky tone just a little undermined by the way you gasped. 

He groaned at that, low and pleased. 

“I suppose it should…at least until I can get you out of this fucking bathroom and into a bed,” he murmured, and a surge of adrenaline went through you. He wanted to do this again?

A small thought in the back of your mind wondered how it was possible that no one had come in and interrupted you by now, but it was quickly pushed away as Bucky gently pulled himself out of you. You tried to conceal the shiver of arousal that went through you as you felt his cum leak out of you and down the inside of your thighs. 

“Stay like that,” he whispered, removing himself and the fucking furnace of warmth that had been plastered to your back. The cold air hitting your back made you realize just how naked and exposed you were, your dress a scrunched up tangle low on your waist. 

You didn’t have time to become self-conscious though, before Bucky was back, kneeling behind you. Peaking over your shoulder, you were just in time to see him wipe a damp hand towel up your thigh and gently across the puffy, sensitive mess between your legs. You flushed for an entirely new reason now. It was just so…intimate, and sweet and generous and you struggled to handle the care and tenderness with which Bucky thoroughly cleaned both his mess and yours. 

You watched him quietly as he cleaned you up, and then as he seemingly couldn’t help himself from bending forward and kissing your pussy, tongue darting out to swipe a small lick to your still sensitive clit. You yelped, hips bucking away. 

He shushed you gently and kissed your ass cheek soothingly, fitting the admittedly soggy fabric of your panties back over your pussy before getting on his feet again. With gentle hands, he turned you around, and your eyes went wide as you looked down to see his cock still hanging out of his fly, already back to full hardness. 

Bucky followed your shocked expression down and chuckled. 

“Yeah, I know,” he said, hands still cradling your shoulders, moving up to knead the muscle between your shoulders and neck, and you hummed in pleasure, eyes falling close. 

“Does that always happen?” you asked, feeling the soreness in the muscles ease up under Bucky’s dexterous fingers. 

“No,” he answered simply, and you could tell by his tone that it meant something. That it lent itself to everything he’d said about you and the supposed attractiveness you held to him. You kept your eyes closed and bit your lips to keep from smiling too broadly at that. 

Feeling emboldened, you reached for him, hands finding his clothed chest and stroking down until you reached his cock, wrapping a tentative fist around its stiff heat. 

You heard Bucky suck in a breath, and then his hand wrapped around yours, holding it tight as he thrust his hips lightly a few times, pumping his cock gently through your fist. You were ready to go again by the time he gently pried your hand away and groaned like he was being gently tortured. 

You couldn’t help your pout, opening your eyes to find him gazing at your face. 

“I want to take care of you, too,” you complained, and the gentle whine of your tone sounded so small and decidedly submissive, certainly not fitting the badass work persona you’d built. It just suddenly felt so safe to be a bit whiny with him. 

Bucky only stepped closer and cradled your face in his hands. 

“I’ll let you take care of me later, sweet thing, to your heart’s content. For now, tuck me back in and we can get outta here,” he drawled, Brooklyn accent soothing his tone and lulling you to comply, pacified by his promise to let you take care of him soon. 

You did as he said, tucking his hard cock back into his pants and doing up his fly and belt as he watched your face intently, no doubt seeing the way your eyes grew hazy, your breath labored and your face flushing all anew at the way he held you while you handled him. You let your hands linger over his bulge when you were done, dying to take him out again and just do whatever he wanted to make him feel good. 

Soon, you told yourself, soon. 

“Now, I would like to swing you one last time on that dance floor out there, let everyone see that gorgeous leg through that deadly split in your skirt. And then I want everyone to see you leave on my arm, before I take you back to mine and take care of you properly,” Bucky said, voice even and sure and smile so dashing, you couldn’t help but smile back and nod in enthusiastic agreement. 

[luvtonique]

Earlier today, a girl shot me a DM thanking me for not listening to people saying Melodi's body shape is unrealistic or fetishy and choosing to double down on her being a top-heavy P-shaped anorexic lanky long-armed twig lady.

She said, I quote, "I look like that IRL, and have the back problems and eating disorders to prove it. I have gigantomastia and have to get breast reduction surgeries to keep them in check [she described a lot of medical problems that come with the tissue growing too much here, too, but I cut it out cause it's pretty visceral]. I saw your post saying you're not intentionally putting representation in your game [like a year old post at this point] and this isn't about representation, it's just something that made me feel good about myself knowing someone finds my weird body shape attractive."

I told her that she is loved, and thanked her, and said that I hope that she can live a fulfilling and good life despite her disease.

She said "Same to you about your arthritis!" and that was that.

Little moments like that are why I make art and why I don't just do "what sells." I was willing to give up a huge portion of my fanbase by not flocking to Twitter in 2018 and staying here on this weird site full of people who regularly annoy me because it's my fuckin home. I was willing to leave the brony fandom after massive success in it. I am willing to receive hate-reviews from people saying my characters are "too sexualized" or that they "don't have enough identity-representation."

When people come along to tell me that something I'm doing made them happy or feel appreciated and loved, or that I helped make the hard times worth it for them, that's what really matters to me. Not filling quotas, not making characters with relatable social issues, not shoving politics or ideologies into my game to "send a message," but just those moments where the occasional person comes along and thanks me for never caving to social norms and continuing to just do the weird shit I love doing.

I love you, weird body shape girls.

Just because God hit "Random" on your body shape doesn't mean you're ugly, weird, gross or unwanted.

You're bootiful.

Also I just gotta be a snide bitch at the last line because this is Jay we're talking about. "But Jay! You'd get SO MANY MORE people coming to you and thanking you if you PUT SOME REPRESENTATION-QUOTA CHARACTERS IN YOUR GAME TO BAIT THEM OUT, LITERALLY SLAPPING THEM IN JUST TO GET BROWNIE POINTS AND INTERNET HUGS AND ACTING LIKE THAT MAKES YOU A GOOD PERSON."

That shit isn't genuine and your sense of feeling represented by disingenuous ideology-bait is as fake and fleeting as seeing a corporation put up a pride flag on their profile in February. They are using you to sell their product and you're praising them for it. I will never put a character into any work I create with the intention of representing a group of people or an ideological belief, because my characters are fictional storytelling devices, not strawmen who serve as a walking wikipedia article for a culture that the media has deemed an oppressed minority group to talk down to the audience instead of talking to the other characters.

[casscainmainly]

I deeply appreciate your input (especially WRT agency) on that 'was Cass just *conceptually* racist after all' issue, not least because some wags defending the 'Birds of Prey' flick's character changes took exactly that 'meh, classic Cass was just an insulting silent fighter stereotype anyway' tack. That just didn't seem like a fair read for her, but as a pasty white dude I didn't trust my ability to put a finger on it.

Thank you!! Yeah a large part of my incentive to make this post was to specifically address the Silent Asian allegations. I feel like a lot of people lobbying them at Cass don't understand her character, and using an Asian stereotype to undermine one of the most popular DC Asian superheroes is so misguided to me!

I feel like when people use racism as a way to put down fictional characters of colour, that's when we cross the line between calling out racism in media to using racism as an excuse for liking/disliking certain characters. Racism isn't a tool to be used for media analysis; when people identify racism within media, it's because of the harm it causes to real people. I wasn't online for the Birds of Prey discourse, but I can bet 90% of the people saying the movie changes were good either weren't Asian or didn't know anything about Cass.

Something I didn't bring up in my previous post (because I wanted to prove Cass didn't fulfil the stereotype in text) is that Puckett was well aware of the stereotype, and Cass learning to talk was an active repudiation of it. @dailycass-cain covered it somewhere, [about Asian editor Jessica Chen calling up Puckett and pointing out the Silent Asian trope (if anyone has the actual post please reply with it, I can't seem to find it!).] Correction: it was actually Jenny Lee and Cliff Chiang from VERTIGO who called up Joseph P. Illidge from the Batman editorial office (link here). Thank you dailycass-cain for the correction!!!!

This demonstrates the importance of POC behind the scenes - it doesn't even have to be the writer, but having POC in DC positions goes a long way to combating racism within the stories.

All this to say that racism and racist stereotypes aren't some 'gotcha' for why some characters are better than others. Many people who interrogate fandom and media racism are fans of the media/characters themselves, and want to see things improved. Anti-racism requires a deep interrogation into our own biases as well as the media we consume, and blindly calling characters of colour stereotypes and/or bad representation is careless. Cass isn't above criticism, but the criticism should be substantial!

Check out this article from the DC blog for another take on how Cass defies stereotypes!

[nebula-remnants]

oh man... you have no idea what i'm about to drop on you all.

HEY!!! so. I made a GIANT list of headcanons for Sun and Moon that are all autism related since I have an excuse to now. I gave twitter a warning but I forgot to here so sorry to anyone who clicks to keep reading and goes into this post unprepared.

I did want to make an attempt to make this easy to read so, Green is just going to be for regular but still have some in depth meaning for why it's on this list, Orange is for a headcanon that is more serious!! I try to word myself correctly and explain why these ones are important in the case of accurate. (sometimes PAINFULLY accurate) representation. I wanted to go in depth for symptoms that are less discussed. so i'm going to discuss them the best I can regardless because their just as important to representation. ideas that stray from canon and are more my interpretations of how I think they'd act in certain situations will be pink

Both get frustrated when you mess with their stuff (this could just be a cleanliness deal for the daycare exclusively, however the barrels aren’t exactly a major mess since there are so few of them, so it can also be taken as wanting items a certain way. I kind of headcanon it as a bit of both tbh

I think Sun would have a strong sense of justice. He is a “hero” character as far as old theater traits go. And his canon behavior suggests he’s both petty and controlling of his environment. I believe those traits are a result of his current situation, but with this headcanon a sense of justice would go in perfectly because it means he’s strongly bound to his moral beliefs. Now it’s good to mention a strong sense of justice is NOT always a good thing!! Having a strong sense of justice does not automatically mean someone has all the correct moral beliefs, but it can sometimes make people self righteous (especially when they aren’t self aware.) but anyways moral righteousness does not always mean correctness!! I really like this headcanon especially because it’s complex, it falls into morally gray areas. Has good intentions but can hurt people by accident. Some of this applies to Moon too but I have less canon material to work with.

I think Moon would go COMPLETELY non verbal when upset, but it would go easily unnoticed because people might just assume he’s always quiet. which y'know. isn't okay obviously, but for his circumstance I do feel it would be at least accurate.

I don’t think they would know about being autistic themselves. LET ME EXPLAIN. So if the Fallfest thing is right they’re potentially from the 70s, that makes them old. Plus they’re robots. It’s not like someone realistically would go and diagnose them with autism, unless like, the guy that made them was autistic and was projecting onto them HARD. but what i’ve noticed from older family members that went nearly their whole life without a diagnosis?? They kind of just. Suffer and think it’s normal. My father has ADHD and kind of went most of his life thinking he was just a problematic kid in school, actually i still think he does 😭 (spoiler: he had a hard time focusing on subjects he wasn’t hyper fixated on and was treated without any accommodations even considered) the reason i bring this up for Sun and Moon is i think they sort of just go about their business thinking it’s normal and everyone experiences those things. So basically I think they’d be undiagnosed in the fnaf universe (or could have some outdated information about autism stored somewhere, like I even did a few years ago. because in my opinion I haven't really seen any widespread information until more recently and that's how I found out LATER in my life, when some damage was already done). Someone tell them please

I think masking would be minimum, they probably try a little bit but give up and decide they don’t care anymore (like I said, it’s possible that they’re older, so give them a break)

On the topic of not being aware of symptoms I headcanon Moon (or at least pre security breach one, maybe, idk) as the kind of autistic to have a hard time realizing he’s upsetting or genuinely scaring people. He’s being whimsical, but like, wouldn’t realize unless specifically told so. I don’t believe a potential nicer form of moon would be there to intentionally hurt people (i don’t like the idea of him being evil just BECAUSE) but i think he could still cause all kinds of distress by accident. I certainly don’t think he’s shy (and i believe Kellon Goff corrected himself in a later tweet and said Moon wasn’t exactly shy himself but he used a shy part of his life to bring Moon to life, if i remember correctly (correct me if i’m wrong bruh i don’t wanna misquote the man himself 😭)) Canon Moon probably isn’t shy but instead he gets to be fluent in being awkward in a conversation

I mean don’t get me wrong I adore the idea of shy moon but it’s most likely not going to be anything we see in canon. But in an au? Or in your own headcanon? Go crazy, make that man shy, be a little self indulgent. You’re not required to stick to canon to a tee.

I definitely think Sun and Moon would have clashing sensory needs. being opposites but also having a common root in an issue whether they want it to be there or not is like their whole thing. A lot of clashing except maybe the clicking they do. They fidget and click a LOT and the clicks are so pleasant to my brain so i think that could be maybe a similarity. As far as clashing sensory needs I think, y’know, if they were to be given separate bodies, because I actually really like that idea of seeing how their dynamic plays out that way (lots of fighting, so much fighting)... I DONT CARE IF IT MOST LIKELY WON’T BE A THING IN CANON BECAUSE OF THE DYNAMIC STEEL WOOL IS LEANING INTO SHSHHSHSHSH I CAN DREAM. 

Anyways I think Moon would have sensory issues related to lights (duh) and sound (MAYBE sun for sound too, if he has less control of it. Just because he’s generally louder doesn’t mean he couldn’t have an issue with unwarranted sound. And if anything, in the daycare I think that would contribute to his burnout MORE.) thought i definitely think Moon would be more reactive to noise and lights considering he’s much less used to them (that doesn’t exactly dwindle sun’s ability to become overstimulated to a sound because he’s used to it, but he might have a much more subtle response to it after a while like the snappy behavior/burnout in hw2. While I imagine Moon for once having a much more obvious response. (kind of like how he reacts to the lights in ruin but probably only half as much)

I think they both reacted to overstimulation through getting snappy, so like in an au where they’re physically separated and they have clashing sensory needs that’s… an easy argument starter. Visibly doing some small behavior that screams irritation on Sun’s part. And moon probably stares at you, but angrily (you can’t tell because he doesn’t have fucking eyelids)

I think the movements they do in canon are some form of stimming. Like I mentioned before, I think they enjoy the clicking. Moon does the movements with his head and rotating his face a LOT. and i began associating it with stimming a while ago. As for negative stims when stressed and anxious. Their wires are exposed. There may not be evidence for it but maybe that’s something they mess with. Also, no evidence for this but I felt like there damage in ruin was both from the situation and themselves, can be taken as a more self destructive (kind of like how scratching/hair pulling can be considered stimming at times for humans) but most likely accidental form of this. Or more likely a stress habit and causing more damage from fighting for control (idk man I kind of lost myself on this one)

Also!! The staff bot parts in their room, and later in Ruin more parts from endos are present. I think they fidget with parts on occasion. This strays from autism related headcanons but Those parts being there in the first place i think is Moon’s doing, and based on his behavior in ruin along with similar cases recorded in security breach i take it as frustration/misguided anger. And eventually because those parts are yk, there after Moon did whatever it is he may have done, i wouldn’t be surprised if the stuff in their room is occasionally fidgeted with as a distraction. The only evidence I really have for this is that in Ruin those items are all sorted. Someone was doing something as a distraction.

There’s no way they would be flirted with in a roundabout way and immediately understand, you need to be DIRECT AND TELL THEM WHAT YOU WANT!!!

I think Sun might easily misinterpret all kinds of things he's told, and be completely confident with his interpretation, while while recognize when he's a little unclear, decide it's probably not important if someone wasn't being clear, and then forget.

For whatever possible circumstance this would EVER come up I don’t think Moon would enjoy phone calls, nor would Sun but I think he likes yapping so he’d probably talk your ear off and then get really sidetracked. Moon would just respond with simple one word answers, or not all (me, i do that, i’m projecting) I don’t think Moon is shy in canon but i do headcanon he just, sucks at holding up a conversation (projecting again)

basically canon but hypo verbal Moon and hyper Verbal sun. (this gets a little too personal and realistic and a second) I just want to say that because it’s a trait associated with autism and instead of them just being considered too quiet or too loud, they are literally just being themselves. This also goes along with the idea where they wouldn’t realize they have autism, and just think whatever they’re doing is considered normal for everyone else so hey might recognize people think of them poorly but might not realize what someone has a stick up their ass about until someone is like “ermm you talk too much/too little 🙄” actually i definitely think they would get criticized on a daily basis for that. I have my own ideas about how they would react in an immediate situation vs over time after being told over and over again. And basically, I think Moon would kind of… NOT react at first but it would get to him later on and that’s when he goes completely quiet or makes sure to avoid people. I think Sun would react negatively on the dot (in one way or another) and stew in frustration for a bit, and sometimes it might come back to him on occasion.

A part of me wants to believe moon is capable of yapping but he spaces it out, like I think he’d randomly tell you a fact and then go quiet for a while. OR!!! OR!! He’d tell you a joke then wait for you to laugh as he stares at you intensely and silently.

I think Moon would mutter to himself a lot, but so quiet and muddled from an outside perspective it's completely incoherent. Sun too but a little easier to hear. Speak out loud in a quiet voice but still loud enough that still makes people briefly pause wandering if he’s speaking to them.

What if they were both heat sensitive… imagine getting to go outside (if they were part of Fallfest than maybe first time and years) but it’s during the summer, and they're both fatigued and miserable. I see a lot of people say sun would absolutely love summer, but considering if he is from Fallfest, and assuming they shut off animatronics when not in use, he’d realistically he might not even be used to summer at all. Then in this case it would actually be sort of an ironic situation where he grows to dislike summer heat.

okay ya'll I think it's done for NOW. I have a few I left out because they were half baked, or too vague for what I wanted to say so I may edit or add onto this in the future. a whole load of this ideas are also things I wanted to implement into my AU so!!

UGRHHHH IK I HAVE AUTISM BUT ITS NOT LIKE I EXPERIENCE EVERYTHING MENTIONED HERE SO I HOPE I DIDN'T MESS UP ANYTHING BUT LET ME KNOW!!

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Sucker for a brat KILLED ME

It was so good thank you!! I saw it right as I was going into work so I had to wait like 8 hours to read it when I got off 😭

If you would be interested in a part two 👀

-leaf anon 🌿

Sucker for a brat p.2

Eris x f!Reader

Warnings; SMUT (18+), at this point its just pure porn without plot.

Masterlist.

Part 1.

I'm so happy that you enjoyed it!!!

“I’m not done with you my sweet little mate, this was for my own pleasure that’s why you enjoyed it. Now I’m going to fucking punish you.” He growled and carried you to his room.

“Oh boy” you sighed.

The moment he walked inside his room he threw you on the bed making you gasp.

“Strip. Now.” He growled.

You tried to stand up to undress but he pushed you back on the bed.

“You will stay on my bed until I tell you otherwise”.

“Yes my lord” you whimpered and pulled on your dress. His room was twice your own and you noticed how all his furniture was made from dark wood and leather, everything was elegant yet dark, a perfect representation of himself.

“Did I fuck you stupid? You can’t take off a dress?” he hissed and crawled on the bed with his dagger in hand. He cut the dress off you and then stood up again. “On all four now.” He ordered and removed his leather belt. Your cunt was on fire at the sight.

“Count for me, if you mess it up we start again.”

He hit your ass hard with the belt and you yelped.

“One” you breathed.

He hit you again and groaned at the redness.

“Two” you gasped.

He gave you two soft slaps with his hand and then grabbed the belt again.

“Three” you moaned this time.

“Enjoying yourself?” he chuckled darkly.

“Yes my lord” you moaned louder.

Each smack was harder, and it took your breath away. You jolted forwards and felt small shocks on your clit.

“nine” you cried out. You were dripping.

“Last one” he groaned, and you glanced back at him, he had grabbed himself and was pumping slowly. He raised his hand as far as he could and smirked.

This time it was pure pain and you wondered if the belt sliced your soft skin. “Ten” you screamed and fell on your face.

“Good whore” he mumbled and massaged your swollen ass. “Are you sore?”

“Yes”” you whined.

“Good” he mumbled and crawled behind you, grabbing your hips and raising your ass. You felt the head of his cock rubbing against your folds and whined. With one snap of his hips, he was inside you filling you to the brim. His hips slapped on your sore ass sending waves of pain with the pleasure.

“Fucking take it like a good little whore” he snarled and kept snapping his hips at a fast and hard pace, you could feel the head of his cock hitting your cervix and were sure that there would be a milky ring at the base. “Yes my lord” you cried out, grabbing the sheets for support.

Your whole body was aching, but the pleasure was enough to make you enjoy it. Eris placed his palm flat on your stomach and groaned when he felt himself.

“Give me your hand” he ordered and placed it there when you obliged. He leaned over your back without stopping his thrusts and whispered in your ear.

“Can you feel how deep I am inside you? You’re mine. I’m gonna fill you up so good, my seed will flow deep inside you ruining you for every other male. Cum for me, milk my cock like a good girl.”

His words were enough to send you over the edge and your whole body shook, your vision clouded and you felt your cunt exploding. Eris stopped thrusting and watched in awe the mess you made as you squirted. His thighs and the sheets were covered with your release and the sight made his cock throb. You closed your eyes and tried to control your breathing when something snapped in him and started thrusting at a brutal pace again. You cried out and arched your back.

“So good” he groaned “taking my cock so well”.

His hand grabbed your face and raised you, pressing your back on his chest.

“Such a sweet girl, seems like I fucked the brat out of you” he purred and pushed his fingers in your mouth making you gag.

“That’s it fucking take my seed” he moaned and buried himself deep inside you, his cum filled your cunt and dripped on the sheets. He removed his fingers from your mouth and picked as much of his cum as he could before pushing them back into your mouth.

“Taste me” he whispered in your ear and bit the lobe.

After helping you into the bathroom and changing the sheets he lied next to you on his bed and stared at your half-asleep form.

“Was this okay? Did you feel uncomfortable at any point?” he asked softly.

“It was perfect” you murmured.

“I’m going to take good care of you my mate.” He promised and kissed your forehead.

You hummed with a soft smile and let the darkness engulf you. If he fucked you like that every day you would die as the happiest female in the world.

[marzcody]

All of my alterhuman kinstypes cus I'm bored :P

I will be talking. a lot. this is your warning that I will be talking.

Black wolf!!

This is by far the easiest one I have to understand (for me atleast) so it's going first. Often get more shifts about it during the winter because all the snow and stuff reminds me of the tundra!! I had a pack of like 3-4 other wolves and we lived along the border between a forest and like a planes in the tundra or something like a tundra.

Me fr!!

Black cat (fictionkin?????)

this is where things get complicated as always...I put fictionkin w/ a bunch of question marks because I'm a black cat specifically from the book series Warrior cats but I'm not like a specific character from the book, I'm my own cat but like not an oc so????? idk I'm just going w/ fictionkin for now cus it makes the most sense to me lol. anyway I spent most of my time in Riverclan but I spent a lot of time in the hay/wheat fields at the barn had hunting mice. My name was Mountainsong (clan name) or Night-bird (rogue name). I was like 20 moons? I was definitely a young warrior but idk exactly how old. I have a lot of memories attached to this kintypes like having to run across the Thunderpath or sneaking out of camp to go hunt mice at the barn. I still sometimes try to flick my tail as communication forgetting I don't have one anymore :/. Anyway if you have any idea if fictionkin is the right term or if there's some other one lmk (note: I also might have a theriotype of a cat that's different than this?? idek anymore just know that I'm a cat lol)

me in RC territory if you even care

Angelkin? Dietykin? Something along those lines

and even more complicated we go. idk a good label for this one either but I feel like those two are pretty good descriptors. I'm not divine anymore but I once was. I'm not a christian angel or even an angel from any particular religion. All I know is that I came from the stars with the purpose to bring light and joy to humanity and to also observe it (I've made many observations!!) This sounds kinda silly but my form was best described as the Angelic Warden from Creatures of Sonaria but not exactly. I stood on two legs that came down to a fine point, and had two massive wings on my back that were very heavy with two more little wings inside of those ones, a long with two on either side of my head. (man I miss those wings). I think I may have been on Earth while still divine? I know for a fact I was watching from above the clouds once but idk not gonna get into that yet lol.

Where I came from. also the best representation of my "non-physical" form.

THE MOON (conceptkin)

Kinda goes with the whole originating from the stars and space but uhm. anyway I AM the concept the like the aura around the moon. The deep night only illuminated by the full moon. that illumination creating a mysterious and beautiful light casting down the the ground through the leaves of trees? ME!!!! The haunting light a bright orange harvest moon immits?? ME!!!!! The weird pseudo-darkness the moon makes during a solar eclipse? MEEE!!! The moon shining brightly through the clouds giving light to the animal below and beauty for human to admire? MEM MEMEMEM!!!!!

MEEEEE!!!! ME ME ME!!!!

ANYWAY thanks for reading!!!! if you have any kintypes you wanna share PLEASE do I LOVE hearing about them /gen!!!!

[velvetvexations]

All the Dropout transmisogyny discourse anons I got, because there are a ton. I don't have much to add here that I haven't already said and aren't going to repeat a million times in the near future, and I have a million more asks still in my inbox, so these don't have answers, but each of them has values of their own and I'm happy to platform them. Yall are very insightful and articulate.

cw for suicide mention

"dropout doesn't have enough transfems"

my best friend tried to kill herself a couple of months ago just because being alive as a poor trans fem in a red state is that fucking painful and difficult. that's the state of the world for 90% of trans people. and that other 10%? thats you (not you velvet, the people that are whining about dropout).

shut the FUCK up about dropout. you don't fucking care about trans women, you care about being mad about stupid bullshit so you can get off to feeling oppressed by the only company on fucking earth who is making ANY effort to fucking platform and take care of queer artists. it is so disgustingly priveleged to be upset about a fucking streaming platform as small as dropout not having "enough" of the Right Kind of Tranny on it.

i am so sick of these fucking people. trans people are getting fucking murdered and killing themselves, we are losing our fucking siblings, and instead of trying to take action to stop & prevent violence against us, they're bitching online because Show They Don't Watch doesn't have enough trans women on it.

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Ngl this discord is coming off very white and representative politics had already been disproven by black folks in America. Representation is nice but does nothing to fix the root issues, why expect a private company to be able to fix it? This anger could be place in more productive and necessary trans issues

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the talk about dropout not including transfems annoys me on a couple of levels of like, yeah, they could have more transfems. factual statement. but there very well may be transfems working in or around dropout that either are in the closet or don't feel like making themselves known, and demanding that you know the agab (tma or tme) of every person involved in dropout just so you can fufill some kind of tme vs tma trans quota is. a tad fucked up.

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"#and people have been pointing out how its fucked that theres p good transmasc representation on drop out" wow! I hate this! like i guess i should be grateful that they're saying the quiet part out loud or whatever but how have we gotten to a point where having good trans representation is "fucked"??? just because it's not the Specific Type of Trans you want to see represented. Especially when the most prominent one came out and transitioned after being hired???? so they weren't even hired to fill some "quota" of representation ALSO i think i sent asks to you about this before but i'm tired as fuck of people just immediately pointing at nonbinary people and calling them transmasc!!!! y'all are so fucking exorsexist and binarist that you genuinely view the world as "men and men-adjacent" and "woman and woman-adjacent" we're never escaping the hell that is binary gender norms are we. also like. immediately calling all nonbinary people transmasc is actively participating in the erasure of transfem nonbinary people. you don't know someone's ASAB by looking at them. you don't know how or if someone has transitioned already. all you know is that they're not cis and use they/them pronouns. as a smaller note, i've seen people saying something like the drag queens don't count as transfem rep on dropout and it makes me so angry! why are we buying into the Rupaul Drag Race-ification of drag that tries to deny the foundational role trans people of all types have in drag? did they bother to look into the queens to see which are transfem or not?? i cannot name a drag queen in my city that is a cis man. i live in a major city. i'm sure they're out there, but the scene is rightfully filled with trans women artistically expressing exploring and celebrating their gender. this dropout drama is so manufactured and for what. what's the goal here? dropout reads to me like a group of comedians who are friends and are still sticking together after college humor died. it's not like they have constant main cast recruitment drives, from what i can tell, it's more of a "hey I (dropout cast member) know this other comedian that'd be a great fit. we should hire them". i'm just so tired of this faux moral outrage when nothing of substance has occurred and every trans person in my life is struggling to afford to survive and being crushed under the weight of the ongoing supreme court case on gender affirming care

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I don’t have the energy to unblock plaidos long enough to rewrite the anon I forgot I wouldn’t be able to send, but I don’t think she understands that Bezos (owner of Amazon Prime, a much larger streaming service with presumably dozens of original shows, but I don’t actually know and don’t really care) could buy Sam Reich for exactly his net worth literally a million times over and eat him for breakfast as easily as he could anyone else in this country. Why are we supposed to be mad at him for not being above and beyond what every other company’s standards are?? Show me PROOF trans women are getting snubbed for roles on Dropout shows or shut the fuck up. A show having any ONE trans person should be seen as a win, now we have to have multiple kinds? (And don’t think us nonbinary people can’t see the blatant fucking binary they’re boiling trans rep down to. At least make the categories “transmisogyny affected” “transandromisia affected” (that’s the term Ive seen the least hate for so in my head it’s what the tmas are most okay with) and “exorsexism affected” and pretend to care about unaligned enbans not IDing as teansfem or transmasc?????

okay im done i should really go to bed i don’t even know why i care ive never watched a dropout show i guess im just fucking sick of people inventing problems where there are none so they can feel properly downtrodden. Im in constant physical pain and going on year 5 of disability benefit denials, my anxiety is off the charts, im falling back into suicidal ideation since the election, and I’m homeless and once again living with my queerphobic just left of fundie family. Some of us have REAL FUCKING PROBLEMS and there’s plenty of other stuff being created that claims to care about queer people and has yet to have any trans rep. Go yell at goddamn disney some more, fuck!!!!)

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So how do you think all the people mad about dropout right now would react to me pointing out the lack of transmasc creators on nebula?

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i wouldn't be surprised if one of the reasons trfs are deciding to get mad at dropout is because you like it

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I was reading the dropout discourse with a furrowed brow. Real stink face situation. Just due to the ridiculousness of it all. And my boyfriend comes up and goes "hey :D! Wait, what's wrong?" N I'm like "nothing, just ppl being dumb." And he was like "oh. Well, it's snowing outside! :D" and we went outside with the dog and played in the snow and it was a real eye opening experience. Real ppl online vs people in real life kind of situation.

People online: the streaming platform Dropout is not TMA enough

People in real life: hey, it's snowing outside!

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yknow how right wing pundits will pick the culture war du jour to make a huge deal out of? remember how they were SO upset about mr potato head being potato they or whatever, which was quickly dropped because santa claus is black sometimes and we need to be worried about that, which was then dropped because the green m&m wasnt sexy enough...

and how it's this neverending cycle of picking non-issues to fight about? because it's more about riling up general-your base, making them think everyone is out to get them all the time in all these insidious ways, to make the entire world seem darker and more dangerous than it is? and when people outside this circle say these are non-issues, their lack of understanding about how bad the world actually is serves to further rile up that same base, who now think they're the only truth-seers?

anyway, dropout has marginally more tmascs than tfems and we're all really very mad about this real issue

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People are really showing their ~tme discourse~ asses with this dropout thing because like: by their own stupid framework definition isn’t TME supposed to be all non-transfems? So like… cis people? But their graphs are instead just singling out Beardsley as the Evil Appropriating Interloper Stealing Opportunities From Real Trans People. Like… y’all aren’t even PRETENDING that your entire position isn’t just “fuck transmascs in particular”

______________________________________________________________

re: the dropout discourse like yeah it did take a while for Brennan to make a transfem NPC but does nobody remember The Seven??? a whole season where a transfem PC was played by a transfem person? i haven’t finished the season yet but cmon people. it came up in like the first or second episode.

[spookykoolkat]

╰•★★ ᴊᴏʟɪᴇ'ꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ★★•╯

hello and welcome to my main masterlist that compiles all of my written work EVER!

⇢ first i'd like to introduce myself!

i'd prefer if people would call me jolie, it doesn't matter!

i'm nineteen years old :p goth metalhead :3

and i ONLY write for fat, plus sized people, ii write stories that i would read myself, as a plus sized woman, and i hope everyone enjoys it! if not, i'm sorry that it does not cater to thinner people but i need my plus size representation 🖤

AND AS ALWAYS, its FREE FREE PALESTINE!

⇢ now to get into my written work <3

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! - all of my writing is STRICTLY 18+ ONLY! anyone under 18 and without an age in your bio will be blocked! you are responsible for the content you consume!

all of these written works will or are consisted of dark themes, adult content, adult themes, violence, romance, SMUT, and varying emotions/tones. all written work done by me is not allowed to be shared, published or claimed as their own!

⁂ - smut, 18+ only, mature themes

⁑ - angst, intimacy, light smut

🎃 - kinktober [INCOMPLETE]

joel miller fics will not be continued at the moment.

OKAY finally, here are my stories written by MEEE :p

╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 '𝟐𝟑 ❞

kinktober masterlist

╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 ❞

you're just so sweet ⁂

✰ coming back into town for your mother's birthday wasn't difficult. it was figuring out how to be around their long time friend, eddie, without feeling that familiar throb between your legs.

you're just so sweet | 2 ⁂

✰ of course he wouldn't speak to you. he was a much older man, and you were just a naïve little girl who pushed her luck. didn't you listen to every song about daddy issues ever?

always mine, forever ⁂

✰ having your friend group spend the night at your place to watch movies was supposed to be fun! so why was your heart racing at the thought of eddie being merely feet away while you slept in your bed?

your brother's rocker friend ⁂ request

✰ dustin was always a little shit, but he was YOUR little shit. along with your nerdy brother, came along his not so nerdy, older friends. one in particular that drooled over everything you did.

the cabin in the woods ⁂ request

✰ robin's new friend caught some attention from her friends, but eddie couldn't find it in himself to make a move on you. of course robin's hot friend had to be lesbian. or so he thought.

toxic ⁂ 🎃

✰ to your dismay, you and eddie could never find the sense to leave each other alone.

taped ⁂ 🎃

✰ eddie needed a way to keep you with him forever, what's a better way than to document it on camera?

looking for a good time? ⁂ 🎃

✰ eddie was always up for trying new things. he just didn't think someone who he couldn't even see would make him feel the way he did.

trick or treat ⁂ 🎃

sorry about your boyfriend ⁂ 🎃

lucifer, my love ⁂ 🎃

╰┈➤ blurbs

after work *

tattoo shop *

more coming soon

╰┈➤ ❝ 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 ❞

the red - series masterlist

updates halted indefinitely

「 chapter one 「 chapter two 「 chapter three 「 chapter four*

「 chapter five* 「 chapter six* 「 chapter seven* 「 chapter eight*

「 chapter nine 「 chapter ten

[thecicadagraveyard]

3×12 is honestly so special to me like. At the 37 minute mark when the girl and House are arguing in the park:

P[atient]: "If you don't believe in eternity, then what you do here is irrelevant."

H: "Your actions here are all that matters."

P: "Then nothing matters. There's no ultimate consequences."

And. Just. The way it hits him; the look on his face, the way he blinks twice. And the piano note hitting. The fucking piano note. The instant, sharp understanding of why she's so hinged on this belief in God, why she believes so strongly that she has to keep her baby despite it being a product of assault.

P: "I couldn't live like that."

H: [sharp inhale] "So... you need to think that the guy who did this to you is gonna be punished."

P: "I need to know that it all means something. I need that comfort."

H: [softly] "...Yeah. Are you feeling comfortable? Feeling good right now, feeling warm inside?"

P: "I was raped. What's your excuse?"

The fact that he's completely open until she tells him that she needs to know it means something is proof that it's a feeling that House knows all too well, regardless of if he's honest about that. It's further proved when he immediately shuts himself down and starts deflecting, returning to his half-cruel, half-joking comments as a self-defense mechanism. But the reality is that it's not really a deflection. It's spoken in a sort of snide way, but he means it genuinely. He wants to know how she's feeling. He wants to know what she's thinking.

This episode gets me so fucking bad and I know I didn't talk about it a lot in this post but I also think it's a very good representation of House having autistic traits. I could write a whole essay about this shit istfg. I also am not going to go into why this episode specifically means so much to me, but I'm sure you can deduce it from the general theme of the ep. I love this show so much.