#I hate that but that's something you have to keep in mind as you deal with art criticism

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet hadn't really thought about it that way, that her dad wasn't keeping secrets from her, but was actually protecting her from potential episodes. He had told her that knowing about monsters could be dangerous, but she had soaked in so much knowledge in the cowboy timeline and had never felt it chipping away at her mind. What if it still had? What if she was just 'bottling it up' like Samantha had said? And what if it exploded one day? The thought sent a cold shiver down her back.

"I understand," she whispered, "but if you never talk about your missions... how do you deal with them? Whenever I come back from a travel, I tell you all about it, and it helps-" She stopped, and opened her mouth in horror. "Should I stop telling you about it? Could it trigger more episodes?" It was her fault her dad had spent the last four days struggling with his memories. But what if she triggered another episode one day? Because she kept telling him about the monsters and the travels?

She nodded. Yes, she remembered Agent Davidson and the many threats he had told her dad. Just thinking about it made her blood boil. Delta Green might have a noble purpose, but it was not a noble organization. "It must have been horrible," she said with a frown, "knowing that they were always holding this threat over your head." And yet he was so dedicated to the Program. Was it just because he believed in their cause? Because he wanted to protect the world?

"They threatened our family, too?" Her frown deepened. "Did Agent Davidson threaten our family?" Oh, how she hated this man! She hated him more than she had ever hated anyone else. She hated him more than she hated Sloane. She hated him more than she hated the Horned One.

This explained his dedication to the Program, at least. He had given them everything because if he hadn't, who knows what they would have done? Even without the threat of the ward, they had used other ways to force her dad into fighting their battles. "They're wicked," she croaked, shaking her head, "I know they fight monsters but... what they did to you... it's cruel. And it's unfair."

Fear started to trickle down inside her chest, drop by drop, as she thought about the letter she had received. The letter her dad had shredded, to protect her. "Are they going to do something like that to me? Are they going to send me to a ward to recruit me? I- I killed Layla and- what if they tell the Police?"

Theo studied her as she turned to look at him, Davidson's warning ringing in his head about revealing the organisation to anyone and the consequences of doing so, however Theo had entered a new phase of his coping with what had happened to him. Most importantly he didn't want Violet idolising a life he had only allowed her to see glimpses of.

"Not the missions specifically," he gently shook his head, trying to word things in his own mind. He had even rehearsed what he should say that morning but of course as was the way, it had all gone out of his head now he was actually supposed to start. "The reason I don't go into details about them with you is because sometimes even hearing of these things can trigger episodes like the ones we talked about." Four days ago? But it felt longer.

"So when you ask me about them it's not just that I am being secretive, it's also to protect you from more than just knowledge of what I do." He drew in a breath, thankfully it was not shaky anymore but he was clearly trying to steel himself.

"You saw how it was I was recruited, Agent Davidson arrested me and put me in that ward for just over seven months before you turned up." His jaw knotted in the memory, "This was the basis of my working for them as an agent. They funded my education and for a short while between collage and the FBI I was working with the police as a special." No authority but all the training, "The ward was constantly held over my head as the threat it was meant to be, that if I did not do well in school, if I did not train properly or if I failed the academy I would be put back there and left there."

He chewed his tongue of course he was angry about what had happened to him and he hoped he could muster up the courage and strength to take himself with Samantha to the shooting range to let out some of that rage but for now he had to wait. "It was a very real threat, it wasn't until about twelve years ago that I was able to close that ward down once and for all and free myself from that threat." Theo studied her, carefully. "But now there is a new threat they could use, not just to ruin my career but I have six children, Rea, parents, in-laws, friends." There was nothing really noble about how it was they kept agents in line. "So I climbed. I worked hard for Delta Green and showed my loyalty by doing whatever it took," a darkness crossed his face for a moment as he thought on that and what he knew now of cultists. "I am not a regular agent but I am also stuck from progressing any further because I have given them everything."

[vigilskeep]

Do we know enough about how Crow succession and talonship works to believe it would be possible for Viago to take the seat of first talon either through some sort of non-violent coup in the absence of an heir to house Dellamorte or through marrying his kid (rook) off to Lucanis? Asking because I really don't know and would love to write something in that direction...and you seem a crow enthusiast...also love your blog

THEORETICALLY. yes.

we haven’t seen the talons shift directly, but they do shift, with regularity. house arainai was first talon in living memory and then fell slowly downwards to their current point where they’re struggling in and out of eight talon like a drowning man who keeps finding his way to air for just enough breath

the eight talons system, if you’ll allow me the tangent, is a really fascinating choice of fantasy hierarchy because it is such a clear hierarchy. among a bunch of ambitious killers whose prime goal is notoriety. you can only hold each position here if everyone below you is too afraid to do anything about it. what an anxiety trip it must be to decide whether to push someone down just one rung or to try to destroy them entirely; do you want to leave your rival with more opportunity or more motivation? but crow power is also all about theatre, all about perception—you are first or fifth or seventh talon primarily because everyone agrees that you are—so making a failed gambit for a higher talon has got to be incredibly damaging. which is a risky setup. it discourages attempts, but when someone does make an attempt, they will not be fucking around

anyway ignore all that we’re talking about soft takeovers today. okay so house dellamorte has a dying core family, theoretically. we’re making the assumption that no surviving young children from any branch of the family are mentioned because none exist. we have two heirs, neither very acceptable (my apologies to caterina’s delusions), both men in their 30s with (again, assumed) no children, and neither making much progress in that regard. (arguably dependent on player choice when it comes to lucanis, but since he can fall in love with and express his undying devotion to any kind of rook, we can at least say he’s not making that much effort.) within a generation the core family may die out. but that is a LONG TIME to wait. you still have to deal with the current ones, they’re pretty robust

lucanis is the current first talon as of the end of veilguard. can he be convinced to give this up and hand first talon over to someone better suited? i do believe it. mostly because i need to believe, for my mental health, that we can get him out of there. but he also now has a fairly bulky support system full of people who love him and will notice how bad this is going to be and convince him he deserves things like a life he doesn’t hate

as always your main problem is caterina. caterina is not going to allow a takeover, soft or otherwise, while she is still alive. caterina didn’t give up first talon when they murdered her children. there’s probably an emotional plot in here where she can be made to accept what she’s done to her family, far too late, but with time left to save just one by letting him go. on the other hand, i’ve also been experimenting with plots in my mind where she tries to quietly get rid of viago or romanced rook for having too much influence, with the added benefit on hopefully being able to steel & refocus lucanis on defending the house against whoever she frames. or plots where she blames lucanis trying to leave and not being the boy she remembers on his, you know, demonic possession, and attempts to forcibly remove or destroy spite. so. there’s potential ups and downs, here.

i don’t know how helpful rook de riva/lucanis is. most of your problem here is that everything that sets this ending up by giving the de rivas more power, and by giving any rook more power over lucanis, is something that in my mind would crank caterina’s wariness all the way up. house de riva surely has to move up from fifth already after the events of the game and look more like a contender, and i don’t think even caterina’s delusions about lucanis’ suitability for first talon could make her blind to the effect rook can obviously have. i definitely think she would delay on a marriage and have the power to do that

i think it’s worth saying that rook de riva at any point bringing up to lucanis the idea of handing things over to viago would be a hell of a conversation. i know lucanis never remotely suspects rook of any agenda and trusts them completely, and i know i agree with rook here, but you’ve GOT to see how “i love you and having power is bad for you and what you should do is hand it all over to my talon” sounds. i truly could not blame him for a bit of doubt here especially if caterina was around to suggest it

sorry this is a completely messy and disconnected response. i don’t even know if i had a point. you might have to wait for caterina to actually die? is that my point? i can see rook de riva/lucanis being helpful to ease a transition of power to house de riva then. i also think it’s worth pointing out that teia might be the better contender for all this out of the two lovebirds. what quietly makes teia probably the most dangerous talon in the crows, if she ever chose to be, is that everyone likes her. i’m not joking or trying to handwave crow politics, it’s a form of soft power and the result of her cultivated skill that nobody ever suspects teia of anything. even caterina treats her gently, and literally a talon who tried to murder all the others in tevinter nights was delaying murdering her because she was his favourite. if anyone can handle a gentler transition like what we’re talking about, maybe it’s more likely to be teia

[nanamis-bigtie]

impromptu rendezvous

↬ hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader ↬ masterlist // ao3 version

cw: smut, friends to lovers, reader has breasts, vagina & is rather feminine, drunk sex, piv sex, creampie, sex on couch, long-term platonic relationship goes romantic really quick summary: through the years of close friendship you have never felt anything romantic towards hanamaki…but have you really? you feign being drunk to escape an overwhelming party and when he takes care of you, you can't bring yourself to refuse his help. instead, you keep the game rolling until you find yourselves alone in your apartment word count: 4.8k a/n: commission for lovely @antique-remains ❤ thank you so much for your support and trust, i loved working with you and your ideas!

"My, my, aren't you a good wife?"

Matsun's sarcastic comment has Hanamaki's eyebrows twitch with irritation, but he doesn't stop nor retort. He's had his good dose of alcohol too, shoelaces of your boots tangling between his fingers as he's kneeling on one knee between your legs, leaning slightly to the right. It puts strain into your own knee but you don't mind; you like the weight of his body and its warmth, especially now, your mind foggy and overwhelmed. It's familiar and personal, great comfort amidst the chaos and noise, and the crowd filling the apartment a little much for your limits.

You didn't hate the party—no, you were always looking forward to Matsun's—but it strained you far past what you expected. You didn't make it easy for yourself either, pouring too much into yourself and too fast. And tomorrow's morning classes be damned, you were ready for even more, but Hanamaki was right there, with his overshielding that was sometimes getting on your nerves, but so needed right then. Gently but firmly, he moved your glass away and excused you both from the company. Soon, you've been herded towards the hallway, packed into your jacket, having your purse shoved under your arm, and sat down for him to deal with your boots.

You're not that drunk to not be able to take care of yourself but once he's dropped to his knees, you've felt it's best to keep your mouth shut and just let him. Wouldn't be the first time either and you know better than to argue against his care—but you can't pretend you don't like him like this now, with his flushed cheeks between your legs, eyebrows knit in focus and their little twitch at Matsun's teasing behind his back. The urge to thread fingers through his hair is real and persistent; you know how soft it is, and you know the smell of his shampoo would linger on your fingers for quite some time but, again, you're not that drunk. Such a move would be shameless even for your long and close friendship, and feigning daze right under Matsukawa's nose could as well be a straight confession of feelings.

Nothing could escape those knowing eyes, even what you haven't dared to admit to yourself. No, it's better to play stupid and limp, and to nibble on your bottom lip, watching Makki on his knees for you, letting him dart you up and wrap arm around your waist once he's dressed himself, ready to lead you outside and to your apartment.

"You're gonna be okay?" Matsukawa is dead serious now, holding the door for you two and lingering there even as you make it past the garden and pavement to your Uber ride.

"We've been worse," Hanamaki scoffs, no offense taken though. "Get back there and don't drown yourself in beer."

"Sure. Don't break your legs or something."

Your place is only a couple of blocks away but in your current state it would take forever to get there on foot. You would still try though, too dazed to think of a ride, but what do you have Hanamaki for, if not for being your brain in times like these? It would be enough to pack you into the car and trust the driver with the delivery, but he took a seat next to you and let you lean against him.

Matsun's not there anymore to judge and tease you so you grow bolder, as bold as you can in presence of a bystander right under your nose. The crook of Hanamaki's neck is tailored for the shape of your head; you nuzzle up there and close your eyes, to ease the dizziness caused by car's vibrations, yes, but first and foremost to soak yourself in his scent. It's duller under the lingering smell of the party, of the crowd, smoke and that sharp, teasing aftertaste of beer and vodka, but you can still catch a glimpse of him. His cologne is subtle but persistent, like him, but there's the shampoo and shower gel combo you will always recognize after countless times of finding it in your own bathroom after he's spent a night on your couch. 

And under that, deeper, there's him, the natural scent of his body, embarrassingly familiar for the distance you, despite everything, still keep.

It's the scent you've known for the longest and, in prospect of over ten years of your friendship, it's so funny how offensive you found it at first. Always in a hurry, from volleyball club to precious hours reserved for friends, barely squeezed into his tight schedule, he skipped a shower here and there, and as he never smelled bad to you, for some reason it irritated you how much he stood out for your nose and how it distracted you.

You've drilled a habit of keeping his hygiene always on point. But now, in the confines of the small car, with the rough edge of his jacket nuzzled up to your cheek, you wish you could smell more of him, if only a little.

Friends, even the best kind, don't cram their noises into their necks during their shared Uber ride, the sobering part of your brain is trying to point your attention to that, but you ignore it. And Hanamaki doesn't mind it, even wraps his arm around you shortly before you reach your destination, way too late for your liking. But the hold soon returns, first helping you out of the car, then keeping you straight up the stairs and into the elevator, finally leading you to your door.

"Even a blind person could rob you," he mutters, fishing the keys out of your pocket with ease. The lock clicks open with half of a turn, and he sighs, concerned and amused alike.

"Shut up," you mumble, hanging on his shoulder more than needed. "No one has robbed me before."

"Fortune favors fools, eh?"

"You're calling me stupid?" You withstand when he's trying to push you past the threshold—well, as much as your wobbly legs can, heels not helping your case. You're having a taste of upper hand only because Hanamaki lets you, you know it from the playful flickers in his eyes; he's squinting and tilting head to side as you're pulling him two steps back into the corridor—just for him to set you into your prior position with a single pull.

"I'm calling you drunk and too light-hearted." He's finally done and tugs at your arm until you lose balance—and fall straight into his arms, then over his shoulder as he's tripped you, and picks you up with ease.

"I'm gonna scream!" You kick and wiggle, but he knows your tricks too well to let you slip out.

"Sure, scream, princess." Covering you with one arm, he shuts the door behind your backs. "Show me what those little lungs can do."

You're carried into the living room, then thrown onto the couch, seemingly with no care for your state, but you know Makki could be far less gentle, if he really wanted to pay you back for your little games. Your mind is fuzzy more from hanging over his shoulder than the landing itself—but still not fuzzy enough to stop you in your tracks. You shamelessly stretch legs, one foot playfully slotted in his hand; he rolls his eyes but undoes the boot, then the other, then helps you out of your jacket and carries everything to the hallway.

He's mapped your apartment better than your current, overly absent roommate has, and you're ready to bet he's actually spent more time here than her through all those years of crashing on your couch. In no time he has a bottle of water and painkillers for you, a heated blanket is pulled out of the cabinet and thrown over your legs, he even helps you with your skincare duty, bringing you make-up removal wipes.

"You could have carried me straight to bed." You didn't want to sound whiny or disappointed, but it does come across as so; you curl your shoulders, unsure of his next move and for the first time since what seems forever unable to read his expression. Hell, you're unsure of your intentions and reason behind the weird longing, your mind free of thoughts, just waiting for his reaction and feeling weirdly shy, as if you were stripped naked and left for his judgment.

Hanamaki indeed seems to judge you, his head tilted to the side just a little, eyes narrowed much like a cat's a moment before the final pounce. He often does so, an old habit of analyzing the court before a move rubbing off on every aspect of his life, but you haven't paid any particular attention to it until now, when his focus is piercing you inside out.

He can strip you of your confidence like no one, years of your friendship a blessing and a curse alike.

"That's a forbidden territory," he finally settles on ignoring the topic, not dwelling on but not quite letting it die right here and now either. "I ain't that much of a pervert to walk into some girl's bedroom just like that. Especially with a girl ripped to the tits."

"I'm not some girl to you, ain't I?" You huff and pout. "Haven't you said I'm almost like a sister?"

For a moment there's a weird look in his eyes, maybe pain, maybe disappointment, but it's quickly replaced by his good old teasing demeanor, "I wouldn't walk into my sis' bedroom either. Sorry, you either sleep here or crawl there on your own. Good luck."

Hanamaki makes a beeline for the door, ready to slink off but when you call out to him by his name, he immediately freezes and looks over his shoulder, as if you pulled on an invisible leash around his neck.

"You're not staying?" You shimmy into one corner of the couch, leaving the other half for him. "We can order Chinese. And— And maybe watch something. On Netflix or—"

"You are aware how it sounds, right?" He says but he's already throwing his sneakers and jacket off, closing the distance between you in a few wide steps. Couch dips under his weight as he's thrown himself straight at it with a loud groan, your side bobbing under you as a result.

You barely hold a yelp in your throat. Why are you so tense suddenly? You've already been way closer than on two sides of the same couch, the distance between you now wouldn't be anything weird even for people who barely know each other.

When you think about it now, your sobering mind slowly connecting the right puzzles, there is some emotional distance between you two lately. You can't pinpoint when exactly it's started; you've been slowly tiptoeing away from each other, building an invisible, thin veil in between. There's still comfort and familiarity you don't share even with your female friends but it's not the same as it used to be.

For a try, you dare to straighten your legs and rest them on his lap. Makki doesn't budge but palpably lingers with the next move; finally, he cups your feet between his big hands and massages them. You don't really need a relief for them but it's a little ritual you two have developed since you've started wearing high heels.

"Chinese then?" You draw a circle with one foot, playfully avoiding his touch.

"I won't fit a single thing more," he makes a tortured face just at the thought. "I've drunk too much."

"You don't look wasted."

Hanamaki snorts and throws head back, his face out of the range of your vision. You watch his Adam's apple bob when he swallows his laughter, your mouth dry in a way you've never felt for him. Or maybe you have but it's been easier to brush it off without alcohol clearing your mind with a sadistic precision. You're stripped bare by your own chain of bad decisions, nowhere to hide and no way to pretend anymore.

"Neither do you." He tickles the sole of immobilized foot and holds you through the spasm, merciless despite the tenderness of his hold. "You're not that drunk as you try to act, hmm?"

His fingers trail along the side of your foot and ankle, then up your shin, towards the sensitive area around your knee, a thin layer of your stocking in no way able to protect you from incoming tortures. He keeps you on the edge, fingertips hovering over the point you know it will have you scream, cry, and beg—or worse, if he tickles you for too long.

Warmth creeping straight into your core has nothing to do with this anticipation though; it's intense but not rapid, and you take it for alcohol running in your veins at first, at least until immense need for being touched overpowers everything. The urge to squeeze your thighs and trap his hand in between is strong, anxiety squeezing your lungs even stronger, the mess of thoughts and emotions in your head devastating.

It feels...wrong, to react to his touch like this. You're holding the blame for alcohol messing with you, despite being called out on it and despite your body sobering up with each draft of air. No, it surely has to be the drunkard speaking through you, otherwise you would have to admit—

(To admit it feels wrong, but you need it, you need it so bad you might cry, if you won't get it from him.)

Hanamaki grazes the ticklish spot, impatient for your answer, and this time you can't hold a yelp any longer. It's dangerously close to a moan, your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet but he only cocks an eyebrow, waiting, either missing your reaction or ignoring it.

"I had enough," you admit in a whisper, afraid the trembling of your voice will betray you. "Needed to get out but explaining it all to Matsun—"

He chuckles, amused and understanding. Matsukawa could be a pain in the ass with his overzealous nosiness and you surely were drunk enough to find it troublesome.

"You could have at least told me." He tickles you again, forcing you to laugh and jerk up. His hand slides towards the inner side of your leg and doesn't budge from there. 

You don't move, either, a little ashamed how easily you caved and accepted the crumbs off the plate. Warmth in you is pulsing, not a wave anymore but the first flicker of fire that's bound to explode if you won't extinguish it right here and now.

"Didn't want to sit here all alone." You throw head back, saving yourself at least the torture of his gaze looking for yours. You wish you didn't throw the blanket on the floor as soon as he threw it at you, you could hide under it and soak back into your excuses and lies.

"You could have told me that too." Hanamaki is unwavering, his thumb rubbing circles into your stocking. "Instead of playing... Whatever it is. Dragging me here like some drunk rando you keep tabs on, letting him seduce you."

You can't read whether he's teasing you or being dead serious—and it's terrifying. The last thing you want is to hurt him, to have him reject you and close the door not only to whatever is happening between you two now but also to your cherished friendship. You love him, as who doesn't really matter. You need him more than just the physical craving, peaking after months, if not years of repressed yearning. 

You would never forgive yourself, if you lost it all because of drunk carelessness.

"What if I said I wouldn't mind being seduced by you?" You finally break, all cards on the table. Keeping you both on the edge is the worst outcome, you would rather take the ultimate rejection than toying further with his trust and creating distance you two would never close again.

He sucks in breath through clenched teeth, a few seconds of silence unbearable for your poor, fluttering heart. Weight of his fingers against your thigh grows, he nearly sinks them into your flesh before he speaks, his voice so tense it's almost breaking, "Please tell me it was you who said it, not booze messing with me."

"I wouldn't mind being seduced by you." You repeat and adjust your position, looking straight at him now against the urge to hide your face in your hands. Embarrassment is not a word you two share in your dictionary, but the vulnerability of the moment drives you insane, each passing second feeling like burning hot liquid metal poured straight into your heart.

You watch him wipe his face with a free hand, watch his chest bob with a deep, desperate breath. Eyes closed shut, Hanamaki collects racing thoughts; you see his eyebrows twitching in intense focus, a small bead of sweat dripping down his temple. It lasts a few heartbeats, it feels like hours, surely for the both of you, years of experience in reading each other no relief on this completely different ground.

"You have no idea how many times I've dreamed about it." When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and guttural, speaking straight from his core and stripped bare. "Since the last year— Fuck, I don't know for how long, maybe from the beginning... I feel like I always wanted you—"

He hides face in both hands now and groans, frustrated with his own helplessness and tongue tied with the remains of a drunk haze. Both of you have lost the majority of it at this point, though, at least at the mental level.

"I suck at confessions." He finally admits the obvious and you both collapse into giggles in relief. "I'm much better with my hands."

They're both at you again, exploring your legs with more punch to it. Makki follows the seam of your stockings, up and under the hem of your dress until he reaches the lacey welt and toys with them. He takes his time stripping you of them, teasing and testing, relishing in the feel of your bare skin slowly revealing itself for him.

His fingers are warm, but you still shudder when he cradles your ankles and glides up your calves. You spread your legs for him, but he doesn't reach further, for now satisfied with little twitches and goosebumps covering your skin. He's making you pay for your little lie, you realize with an impatient mewl, and he wouldn't mind having you pull the rope towards yourself, but you let him have his way. You feel guilty, after all, for the quirk of tonight and the silence of numerous months. He can have this moment of triumph.

He's bored with it faster than you thought.

"C'mon, baby girl," he tosses your legs away and pats his lap, a faint teasing smirk on his lips.

You don't need to be told twice.

You roll your dress further up and straddle him. Not until now you realized how tense and hot and heavy you've been, your starved and sensitive pussy twitching just at the brush of his jeans. Thin layer of your panties could as well just not exist, you grind on him for relief—irregular, sharp moves of hips, soon cut by both of his arms wrapped tight around you.

Makki kept himself in shape, you note with satisfaction feeling his muscles tense against your waist. You know of his gym routine, of course, but it's a whole different world when you can touch and appreciate him in his whole glory. You sink your hands under his t-shirt, trace his abs and chest to your liking as you lean for a kiss, at first shy, then sliding your tongue in with ease.

You've imagined it before, but the reality is nowhere close to your fantasies. He's good, he's so incredibly good despite the aftertaste of everything you've poured into your throats before and the clumsiness of the first shared kiss. You're ready to drown in it, forgetting about the whole world, even about the dull pulsing between your legs—if not for his hands relentlessly at work, one kneading your ass, the other unzipping your dress and sliding it down your shoulders.

"Can I?" Hanamaki whispers against your lips, his eyes half closed and glossy. He traces the clasp of your bra and undoes it immediately as you nod.

Dress is rolled down your waist, bra—thrown behind the couch. Makki leans back to see you better, mouth slightly agape at the sight. He squeezes your breasts with both hands, feeling their shape against his palms, swallows hard.

"You're so hot..." He mutters, close to choking on his own words.

You press into his touch, chase the closeness as you grind against him with the right rhythm and pressure now. He welcomes you with a needy groan, his face shoved into your neck, sucking and nibbling, and even daring to bite.

"I'm sorry," he kisses a beeline towards your chest, hot breath grazing your perky nipple.

"You're not sorry," you pull him closer, fingers threading through his hair.

"Yeah, I'm not."

Makki's tongue is divine against your skin. He sucks on your tits with fervor, at first tries to tease, but quickly forgets himself, encouraged by your breathy moans and nails scratching his scalp. He's soon answering the rhythm of your hips too, the front of his jeans bulging, surely tight for his hardening cock. It takes you a few tries in the confines of his hold, but you finally open his belt and zipper and help him out of his briefs.

He groans in relief but doesn't stop sucking, just bucks into your hand when you give him the first, testing stroke. You follow the wordless request, build up a decent rhythm for him even if he doesn't make it easy for you with the work of his lips and fingers. Holding you firm with one arm, he reaches between your legs and returns the favor, fingers toying with your slit.

"So wet for me already?" He tries to tease, his voice on the verge of a needy moan under the relentless ministrations of your hand. His eyes roll into the back of his head as you swipe your thumb against his sensitive tip. "Fuck, that's right... Right here, baby."

You love the way it rolls off his tongue, this casual, endearing pet name he's sometimes used before just to fuck around with you. It's sweet and desperate, drenched with need as he's rutting into your palm, for a split moment forgetting about you and mumbling it again into your breasts once catching himself on being sloppy.

You're honestly no better, losing your mind whenever his fingers toy with your entrance. You want him inside, so badly it tears you apart, but you know you're going to forget yourself as soon as you get what you want. His cock pulsing in your hand doesn't make it easy for you, it's like a torture at this point, torture you want to—have to—endure for him. One finger in, two, three—you clench your teeth and squeeze him tighter in your hand, on the verge of begging him to ruin you, fighting against it, soaking in immense pleasure of having your slick walls caressed exactly how you need it.

"Not gonna— Fuck, last long if you—" Hanamaki peels himself off your chest, puts everything he still has in him into pushing his high away. "Lemme— Lemme take care of you first."

He guides you to lean against him, hands against his chest, hips angled to reach your sweet spot better. Focused on self-control, you missed how he's been relentlessly looking for it, testing, observing, attentive despite his own need trying to take over.

"T-there..." You help him as much as your trembling thighs let you, arching your ass into his hand. "Don't stop now."

"I won't."

Toes curling and pleasure turning your body into spasm, you almost lose the perfect balance at the crucial moment. But Makki is there for you, holding you close and right, helping you ride your high until the last delicious second. You slump against him, blessed, exhausted but nowhere close to being full; you mewl with protest when he pulls out of you.

Makki cocks an eyebrow, surprised and hopeful at the same time, "Do you still wanna—"

You glance down at this dick, beads of precum glistening at its tip, and put the last ounce of power left in you into lifting your hips once again. He mutters something about lack of protection, neither of you listen, sanity all gone with a single swipe between your folds.

"Gonna be slow—" You can see in his eyes how much it costs him, to be mindful of your weakened, overstimulated state instead of throwing you on your back and fucking you stupid. You would take it, you would take everything, but his restraint tastes the best now.

He keeps his word, filling up inch by inch, holding you to ease strain for your trembling knees. Before your head falls into the crook of his neck, you catch a glimpse of his expression, blissed out from the simple pleasure of your wet pussy squeezing him tight. He whispers your name like a prayer, cradling you close and fully impaled on him, savoring the moment before you force your bodies to move again.

You start first but you can bounce on it only a few times before he has to take over, holding your hips for you. He stays true to his promise; even when his arms start giving up and his upward thrusts grow sloppy, he stays gentle and sweet—as much as a man drunk of you can when chasing his high. 

There's no rhythm to it, more than anything you just sway together, but just being full of him is enough. Thighs flush to him, you soak into him, chest to chest, your face in the crook of his neck, his breath heavy and moist in your ear. He throbs deep in you, close to release since the moment he's sunk into you, but stubborn to endure a little more, for another thrust, for another frantic budging of your hips, for another twitch of your pussy around him. He struggles to praise you for it too, his voice dying on him whenever he tries though, leaving him with just a string of groans and pieces of your name in between, over and over again.

He's trying to say it one more time when it finally hits him. His arms tremble and he sinks you onto his cock one more time, spilling his seed deep inside. You hold him through it, nails digging into his shoulders through the t-shirt, almost crying in your own overstimulation. 

Hanamaki wraps himself around you as well, soaking into your dry sobs, one hand soothingly petting the small of your back.

"You did so well, baby," he rasps into your ear, kissing the trail of sweat next to it.

You did so well—like back in high school when you broke your dominant arm and struggled to take notes with the other. When you got drunk for the first time and he held your hair as you were leaning over the toilet. When you broke and cried after a hard exam in your first year. When you finally got rid of your horrible ex.

He's praised you so many times before. But none sounded as sweet as the one now, in his embrace, breathing in air full of his scent, sharing the warmth of your sweaty bodies.

Still connected, you lean together to the side and collapse into the couch. It's uncomfortable, especially for Makki and his long limbs, but you both have reached your limit, and even a risk of being eventually caught by your roommate doesn't prompt you to move.

"You were right, should have carried you to the bedroom," Hanamaki sighs heavily against your neck and cradles you closer, as away from the edge as you both can fit.

"I'm always right," you chirp with confidence and prompt yourself for a pinch or nudge you would get in return, but he just laughs and guides your head to rest in his palm.

"Let's leave regrets and consequences for tomorrow." He says after a moment of silence, long enough for you to think he's dozed off. His lips are pressed close to your skin, his voice barely audible. "I don't wanna think of anything else other than you finally in my arms."

[a-couple-of-notes]

What are your thoughts on poly coven and if you do have have any what would the dynamic be?

You folks really want that Agatha All Along fic about all the different dynamics, don't you? 😂😂😂 (Referencing this ask--although I suppose I have no way of knowing whether this is the same anon. Thank you for the ask regardless!)

I enjoy poly coven, although I haven't read much of it! In my mind, there are two general ways to approach this: one where Billy functions as their non-romantic glue (the Billy-has-seven-moms approach) and one (more interesting imo) where we nix Billy altogether and let it be a true dumpster fire.

Billy Has Seven Moms:

The single thing they all agree on (no one believes Agatha when she equivocates, and Rio doesn't snarl about it, which is as close to agreement as they'll get) is that the kid comes first.

Agatha and Jen both provide a practical kind of mentorship: technical magical study, potion-making, spells. They snark at each other during lessons ("What happened to 'presenting a united front'?" says Agatha) and if Jen doesn't back off, Alice, Billy, or Lilia step in to stop it from going all the way downhill. Agatha and Jen fuck it out later.

Lilia mentors Billy in history, tarot, and witch culture--all the soft skills that Agatha and Jen aren't proficient in. She enjoys the quiet respect that all of the coven, but especially Billy and Alice, holds for her. She and Alice trade off nights cooking; Lilia's go-to recipes are old Sicilian favorites.

Alice is Billy's Normal Stable Person (TM), a fact that at one point sends Alice into a panic spiral that Agatha and Jen have to drag her out of. She's the one Billy comes to when he needs someone who understands what it's like to be a kid on your own--when he's having a tough time with someone else in the coven, when he's feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of mothers in his life. Alice teaches him guitar, and then, very hesitantly, protection spells passed down to her from Lorna.

Rio mopes around like a disgruntled housecat, never quite looking at Billy. The only time she does is when Billy announces he wants to make a Sharon Davis memorial garden. She doesn't help, of course, not in any way that Billy sees. But she does watch.

Of course, this well-oiled mentorship program works only as long as Billy is with them on the timeshare schedule. As soon as he's gone, it's like a ghost house with five roommates who hate each other's guts. If they still have separate places of residence, they all leave (except for the times when Jen is so annoyed with Agatha they bang first). If they actually do live in the same house, they all go into their separate rooms.

Then they seek each other out in pairs or trios, depending on what they want. Alice and Jen seek each other out when they want a normal date night; Rio seeks Lilia when she wants to talk shop about the old days; Agatha seeks Alice when it's been a hard day and she wants someone to be quiet about it. (Although let's be real: if Agatha's seeking someone out, it's also usually to fuck.)

Sometimes these pairs have a good time together; other times it turns into a fight that someone else cleans up. Lilia keeps count.

The only time the whole coven joins together sans Billy is when there's a threat. Usually to Agatha. Sometimes (futilely) to Rio. It always ends in massive property damage and murder, and there's an 80% chance the five of them have messy wow-we're-all-still-our-version-of-alive-sex afterward.

Agatha makes lots of divorce jokes.

No Billy, Just Chaos:

It's worse.

You know, I'm not even gonna bulletpoint this out because it's slowly growing into its own fic idea, but--in a poly coven where there's no Billy, everything happens a lot quicker and dirtier. (This is also because it veers wildly off-canon, and we're dealing with these characters before they've arced out. You know, the nasty, messy versions of them.)

Of course there's still got to be something forcing them together--soulmarks! Billy dies in episode 4 and leaves them in a crumbling Road illusion! The Salem Seven invade Westview and they all pick the same hiding spot!--but the thing keeping them together would not then be a kid. It would not be someone with a good heart they all care about. It would be one of Agatha's freakishly charismatic cons, utter fear, or a combination of both. Thus, everyone would spiral toward their most feral selves fast.

To wit: Jen and Agatha skip straight to the hate sex, Rio gets amused and jealous and jumps in. Alice, having no kid to protect, focuses her efforts on Lilia (the coven's elder) and Agatha (the coven's leader). This brings Alice directly into the snare that is Rio/Agatha/Jen, becoming--if we're being kind--their right hand and--if we're being truthful--their pet. Lilia considers herself above this weird fucked-up power tangle, but she and Rio have centuries of history, and Rio is almost as good as Agatha at annoying people into making bad decisions. It would be terrible. It would be glorious.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi Nalyra, how are you? I hope you’re having a great day.

I only joined the iwtv fandom after s2 aired and I’m so happy I found it. I am however very confused by the level of Lestat hate though. I understand that 1x05 was a big deal for the fandom. What I don’t understand is how they’re still holding onto that but can ignore everything Armand stands for and has done. The Lestat hate also spills over into downplaying Sam’s performance which is maddening. I should’ve know, I’ve been on this hell site for way too long. The obsession with Armand in this fandom is just so huge (He killed Claudia, brainwashed and emotionally manipulated Louis for 80 years, no?) I don’t mean that I want everyone to hate Armand. I just feel like I missed something joining the fandom so late. (I’m strictly talking show here)

I thought I’d ask your insight cause I love reading your answers and take on things.

Hey nonny,

so... the way I see it, the very long hiatus between s1 and s2 made parts of the fandom believe that Lestat is the "big bad abuser white demon™"... because 1x05 and the "we had to kill Lestat" is what stuck in people's brains, and was left to fester for almost two years. People who doubted the tale were accused of being racists and abuse apologists, people who pointed out that Loumand might not be the big true romance the same.

The official podcast host called Armand "so much more healthy" for Louis, and some people took that for the truth, and not for the opinion of someone (who had also obviously not read the books). They literally ignore what Armand did for decades, choosing to go on and on about the big bad abuser, and "patriarchal domination", as they have been fed by the tale, never ever taking the step back to look at the tale, and that we know that it has been tinkered with, as Assad called it.

Hating Lestat was seen as the morally correct response, and certain people reflected that belief unto other fans, accusing them of what they faulted the fictional characters for.

This need to morally justify liking or watching is relatively recent in fandom and it is extremely futile for the VC and therefore IWTV.

They‘re all terrible and monsters by our standards.

Giving a more nuanced portrait of Lestat as built on the books brought me a lot of hate and accusations on my fics.

Certain parts of the fandom have also convinced themselves that the show is not at all based on the books, despite the show returning to all emotional main points, and the writers and creators posting their tagged books for all to see.

They have convinced themselves that Lestat, the main character of the VC, will not be that, but will be the abuser throughout, portrayed to be the antagonist.

To be honest, I wish them good luck.

You... are coming in to a more complete picture, and S3 will then add more to it still.

And I'm glad for it!

I am glad that the fans coming in after s2 might be more... chill about some things, because some things have already been clarified.

I hope they are.

I‘m glad you enjoy it here 🥰

I would advise to block freely, and to ... keep the long hiatus in mind, and where this came from, maybe. It might be easier to understand.

As it is, and going by the s3 trailer, and what the writers posted, and what has been stated already.... well, they are keeping quite close to the books.

And with that the very thing Rolin Jones has already stated will happen - namely Lestat taking (quote!) “the show hostage“ - and (quote!!) “setting the story straight“.

Sam and Jacob are co-leads after all, the show built on Loustat.

Some people seem to love to forget that.

[dsvoid]

remember when i said i was beginning to relate more and more to michael? well,

i think it’s easy to underestimate his character and not really understand who he is, but once you start acting like him, it gives you a new perspective in the whole of solitaire. michael is a very angry individual, i think we all know that. however, he is not portrayed like how angry characters usually are. his anger stays inside, like a lion waiting to attack. michael lives hiding a part of himself, somewhere so deep in his mind that whenever it is able to come out it becomes his worst nightmare ever. unlike most angry characters, the anger doesn’t affect the rest, it affects him.

i think this is so important to talk about, because yes, solitaire is tori’s book, but michael brings very important details to the story. i know most of the fandom likes to talk about him as a silly little guy, and that’s valid, because he also is that. my mind just won’t be at peace until we all realize a bit more how important he is.

anger will bring him down. that’s not something we can argue about, it’s the truth. and yes, it sounds silly, anger, really? that’s the thing that’s gonna bring him down? well, not exactly. anger is the first symptom of losing yourself. you start keeping all the anger to yourself, not really knowing what to do with it or why it’s becoming bigger and bigger. as this continues, you start hating, loathing every single moment of your life that doesn’t go as planned. before you even know it, you’re isolating yourself, afraid of any chance of the anger getting stronger.

if i were to show this with a scene of the book i would choose the one were michael finally explodes at tori. because at that moment, he has been trying so hard to be her friend, and attempt after attempt, she’s just been making things difficult. i say this from an objective perspective, because we know tori wasn’t in the right headspace, but that doesn’t mean michael’s wasn’t bad mentally as well. it’s what i said before, you start loathing everything that doesn’t go your way. and in this case, his friendship with tori wasn’t going his way. it’s a very hard topic to explain because i have been in both ends, mostly in michael’s, and it is extremely difficult to deal with. we know michael doesn’t have friends and probably didn’t have before either, which means he has been carrying this issue his whole life. it’s obvious he was going to explode. he keeps trying and trying and nothing goes his way. he can’t make friends to save his life, oh and look, he also failed the competition of what he is supposed to be great at, perfect!

i guess i just wanted to talk about this because as i said, feeling like this is not great. it sucks. it’s horrible to experience but so normalized as well. people like tori get talked about behind their backs. everyone has a bit of bitterness in their voice when they talk about them, spitting how being mentally ill doesn’t excuse you for being a bad person. people like michael get pitied. the people who keep a smile and don’t stop trying even when they’re dying inside. everyone feels bad for them, but no one cares enough to make a difference.

[diamondkat]

Regarding Alastor being redeemed, I have been seeing some posts regarding how it can happen that trigger an instant ick reaction from me. I have taken time to think about why I keep having such a strongly negative reaction to it. The first thing I took into consideration is that I really do not want my current favourite bad boy to become good. I am first and foremost a villain fan and his becoming good has a high chance of ruining the character for me. This means that there is a chance that I would dislike any theory that ends with Alastor redeemed. A lot of time you see people making arguments for why a ship or character should not be liked when the real reason is they personally don't like it and the reasons are merely support. I try to make sure I am aware of my personal bias.

Regardless of my personal bias, I have decided that there is one particular theory regarding how Alastor can be redeemed that I hate from the bottom of my heart. It is the theory where Alastor after being humiliated, degraded and losing everything including his pride has no choice but to accept Charlie's care and change for the better. Sometimes it involves betraying the hotel first, but generally involves him being unable to deal with the challenges that he faces. I am sure how this works in the minds of those who like this theory makes perfect sense. He can no longer rely on himself, he sees that he isn't capable of anything and now has no choice but to become what Charle wants him to be. I hate it so much. I have kept turning it over in my mind and I think I have figured out all the reasons why separate from my bias.

First, suffering doesn't make people better. It just doesn't. The theory seems to require enough suffering to rewrite Alastor's personality and make him Charlie's puppet. It also reminds me of William Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. The story of how the proud woman was broken down to make her obedient. She might be "better" but it also felt to me like she died and became a puppet. He would be "redeemed" but that wouldn't be Alastor. It would just be something that looks like him. I just feel like fans of Alastor who like this theory don't realise that he would lose everything that pulled them to him in the first place if this happened. Some could not deal with him being less energetic in the main show than the pilot due to him being bored. How would they deal with what would essentially be a hollow creature wearing his face trying to become good because there is nothing left in him?

Second, with a proud character you can't brute force them into letting people in. Part of the idea of the theory is that after he is humiliated and suffers in front of them, he will drop his smile and be forced to let others in. That doesn't make sense to me. We have already seen in S1E8, how Alastor deals with things not going his way. He holds onto what little control he has by refusing to drop his smile and holding onto his pride while going through a breakdown. The best way to get someone like Alastor as far as I am concerned is to deal with him the same way you would deal with a wild animal. Slowly lower their guard. I think Charlie is already doing that whether Alastor knows it or not. Besides, pride is an important part of the character. Pride is part of what drew me to the character in the first place. The kind of pride that makes a person think it is okay to say, "If I wanted to hurt anyone here I would have done so already" in front of the Princess of Hell, is part of what drew me to Alastor. If he lost it, the character would likely immediately lose all appeal to me. So, there is some personal bias there.

It would make sense to me if the theory was more about Alastor learning that he can rely on others and doesn't have to depend solely on himself which leads to him opening up and letting others in. However, the theory leans very heavily into suffering as a way to make him a better person and a complete erasure of everything that makes up the character through suffering to make him into someone who wants and is worthy of redemption. That's fine for fanfiction but I hope it never becomes canon.

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Losing my Mind over Veilguard 4/??

I think what's killing me the most is this "have your cake and eat it, too" mentality EA-as-Bioware has ushered in with this game.

To try and perfectly walk the line of giving old fans what they wanted/deserved and new fans something to just jump into was a tall fucking order given that they fired so many writers, and I personally feel like they fell way short.

Part of that, I think, comes from the fact that while it's certainly helpful to play Origins and then DA2 before you reach Inquisition (I'm speaking as someone who played the games backwards), I don't think Inquisition left off as a complete story the way the first two did. We had a world on the brink and pieces on the board that had so much personal stake in staying on it until Solas was handled. We had, whether the head devs wants to accept their failures regarding it or not, an entire Keep of previous choices that could have and should have informed the world going forward. I'm not saying it was sustainable to keep raising the stakes on those choices. I am saying, however, that with the time it took to get this game to us, more than three sanitized choices deserved to matter before Bioware closed the chapter on its strongest line of storytelling and moved on to RPG Lite. To give that up, to choose a new and uncertain fan base over an already dedicated one, is disappointing.

And to that end, even if we weren't going to get the Inquisitor again (which, at this point, I'm kind of thinking we should have, even if just for parts of it), I had near-constant exhaustion finding a shred of story that connected us to the previous games and then realizing it had been done in an unsatisfying way (hi, Dorian/Isabella/MORRIGAN).

I wouldn't have cared if this had been its own standalone game. There were parts of it I enjoyed, and I'm sure I'll be here shouting about those things too, soon enough. But the fact is that for every thing I appreciate about the game there are about ten more that make me mourn the nine years I spent eager to see what was coming next.

TLDR: You cannot show me a watered-down game that stands on the shoulders of stronger writing, plot, narrative, characters, etc. and the built world and depth of three previous games and multiple supplementary written works, and then expect me to be wholly accepting of the result. Veilguard gutted the rich body of work that came before it, threw enough bone shrapnel into the mix to keep people desperate to see a conclusion to events that had been building up for in-game years hanging on, and then discarded the rest with a casual sort of "deal with it, we're making way for the new" attitude.

Welcome to the new, I guess.

I intentionally waited a few days after finishing the game to sift through everything and not just rage-post immediately, so hopefully this comes across as relatable to those on a similar page and not as me telling you that you should hate the game too if you in fact are very happy with it. (Put another way: I'm not here to change minds, I'm here to scream into the ether)

[many-but-one]

As someone who does not identify as anti-endo, I do have something to say about this.

Sometimes people are genuinely not in their right mind to make decisions about their care. That is why medical/psychiatric directives and executors exist. Sometimes people are not in their right physical or mental state to make the right decisions about their care. I know it can feel gross to override someone’s autonomy about their own care and that the system is sometimes abused by bad people, but more often than not, this is not the case. These sorts of things are for people who get into such deep psychosis that they cannot make decisions for themselves, who may cause serious harm to themselves or others. This is for people who are extremely suicidal who need to get medical and psychiatric care or they will die. This is for people with eating disorders who are so starved of nutrients that their brains aren’t functioning clearly and they need medical intervention. 5150s are actually a lot more difficult to obtain for someone than you think and they are denied more often than they are granted because the medical/psych system doesn’t want to deprive people of their autonomy unless they are a serious risk to themselves or others. My ex brother in law was in deep religious psychosis and was a possibly a danger to himself and others and we still were not granted a 5150 for him because he could still be lucid at times and still had some ability to make choices for himself. This is meant for people who are in active suicide, full blown psychosis or mania, or active homicidal ideation. While yes, sometimes this order is used incorrectly and sometimes it doesn’t need to be used, the most common usages are where people literally cannot make the correct decision for themselves to keep themselves and others around them safe.

I would be dead if my high school administrator hadn’t (basically) 5150’d me when I was 17 and extremely suicidal. That psych stay was one of the worst experiences of my mental health journey and I hated every second of it, but it kept me alive. Which is what matters most, here. Forced psychiatric intervention can be traumatic for those going through it, and it really sucks to be in that situation, but sometimes that is the only way to keep someone alive. I would rather have to work through the trauma of a shitty psych intervention than be dead.

Some may disagree, that they would rather be dead than deal with a shitty psych intervention, and I would have agreed with them when I was 17-21 years old. However I am 26, nearly 27 years old now with a decade of mental health work behind me and I can say that now that I’ve healed to the point I have, I am so fucking glad I am not dead. I have a major distrust in the psychiatric system that I’m still working through, but I would rather work through that than be dead.

It is not evil to advocate for forced psych intervention. What would be better is to advocate for improving the system at the roots so that these forced interventions are less traumatic rather than doing away with them altogether.

anti endos are just evil villains dude wtf is this

[triglycercule]

mtt playing poker but why would they bet with money thats soooo boring boo boo boo no they bet with increasingly worse and concerning things and its fun for some reason

oh theyd LOVE that shit istg. luck and bluff and tells and lies??? god who knows your own lies and deceit better than another version of yourself??? and yet picking up the other two's tells is oh so very hard because theyre not the same anymore than when they were all sans and sometimes they dont even know themselves so how could they pick up on a mirrored version's? it works out a lot more than they think

killer would have no disregard for what he bets. he plays unpredictably and sneakily. probably faking some emotion here and there to get the hasty (horror) confused and concerned about what he could do and then it turns out killer had a fucking ass hand yet he won??? BULLSHIT horror cries out!!!! but dust just picks up the cards on the ground and deals them again and they play another round. sometimes killer purposely loses. why? he dont know its just to throw a wild card into dust and horror's predictions and mayhaps for the reactions

dust is a dirty player he is a fucking CHEATER‼️‼️‼️ phantom paps are his eyes that he uses to spy on killer and horror's hands. would he need to even try anymore at that point when he could easily win every round? well yes because that wouldn't be a fun game and dust wants to have as much fun as he can in this game of lies. he pretends he doesn't know what horror and killer's hands are. they both know. theyre both more than aware of dust's cheating. and that's why their betting starts going against him specifically and then dust has to figure out how to bet them higher while also trying not to fuck himself over

horror's main thing is just to not get fucked over. goddamnit why did he agree to this he's not as open to getting hurt than dust or killer are!!! (but you still agreed anyways?) so he thinks he's the only one to have a real reason to win (because horror no wanna get hurty hurty owww owww painpainpain ouch!!!) maybe he gets too cocky and ends up betting too high because dust or killer had been losing and he wanted to take a chance. maybe that high bet was actually what got him to win?? it's all a game of chance of course and horror'll only show what he thinks after the round's done. when the cards are dealt and the stakes are up he'll just analyze the hell out of the two (don't YOU hate being analyzed??) and tap his fingers on the table over and over

their way of betting would be like: the winner gets to do whatever the other two said as their bets to the betters. like if dust loses and horror wins and he said he could get sucker punched horror is sucker punching the FUCK out of him. but these three argue they fight and bicker and throw gibes and taunts!!! how would they ever agree on what bets are higher and which are lower ⁉️⁉️⁉️ to horror a bet of saying that he'd have to eat something could be like straight hell to him but killer and dust could just put the argument that it doesn't REALLY mean that much (they know it does to horror) and then force him to bet higher because cmon coward you can do better than that!!! dont you want to get some sort of revenge on us if you lose a previous round and win this one??? and other forms of logic like that 4 dust and killer

killer starts off with an absurdly high bet (because he would) like getting to mess with his soul or something. is he sure that dust and horror have losing hands? he doesn't know. and because killer has no form of limit for himself and that's already a high bar to set for dust and horror to reach (if they don't have good hands i think they'd probably want killer to bet lower. but would they tell him??) so damn it horror has to pull out some bullshit fucking bet like he'll allow himself to get hunted down by the two with every trap he's ever set on a human in horrortale (sooo much more psychological thinking and trickery going on without betting money and instead scenarios its SO FUN). and then could dust fold? does phantom paps say he should? it depends on the cards dust has (and what if he doesn't believe paps based on his own assumptions? (paranoid bitch)) and if he can't fold he has to match the bet or go higher and then he comes up with some bogus situation like ok i'll let you guys dress me up in my human's clothes and throw me in an au and have to do what they did (and OH GOD what about if they make a bet that the other 2 wouldn't actually want to do if they win??? if killer won that round with that as dust's bet would he want someone to reenact something similar to what his own human did and have to watch??????)

oops they just got another new set of scars from last week's poker night and another layer of trauma but why the hell are they sitting down at the table again??? idk man i'm just the dealer here trying not to get killed

[coldercreation]

brb about to go down a research rabbit hole lol

Question of the day!

Why is showing ‘disinterest’ such prevalent thing when it comes to building friendships and relationships?

I have talked about this here before in my rants lol, but it just always frustrates me. Like, you know those arbitrary ‘rules’ in dating that you shouldn’t show too much interest or get in touch too soon, or be too ‘intense’ or interested? Like, obviously don’t be a stalker and read the room etc, but I mean if you're just a regular and safe 'well-adjusted' person, why is you showing genuine effort and interest seen as a bad thing (I don't mean love bombing, that's a whole different thing)? If you genuinely like each other, why is the social rule saying that you shouldn’t show that? Same goes with friendships, why is showing interest in the person you want to get to know sometimes, somehow, a bad thing? To a point that some people can get put off by that effort someone is showing to get to know them? Not saying everyone is like this, because I know there are so many people who aren’t. And plenty people also disregard these social rules because they aren’t actually concrete rules. 

This is just a social construct and I’m trying to figure out why it is, because it seems counter productive? By what logic does it work? How are you supposed to make friends/date, if them showing interest in you makes you exit the relationship/ghost/breadcrumb?

How long are we supposed to only talk in one line texts about surface level stuff, to avoid being too much/too intense, before it’s acceptable? How do you know you’re following the same social timelines with the people you’re trying to get close to, when there’s no actual set rules? Someone might think you have to wait three days after a date to get in touch, but someone else will get offended if you take longer than two. But the next day or the same day is too desperate to some folk? And I'm talking about this from the point of view of someone who doesn't have trouble reading social cues/expectations. Can't even imagine dealing with this mess if that wasn't the case. Like what's the point of having these 'rules' if it just makes things more difficult for everyone? :')

These rules, technically, don't need to exist at all. It's all made up, based on... Something? We can always dismiss them ourselves but I'd like to know why they came to be and why we keep upholding them. I want to know the social purpose y'know? Is it a safety thing? Protecting yourself and not wanting to be vulnerable? That'd be valid, of course. But it does seem self sabotaging as it blocks people from actually making the connections they say they want to have?

I’ve been trying to find any research on the social behaviour regarding this, but I’m not sure what to even look up lol. Especially because I think the way we interact and behave has changed so much just in the last five years even. 

I just find it so curious that there’s so many headlines about loneliness epidemic, but people also recoil away from others when someone does show them genuine interest and wants to talk to them.   

I’ve had this initial ‘disinterest’ stage happen in the friendship context more. Also sudden, out of nowhere, communication ending/ghosting disinterest when trying to make friends (like please hurt my heart some more I beg u lmao). I haven’t really dated in the last few years so I don’t personally know how that field is at the moment, but I know ghosting is really common and people actively try to hold back from showing interest at first, even if they are reallyreally interested.

Maybe I’ll try looking more into the effects on social media etc, there’s a lot about ghosting in that context. But I just feel like it’s not quite what I mean, because I feel this disinterest phenomenon thing is separate from ghosting. 

Anyway! Happy Sunday loll xx

[wildevenusian]

i just don’t understand. why say ur ready to talk if you aren’t?

can u believe this post is what got me to reach tag limit

[mcrcosantos]

"Chicago, huh?" he said, the corners of his mouth quirking into a small grin. "I'd say you're already working from an advantage. That's way cooler than this old town." At her laughter, he allowed himself to join in. "You're very welcome! That's a big deal!"

Marco offered a small smile, but his mind was already turning over her words. Hawthorne, Clark, and Associates. He'd already talked to a couple lawyers there, but they'd all been too familiar with his situation to see past it. She was new to town though, could look at things with fresh eyes. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance.

"That’s a good firm," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "Sounds like they’re lucky to have you." His tone was genuine, though his usual easy confidence was muted by the weight of what he was about to say.

He hesitated, fingers drumming lightly on the bar top as he glanced at her. "Look, I don’t usually bring this up with people I just met, but... I’m in a bit of a situation, and it sounds like you might have the kind of experience I need."

Marco paused, trying to gauge her reaction before continuing. "A while back, I did some time for something I didn’t do. Long story short, I took the blame for someone else. I got out, but… having that record has been hell. Especially now." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep going.

"I'm trying to adopt my niece. My brother is a piece of shit who has basically abandoned her and if it weren't for my grandparents' and I, she'd have no one. I want to make sure he can't take her back now and leave her stuck in an even worse situation with him." Now that he'd opened the floodgates, the words poured out of him with no way to stop them.

"But every door I knock on, it’s the same story: no one wants to touch a case like mine." His voice softened, the vulnerability clear. "I don’t know if this is something you or your firm would take on, but if there’s even a chance... I’d really appreciate it if you could take a look."

He straightened a little, offering a cautious smile. "No pressure, of course. I just figured, it couldn’t hurt to ask." And he really meant that. He hated putting people in this kind of a situation, but he owed it to his niece to try every possible avenue he could.

Reina made a face, one that matched the tone of "oof" when he spoke, before she laughed at the thought. "Yeah, I might say I feel the same with the people I grew up with back in Chicago. It's nice to see," she paused, looking him over again. "new faces, for sure." she smiled, fingers dancing against the bar top. Taking another sip of her drink, she found herself unprepared for his cheers, having to cover her mouth as she held in her laughter and raised her drink in the air along with him. After swallowing, she let some of the laughter out. "Thank you, thank you."

"Oh, definitely," she answered, recalling the name of the firm she had just been hired with. "I'm actually over there at Hawthorne, Clark and Associates. I think they'll have a case load ready for me that they haven't been able to make any moves on." she beamed at that, she was always ready to help people in need, and by the sound of others there at the firm, there were definitely some cases here that needed it.

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

[thoughtsofthegirlwiththecurl]

Working in publishing, my inbox is basically just:

Article on the Horrors of AI

Article on How AI Can Help Your Business

Article on How AI Has Peaked

Article on How AI Is Here to Stay Forever

Article on How AI Is a Silicon Valley Scam That Doesn't Live Up to the Promise and In Fact Can't Because They've Literally Run Out of Written Words to Train LLMs On

[apple-os]

ppl who like making friends solely with one-note cardboard boxes who will hang out with them when it's convenient and never open up about who they are as people and what their lives are like dni