#I'm just thinking about this specifically

[suiana]

yandere! golden boy who is your loving boyfriend and... surprisingly loves listening to you talk about your interests! yes darling, talk about your games and novels and silly plushies! he loves seeing how interested you can get about things you're passionate about and it just makes him feel so warm on the inside.

you might even go as far to say he ENCOURAGES your interests. buying you plushies, taking you to exhibitions/places you want... you don't even have to ask, just one look with your eyes and he's taking out his card. yeah, it doesn't matter if you have an unhealthy attachment to that fat cat pusheen or whatever. you seem to really like it so he's buying that 400 dollar plushie for you.

on the same note... he can't help but get jealous when you're gushing over attractive fictional characters. SPECIFICALLY that ONE dude that you seem to have EVERYWHERE. on the wall, on your phone cover, lock screen, profile picture, fuck, even on your bed as a plushie! and all he gets is a meager nickname on his contact?!

"sweetie, must you... really have all these... THINGs of HIM?"

"he's my first husband, you're my second. of course i have merch of him. plus I'm not gonna just throw all these away, i spent big money on these ya know 💀"

he knows it's petty! he knows that it's just a fictional character and that he shouldn't be jealous but dude! you don't even have him in your wallet! it's that freaking guy!

so he does what evey sane boyfriend does and replaces some (not all just some!) of your merchandise with pictures of him and you. how adorable, right?

no.

"bro where is the portrait of my MAN🤬🤬🤬"

"i replaced it with a nice picture of us together darling☺️ look at how cute-"

oh. and you...you just put another photo of that guy again... oh... and you're ranting on reddit/instagram about how he's being mean... you also removed him from your close friends list... oh you... you also decided to kick him off the bed and onto the sofa... oh...

well no biggie! he has lots of patience and he will sneak in his presence into your stuff. he's determined.

"best friend I'm going to need you to cosplay as my favorite character please ☺️"

damn!

why didn't he think of that sooner? if you can't win the normal way, you should do it another way, right? he can just get you to see how much better he is and you'll eventually replace that fictional man for HIM!

...

yeah, that didn't work out as planned. now you're even more in love with that character and you're asking him to cosplay every other day. erm... at least.. your wallpaper is a picture of him cosplaying the character??? he'll take what he can get.

"lol best friend, did you see that video i sent you. it's so stupid."

"for the last time, sweetie. we're dating, call me boyfriend. and which one? I can't watch every single one of the 99+ reels you send me."

"a real best friend would watch them all..."

being with you has singlehandedly changed this man. for the worse or for the better, he doesn't know. but what he does know is that you DON'T know how to dress.

"sweetie, no. you can't just go out in a shirt and shorts! you look like adam sandler!"

"clothes are clothes 🤬"

at least he has a fun time dressing you up. you're like, his cute little rat! his very own personal dress up rat! oh how he wants to just keep you in his pocket and pick out pretty clothes for you, making you look like the cutest thing ever! sure you might take them off and just wear what you want but... at least he's got the photos and the sight of you in a pretty outfit ingrained into the folds of his brain already ☺️ and he'll take every chance he can get to put you into another pretty outfit again. that i assure you.

he... has ALSO found out that you are living on instant noodles, sandwiches, and the occasional takeout. you don't even open the curtains! how can you see in such a dark home? and why are you sleeping until midday?! dear oh dear. you really are a rat, huh?

"darling get up! it's 12 in the afternoon already!"

"i slept at 3 just let me sleep more..."

that simply won't do. he will not be allowing you to lead such a horrid lifestyle! not if he can help it! especially because... well, he's also your boss. from part 1, remember! yeah, you guys didn't break up at the end haha! you were just joking, obviously! not like you'll ever be able to break up. it's in the contract, silly.

"come on, get up. you need to have a healthy lifestyle. I've already gotten my personal chef to cook up a healthy meal for you."

"who's gonna stop me from living like this? you? 😂😂😂"

"yes, me. in our contract, remember? i will be responsible for your health from now till we die."

don't worry. he'll be by your side every step of the way. and hey, who knows? maybe you can even teach him a thing or two about gaming or something else you like! he's open to learning about the things you like.

and he won't even have to worry about you finding another REAL person to like because... well, let's just say you don't even like going out for dinner. we'll keep it at that ☺️

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

obligatory animal crossing au for the psychological horror game 👍🙂👍 i'm calling it... "Mouthcrossing." (everyone boos)

They live on Tulpar Island which is overseen by Pony Express instead of Nook Inc. The crew's job is to develop the island—led by Curly, the Resident Representative. Things are pretty chill until a stranger arrives, claiming to be the true Resident Representative, and begins terrorizing the island. It's up to the Tulpar crew to defeat this menace and save the island from destruction.

curly: chose lion because it would fit his ✨golden locks✨ and also i was thinking about the phrase "cowardly lion." because y'know. reasons. he's the main guy in charge of planning and development.

anya: went with the ostrich villager type, but she's technically a black heron (the cool bird that does the umbrella shape with its wings). some may say i should've made her a horse, but i say neigh! i didn't want to make her a horse because 1) polle already takes that place and 2) jimmy's psych eval comment. anyway she's still the crew's nurse in this au.

swansea: yup he's a bear. look i know he literally has swan in his name but he SCREAMS bear. in multiple ways if you catch my drift nudge nudge wink wink. he's a grumpy ol' bear. 💛 he does a lot of DIY crafting stuff on the island.

daisuke: honestly he was the most difficult for me to decide on, but i eventually just went with dog. pomeranian specifically since that's what i made him in my dog au. the other option i was thinking about was bird, but i felt it would be too similar to anya. in this au, daisuke is still swansea's intern, but this time studying crafting.

jimmy: a player whose game glitched due to him messing with the file too much, leading to him not being able to modify it anymore. is now being a salty loser about his game being "ruined" despite it being his own fault and is taking it out on tulpar island's residents. don't worry, he gets his ass kicked.

[barnacles34]

Bells and Whistles (Professional Hazard pt.2)

Karina x Male Reader

18+

It's three days after that beautiful night. Still in Rome.

The voicemail plays in the quiet of her bedroom. First: silence. Then a sharp intake of breath that makes your pulse jump. 

Your thumb hovers over the phone as her voice breaks into those familiar wet sounds that have been haunting you all afternoon.

'If you play that one more time—'

'Shh. This is art.'

She's burrowed in her fortress of quilts, only eyes visible over the edge. A paperback lies abandoned by her hip.

'Delete it.' But her voice has gone soft around the edges.

'Not a chance.' You take your time with your shoes. Let her watch the deliberate movements. 'This is better than your debut song—and you know how much I love that song.’'

'You're awful.' The quilt slips as she shifts. 'I was desperate.'

'Were you?' You tap the phone, find that specific moment where her voice catches. 'Tell me about desperate.'

Her sock-covered foot sneaks out, hooks behind your knee. Tugs. 'Twenty minutes for milk. Who takes twenty minutes for milk?'

'Someone wearing very expensive, very tight jeans.'

'Someone being cruel.'

You catch her ankle mid-retreat. The quilt falls away, reveals cotton shorts still damp from earlier. Your thumb finds the arch of her foot, presses. She makes that sound again—the one from the voicemail.

'Cruel?' Your fingers trace higher. 'I'm not the one sending pornographic voicemails in the middle of the day.'

'I didn't—' She breaks off as your hand slides up her calf.

'No?' You hit play again. Her recorded gasp fills the room. 'What would you call this then?'

She bites her knuckle. You replace it with your thumb, let her teeth graze the pad.

'That noise you made,' you murmur. 'Right at the end. Makes me feel invincible.'

'Yeah?' Her tongue darts out, tastes salt.

'Like I could do anything. Find Atlantis. Solve world peace.' You brush her temple with your lips. 'Handle two of you.'

She snorts, shoves at your chest. 'You can barely handle one.'

'Want to test that theory?'

The laughter dies in her throat as your palm finds her inner thigh. Heat blooms under cotton.

'Stay.' Her fingers twist in your shirt like anchors. 'I'll send more. A dozen. Two dozen.'

'Greedy girl.'

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. 'Your fault.'

When you kiss her, she melts like she's been waiting all day.

Her tongue maps the ridges of your teeth, memorizing territory she already knows by heart.

‘Cheater,’ she gasps when you pinch the clasp of her bra.

‘Architect.’

Her shorts fall. The quilt tangles around her hips. She arches when your mouth finds her neck. Whimpers when your teeth follow.

‘Still deleting it.’ She breathes.

‘Try.’

You hit playback again. Her moan swells—raw, unfiltered—as your fingers slide into her.

‘Fuck.’ Her head thrashes. ‘That’s—’

‘—Proof.’ You curl your fingers. ‘You’re my religion.’

She chokes on a laugh. A sob. Her hips stutter. You drink the sounds from her lips. Let her nails carve half-moons into your shoulders.

Later, when she’s boneless and blinking up at you, she traces your collarbone.

‘Twelve voicemails,’ she yawns.

‘Thirteen.’

‘Why thirteen?’

You press her palm to your chest. Let her feel the gallop. ‘One for every time I died at this very second.’

She stills.

Her teeth flash. Dangerous. Devoted. ‘Gladly.’

Your fingers move lazy. Slow. Dragging out every twitch, every choked gasp. She arches into your hand, sweat gluing her bangs to her temples.

‘Still… deleting it.’ She pants, hips circling.

‘Try harder.’ You crook your fingers. Watch her back bow.

Her moan syncs with the recording still playing softly nearby—a stereo echo of need. You drink the sound. Memorize the way her throat flutters.

It’s pulsing, it’s so wet and hot. Sucking in your fingers like quicksand.

‘You’re mean.’ She whines.

‘Mean?’ Your thumb swipes. ‘You begged for this. Remember?’

The voicemail crackles: “—can’t sleep, can’t think, just… please—”

You smirk. Kiss her inner thigh. Salt and jasmine. Her hips jerk.

‘No—wait—’ Her hand fists your hair. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t pull. Trembles.

You nuzzle the damp cotton. ‘Scared?’

‘Never.’

Her shorts peel away. You linger—inhale her, lips hovering. She whimpers.

You chuckle. ‘Even your pussy smells like jasmine.’

‘Please.’

The first lick is a tease. A glancing blow. She curses. The second? A vow.

You map her with your tongue—slow, reverent. Learn the rhythm that makes her thighs clamp your ears. The angle that steals her words. She’s wildfire in your mouth.

‘There—oh god, there—’

You double down. Fingers curl inside her. Thumb presses just so.

Her scream is raw. Beautiful. The quilt soaks. You don’t let up—suck gently as she shakes, drag your tongue through every pulse until she’s clawing the sheets.

Her juices quicken, a pungent musk of sex that’s just pure fucking sin—and you’re sucking it up like a thirsty dog.

Your tongue drags a slow circle around her clit—not touching it. Just tracing the swollen bud through her folds. She whines, thighs tensing.

‘Tease.’

‘Worshipper.’ you correct.

Her hips lift. You press her back down with a palm to her stomach. Feel the muscles flutter, feel the soft cream-like softness of her beautiful midriff.

First contact: a glancing lick. Just the tip of your tongue skating over her clit. She gasps. You catalog the sound—high, sharp, yours.

‘Again.’ She breathes.

You oblige. Slower this time. Let your tongue flatten, drag wet heat across her, bury your nose into her pelvis. Her fingers knot in the sheets.

‘Good?’

‘More.’

You hum. Vibration ripples through her. She jerks.

‘Easy,’ you murmur against her. ‘Let me learn you.’

Your thumbs part her folds. Expose her fully—glistening, flushed, pulse visible in the throb of her clit. You blow gently. Watch her clench, flesh constricting.

‘Cruel—’ A high moan escapes her.

‘Thorough.’

The first proper lick steals her voice. You start slow. Broad strokes from entrance to clit, savoring her tang. Her thighs quiver.

‘There,’ she hisses when your tongue flicks her clit. ‘God, there—’

You zero in. Flick. Flick. Steady rhythm. Her breath hitches.

‘Don’t stop—don’t—’

You switch tactics—suck gently. Her back arches.

‘Yes—like—ah—’

Her clit hardens under your tongue. You trace circles around it, avoiding direct contact. She sobs.

‘Please—’

You reward her: firm pressure, rapid flicks. Her hips stutter. You pin her down, red blooming around the hold you have over her stomach—relentless.

‘Close—I’m close—’

You slide two fingers inside. Curl. Her walls clamp.

‘Fuck—fuck—’

Her clit pulses under your tongue. You suck harder.

She shatters.

A broken scream. Hips grinding against your face. You ride her through it—tongue gentling, fingers stilling.

‘Too much—’

You kiss her inner thigh. Two more kisses along the outer lips. Taste salt. ‘Beautiful.’

She trembles. ‘Again.’

Her thighs tremble as she nudges you onto your back. The mattress dips under her weight. You reach to touch her face—always reaching—but she catches your wrist. Presses it to the pillow. 

Her grip isn’t firm. A request, not a demand.

‘Let me,’ she murmurs.

You nod.

Her lips start at your collarbone—a closed-mouth kiss that lingers. She exhales warm breath against the hollow of your throat. You swallow. She smiles against your skin.

Another kiss. Lower. The swell of your pectoral. The scar from that cat. Her tongue traces the jagged edge. You hiss.

The way her thick hair travels along your chest tickles. The soothing aroma of her shampoo almost paralyzing you.

Her teeth graze your nipple. Bite down just enough to make your hips jerk. The denim of your jeans rasps against her bare thighs.

‘Off,’ she says.

‘What’s the magic word?’

Her eyes flick up. Dark. Glossy with submission. ‘Please.’

You sit up to shuck your jeans. She pushes you back down. ‘Let me.’

Her fingers fumble with your belt. The leather slips. She growls—a sound you’ve only heard when she lost at Mario Kart the day before. You bite your cheek. Laughter threatens release.

‘Shut up.’

‘Didn’t say anything.’

The belt clatters to the floor. Your boxers follow. Cool air hits your cock. Her breath follows—warm, uneven.

‘Look at me,’ you say.

She does. Pupils blown. Lips parted. A string of saliva connects her tongue to her lower lip.

‘Beautiful,’ you murmur.

She flushes. Looks away.

Your thumb hooks her chin. ‘Eyes here, sweetheart.’

A whimper escapes her. She obeys.

The first lick is tentative. A kitten testing cream. Her tongue swipes the underside of your cock. Your abs clench in response.

‘Jimin—’

‘Shh.’

Her lips wrap the head. Suck gently. Your groan claws its way out. She moans in response—vibration traveling straight to your spine.

Fuck.

Her hand wraps your shaft. Strokes in time with her mouth. Too dry. Too rough. Perfection.

‘Condom?’ she mumbles around you, the slightest gap allowed for conversation.

‘Later.’

She hums. The sound liquefies your bones.

And she continues. Swollen lips wrapped around your length, tongue slightly pushing on the underside.

Her free hand drifts between her legs. You catch it.

‘Focus.’

‘Meanie.’

You guide her head back down. ‘Earn it.’

She takes you deeper. Smoldering eye contact as she inches closer to the hilt, whereupon her nose almost makes contact with your pelvic bone. Gags. Pulls off. Coughs.

Strings of thick spit follow her mouth as she wipes.

‘Okay?’

‘Perfect.’

She tries again. Slower. Breathing through her nose. Her throat opens. Takes you to the root this time. Tears spill.

You bite down on your lip.

Her nails dig into your thighs. Sting. Ground. 

She finds a rhythm—suck, release, swirl. Strings of spit travel down your length. Where her thumb massages your balls with the spit. Your vision blurs.

Amidst it all, she’s staring into you—daring you to force her down on your cock. Begging, even.

‘Close,’ you warn.

She pulls off. Strokes you fast. ‘Come.’

You arch. ‘Where?’

Her tongue darts out. Catches the first pearl of cum. ‘Everywhere.’

The orgasm rips through you. Strips you raw. You spill across her lips, her chin, the swell of her breasts. She licks her lips. Grins.

‘Good?’

‘Amazing.’

She crawls up your body. Fully swallowing the load, then pressing a light kiss on your cheek.

Her mouth lingers on your cheekbone—wet, warm. The kiss sticks when she pulls back. Milky streaks still glisten between her breasts. You thumb one. She shivers.

‘Messy,’ you murmur.

‘Yours.’

Her nipples graze your chest as she straddles you. Heat blooms where skin meets skin. You palm her ribs. Feel the rabbit-quick thrum beneath.

Her hips lift. Your cock nudges her entrance. Slick. Swollen. You hold still. Make her work for it.

‘Please.’ She breathes, sinking down.

Heat swallows you. Tight. Quivering. You bite your tongue. Blood blooms.

She moves like water—slow swirls, thighs trembling. Her breasts sway. You catch one. Lick the salt from its curve.

‘Look at me.’

She doesn’t. Eyes screwed shut. Hair plastered to her neck. Hot and heavy with arousal.

You pinch her nipple. Gentle. Cruel. ‘Look.’

She whimpers. Lashes lift. Pupils black as oil spills.

‘Good girl.’

She whimpers. Clenches. Your fingers dig into her hips.

‘Faster.’

‘Make me.’

You buck up. She gasps. Nails score your chest.

‘Cheat—’

Her rhythm fractures. Hips stuttering. You let her chase it—the sweet friction, the burn. Her moans pitch higher.

‘Close—I’m close—,’ she whimpers.

You still her hips. ‘Wait.’

She sobs. ‘Please—’

‘Say it.’

Your thumb finds her clit. Circles.

She breaks. ‘Yours. Always yours.’

You release her. Let her slam down. Take what she needs.

Her orgasm rips through both of you—convulsions, bitten-off cries. Her rhythmic roll of hips turns frenzied. You let her ride it. Milk every pulse. 

After all, you’re obsessed—crazy about her.

When she collapses, you roll her over. Press into the sweat-slick hollow of her back.

‘Again.’

She shakes her head. Weak.

You bite her shoulder. ‘Again.’

Her body opens. Always opens. You grip your cock along her swollen slit, the sticky wetness almost  drives you mad. Regardless, you fuck her slow this time. 

Deep. Dragging each thrust. Feeling how her pussy drags on your cock, slick wet sounds singing into your ears.

‘Feel it?’

She nods. Pillow muffling her whines.

Your hand slides under. Cups her breast. Squeezes.

You curl over her. Chest to heaving back. Lips to her ear.

​​Her lips linger at your ear—sticky with confession. You taste salt when she pulls away. The room smells of sex and the spilt vanilla candle she lit hours ago, wax pooling like liquid amber.

She softly guides your hand to her throat. Your thumb finds the pulse. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. A trapped bird.

"Harder," she whispers.

You tighten. Feel her swallow.

Her breasts press against your chest as she arches, nipples pebbling against your scars. The heat between her legs slicks your thigh.

"Inside.’

You flip her. Sheets snag her knees. She whines. You bite the sound from her lips.

Her hands fist the headboard. You press into her slow. Molten velvet. Her moan fractures.

‘Eyes.’

She obeys. Always obeys.

You move. Deliberate. Each thrust a psalm. Her breasts sway—heavy, flushed. You palm one. Squeeze. Milk-white skin blooms red.

‘More—’

‘Quiet.’

She bites her wrist. You replace it with your fingers.

‘Sing for me.’

Her cry splinters the air. You swallow it. Fuck her deeper.

The headboard knocks the wall. Syncopated. Her ankles lock at your waist. Pull. Beg.

‘Who?’ you demand.

‘Yours.’

‘Louder.’

‘Yours~!’

The word still ringing when you slam into her. No finesse. Piston hips. Her breasts slap your chest—heat and sweat and jasmine.

She chokes. Nails rake your back. ‘Too—’

‘Take it.’

Her legs lock. Ankles digging into your behind. You fuck her like proving a point. Jackhammer rhythm. Headboard cracks plaster.

Dust rains down as you drag her hips back, slam into her harder. No rhythm now—just ruin.

She chokes on a scream, face mashed into the quilt, ass raised like an offering.

Your grip bruises her waist, fingers denting flesh as you split her open again. Again. Again and again. 

You can feel your balls hit the wetness of her pussy, smacking wet sounds onto her slit.

‘Take it.’ You grind deeper, pelvis punishing her clit with each thrust. Her thighs quiver, slick with sweat and your earlier release. ‘Wanted me rough? Here.’

She sobs into the mattress, voice shredded. ‘T-too—’

‘You don’t get to.’ You fist her hair, yank her head back. Her spine bows, throat exposed. ‘You begged for this. Remember?’

A nod. A whimper.

You snarl, slamming home. The wet slap of skin-on-skin drowns her cries. Her nails claw the sheets, nearly ripping threads. You lean over her, teeth scoring her shoulder. 

Her scream cracks as you pin her wrists, pound into her like you’re exorcising ghosts.

The bed groans. Her breasts sway, nipples raw from your mouth. She’s so tight, clenching around your cock like she’s trying to keep you trapped inside.

‘Gonna break you,’ you rasp, thumb digging into her asshole.

She shrieks, back arching. ‘P-please—’

‘Please what?’

‘Ruin me—’

You do. Hips pistoning, sweat stinging the bite marks on her neck. You don’t stop—can’t stop—driving into her convulsions until your vision whites out.

She sobs. High. Broken. ‘There there there~!’

Your thumb finds her clit. Grind. Her scream lodges in your teeth.

‘Come.’

‘Can’t—can’t—’

You bite her shoulder. ‘Come.’

She shatters. Walls milking. Clenching. Begging without words.

You drill deeper. Tip hitting that spongy ache. Her eyes roll back.

‘Gonna fill you,’ you snarl.

‘Please please—’

One last thrust. Hilt-deep.

You rupture.

Whiteout. Earthquake hips. Flood her until your knees buckle.

She collapses into the fault line you’ve carved. Whimpers when you pull out. Spend drips down her thigh.

Her finger swipes it—all that cumulative spend coupled along her swollen cunt. Lets the slurry couple along her tongue.

‘I love how you taste.’

‘God. You’re too fucking perfect.’ You drop down onto her. Cuddling.

Moonlight spills through the curtains. She's tucked against you, all soft edges now.

'You okay?' Your fingers ghost over her shoulder.

'Mm.' A pause. 'Was it too much?'

'Never.'

'But I was...' She shifts slightly. 'I got carried away.'

'Hey.' You tilt her chin up. 'That's what I love about you.'

'What? Being a mess?'

'Being real.'

She burrows closer. 'Still. Sorry if I—'

'Don't you dare apologize.'

'But—'

'Want some water?'

'If you move, I'll write a very detailed exposé about you.'

'About what? My green tea addiction?'

'Chapter One: The Man Who Chose Hydration Over Cuddles.'

'Riveting.'

'Mm. I'll even include citations.'

Your fingers trace idle patterns on her arm. 'What's Chapter Two?'

'Our future kids being haunted by your tea collection.'

'Kids, huh?'

'Tiny humans who'll only drink iced americanos.'

'In winter? That's grounds for custody battle.'

She pinches your side. 'They'll be perfect.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah. Little artists with their mom's smile and their dad's terrible sense of humor.'

'My humor is exquisite.'

'You'll teach them to be insufferable.'

'And you'll teach them to be beautiful.'

She props herself up. Hair mussed, eyes soft. 'Where should we live?'

'Somewhere quiet. With big windows.'

'And a garden?'

'For your flowers and my tea herbs.'

'Domestic.' She wrinkles her nose. 'I like it.'

You pull her closer. 'We'll need a library.'

'For bedtime stories?'

'And quiet mornings.'

'With a reading nook?'

'Big enough for three.'

'Four,' she corrects. 'Maybe five.'

'Ambitious.'

She kisses your jaw. 'Thought you could handle anything.'

'Try me.'

'Five kids. All girls. All with my stubbornness.'

'Terrifying.'

'But worth it.'

You thread fingers through her hair. 'Worth everything.'

'Even giving up your tea collection?'

'Now you're pushing it.'

She laughs, soft and real. 'I'll let you keep the fancy cups.'

'Generous.'

'I know.' She yawns. 'I'm a catch.'

'The biggest.'

Her fingers trail your chest. 'Hey.'

'Mm?'

'Think our kids will be tall?'

'With your genes? Doubtful.'

She bites your shoulder. 'I'm average height.'

'For a garden gnome.'

'For a normal person.’ She groans.

‘—Who has been crushed ever so slightly by a hydraulic press.’

‘Ugh.’ She falls back into the bed.

‘We need a shower.��

She huffs. ‘No, I need a shower.’

‘Hm?’

‘I know what you’re gonna do: act like it’s a shower then nail me for the next half-hour in there.’

‘Oh?’

‘Don’t oh me. My legs are still sore from the cumulative effects of the past 3 days’

'Fine.' You pull her closer. 'Five more minutes.'

'Five turns into fifty with you.'

'Can you blame me?'

She traces patterns on your chest. 'I have to be at the airport by six.'

'Skip it.'

'Right. I'll just tell my company I found something better to do.'

'Like?'

'Like getting ravished by a journalist with no self-control.'

'Sounds reasonable to me.'

Her laugh is soft. Sad. 'I can’t let go of this.'

'This?'

'You.' She props herself up. 'Your stupid jokes. Your hands. The way you look at me like I'm...'

Your fingers find her hair. 'How long?'

'A week. Maybe two.'

'I'll die.'

'Drama queen.'

'No, actually die. Waste away. They'll write articles: Local Writer Perishes From Karina Deficiency.'

She smacks your chest. 'Stop.'

'My last words will be "if only she'd stayed one more day."'

'I hate you.'

'You love me.'

'Yeah.' She kisses your jaw. 'That's the problem.'

She sits up suddenly. 'Wait. What if—'

'What if?'

'My apartment in Seoul has a separate entrance. Service elevator.' The words tumble out. 'Nobody uses it except staff. And I have this office, connected to my room—'

'Jimin.'

'—could set up a desk there. Get you one of those fancy writing chairs. And there's this cafe nearby, really private, the owner's super discrete—'

You prop yourself up. Watch her plan your smuggling with bright eyes.

'The security team changes rotation at 2AM.' She's drawing invisible blueprints on your chest. 'That's when we could—'

'Breathe, baby.'

'I'm serious.' Her fingers curl against your skin. 'I've thought about this. A lot. Like, embarrassingly a lot.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' She ducks her head. 'Have the whole thing mapped out in my head. When to sneak you in. Which staff to trust. Where to hide your toothbrush.'

'My toothbrush gets its own strategic planning?'

'Everything gets strategic planning.' She looks up. 'I'd make it work. I'd make it perfect.'

'Jimin.'

'I know it's crazy.' Her voice cracks. 'But I can't—the thought of not—'

You pull her down. Kiss her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth. 'Tell me more about this secret entrance.'

She breathes against your neck. 'Really?'

'Really. Though I should warn you—'

'What?'

'My toothbrush is high-maintenance. Needs its own security detail.'

She laughs, wet and relieved. 'I'm being pathetic.'

'You're being perfect.' Your thumb catches a tear. 'And I'm taking notes.'

'Yeah?'

'Mm yeah. Finally found my title: "How to Smuggle a Writer: A Professional Hazard."'

Jimin nuzzles into you further. Purring at this moment of peace.

2 Weeks Later

Dawn creeps through her expensive curtains. She's wrapped around you like a koala, skin on skin, taking up more space than her tiny frame should allow.

You try to slip away. Her arms tighten.

'No,' she mumbles against your chest.

'Tea.'

'Lies.'

'Green tea.'

'Worse lies.'

But she lets you go, rolling into the warm spot you leave behind. You pause at the door—she's barely covered by the sheet, hair a mess across your pillow. Perfect.

The kitchen gleams in morning light. That copper kettle she insisted on buying catches the sun—"Because proper tea needs proper tools," she'd declared, like your entire existence before her was barbaric.

She pads in almost-naked just as the water's heating, with your discarded shirt from yesterday.

'Cold?'

'Miss you already.'

'I'm right here.'

'Too far.' She hooks her chin over your shoulder, arms sliding around your waist. 'What blend?'

'The one you say you hate.'

'Mm. The grassy one?'

'Getting better at this.'

She hums against your skin. Already reaching for her cup—the blue ceramic one that somehow migrated from the hotel to her apartment.

First sip. Her eyes close.

'Well?'

'It’s okay.' She takes another sip. 'Bland. I guess.'

She grins wide as you turn around. Getting closer to you, inhaling the smell of your fresh t-shirt. 

'Noted.' You kiss her temple. 'Want the rest of mine too?'

'Yes.' A sleepy smile. 'But only because I love you.'

'Of course.' Your greatest triumph: her, here, stealing your tea and your heart. 'Only because of that.'

'Want breakfast?' She's already moving to the fridge.

'You're cooking?'

'Don't sound so scared.' She pulls out eggs, something that looks suspiciously gourmet. 'I've been practicing. Besides, I’m tired of eating the coal you call food, and the bacteria colony I call food.'

'Since when?'

'Since I decided to be domestic.' She hip-checks you away from the counter. 'Go sit. Let me work.'

You watch her move around the kitchen. Something's different. A nervousness in her hands, a flutter in her movements.

'Stop staring.'

She’s revelling in it, how she gets you dumb-struck every time you get a glance of her.

Too cute.

'Can't help it.'

She sets a plate in front of you. Simple breakfast. Eggs. Toast. But arranged with careful precision. Something white peeking out from under the toast.

'Fancy.' You reach for your fork.

'Wait.' Her fingers twist in your shirt. 'Look under.'

'Under the toast?'

She nods. Not breathing.

You lift the bread. There's a small note. Written as small as her hands would allow. 

‘Pregnant.’

The world stops.

'Jimin.'

'I know it's fast.' The words rush out. 'I know we just—but I've been feeling strange and the test was just sitting there in my bathroom for days and I finally—this morning while you were sleeping—'

You pull her into your lap.

'Say something.'

'When?'

'2 weeks, maybe? Remember that night after the bar?'

You remember. Of course you remember. A beautiful night.

'Are you...' Her voice small. 'Are you happy?'

You kiss her. Taste salt. Someone's crying. Maybe both of you.

'Ecstatic.' Your hand finds her stomach. Still flat. But now. But soon. 'Terrified.'

'Yeah?' She laughs through tears.

'Yeah.' You kiss her again. 'Best breakfast ever.'

'Even better than your tea?'

Instead of answering, you kiss her again.

What's tea anyway?

Fin

A/N: Goodness! They make a great couple. Hope you enjoyed!

[these-written-reveries]

This is a great post and it also reminded me of one of my fav fictional queerplatonic relationships, Schmidt and Nick from New Girl.

I remember watching that scene from season 5 episode 5 for the first time

Schmidt: Nick is very romantic. He does romantic things for me all the time!

Nick: Schmidt, what are you talking about??

Schmidt: Just the other week you were very romantic to me! When I fell down in the parking lot and you picked me up!

*flashback to Schmidt falling like an idiot and Nick hoisting him up unceremoniously by the arm*

Schmit then goes on to say that romance doesn't always have to be sexual and for some reason that really stuck with me over the years. I think it describes how I have felt about a couple of my really close friendships with people in my life. The kind where you just really click on a very deep and intimate level, but not in a sexual or normal "romantic" way.

I find many things that me and my best friend does as "romantic", just in a platonic-romantic way. I wish there was a better word for this. I never say it aloud bc people will get weirded out, but I'm always internally like "Aww so romantic!" to basically anything that I view to be particularly heartfelt/affectionate/intimate.

They sent me flowers bc they knew I was having a bad day? They poured their heart into a letter for me just bc they felt like it? They remembered that I love this really specific thing and gifted me something related to that? They cradled my face so gently while they helped me get an eyelash out of my eye? That's SO romantic!

And I do the same things for them! Does that mean I wanna date or fuck them? No! But whoever does later down the line will be a damn lucky bastard, I'll tell you that.

Has my demisexual ass fallen in love with a previous best friend of mine who also did many of these things? 👀 That's besides the point!!! It's not always like that, and people need to become more educated and comfortable with the reality that there are various types of love and romance out there and not all of them = sex and dating.

Long story short, I just love really deeply, even on platonic levels, and I can see the romance in everything and I think it's so sweet 🥹🥰

"friends don't look at each other like that" well okay you coward you do whatever you want however i WILL look at my friends like they're the most important thing in the world. i love them with my whole heart and i will hold their hand and stare at the stars not because i wanna fuck them but because they mean the world to me and i care about them. fuck you

[fablerenown]

I've had a couple people asking me if I've noticed my TikTok feed is different since the app came back, and I haven't noticed that because I fucking deleted the app off my phone when it went down.

I think of it this way: If someone told me my favorite restaurant was reopening thanks to the sponsorship of Nazis (specifically, the Nazis who HAD IT CLOSED IN THE FIRST PLACE), I would never fucking go there again. I don't care how good the food is; the fact that it's working with FUCKING NAZIS means I want nothing to do with it. I don't need it for work or as my only line of connection to people, so I'm not going back until they prove there's no fucking Nazis. I'll go literally anywhere else.

In fact, I feel like just being off TikTok and on more reading-based apps like Tumblr and BlueSky for a couple days has vastly improved my brain. I feel like my mental health is better, I'm more focused, and I'm more productive. It's obviously too soon to tell, but I feel like besides making videos for YouTube I don't know if I'd go back to an app like TikTok again. The only thing I'm still debating is whether or not to leave the accounts up, mostly so people can find me from there and as evidence for a video I want to make later about grey area plagiarism on short form apps like TikTok and Instagram Reels.

[edward-munson]

never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth. 

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat. 

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

[euniexenoblade]

A thing about the "transandrophobia is real" "transmascs don't hold any power over trans women ever" "trans women saying transandrophobia isn't real are terfs" lot is they are so attached to biological sex and assigned sex and the gender binary while trying to claim they're the group against that stuff.

like, i was trying to hold off whining about this again but so many of them keep popping up on my posts so like. look at their blogs. just read. in one post they'll be like "I'M NOT AFAB IM NONBINARYYYY" or "SEX? I HAD SEX WITH YOUR MOM LAST NIGHT" or "AMAB TRANS WOMEN SAYING I CANT BE A TRANS WOMAN CUZ IM AFAB ARE ENFORCING THE GENDER BINARY" or "TME/TMA IS A NEW BINARY" keep scrolling. You'll eventually come across a post that keeps insisting on afab and amab and male and female and if they're really old school you'll start getting mtf and ftm.

And, I hear you, "not everyone knows modern terminology," these are not uneducated ignorant people, these are people who spend all day, every day, arguing with trans women about transmisogyny. Their entire presence on this web site is calling trans women they don't like "scum." They know male/female and mtf/ftm are old and done, they know tme/tma exist and specifically hate it cuz it's language that empowers trans women to talk about their oppression, and their over dependence on afab/amab is 100% because they know male/female on it's own is frowned on.

At one moment they're talking about how they're gender punk, be anything you want forever, the next moment they want you to remember, you're amab. that trans woman? also amab. Amab, amab, male, amab. But you mention they're afab and whoa, a bomb just got set off. You're misgendering them. You're literally committing bigotry against them. Yet, scroll down their blog, you'll find that they refer to themselves as such all the time. Like....

This is just terf ideology dressed up in afabs and amabs. If not terf ideology, it's just one small step from it. But, almost all of them say this kind of thing. But, they turn around and call trans women who are familiar with feminism, and transphobia, and theory "terf" for saying misandry doesn't exist. Or they say "terfs" hate men and that's why they hate trans women cuz they see us as men and it's like. If you are familiar with feminism or misogyny you'd know that, no, terfs don't treat us as men, they treat us as oppressed women. But they aren't well read, they don't understand nuance or deep understandings of bigotry and oppression, so they just take the terf misgendering a trans woman as like. Literal. And they build their entire idea of what a terf is around this, but not the ideology that actually defines what a terf is.

"Transandrophobia is real" people are absolutely upholding biological sex. That's why they get the trans women that ID as male and the trans men that ID as female to join them, "my gender is just complicated don't be mean to me" - you're constantly implying trans women are male and denying our oppression and supporting people that misgender us, your attachment to "male" through all this is not beyond critique, your bigotries absolutely can cause that "complicated" feeling you have.

Every day is some new transandrodork dropping the act. Whether they're saying they want to hunt and kill trans women, or that they think it's ok to stalk and lolcow trans women, or that it's ok to pedojacket trans women, or that it's ok to misgender trans women, or that "sex based oppression is real and trans women are male," or "tma/tme are specifically meant so trans women can groom young trans people," or "dont say men suck :( trans women will see that and think you mean THEM," or whatever. Just watch what they say about "baeddels." Remember, baeddel is a slur for trans women, but if you take it from their perspective it's still trans women. All the horrid shit they say about baeddels, they are saying that specifically about trans women.

Sex as society uses it doesn't exist. It is a scientific enforcement of gendered oppression. I do believe you can be whatever you want. But, I also think you have to remember that we do not live in a gender utopia, free of societal oppression. A "trans woman" is a specific thing in the eyes of society.

[crusherthedoctor]

I'm all for thinking about and discussing the intricacies of what we choose to latch onto (as a fanfic writer, I would know), but I feel it needs to be noted that not everyone will convey their brainworms in the same way.

As someone who often needs the right time and mental energy to make a longer post, as I simply cannot do it on a whim like most people apparently can on this site, I empathize with people who have a lot to say, but don't know how best to explain their thoughts, and who may be actively discouraged from speaking up on them because their lack of words as is already gets them dismissed as a mindless consumer right from the getgo. Not everyone chooses to telegraph their deep thoughts on their chosen media: sometimes people will have their big brain analysis that they might keep to themself or be hesitant to elaborate on until a later date when they feel ready, and that should be okay too. This should still be a hobby at the end of the day, not a job assignment.

(This isn't directed at you specifically, it's just something I've been contemplating about the entertainment VS art debates and Tumblr culture in general, and felt this was a suitable place to give my piece.)

It really is insane how many people engage with art on a pure enjoyment level. Theyll go to a movie and the only deciding factor on whether or not they liked it is "was i bored or confused during that 90-120 minutes?" Youll talk to people about a book or show or film you both enjoyed and theyll have absolutely nothing to say about how it made them feel, or what they think it was trying to impart to them. It begins and ends at "it was fun to watch/read" it drives me nuts

[sanni276]

*Tim and Kon sitting on one of the couches in Titan's Tower*

*Kon suddenly turning to Tim*: Tim my best bro, you need to help me.

Tim: Sure. What's going on?

Kon: There is this guy I really really like but I just don't know how to tell him because everytime I flirt with him he thinks I am just joking and whenever I ask him to go out, just the two of us he answers me with: "Oh! This and this friend will love that! We should totally all go together.".

Tim internally freaking out: He likes guys? He likes a specific guy? Wait, does this mean I could have a chance with him? No, that's stupid he already said he likes someone else. Does this mean that I'm not even an option when Kon likes guys? No why am I only thinking about what this means for me? I am a horrible friend and-

Tim externally: Well what exactly do you like about him?

Kon *with a soft smile*: Everything. He's smart, somehow handsome and pretty at the same time, he is strong and good at fighting and sometimes he does things that just infuriate me and we argue but he is probably the best thing that ever happend to me and if he asked me to become supervillains and take over the world with him I would so without a seond thought.

Tim *literally crying on the inside because he's pretty sure he could be all of these things if he tried*: Then tell him that. After that say something like "I really like you and wanted to ask if you would like to go on a date with me sometime" If he still doesn't get it after all that then he is probably just not interested in you but too nice to outright say it.

Kon suddenly seriously looking Tim in the eyes: Tim, you are smart, somehow the most handsome and prettiest man i have laid my eyes upon at the same time, you are strong and and so good at everything you do and Rao you infuriate me sometimes but I wouldn't change anything about you for the world because you were there every single time I needed someone and I'm afraid ou are my favourite person and that I would sacrifice everything for you. You are my biggest weakness. My Kryptonite. I really really like you, and wanted to ask if you would like to go on a date with me sometime.

Tim: Yeah. Just like that. I'm sure whoever this mystery guy is will instantly fold. Sorry Kon, I think you're gonna have to excuse me now because Bruce wants me back in Gotham.

*Tim runs away to cry in his room and then mope about his crush for the next 2-17 buisness days*

Kon left behind head in his hands: Dude...Just tell me if you don't like me.

Kon is completly convinced that Tim knows how he feels since he is literally the best detective in the world (Yes. Even better than Batman) and there is absolutely no way he didn't get Kon's confession. Tim does infact not know.

Much to the infuriation and pain of everyone that somehow knows them it takes them another three weeks to realize their feelings are mutual and in fat not unrequited.

Except Cassandra: She had guessed the date excactly right and she won a lot of money. (there was a betting pool)

[andhumanslovedstories]

you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?

I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.

--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?

--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.

--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.

--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.

--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.

--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.

--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.

--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.

--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.

--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."

--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.

--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.

--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.

--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.

--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.

[gurugirl]

guru, i have a requests bc I need something ✨fluffy✨ as im healing from closing my fingers in my front door!!

could you write any harry au finding out that the reader is in paramore and wrote the only exception for him?

Oh my gosh your fingers! Ahh I hope you didn’t break anything! 😬

Feel better soon hon ❤️‍🩹 Enjoy! (also I hope this is what you wanted )

A/N: I didn't mention Paramore specifically (except for some bits of the song) nor are there any physical descriptions of Y/n so it's inclusive! Imagine who you like! xoxo

Word Count: 1,174

Warning: FLUFFFFFFFFYYYY SWEET! (Harry has a quick moment of anxiety)

. .

Harry wasn’t sure what he was looking at when he saw it. Maybe you were just playing a joke on him—? He always thought your singing voice kind of reminded him of a band he'd heard on the radio a few times… but this?

There you were on video. Right in his phone... wearing a very short skirt hopping around on stage like that. You were usually more of a jeans and t-shirt or sweater gal. It was clearly you–but it was like watching a doppelganger of you.

He blinked his eyes at his screen. His apartment was quiet as he was just waking up and still sitting in his bed. It was a normal morning routine. Wake up and check social media, emails, his daily schedule…

He had no idea how this had come across his feed. You. Like that. He rubbed his eyes. Was he still dreaming?

You hadn't been dating all that long but you were both already head over heels. It'd happened so fast and there was still so much to learn about one another but he knew you were it just like he hoped you felt the same. He knew you had a band and he'd heard you sing. You had guitars at your place and you wrote poems and lyrics in your notebook all the time. You were talented.

A text popped up on his screen from you.

See you in five minutes!

Scooting himself out of bed so he could at least brush his teeth he clicked on the page that had posted the video and there were more! Of you! Of this band that he'd heard of in passing. He held the phone up and started watching the next video. You were singing for a semi-large crowd. He pressed the button on his electric toothbrush and felt his heart thrumming harder and harder as you started singing another song. A song he'd heard on the radio.

It was surreal to see you like that. Why hadn't you told him? Why was he finding out like this? Did you not want him to know? Did you not see a future with him at all?

The questions in his brain were buzzing as various puzzle pieces began to fall into place. It made so much sense now that he was thinking of everything but it also had him worried that you never told him. Maybe you didn't trust him.

When he was done brushing his teeth he splashed water on his face and pressed his palms over his sink counter. He was going to have to confront you.

He looked down at his phone and clicked on the next video. The most recently uploaded video.

"I'm Y/n! Thank you for being here with us tonight!" The crowd was loud and he could hear some whistles and cheering.

"This next song is about a guy that I'm falling for hard. It wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't think it ever would. I haven't told him yet but I have this song." You began to sway as the guitarist started to play. "This is for love. For anyone who's felt it. This is for Harry."

He blinked at the screen and you began to sing.

"When I was younger, I saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind..."

Harry was startled when he heard you knocking at his door. You were there and he was reeling from everything he'd just learned. Pausing the video he made his way to his door and opened it to see your pretty face. You immediately stepped in and wrapped your arms around his middle for a big hug.

He hesitantly placed his arms around you after he closed his door. But you noticed something was off. Harry was still holding his phone in his hand as you looked up at him.

"Everything okay?"

He looked like he was unable to put thoughts into words. Like he was stunned or hadn't expected to see you, even though you'd made plans to come over. Stepping back you clutched your hands over his wrists. "Harry?"

His throat bobbed when he swallowed and he blinked his eyes. "You're famous."

Your heart stopped. You knew he'd find out soon. You'd planned on telling him but it was always tricky telling people. You'd dated people in the past that were just looking for clout or trying to get there own name out there by using you. So it was a precaution. But you didn't need to hide it from Harry anymore.

"Yes. Well... kind of. I mean... a lot of people don't really know who I am. I'm not like at that level of fame but—"

"You don't trust me?"

"I do trust you, Harry. I promise." You slid your palms up his forearms and stepped in closer. "I was going to tell you. I just got a little scared because everything happened so fast between us. It just... I wanted to make sure first. I swear I've been planning to tell you because I... god... I just want to tell you everything."

"I don't understand why you never said anything." He shook his head but he didn't pull away from you.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out before I told you. I wanted to share something really special with you and tell you in this like... really romantic way."

He moved his arm and opened up his phone before you heard your song being playe. The song you wrote for him. His eyes flitted from you to his phone as the lyrics you sang poured out around you.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk... Well, you are the only exception...

Harry looked at you, a sheen of tears in his eyes as he let the song play out. You kept your hand on his forearm and let the lyrics do the talking. You just hoped he understood. You hoped that he could see why it took you a bit to work up to telling him.

Oh, and I'm on way to believing…

He tucked his phone into his sweatpants pocket and looked at you with soft eyes. Taking his hands into yours you smiled up at him.

"I have a lot to tell you."

He puffed out a low laugh. "I think that's an understatement."

"Are you mad at me?"

He shook his head. "Kind of hard to be mad after hearing that song you wrote for me. Is all that true, Y/n?" He pulled his hand out of yours and lifted his warm palm up to your cheek.

"Yes. Every word of it."

"Does that mean you love me?"

Your heartbeat tripped up on itself as you nodded. "I do. I love you."

His eyes were piercing and so deep with emotion, you'd drown in them happily. "I guess it's time for me to confess something to you then, too." He grinned and you felt his hand move back to cradle your nape. "I love you too."

. .

@yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @swiftmendeshoran @tiaamberxx @closureesny

@angelbabyyy99 @malwtilda @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @onlyangellucifer

@harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @lc-fics @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads

@harrrrystylesslut @elidoho @gotdrxnkonu @cathy-1997 @imgonnadreamaboutthewayyoutaaaa

@tiredinwinter @angeldavis777 @lillefroe @monicaalexandraaa @hsonlyangelxo

@brittanyzelazno @lemoncrushh @caynonmoondreams @mellamolayla @ladscarlett

@heartateasee @littlenatilda @finelinepie @michellekstyles @harrysredroom

@harrydeary @mrs-anna-styles211994 @devilsqueen722 @bananabk9756 @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite

@idkkkkkkk123lgb @freedomfireflies @fruity-harry @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @mema10

@gmikaelson

[desmothene]

Going into this administration, I'm certain there will be people quietly continuing to execute every policy the Trump admin hasn't yet thought to stop or discontinue or reverse. Or even going against it.

There's two ways I think we need to support this. One is by generally staying quiet about when someone is doing something the new admin obviously won't like. Don't draw attention to it; it needs to be boring, routine, and ignorable for it to continue.

The second is that when people *do* start getting fired or harassed for doing their best by the people, and you know about it, that's when you get loud. That's when you send in complaints, that's when you spread the word about people getting fired just for doing their jobs, that's when you talk up the fact that the old crew was better and doing their best.

Under this admin being loud is a risk, because this admin is actively retaliatory. You have to pick carefully how you share praise. If they did something awesome to help you bit it might be against policy, just say they were amazing and competent and an excellent employee for the organization somewhere. Bland praise. No specifics. Selectively assess who can handle the pushback for being loud. Some governmental departments can't weather it as much as you might think.

So… I got a notification from the State Department at like 8 PM Pacific that my passport was approved, and I was quietly thankful and stunned bc my legal gender in Oregon is listed as X, or undeclared, and that's what's on my passport. I'm pretty sure someone(s) worked late to get the X passports done today.

I was already really grateful to whoever in the Seattle Passport Office worked late to get these things processed on the last Friday before That Man gets back into office... and then I got a notification that my passport shipped at fucking midnight Pacific and whoever got that shit out the door so it couldn't be picked up on Monday and like, denied and shredded?

They're my fucking hero.

[plaidos]

do you really think radical feminism is unsalvageable from a transfeminist perspective? i've been reading a lot of Talia Bhatt's writing lately, and it really reminds me of a lot of the stuff you've talked about on your blog; i find her argument that allowing TERF ideology to subsume the entirety of second-wave feminist theory is throwing out the baby with the bathwater to be incredibly compelling. a theory which centers patriarchy to be the radix of gendered violence and oppression, which is uncompromising and does not give into liberal feminist ideas about womanhood being a "meaningless category," gender liberation involving essentially defining trans women out of existence, etc, seems sorely needed at a moment where liberal feminism has vaguely hand-waved in trans rights specifically in order to prioritize trans *men* and valorize masculinity while continuing to abjectly marginalize transfems, and i find Bhatt's total rejection of white cis TERF co-option of radical feminism and reclamation for the new wave of transfeminist thought to fit that need. anyway that's not intended to ask you to argue with me or anything, i'm just as interested in hearing why you disagree as i am in hearing if you do agree, and i'm not looking to convince you or be convinced either way! i've just been thinking about this a lot lately since stumbling across her (honestly incredible) theory on third-sexing and getting introduced to the concept through that, i'm still working through my thoughts on it and looking for more to read both on it and in opposition to it, and the discussion on radical feminism prompted me to see if you had any thoughts; no worries if not.

yeah i mean @taliabhattwrites and i are literally mutuals on here even so i would hope im not jsut totally denigrating her incredibly insightful & groundbreaking commentaries on the subject when i criticise the second wave haha!

like i don’t know if i have/would say “radical feminism is unsalvageable” because im not even sure what that would mean right? like radical feminism isn’t a concrete object that we can literally build/tear down but yes of course there is almost always worth in reading feminist history & perspectives even those that we fundamentally disagree with because as you said there is a lot to be gleaned from the theories & works & histories.

im honestly not sure where you’ve gotten the impression that like i would just throw out “the baby with the bathwater” so to speak because to be honest i’ve been trying to be pretty careful about not just dismissing all radical feminism as fundamentally transmisogynistic specifically because of the incredible value i’ve found in Talia’s approach

[atalana]

so i'm thinking about dancing through life, and that interlude between glinda and elphaba, and specifically how in the movie they make a point to draw the audience attention (the audience who is following glinda's perspective) to elphie's magic books

and it seems like a minorly odd detail to put in there, given how the only relevance they have to elphaba's side of this song is that she has a magic teacher she can ask a favour from, which isn't news to anyone

but glinda specifically looks at those books before she says anything to elphaba, and she also has this look after giving her the hat, like it's a decision she already partially regrets

and i think, as much as glinda does profess to hate elphie at this point in the story, and as much as she seems to be doing this just to get one over on her, i don't think that's the case at all

i think she was partially talked into the prank by her friends, who definitely encourage her to put on her usual the world revolves around me social mask, but i think she justified that decision to herself with the reasoning "well elphaba's my favourite teacher's favourite student, she has everything i want, i should take her down a peg", as the magic books remind her

she clearly already cared about elphie in some form, or she wouldn't have regretted it at all, but she thought that made them even

until elphaba turned the entire thing on its head by freely offering glinda everything she wanted, everything she thought elphaba had been spitefully keeping from her

and that's when she realises she can't actually knock elphaba down a peg, bc there's nowhere lower to go. glinda has everything and elphie has nothing, and elphaba just gave up the one thing she had, because she thought glinda deserved to share it with her

so glinda whose entire life has been about collecting social power, who knows exactly what she has and what it takes to hold onto it, she gives that up at the ozdust too. because elphaba deserves to share it with her

[wolfiejack]

While I disagree about Luigi being already forgotten, I do agree that there is a major problem of performative activism right now. I have been feeling so very guilty because of it lately, but I have no idea where to actually begin with doing anything meaningful. I suspect that there are 3 main causes (although there may be more) of this issue - thinking that sharing posts is a sufficient form of activism (it's not completely pointless, it does spread awareness, but we need to move past that and take real action), not knowing what action to take, and feeling unable to take action sue to spending all our energy just surviving (both physically and mentally) the times we live in. I know that I am guilty of (guilty is not the right word but I don't have a better one) 2 and 3. I am disabled and don't know how I'm even going to pay rent at the moment, not to mention that even if I had any spare energy for activism, I haven't got the slightest clue what I could do to actually improve anything right now.

I think the conversation needs to move towards what kind of actions and average person can actually do to contribute meaningfully to our current situation. I know so many people, including myself, currently feel extremely overwhelmed and powerless. This is a known and intentional effect of poverty and it's why the rich stay in control. I know we can do more to take back power if we all work together, but I just don't know what specific things we should be trying to do that will make the most real change.

[mahodo]

世界で一番早く朝が来る場所 / The Place Where Morning Comes First