#Pavlov’s law

[academic-vampire]

Whenever I have my phone on silent (literally all the time) I am beating Pavlov’s laws fr 😎

[catament]

i want to make you as lonely as me

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Galaxy brained

i am not taking questions at this time

[fishareglorious]

two gals in bed together in their nightclothes.... seems as if manus has pretty lenient or even nonexistent laws on workplace relationships huh....

st. pavlov foundation look at this will you let them beat you at the yuri game???

[notjustjavierpena]

Are You Staying?

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Let’s face it. This is Pedro Pascal’s world, and we’re all just living in it, trying to get by. I hope you enjoy this simple one-shot, which is my very first portrayal of Javier Peña.

Summary: You have become accustomed to letting the DEA agent be your reward for snitching on narcos and their sicarios.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (minors DNI), PIV sex, unprotected sex, pussy eating, fingering, couch sex, doggy style, creampie, cute banter, dirty talk.

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46680259

Are You Staying?

“This never happened,” Javier Peña says as he stuffs a bundle of cash into your jean pocket, lingering just a moment. You find it endearing that he repeats that phrase every time that he is here but you guess that when getting intel, one can never be too careful. You have given him nothing of importance, an address to a potential hideout (which you figure will be abandoned by now), but you like to think that he often just wants an excuse to see you.

“As per usual,” you reply with a smile and pat the money in your pocket. They are not the ones of most importance in this room right now though; Javier is, and whilst cash gives you more freedom in your life, you have become accustomed to letting the DEA agent be your reward for snitching on narcos and their sicarios.

“Are you staying?” You ask nonchalantly. He doesn’t need to know just how accustomed.

Javier looks at you with the tiniest hint of a smile, reaching behind him to pull out his gun and placing it on the nearest surface. It’s what he usually does when things are going to take a turn in your favor, and you don’t need a vocal answer.

“You better remember that when you leave,” you warn with a smirk, nodding towards the firearm.

“Shut up,” he plays along, taking a step forward towards you and without thinking, you start to unbutton his shirt. It’s automatic, it's a habit. Javier doesn’t protest, “Just be glad that I won’t accidentally shoot my fucking ass off in your home. Come on, I don’t have long.”

And then he leans in to kiss you, one arm wrapping around your lower back to show you that despite your snark, he is the one in control. You don’t protest either.

His mustache tickles you but you greet him without hesitation, resting your forearms on his shoulders and linking your hands together. It is slow and hot, even more so when he slides his tongue against yours.

The kiss goes on for a moment before he breaks it to let both of his hands come up to rest on your arms, yanking them off of himself so he can guide you towards your couch.

His eyes are on you the whole time as he backs you towards the living room. The look he is giving you is making a hot sensation pool in your stomach, his eyes nearly black from desire for you. You feel like you are being hunted and cornered by a predator that you welcome with every fiber of your body. You are not going to put up a fight.

Suddenly, the armrest of the couch hits the back of your thighs. You let yourself fall backwards and Javier smirks from you having read his mind.

“Good,” he praises and you respond by undoing your jeans. He helps them off of you until they are somewhere on the floor. The generous amount of money they hold is completely irrelevant right now.

Your underwear is next. Javier hooks his thumbs into the waistband of them and pulls, ending up swearing under his breath when he sees them stick to you a bit. You cannot help yourself with him. It’s like Pavlov’s law; this kind of secret encounter with him triggers your mind to remember what always comes after. You’ve been wet since he was at the door and you beg that he has an appetite tonight.

He does; suddenly, Javier grabs your thighs and yanks you towards the end of the couch. You yelp and follow up with a giggle in surprise, ass hanging over the armrest now. Whilst Javier finds the giggling sweet, he cuts it off by sinking to his knees. You go silent.

“Mi amor,” he says to you when he is level with your cunt, breathing against it. You want to press your thighs together or cross your legs. The anticipation is killing you.

Luckily, you do not have to wait for long. Javier closes his mouth around your clit and his eagerness is absolutely filthy. You want to squirm to tone down some of the intensity but his hands are still on your thighs, roughly holding you in place as he works the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck,” you moan and let your mouth hang open, begging not to practically drool. Looking down at the top of his head, you can hear him breathing unsteadily through his nose, wondering if he was going to give in and loosen his grip on your legs soon to come back up for air. No, he powers through.

You reach down to grab his hair, threading your fingers through his well-combed locks and then pulling hard. With the little space you have to move, you buckle up your hips to meet his mouth with a sense of control of the situation despite knowing you have none. He hisses in pain against your cunt but instead of removing himself from you, he dips down to dive into you. You feel him descend, nose against your clit and tongue licking long stripes along you.

This time, you accidentally pull his hair too hard. It results in him looking up at you with narrowed eyes.

“Mierda, are you done?” He growls but you are too focused on looking at his wet mustache and shiny nose. It looks obscene, pornographic even. If he doesn’t go on soon…

“God, you’re so fucking pretty,” Javier’s hard tone is gone in the blink of an eye as he catches you clenching around nothing. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you, then dares to remove one hand from your hip.

His hand goes down your body, and after a twist of his wrist, so that his palm is upwards, two fingers enter you. You arch your back properly for the first time since you started, not restrained by two hands anymore.

His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing your g-spot and then he covers you with his mouth again. You’re gone. The world fades away to nothing more than the feeling between your thighs, and if that wasn’t enough, Javier’s free arm slides under the small of your back to lift you into his mouth.

Your thighs start trembling as his fingers fuck you open. He always knows exactly what he is doing, and you thank all the women who came before you as he makes a come-hither motion inside of you. On top of his nose buried in the mound of your cunt and him eating you out like he has been starving, you find yourself nearing your climax embarrassingly fast.

“I’m— Javi,“ you babble, eyes closed and head thrown back, “I’m gonna— ah… gonna come.”

Your body tenses up like an elastic band being pulled, a breath getting caught in your throat for just a second before coming out in a cry. The elastic band snaps and the orgasm hits you with fast and intense spasms of your cunt whilst Javier works you through it. You practically sing his name.

It takes a few moments before you have calmed down enough to even look at the DEA agent again. Javier has already gotten up from the floor, hands on the armrest and looking down at you with a big grin. His arms flex as he leans over you, “Lie back and turn around.”

“Give me a fucking break,” you let out an exhausted chuckle, a hand on your chest as if to make sure you’re breathing properly, “Get undressed instead.”

Javier pulls off his shirt, already unbuttoned by you. He hangs it over the back of the couch, then goes for his jeans which must be uncomfortable to wear at this point; from where you are lying, you can see the outline of Javier’s cock. He must be painfully hard underneath the denim.

“Speak for yourself,” he says, nodding towards your covered chest and you proceed to pull your shirt over your head. When he finally steps out of his jeans, you throw your garment at him which he catches.

“Happy?” You ask with a playful roll of your eyes, reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. You throw it onto the back of the couch with Javier’s shirt.

“Now I am,” he replies with a huff through his nose. He uses your shirt to wipe his face, specifically his mustache, and you want to curl your toes. It shouldn’t affect you as much as it does but soon you are following orders, pushing yourself back on the couch and turning onto your stomach.

“Fuck, baby,” Javier swears behind as you instinctively get up on all fours.

Nothing happens for a while until you feel the weight of Javier behind you on the couch. He is shuffling around, most likely undressing the rest of himself, and you find yourself leaning onto your forearms to show him what he is missing.

“Por favor,” you say with a shuddering breath but it does nothing but earn you a smack to your ass. You yelp.

“Don’t use my own tricks against me,” he refers to the slip of Spanish. Behind you, he reaches for both of your hips to pull you onto your hands and knees again. You wait patiently, gasp when you finally feel his cock press against you.

“Please,” you correct yourself. Javier chuckles, one hand sliding up to rest on the small of your back. He guides himself into you and a groan erupts from his lips, his cock stretching you open in a way that his fingers could never. There’s only a slight resistance, your body tensing up for just a split second before accepting him fully.

“Fuck me,” you beg.

There is more swearing but no movement. You take it that Javier is admiring you and the way his cock has disappeared inside of you. Despite how hot that thought is, you are impatient for Javier to move, so you push back into him.

“Don’t,” Javier moans in surprise, “Give a guy a warning.”

“And buy you dinner first?” You try to laugh but it is interrupted by a gasp as Javier starts fucking you, “I think– fuck, Javi… Think we’re past that.”

“You feel fucking amazing when you laugh,” he groans, fingers digging into your hip and holding you in place like when he had eaten you out. You are staying right where he wants you. He finally sets a pace that has your head swimming, filling the room with obscene noises of sex.

You cannot hold yourself up anymore, turning your head to the side and resting your cheek against the couch. You grab whatever you can in front of you for dear life, ending up nearly ripping the couch cushion underneath you apart.

With your back arched like this, a new angle sends a shot of pleasure raking up your spine. You make a wanton sound as Javier’s cock hits that same spot inside of you over and over again. How the fuck does he do it so well?

The noise coming from you must have spurred Javier on because he grabs the back of the sofa to go faster, deeper, harder. If this is how you get rug burn then so be it.

“You’re incredible, Javi,” you praise breathlessly.

“Ah— and you take me so fucking well,” he tells you in return, swearing under his breath and muttering your name as his hips start to stutter. Not yet.

“Kiss me,” you command as a distraction. You feel him reach around your torso, sprawling a strong hand across your sternum and then pushing body upwards until you are on your knees.

You feel the tip of Javier’s tongue lick a drop of sweat from between your shoulder blades, lips trailing upwards from where the drop had slid down until he is back to breathing into your ear.

“Javi,” you moan as he slowly continues fucking you with your back pressed against his sweaty chest. You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, brows furrowed in pleasure, “Kiss me.”

He obeys, leans his head towards yours, catching your mouth in a heated kiss that is way too much teeth in the beginning because of your position. You reach up to put a hand on the back of his head, trying to guide his mouth whilst he moves with you. Javier responds by reaching up to grab your breast in his hand, a thumb brushing over your already hardened nipple.

You suck at the tip of his tongue only briefly, but end up breaking the kiss with a gasp as he pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Make me come,” you breathe harder, heart pounding in your ears after the slight pain of being pinched again. Javier noses along your neck, tickling you slightly before biting down at your pulse point. His free hand goes down your stomach until he has it between your legs, two fingers on your clit.

“Oh God, oh,” you moan. Javier rubs your clit fast, almost making you double over as your legs start to tremble like earlier. You’re close, and you announce it with a string of pleas for him. Almost… almost there. Just a little more.

Javier barely pulls out of you anymore at this point, rolling his hips so he can hit your g-spot with a precision that he has learned through many meetings like this. It is just what is needed to send you over the edge.

Your hand comes flying down to cover the one Javier has between your legs. Your nerve endings feel like they are on fire as you come. Warmth floods through your body, all centering in on your cunt as you feel pleasure ripple through your body. You clench around Javier’s cock, pulling a low groan from his lips.

“Oh, oh, fuck— ah,” you continue as Javier works you through your high, leaving you exhausted and spent. You lean against his chest, panting after the DEA agent slows down again.

“Next time, I’m gonna have to watch your face when you come,” he is panting himself, and you don’t blame him; he hasn’t gotten to his own endorphin high. It must be torture.

You roll your hips against him without saying anything. It earns you a soft gasp as he is suddenly seated deep inside of you again, thrusting roughly up into you a few more times before growling into your shoulder. You feel him come, feel his cock twitching before spilling inside of you. It never gets old.

Then there’s silence, only your heaving breaths being heard. It’s nice, comfortable and quiet. It takes a moment to function again, so you’ll enjoy the mutual experience of being exhausted.

“Fuck, I need a cigarette,” Javier mutters behind you, grabbing at the base of his cock and pulling out of you with a grunt. You feel empty but it doesn’t matter, right now, you need to go get cleaned up.

You get off the couch, quickly walking to your bathroom, “Be right back.”

When you come back, you’ve put on new panties. Javier is dressed on the bottom half of his body and he has placed his gun on the coffee table so he doesn’t forget it when he leaves. He is lying on the couch and has a cigarette between his lips, blowing smoke up into the air.

You walk to stand by him and he offers the smoke to you. You take a puff before handing it back to him, “That was something.”

Javier laughs quietly, “Yeah? You better come up with something better next time or I won’t have a reason to drop by.”

“Ay, Javi,” you slap his arm, and he just laughs a little louder, “Maybe I should call your little friend. Steve, was it?”

“Steve is married, you know, and I wouldn’t pick a fight with Connie. She’ll kick your ass,” Javi grabs your arm and pulls you down onto the couch with him. You roll your eyes but still kiss him.

“Fine, guess I will just have to stick with you.”

“I guess you will.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[physalian]

On Grimdark (Or conditioning your audience for cynicism)

Because Game of Thrones is on my mind again for the Hardhome sequence. Everyone has their two cents about the grimdark genre but one thing I don’t see discussed at much length, or widely enough, is how wrapping up a grimdark story has one unique challenge: If you establish a world where everything is miserable and characters are selfish and honorless and there’s no hope for heroism or selflessness, you will not be able to sell your audience on a satisfying ending unless everyone is dead.

What I mean by this is if you have your one little flicker of hope in your protagonist or even a side character, the odds of them having a happy ending in a world that you’ve written to consistently show the worst in people, that ending becomes too unrealistic to feel earned.

In other words, Game of Thrones, but also The Walking Dead and on some level, The Boys. In all three of these (have not caught up to The Boys past Jensen Ackles’ season), the threat of doom is so insurmountable that every victory is consistently one step forward, three steps back.

In GoT it’s corruption and the infallible nefarious ways of the villains and their villainous agenda that keep winning while the good guys keep dying. In The Walking Dead every beacon of hope for a cooperative society for humanity dug out of this zombie hellscape is squandered by organized sadism. In The Boys, the hero propaganda machine and institutionalized living weapons where even the good guys are bad guys, there is no way to win aside from nuking the planet and starting over.

—

I don’t mind grimdark academically. I think it’s interesting to explore as a way to interpret the psychology of the author and what compels someone to both write and enjoy content that’s just misery porn. Grimdark has its place in the cultural zeitgeist as a controlled dose of suffering to help us feel better about the world we live in, like watching horror movies for a controlled dose of terror.

It has its (not as deep as it thinks it is) cultural commentary about the human nature or the political landscape or how we treat our heroes or the tragedy of war, etc and tends to feel more gritty and realistic to what these fantasy worlds could be like without all the hope and optimism. There is a place for it.

However, constantly hammering your audience over and over again with a message of hopelessness and that chivalry is dead and that anyone smiling is naive, dumb, or lying Pavlovs your audience into expecting it all the way to the end.

Meaning: The ending of GoT was a dumpster fire, and it was always going to be. If this is the reason the author hasn’t finished writing it, I wouldn’t be surprised. This is a universe where (spoiler alert):

Sexism, racism, rape, assault, slavery, abuse, torture, child murder, and animal abuse are the law of the land.

Pedophiles walk among us and continue to get away with it (specifically Littlefinger) for far too long.

Even when the good guys take the bad guys down with them, the other bad guys resurrect the corpses of the defeated bad guys to continue carrying out their evil schemes, or Oberyn and The Mountain.

Children are burned at the stake for what amounts to be a pointless ritual, because her mother hangs herself and her father loses catastrophically in battle and then dies, or Shireen.

Sansa’s entire arc. All of it. She gets no reprieve for five whole seasons.

So when you’re staring at the mess you’ve made trying to come up with a satisfying ending for so many arcs, you find yourself with a problem: This world doesn’t run on happy endings. You’ve spent 7 seasons proving happy endings are childish and stupid. You have no way to end this cathartically, because by the rules of your world, all your heroes will end up murdered in gruesome ways. Congrats.

But maybe I’m just bitter.

Like this whole iron throne business. Melting it was the only course of action. Why? No matter who sits on it, the life expectancy of those who do is criminally short. Bran probably died choking on a chicken bone shortly after the end credits.

There is no evidence given in-universe for anyone disappointed that they didn’t end up king or queen to just sit back and take it without continuing to scheme and plot and get a lot of people killed.

There is no evidence to suggest that any of these people would realistically rally together to fight a common enemy without stabbing each other in the back once the threat is handled.

There is no evidence that these people would let bygones be and cheer for the new and just ruler to take the throne indisputably.

While the show does have its bright moments of camaraderie, loyalty, and trust, they are vastly outnumbered by the so-called “realistic” nature of the rest of Westeros. In no reality in the current canon would any leader be able to rule because they’re loved more than they’re feared. That’s not how this show operates, thus there is no way to end the series with your audience confident that Bran or Sansa or Jon or whoever would have actually led the kingdom into brighter futures. They’d just be dead just like their naive, dumb, dad.

—

The Walking Dead is no different. The unofficial motto of the show was that the walkers are bad, but the true enemy of humanity is other humans. Every new group of people either got murdered for being too weak, or did the murdering. In a world where the mortality rate vastly outpaces the birthrate and every group has become jaded and cynical enough to shoot first and ask later, anything less than humanity going out on a bitter and cynical end wouldn’t fit the established tone.

I didn’t watch past the season where Carl was killed off in the conspiracy of the year, but I didn’t think I had to. Killing off Carl was the beginning of the end—they symbolically and literally killed the future of humanity. Judith exists, but Carl is just old enough to remember what the world was like before, to have context for how humanity should be, where Judith doesn’t.

They never made any significant efforts to find a cure or more substantial means of eradicating the walkers. There was no overarching goal of the characters beyond Just Survive Somehow. It just wasn’t sustainable to ever have a satisfying ending, especially when no matter if you get bit or not, you become a walker when you die. So even if they all packed up and sailed to a remote island free from walkers, one unseen death could wipe out their entire camp.

It was always going to be a Sysyphisian task to end that show in a meaningful way, and I don’t think they even tried.

—

The Boys… man, I hate this show. It’s not bad, it’s just not as smart as it thinks it is with all its commentary on the political landscape, as the events they’re criticizing continue to unfold around us. Season two has neo nazis… as real neo nazis are still running amok.

It has the same preaching pitfall that so much liberal content does—if you get too preachy, those who already agree with you will feel talked down to and bludgeoned with your unsubtle message, and those who don’t agree with you won’t feel at all compelled to change sides if you spend every waking second of your show insulting them.

The supers in this show are so omnipresent, so powerful, so staggeringly OP that there is no solution beyond attempting genocide on all of them. There’s no legal avenue to pursue, because you can’t imprison them and they don’t care about petty attempts at enacting justice. You can’t arm the regular humans with basic guns and army gear when the main villain can just laser-eye them all in seconds. You can’t mount a peaceful protest movement or a resistance of any kind when telepaths walk among them and can literally stomp out any signs of nonconformity.

You’ve written yourself an unsolvable problem while trying to write a well-constructed criticism of politics and hero worship. If we can’t solve it in the real world in a single cohesive and satisfying narrative, what makes you think you can?

Anything that tries to kneecap the threat would look weak and cheap, because this show has stuck so close to the ongoing real world narrative. The supers aren’t all robot minions of a hive mind where one bomb that takes out the brain disables the entire hoard. Kill the main bad guy and another will just take his place. There is no winning The Boys, at least the story of it that I’ve seen, and I wasn’t impressed.

—

So no, I don’t like grimdark in application, in settings where you have long-running series with audiences dedicated to following arcs and expecting satisfying endings, because grimdark demands enemies and forces of evil that are just too insurmountable to write a cathartic ending that isn’t cheap or unrealistic.

In both GoT and TWD, since those have finished, they didn’t have to end as disasters. If both had sat down in the writers' room around season 4 of both shows and planned out their five-season step plan to shift the narrative away from grimdark and let their characters actually pursue a viable plan for fixing their miserable worlds, you can still kill off all the characters you want in the name of the end goal of whatever utopia they dream of. But the characters still have to work for it and sacrifice for it and maybe they do lose hope but they keep on keepin’ on despite it.

Grimdark sucks, in my opinion, because as a storytelling convention, it never ends. “Hey what if the world was miserable,” is all well and good, but if your goal is to entertain, how do you tell an entertaining story when the miserable world your characters live in will chew them up and spit out something unrecognizable? I don’t even need a happy ending, but the only convincing ending that grimdark allows is dead heroes and “life sucks get over it”.

—

I don’t know how The Boys is doing or how it will end and I don’t care. I hated it for a lot more reasons than its attempts at sounding smart, like Huey as the most annoying modern Everyman I have seen, and that they didn’t even try to redeem Soldier Boy or stick him in therapy to be an actual better alternative to Homelander, which is what they sought him out for in the first place.

So yeah. Grimdark. Maybe it’s just the late capitalist hellscape we find ourselves in, but why would I read it when I am living it, following characters who don’t have solutions, while watching real leaders who also don’t have solutions?

If you want to write in this genre, more power to you, just think about the long term, overarching goals of your heroes before you get too far in so you can start them on the long road to victory in a believable and satisfying way, otherwise you end up buried in a ditch like the endings of two television juggernauts.

[gabessquishytum]

You know how fanfics like to have Desire dramatically disgusted seeing the PDA and/or feeling the desire for each other from dreamling? I think dreamling should and would learn to weaponize it.

Hob probably figures it out first, when Desire tries to mess with him to get to Dream, after having learned to harness daydreaming to tease and arouse Dream. Hob concentrates as hard as he can about how much he loves to fuck Dream, how much he almost constantly desires to bury his face in Dream’s ass or cunt, how he feels when Dream bends him over a table or picks him up and pins him to a wall. The overwhelming lust for their brother immediately gives Desire the feeling of stepping into a dirty ankle-deep puddle in just your socks, and they high-tail it out of there.

Hob tells Dream, and at the next family dinner when Desire tries to start a fight, Dream instead focuses as hard as he can on how much he enjoys riding Hob into the mattress, how much he loves sucking on Hob’s cock or tits until Hob cries. Desire shrieks in disgust and bolts as fast as they can.

Anytime Desire tries to start shit with either of them, they’re repelled by the metaphorical spray-bottle that is their brother’s and essentially-brother-in-law’s sexual desire for each other. Eventually they stop trying anymore, they’ve never been so goodly behaved in millennia. 😋

The idea of Hob and Dream using some kind of,,, pavlov's dogs conditioning shit to train Desire into behaving better. Is absolutely SENDING me.

Every time Desire tries to meddle in the relationship, manipulate them, or generally press Dream’s buttons in some way, Hob summons all his horniest most lustful and wanton feelings about Dream. It's not exactly difficult to think about how much he enjoys his lover’s body lets be honest... but for Desire it's like being spritzed with cold water. And it happens again and again, whenever Desire is naughty or mean to Dream, they're assaulted by the weight of Hob’s enormous desire for their big brother.

It's horrible to be outplayed by Dream and his ridiculous human lover but Desire is thoroughly sick of essentially having their brother's sex tape played on repeat. They slowly stop bothering Dream and become rather civil to him. Whenever they get a little catty, all Dream has to do is think about kissing Hob when he gets home, and Desire is suddenly all charm and sunshine.

Poor thing. They shouldn't be so naughty to start with but they can't help it. No doubt they'll eventually find some other way to bother their favourite big brother <33

[hylianane]

So. So. in the LA, when Sanji asks Luffy about Zoro’s favorite food, he hesitates to answer at first, before finally settling on riceballs. because he saw him eat them off the floor for Rika so like surely he must really like them!’ And Sanji takes that in stride and agrees to make them for him so he recovers.

That small moment is so sweet to me, specially knowing from the animanga that Luffy was spot-on (see: WCI Sanji reminiscing about making the SH’s favorite foods and Zoro’s is very clearly riceballs). But also what if he wasn’t correct at this point in OPLA, what if this is just the start of LA Zoro’s love for onigiri. If from that point onward Sanji began to hand Zoro a plate of rice balls every time it felt like he needed a pick me up- how could Zoro in turn not learn to love the snack and what it represents? Unapologetically, I now HC that Luffy straight up pavloved his special guy into craving rice balls when he gets sad and cheering up considerably as soon as he eats them. The Captain just made a declaration without thinking one day and soon it became law.

[fawntarot999]

What is your new 2023 aesthetic? 💁‍♀️👑💄

Close your eyes and take a deep breath, then pick a pile 🔮 don’t think too much 💋

Decks ~ Mystic Mondays Tarot, Fyodor Pavlov Tarot, The Herbiary Oracle, Rider-Waite Tarot, Rebel Deck Oracle, Tarot of the Cat People

Pictures are from Pinterest, I do not own them

Pile I ~ Jackie

King of Cups, 2 of Wands rx, 8 of Pentacles, 3 of Swords, 7 of Pentacles, Rose, Fool rx, Tower rx, Fucking Apologize, Blank

Hahahaha, okay Jackie you got hurt and now your coming back with a vengeance, huh? It’s real though. It’s not a fake bad bitch energy, it’s an actual prosperity energy. Let’s think Megan Fox aesthetic. 2023 is the year in which you should begin to pursue your creative desires more passionately and in more of a business sense. Stop planning and thinking so much and go get it because the energy is there to turn your emotions into art into money. You were deeply hurt last year. Heartbroken. Some of you were cheated on. This year is your restart. This is the year you’re done playing a fool and waiting for more bad events to happen. It’s the year you start over and learn how to crack open and be beautifully in sync with your emotions. Your challenge this year is forgiving yourself and practicing self care. Forgive yourself and apologize to everyone you’ve wronged. You’re literally being given a blank slate (your last card is blank) and all I hear in my head is “the rest is unwrittennnn”. Single, making money, being creative, bad bitch energy, reds, pinks, oranges, THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER THIS YEAR!

Spirit Shuffle ~ Both Sides of the Moon by Celeste, WYTYNM by Miles Monaco, Junie by Solange, 6000 degrees by $hyfromdatre, my strange addiction by Billie Eilish

Pile II ~ Skate

Queen of Swords, Lovers, Justice, Chickweed, Tulsi, Justice, Knight of Swords, Don’t Fucking Force It, Temperance, Page of Pentacles

Damn, Skate, ain’t shit slidin by you this year. You’re calling bitches out left, right, and center. This is that “don’t lie to me, I’ll know” energy. Some of you might be feeling emotionally detached as well. I’m seeing an alignment of many things here: being brutally honest and just with others, discovering your own self worth, and this cute little academia bookworm vibe that would be so cute on you this year. I keep seeing the cover of Khalid’s first album as like an aura or energy for you guys this year. I’m seeing a lot of you might be in school or even law school this year. Some of you might be getting a divorce. This is a good fresh energy for that and it feels very positive. This year feels like a “that girl” energy: focused on school or learning, truth, and reading of some kind, and really discovering what it means to have a self love relationship with yourself. The only thing is sometimes you have a tendency to force things or move too quickly. This year is about learning how to let life flow naturally, let things come to you, practice the law of attraction, and find abundance from a place of calm. I’m so excited for you, Skate. This year you will learn how sacred you are.

Spirit Shuffle ~ Sick Shit by Together Pangea, I’m That Type of N**** by The Pharcyde, Brain Soup by Nasty Cherry, Sugar Honey Iced Tea (S.H.I.T.) by Princess Nokia, THERAPY! by Lauren Sanderson

Pile III ~ Cig

Justice rx, 5 of Pentacles rx, Quaking Aspen, Daisy, 2 of Swords, You’re The Shit, Drop The Fucking Ego rx, Empress rx, Rejuvenation (Judgement)

This year you are coming into yourself, Cig. This is your “don’t fuck with me” year. You’re upsetting the scales this year, Cig, and you don’t care anymore who’s mad about it. You’ve been rejected and neglected and had love withheld from you. You’re over that shit. This is some powerful energy and it’s giving “I don’t care what you think about me anymore”. You are learning how to be yourself. You have been the peacekeeper for too long. You’ve been making compromises for others for too long. It’s always a choice between being who you really are and receiving love and resources. You are learning that you SHOULD have an ego because guess what, you’re the fucking shit, Cig. You are learning to integrate the masculine side of you. This could be finding your voice and speaking out, exploring gender and sexuality, or finally feeling enough autonomy to make choices for yourself. When you can employ this masculine side of you, you will feel truly expressed, fulfilled, and reborn. I thought this reading was gonna be light but I think this year is gonna be really transformative for you, Cig. And it will happen through your own choices and agency. You are already perfect 🪷

Spirit Shuffle ~ cat scratch by Dua Saleh, No Effort by Princess Nokia, Recipe! by Jean Deaux, Moody! by Jean Deaux, fxck it then by Yaya Bey

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Weak/Weary (m, cold)

Babe, wake up whiskey’s posting the first of her monthly barrage of fics. It’s a Greyson-centric drama fest, guys! I realized looking back at my earlier fics that I mentioned a character named Collin who Greyson lived with and I literally never mentioned him again, so it’s time to bring him up and write him out lol. This is sappy, it’s dramatic, it’s full of angst, and I hope you all like it! I used several prompts that an anon sent from the prompt list I reblogged last month, as well as a few that @onetrickponi sent me from their amazing prompt list. I’ll list the ones I used before the fic. 

If you’ve sent in a prompt, I will get to it eventually!! Obviously I’m terrible at promising when fics will get written, but they will at some point lmao. 

This is 3k words, CW: male, cold, coughing, some light mess, mentions of contagion but no explicit contagion moments, breathing issue mention due to a panic attack...this fic has *everything* lolll. 

Here are the prompts! Thank y’all for sending prompts in, they’re the only thing that keeps this writing train somewhat on track. Some prompts were used more loosely than others. 

“Having a cold does not make you weak.”,  “You’re sneezing everywhere. Clearly, something’s up.”,  Hiding sneezes,  “That deserved an Emmy.”,  “See, it’s when you smile like that I start to worry.” 

Onward!

Weak/Weary

There was a saying for the day Greyson was having, but for the life of him he couldn’t think of it.

It wasn’t ‘Occam’s Razor’, or at least he didn’t think it was—is that the one where the simplest answer is the correct one? - and it certainly wasn’t ‘Pavlov’s Dog’, though that was the one that kept sneaking into his foggy mind. Fuck, what the fuck was -

“HhNGSTHH-ue! HhTSHH-ue! HNGITSZHUE! Fuuuck mbe.” Well, there went that distraction.

Greyson swiped under his nose with the back of his hand, cringing when it came away wet with mucus. He wiped the evidence on his pants before pushing through the back doors to the restaurant and trudging towards the office. Surely his staff could hear him coming before they even saw him – fucking Collin and his fucking cough and his fucking cold and his fucking stupid fucking face that motherfuck-

“Morning, Chef,” Elijah called from the office, startling Greyson just enough to send him into another sneezing fit before he could curb it.

“NGSTH! HTSH! Huhhh...hnnNETSSHH-ue! ETSZHUE! NGTSHH-ue! Huhh…!” Greyson stood in pre-sneeze torture for a moment or two, then huffed out a shaky breath when it was clear he’d lost it. He turned towards the office, where Elijah had an eyebrow cocked in bemusement; his boss let out a low whistle and stood to greet the chef.

“Wow,” he said, placing a firm hand on Greyson’s shoulder. “That deserved an Emmy.”

Greyson shot him a watery glare, coughed lightly into the back of his hand, and turned towards his cooks, waving to get their attention.

“PSA, guys, Collin and I broke up so do mbe a favor and just erase him completely from your mbemories. Let’s all act like he ndever existed, alright?”

The cooks nodded, too confused to say anything in retaliation. Matt stepped out from behind the line where he was prepping to try and console his boss, but Greyson just turned and sneezed, hard, into his sleeve, bursting the dam of congestion that had built up in his head.

“Fugck,” Greyson swore, staying tucked into the arm of his sweatshirt. He waved Matt away, ignored Elijah’s concerned face, and hoofed it to the employee bathroom, where he cleaned himself up as well as he could without throwing the whole stupid jacket away. Greyson regarded himself in the mirror afterwards – eyes red-rimmed from either the sob-fest this morning with Collin or the bitch of a cold his now-ex had so lovingly passed on; nose twitching with the insatiable desire to sneeze; mouth open slightly to allow him to breathe – and suddenly remembered the phrase he’d been searching for this morning.

Murphy’s law, he thought, sniffling, whatever can go wrong – will.

“HRRSHHH-ue!”

***

“You’re… I mbean, you’re shitting mbe, right? Like, is this an April Fool’s joke or something?”

Greyson hadn’t realized he was wringing his hands until Collin had grabbed and held them gently in his own. Suddenly recognizing it was going to be their last hand-hold, Greyson snatched his back and checked his watch; it was 8:53AM. He had to be on the train in ten minutes. No way in hell was Collin doing this now.

“Baby,” Collin said, his voice oozing a false-sympathy that Greyson had seen him give clients and stray dogs but never assumed he would be in the path of, “I’m so sorry. I just… I couldn’t wait until tonight to do this. It would be worse for both of us.”

Greyson gave his soon-to-be-ex a crazed look; it most certainly would not have been worse for him. It was a Saturday in late-March, their busiest season at the restaurant. Greyson had woken up with the monster of a cold that Collin had been sporting the week before, and he had barely hyped himself up for service, let alone getting broken up with before he’d even had his coffee.

“Beg to differ,” Greyson muttered, pulling a hand down his face. “Collin, I mbean… I just don’t understand. I felt like things were good, we’re combing up ond a year, I mbean I just moved in last mbonth, I really… realll – HNGSTHH-ue!” Greyson wrenched to the side to tuck himself into his elbow and sniffled pathetically. The timing of this whole thing was cinematic in its absurdity.

Collin tsk’d pityingly and handed Greyson a tissue that he had no choice but to accept. While he was blowing his nose, Collin hopped onto the counter with ease and crossed his legs.

“Baby,” he said again, prompting a cringe from Greyson, “I never wanted to hurt you. Truly. This is something I’ve been thinking about for awhile… I just didn’t know how to say it. I just don’t think we’re compatible, Greyson; I just… I don’t want to sound rude, honey, but I usually go for… I don’t know, a stronger man.” Collin fiddled with a string on his sweater as he spoke, yanking it ferociously on hitting the word ‘stronger’. Greyson felt like he’d ripped out his throat along with it.

“What… what do you mbean, stronger?” Greyson asked, crumbling the tissue into his fist and setting his jaw so as not to cry. “Collin, I run five mbiles a day. I operate a million-dollar-a-year kitchend in Ndew York City, and I work eighty hours a week. How mbuch stronger do you ndeed someone to be?” Greyson sniffled as he finished his thought, and swallowed painfully while Collin sighed.

“Greyson, you know what I mean,” Collin said, exasperated. “I need someone big, someone who I know can take a punch. You have stamina, but you’re not my usual type and I don’t think you ever will be. I’ve been waiting to see if you became that person, but I mean… look at you.” Collin gestured to Greyson’s entire being, as though his mere presence had suddenly become a disappointment. “You have a stuffy nose, Greyson, like a little kid. I find it difficult to see a big, tough man behind that exterior.”

Greyson blanched at this. “I have a cold, Collind, a cold that you gave mbe no less. You’re telling mbe you’re breaking up with me because you gave mbe a cold?”

Collin just shrugged, nonplussed. “It isn’t the cold,” he said, pushing himself back off the counter. “It’s the fact that everything about you is dramatic. You just aren’t my kind of guy, Greyson; I thought you were, but I was wrong. I need a man.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly and gave Greyson another once over before punctuating his thought. “A real man.”

A long silence settled over the two of them, only broken by Greyson’s phone beeping with a text from Elijah. So this is it, he thought, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’ll get mby things after work,” he mumbled, casting his gaze downward.

Collin nodded. “I’ll pack them up and leave a box at the door,” he said. The two of them made eye contact for what Greyson assumed would be the last time. He nodded, slung his backpack over a shoulder, and headed for the door. He opened it, looked back into the apartment, and regarded Collin one last time.

“Good luck finding your man,” Greyson said, and slammed the door behind him without awaiting a response.

***

Elijah had given up on trying to get Greyson to talk about his feelings; he’d given up on asking what had happened, or if he was okay, or if he needed somewhere to stay that night. But there was one thing he was refusing to give up on.

“You need to take something, Grey. Seriously, you’re going to infect the entire staff if you don’t.”

Greyson looked up from his prep station at his boss blearily and shook his head. “I’mb ndot sigck,” he said, voice straining over the words and dissolving into a coughing fit immediately after. Elijah turned his head to look into a pretend camera, The Office-style, while Greyson finished his coughing fit.

“Am I on Punk’d right now?” Elijah asked, pushing the full paper cup of tea he’d brought the chef hours ago towards him. “You realize you sound like you just stepped out of a Mucinex commercial, right? And I mean the ‘before’ part when the mucus monster is partying in some poor bastard’s lungs.”

The chef huffed out a little laugh before sucking in through his nose and collapsing once again into a painful-sounding coughing fit. He grabbed the cup – finally – and took a sip, regarding Elijah with red-rimmed eyes. “Allergies. Or sombething. I’mb okay.”

Elijah groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. “Look, Grey, I’m really sorry about you and Collin, and I’m sure you’re going through it hard, but this deny-til-you-die thing doesn’t really work when you can barely speak for being so sick,” he said, attempting to make eye contact with the chef who was actively avoiding his gaze. “Will you please just take some dayquil? For me?”

Greyson sighed and pressed a palm into one of his eyes. He coughed again, a miserable and drawn-out fit that made Elijah touch his own throat in sympathy, and finally nodded. “Finde,” he muttered. “Whatever. Yes, just… just leave mbe alone, okay?”

Elijah drew back, but nodded all the same. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go get it and, uh… leave you be.”

They both kept good on their promises; Greyson ruefully tossed back the medicine, and Elijah slunk off to the dining room to help the servers set up for service. They avoided each other through the morning and most of the afternoon; Greyson prepping harder than any of his cooks had ever been able to, sneezing and coughing away from the food every few minutes, and Elijah grimacing at every sound that echoed off the kitchen walls and into the office. The GM didn’t dare head back to the prep kitchen until four-thirty, moments before pre-shift was about to begin.

“Chef,” he said, knocking on the wall as though it were an open door, “you ready for pre- ?”

Greyson, clearly unaware that his boss had entered the back kitchen, doubled over to sneeze the moment Elijah began speaking. “HRRSHHH-ue! Fuck – hhhNGSTHHZUE! Huhh…! Hhh… fuckin - ”

“Bless y-”

“HUHHESTSZHH-ooo!”

Greyson managed a glazed-over glance at his boss from the pit of his elbow, and nodded a thanks as Elijah handed him a box of tissues. “Bless you,” Elijah said again, and Greyson rolled his eyes from behind the tissue.

“Thangks,” he said, wiping his nose.

“You ready for pre-shift?” Elijah asked, crossing his arms and giving Greyson a once-over. “Because you look more like you’re ready for a nap.”

“Dond’t kndow what you mbean,” Greyson croaked, coughing into his fist. “I feel ambazing. Like I could run a mbarathon. HTSHHH-uhh!” He wrenched to the side again to sneeze, then righted himself and gave his boss a smile.

“Dude, please don’t smile like that. It’s… off-putting. Worrying, even,” Elijah said, grimacing. “C’mon. Let’s go get this shift over with.”

***

The shift was shit.

The cold was one thing; Greyson had worked sick before, much sicker than he was now, and he always knew he could make it through. In fact, the hustle and bustle of a busy shift generally made him temporarily forget whatever illness he was combating in order to focus on getting everything out on time and looking perfect. Working with a cold was something Greyson was used to after all his years in kitchens. Working while heartbroken was something completely new to him.

For some reason – he assumed it was because he was god’s least favorite – the gravity of the breakup hit Greyson like a ton of bricks the moment the first ticket printed. He was fine one moment, with the exception of the near-constant volley of coughs and sneezes, and the next he was on the verge of a sob, nearly unable to speak for the lump in his throat.

He was able to play it off as the cold worsening, and Matt ended up switching him spots and expoing while Greyson ran the inside line, but Greyson genuinely had never wanted to run off the line as badly as he did that evening. The weight of this breakup – a breakup from what was by far his longest relationship – nearly suffocated him, and the heat of the line and congestion were doing nothing to help. By the time ten pm rolled around, Greyson thought he may be legitimately dying.

Once the tickets slowed to one every twenty minutes or so, Greyson gave Matt a look that said I have to get off this line, to which his sous chef nodded and didn’t ask questions. The chef ducked away from his spot on the line, yanked off his apron, and near-ran to the back alley, gasping for breath the entire way.

The theatrics of his escape clearly alerted his boss, though, and while Greyson was trying to catch his breath between sobs and coughs, Elijah opened the back doors. “Oh, shit. Oh, Greyson.”

“Can’t… breathe…” Greyson managed, a hand held firmly on his retracting chest and a look of panic obvious on his face. Elijah sprang into action; he found a paper bag for Greyson to breathe into, instructed him to breathe deeply, pushed sweat-soaked hair off his fever-warm face and spoke in a low, calming voice until the chef had finally gotten his breathing back to semi-normal.

“You good?” Elijah asked after a few minutes of post-panic-attack silence. Greyson nodded and coughed into his sleeve.

“Thangk you,” he said, his voice crackling. Elijah nodded.

“Wanna go get hammered?” Elijah asked after another pause. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, “that sounds ambazing.”

***

“Two Basil Hayden’s, please. Doubles. Neat.”

The dive down the road from the restaurant was bustling, but Greyson and Elijah were regulars and received their generous pours in their usual seats before the couple next to them even had a chance to flag the bartender down. Elijah raised his glass in a mock-cheers and Greyson rolled his eyes before swallowing half the drink in one gulp.

“Easy there, kid. Something tells me cough syrup and alcohol aren’t the best combination of drugs on an empty stomach,” Elijah said, signaling the bartender that they needed some menus.

Greyson shrugged and downed the rest of the glass. “If it kills mbe, it kills mbe,” he said, pushing the glass away from him and raising an arm in anticipation. “HhhNGTSHH-ue!”

“Bless,” Elijah said, nodding at the bartender who placed two menus in front of them. “Pick something to eat,” he motioned towards the menu, then lifted his gaze to make eye contact with his friend, “and tell me exactly what the fuck happened with Collin.”

Greyson bit the inside of his cheek to keep the waterworks from starting up again. “It’s a long story, Lij,” he said, his voice low and eyes downcast. Elijah stayed silent, as if to say I have time. Greyson sighed. “The long and short of it is, I don’t lift weights, I cand’t take a punch, and he gave mbe a cold.”

Elijah sat silent a moment longer, clearly waiting for some sort of punchline. “He gave you a cold… so he had to break up with you?” he asked, taking a slow sip of his drink. “I’m not following.”

Greyson rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, desperately wishing he hadn’t already finished his drink. “He said I’mb too weak,” Greyson muttered, outlining the coaster with his finger. “He wants to date a real mban. Someone strong.” The tears began to well in the chef’s eyes once again, so he shrugged and covered up the lump in his throat with a cough. This is so fucking stupid, he thought to himself, but instead of echoing the sentiment, Elijah pulled him in for a sudden hug.

“Not lifting weights doesn’t make you weak. Not wanting to punch someone doesn’t make you weak,” Elijah said, pulling back and looking his friend in the eye. “Having a cold, Grey, doesn’t make you weak. You’re human. You’re a good person. Collin is a dick; he doesn’t even know what he’s losing.” Elijah squeezed his shoulder, maintaining an eye contact that would’ve been terrifying from anyone who wasn’t him.

Greyson bit his cheek, pushed the fallen tears off his face, and attempted a smile. “Thank you, Lij,” he said, his voice cracking. Elijah chuckled.

“Anytime,” he said, flagging down the bartender again and motioning to Greyson’s empty glass. “Another?”

Greyson nodded. “Gonna ndeed at least a dozen to get this fuckigg day out of mby head,” he said. Elijah laughed in earnest this time, and ordered their drinks and some food.

“So,” Elijah said, “where are you staying til you find an apartment?”

“Is that a real questiond?” Greyson asked, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “I figured mby spot on your couch was as good as secure – HNGTSHHH-ue!” Greyson winced and grabbed for a cocktail napkin, cleaning himself up while Elijah cringed.

“Buddy,” Elijah said as their second round was placed in front of them, “with that monster of a cold, I’ll let you take the fuckin’ bed.”

Greyson coughed out a laugh, flipped his boss the bird, and knocked back his drink once again. Elijah followed his lead and signaled the bartender once again while Greyson bullied a coughing fit into submission.

“Keep ’em coming,” Elijah called to the bartender. “It’s gonna be a long fuckin’ night.”

[vole-mon-amour]

3x11, part 1.

i was determined to wake up at my own pace but then I saw the pic that Phil posted and it woke me right up. good thing i didn't look at it at 6 am, lol. it's 9:22 am, here we go. (upd: and when i finished with this post, it was 10:23. this is a three hour watch at the very least.)

Colin really is reborn, huh? I'd expect this from Isaac, but I'm glad it's Colin who stops them.

What he should have said: "Well guys, you ask Ted first and if he's up to it, we're talking/I'm in."

Husbands. IDC anymore. They're besties either way.

"Letting my mom stay with me is the right thing to do, but damn it, it's a pain in the ass."

Sooo... Jamie really is a nail chewer, huh? Baby boy, that's such a bad habit. Works as a coping mechanism though (probably).

Jamie is THRILLED to be there.

The scar. He's such a pretty boy, for real. Leaving Brendan and Jason's name in on purpose bc yeah.

Might start wailing right here bc Jamie's constant feeling of self-worth aka not being enough in everything aka not deserving other's people love and admiration aka Roy and Keeley can get back together, I don't deserve to be happy with them/one of them. Yeah, this hurts.

I wonder what triggered (dad? :)))) bc Jamie is usually a sunshine, but to see a glimpse of what's actually going on inside Jamie's head is... yeah. Gosh, I love this kid so much.

What a woman, my goodness. A goddess for real.

And his hair? :D

this is a renaissance painting. Bumbercatch is on full adoration mode. Dottie wanting to meet Dani and immediately befriending him. Trent <3333

The fact that she keep using Oklahoma (and Ted is responding to it like a Pavlov's dog, heh) but that they're CLEARLY best PLATONIC friends. There's no romantic chemistry but a lot of trust and I LOVE seeing it. It would make all the sense in the world if they stay platonic till the end and eventually have their own partners and have double dates and all. Ted with Trent when? Rebecca maybe with her Dutch guy? Someone that would feel her striked by a fucking lightning.

Now tell me Ted is staying in England.

A throwback to the first season? Where Rebecca wanted to destroy Ted and knew the owner of the Sun?

I'm sorry, Rebecca is buying A HORSE?? While living in a house in London? It would make way more sense to me if she had a huge territory where she can keep the horse and take care of it and ride it when/if she wants to and spend time with it in general.

"I'm your future husband-in-law." HE'S SO POLITE. SO GENTLE. IDK about Rebecca's partner, but I know who I want Ted with.

Baby boy. Baby. Jamie, tell me who hurt you, I'll kill them.

Are you going to finally kiss Jamie?

IS HE GOING TO FINALLY KISS JAMIE? I know he won't but omg, everyone else in the room can see it. Everyone else but the main fucking audience.

"I love your son & I like you very much." HE. HIM. That soft expression, that smile.

[jinkicake]

So I was this REALLY hot gorou comic before my Twitter refreshed to for the next few days

puppy boy is front and center in my brain😔 hear me out!! It started off as having a tender intimate moment w him after he wakes up from a nightmare and then he rails you after making fun of his tail. Like he doesn’t give overtly aggressive vibes to me not even in secret like kazuha or Thoma but by law all my favs have to be switches so the last few panels of him mercilessly rutting into this persons sona while he’s drooling with half lidded eyes,,,tattooed to my brain!!! Trying to tease him while he’s flustered sitting in his lap playing with his ears calling him a good puppy while he’s trying so hard but shaky being from about eating to fuck you,,,, “please give me more. I can’t get enough of you I need it” Looking up at you w pleading eyes while he’s gripping your hips like his life depends on it. like he’s the other side of the itto coin gorou is the type to power bottom and not even realize it. (Looking back @ catboy kazuha brainrot) you tease him in a “awww does my cute puppy want to make me feel good?” Way and he’s SO eager and rambling mess while apologizing that he can’t hold back anymore and he’s your good boy, BUT ONCE HE SLIDES IT IN ITS OVER! Like no pls walk w me on this😭 He’s in your ear biting your neck about breeding you and how good his beloved feels. I’m obsessed w the switching power dynamic bc he would say the filthiest things and not even remember later?? “Fuck yes just like this, fucking you this deep makes me want to fill you up for hours; you’ll let me fuck you like this all the time right? Please” his head thrown back eyes squeezed shut bc if he looks down at the mess he’s made of you he really will get addicted. He’s saying please but wtf is he asking for?? at this point😭 Like the overwhelming sensation of the way it feels inside, the sounds, the sight beneath him he’s 100% the mf who fucks you until he overstimulates himself and then will ASK YOU TO CALL HIM A GOOD BOY AS IF YOUR EVEN STILL ON OLANET EARTH DGDHDBSK! After you come back to life he’s recovered like not a damn thing happened w the most golden retriever smile asking you how you are like,,,, wdym?? I CSNT WALK the same brand of kazuha filth where you can grind on them as a joke but they will actually pin you down and use you by accident bc they’re talking as if your still in control lmao. At this point hearing them say sorry a certain would pavlov trigger me on bc they ALWAYS say sorry before hand😭like imagine: your grinding on him and teasing him kissing his neck and he’s probably like “we could get caught love pls behave🥺” but when you start riding him too slow to tease him even more he grabs your hips and looks at you w teary eyes saying “I’m sorry I can’t hold back anymore” and thrusts up into you with the most eye rolling breathless wall shaking moan ever like it’s drawn out and shaky!! Especially the momentary look of bliss on his face right before he’s balls deep and locks eyes with you and the look of pure lust and need is like threatening to swallow you whole>>>> like he’s switching between begging and praising you, saying sorry for the fact that he can’t stop himself it feels so fucking good and how he’s gunna be a good boy and fill you up and make sure your taken care of. We love a man who can multitask fr bc his hands are everywhere and he’s touching everything,begging you to moan louder for him (even tho he’s way louder than you) and he’s on his like 5th “fuck I’m cumming” so like rip actually😭😭 temped to say you gotta hide w kokomi when he gets like this but tbh she already knows and will let you lay your head in her lap as he’s fucking you into oblivion and your covered in sweat and cum staring up at her w pleading eyes to get to to at LEAST slow down but she’s nothing if not a caring soul and will pat your head to keep you grounded😇 actually gunna fe fully delusional and say he would offer to share you as a sorry for causing so much trouble😔 so she’s riding your face muffling your moans as he’s thrusting into you like a madman and she’s petting his head trying to make sure he doesn’t break you😵‍💫

i HATE when im looking at something good on twitter then it refreshes.... it's so sick

no cause why is that kinda,,, kinda..... oh wow. you know i thoroughly enjoy any switch agenda!!!

I agree though like gorou seems as if he would be the desperate type, very eager to please but when it becomes too much he just loses EVERYTHING like he goes feral because of pussy LOLLLWAIT I LIKE THIS SWITCH GOROU, it's the best of both worlds like im saurry i love it

i also love when they cry hehehe and gorou would be a perfect example bc hes so sensitive like he HAS to be.... like tighnari too but i know tighnari can handle himself and act indifferent about it but gorou CANT so the idea of him crying and begging while still trying to please is so hehehe LMAO he simply can'ts stop!

the second you brought up kokomi i thought about her joining in,,,oop- i love them,, they're so cute and their dynamics would be too good together! gorou is messy and eager while kokomi is gentle and powerful.... they'll both have you crying by the end of it so them together means you'll pass out.... but, who wouldn't!

oh... if you find that comic... lemme see it >:-)

(this is genuinely some of the best gorou thirst ive seen LOL, i can never say 'no' to smut!)

[mando-cyare]

TW: Fantasy Racism

.

.

Tav deals with Astarion's racism by wearing an anti-vampire collar to bed whenever he starts spouting nonsense.

Astarion: *says something awful about Gur/gnomes*

Tav: No blood for you!

Astarion starts associating his racist thoughts with not getting blood from his sweetheart.

Tav Pavlov's Astarion out of racism with bribery.

(I know it would be a lot more complex and a much longer process but my Tav is a tiefling and she will be re-educating his stubborn ass whether he likes it or not)

And no, Astarion can NOT hold all Gur responsible for what happened to him, especially when he was probably jumped for passing a racist law in regards to Gur.

[djuvlipen]

02/17/2023 Czech Prime Minister Petr Fiala has condemned the approach taken by the Health Ministry in connection with the compensation being paid to illegally sterilized women. He has called the behavior of the ministry bureaucrats too bureaucratic and unhelpful.

Fiala’s statement was made for public broadcaster Czech Television’s “Reporters” program. The victims of illegal sterilizations and the nonprofit organizations aiding them have been criticizing the compensation mechanism for some time because many cases have been denied.

“I have ascertained that the bureaucrats at the Health Ministry are looking at the compensation for the women who have been affected by forced sterilization in a very unhelpful, too bureaucratic way, they want them to document matters that the women concerned objectively simply cannot,” the Prime Minister said in a text message sent to the Czech Television “Reporters” program. Of 525 women who have applied so far, just 243 have been awarded compensation, or less than half.

While bureaucrats are still handling some of the applications, more than 160 women have already been denied compensation. “They want the women to submit unambiguous evidence in the form of medical records, but many of them cannot because the documentation no longer exists,” human rights expert Monika Šimůnková explained to Czech Television.

“If medical records, as one of the main pieces of evidence, are missing, then the Health Ministry must follow the law and the administrative proceedings must unfortunately be assessed as having failed,” admitted Deputy Health Minister Josef Pavlovic (Pirates). Some women, of course, do not have these medical records because the originals have been shredded by the organizations maintaining them.

Some of the women whose applications have been denied by the ministry then turned to the courts, and the first-instance courts have agreed with them in at least two cases. “At this moment there are already at least two judgments overturning the Health Ministry’s decisions as too strict and too formal. The ministry has appealed those judgments through a cassation complaint and is awaiting the Supreme Administrative Court’s verdict,” Czech Television reports.

For example, Vlasta Holubová, who was sterilized against her will at Fifejdy Hospital in Ostrava at the age of 24 in 1988, has succeeded before the first-instance court. “They did this because they wanted to abate [the reproduction of] the population of Roma. That was a disgrace, including in the families, because among the Roma, a woman is rich because she gives birth, because she has children, and she is honored for it,” she told news server iRozhlas.cz.

Pavlovic said the ministry is researching the reasons for which some applications were rejected and is seeking amicable solutions, if possible. Illegal sterilizations on the territory of the former Czechoslovakia and Czech Republic happened in the 20th century, but cases from the 21st century are also documented.

In 2005, then-ombudsman Otakar Motejl warned of this practice and also began to speak for the first time of the possibility that the victims could be compensated. His report was followed by many years of struggle by NGOs and the victims themselves until, on 1 January 2022, the law took effect that awards a one-time payment of CZK 300,000 [EUR 12,660] to the victims of illegal sterilizations.

[hiskillingjar]

since youre in the mood (me too) what do you like sm about strade? :3

HEHEHEHEHEHEHE g-d i like everything about him lol

i played the first btd like. almost eight years ago (june 2016) and just immediately fell in love with him. the friend who introduced me to btd was down bad for him too, so we just drooled over him all summer long (memoriesss~)

for one, i love his personality, and how he's just kind of a normal guy who's a fucked up freak in his spare time. he doesn't have a motivation for what he's doing, or a dark back story or trauma like law and ren do. he's just a fucked up dude doing fucked up things because he can which is SO SEXY and always my favourite route for a horror or slasher villain

i love his design and how its developed, obviously. i have a thing for bigger guys so strade being consistently drawn as thicker and with a ton of strength behind it too (big arms and big shoulders) is also incredibly sexy lmao

i also love how like. condescending and mean he is too lol. like calling you 'buddy' all the time (which has given me a pavlov response to it when it happens irl) and slapping your cheek and talking down to you and making you squirm, it really gets to me. i obv love strade for being a sexy, sexy sadist but i LOVE how just. casually cruel he can be at times too, it's sooooo so hot.

as a side, and maybe because of strade, i've also developed a bit of a thing for german guys. i've been learning it for about three years (also totally because of strade xux) and i had a brief D/S situationship with a german guy who i was head over heels for. so strade being assertively quite german in btd and fics especially is another of my favourite things too haha

i just love everything about him, he's the only fictional boyfriend i have a tattoo for, and i'm planning a second one when you kill me every time comes out ^_^

[firstprince-ao3feed]

Pomodoro Method

by inexplicablymine There is a shiver of anticipation that gallantly leaps down his spine, small zings of electricity with every step down the ridge of his back. Alex wouldn’t call himself Pavlov’s dog, that would be admitting to something that he refuses to say out loud. But Henry, well Henry has him on the metaphorical leash for the next six months give or take. All Alex can do is wait. Sitting at his desk materials spread out in front of him, one hour at a time, for four hundred hours in the lead up to the Bar. The rules are simple. No orgasms. OR, 500 Words at a time edging you and Alex all kinktober long Words: 500, Chapters: 1/31, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Kinktober, Tags will constantly be updated, Established Relationship, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Loves Alex Claremont-Diaz, Alex Claremont-Diaz Loves Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz, Law School, Explicit Sexual Content, Praise Kink, Orgasm Edging, so much edging, Vibrators, Spanking, Rimming, Dildos, Blindfolds, Nipple Play, Masturbation, Exhibitionism via https://ift.tt/8xkyXJv