#and also is the reason I started posting fic

[aurorawritestoescape]

PERFECT || Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel comforts you and helps you to overcome your insecurities, pampering you with praise and love.

Tw: 18+ mdni smut, fluff, hurt/comfort period fic, daddy dom/little girl dynamic, soft!Joel in love, reader’s on her period, emotional trauma bc of an asshole ex, insecure reader, protective Joel, daddy kink, praise kink, pet names- little girl, baby, babygirl, sweetie, dry humping, f!masturbation, mentions of f!oral, m!oral, bulge worship, cum eating, swearing.

Word count: 3,4k

A/n: I missed writing super soft daddy Joel. Also he won in my poll so I’m posting this fic first like a good girl😇 Big thank you to @twiztedlaces for the request 💞 I’m sorry that it took me so long. Hope you’ll like the story. Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🌸

MASTERLIST || more daddy Joel

“Daddy, no,”

you whine, reluctantly sliding out of Joel’s embrace, inching away, putting some distance between him and you on the bed. He’s just come from work, still in his dress shirt and slacks, his tie loosened, but his hands are already all over you. It always warms your heart how he hurries to you as soon as he returns, as if he’s finally home only when you’re pressed to his chest. But today everything feels wrong. You feel wrong.

“What is it, baby?” Joel asks with a worried expression on his handsome face. The sunset makes him look ethereal, his features are almost glowing in the golden light. You’d love to kiss every inch of that face but instead you pull your knees to your chest and curl into a ball.

Joel’s honey eyes slide over your body, searching for a reason for your unusual behavior.

“Are you sick?” He sits closer and presses his lips to your forehead.

You mumble a quiet ‘no’ and squirm away, closer to the headboard, further from him. You hate how miserable he looks now, his puppy eyes sad and confused. He plants his hand on the bed and leans towards you, his gaze begging for an explanation.

“I’m sorry. I can’t today. I’m — erm…,” you stumble on words, your cheeks hot, your gaze downcast.

Joel is staring at you for a few seconds, giving you time to continue, not rushing you. He sits up slowly, trying not to spook you. You can feel his nervousness in the air, it sticks to your skin, makes your heart ache with guilt.

“Please, tell me what’s wrong, babygirl. So I could help.”

“It’s —.”

Joel scooches closer to you and tentatively takes your hand in his. His big palm engulfs your little hand completely and the warmth spreads in your belly from his gentle touch. Joel starts speaking, carefully choosing his words, his voice soft,

“If it’s about our setup… I’ll understand if you want to stop or …to make any changes.”

You’ve been together not for long, been living together for a few weeks, but this time has been nothing but wonderful. Joel’s been doting on you, pampering you with love and affection. He was perfect and you hate that now he’s searching for a problem in your relationship.

“I’ve gotten my period,” you blurt out and he widens his eyes at you.

“Period,” he repeats, slowly nodding. “Oh, are you hurting?”

“Yeah, a little. But it’s not that.”

“What is it then, babygirl?”

You sigh, tracing circles on the back of his big hand with a pad of your finger.

“You don’t have to touch me right now. When I’m —like this.”

“What? Have to? No, I want to.”

His brows furrowed, Joel carefully pulls you into his arms, studying your face for any sign of discomfort. You don’t fight it and lean against his broad chest, taking a deep breath of his scent, while your anxiety is leaving your body bit by bit.

His soft husky voice asks above your head,

“Why wouldn’t I want you, little girl? Have I done anything to make you think that? I never meant to.”

You shake your head and wrap your arms tightly around his torso, your nose pressed to his neck.

“No, you’ve never done anything wrong, daddy. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby. I just want to understand.”

“It’s my ex — ,” you pause, hating to call that man anything but a bad word. “He never wanted to touch me when I had my special days. Wouldn’t even hug me. Said it was disgusting.”

“Motherfucker!”

“Daddy!” You gasp, gawking up at him, a little smile curving your lips.

“I’m sorry for cursing, sweetie, but what the hell is wrong with him?”

Joel takes your face in his warm hands, his eyes searching for yours.

“Listen to me. There’s nothing disgusting about you. Never! How could he—?” he pauses, gritting his teeth and glaring away in anger. A vein is bulging on his neck and his protective nature makes your pussy tingle.

As you’re staring up at him with heart eyes, Joel takes a deep breath to calm down, and looks at you again.

“You’re perfect, and I’ll always want you. I’ll be by your side any day of the month, my little girl.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whisper with a grateful smile, melting under his warm gaze like ice cream under the summer sun.

“Does my baby want to cuddle? I promise to behave,” he adds with a wink and you nod eagerly, butterflies dancing in your belly.

“Give me a second.”

Joel gets up and you watch him discard his office clothes and put on a tee and a pair of grey sweatpants.

When he climbs on the bed and lies down next to you, you find your place under his arm, your head on his shoulder. You breathe out a happy sigh and Joel kisses the top to your head before asking,

“Do you want anything? Food, a drink maybe?”

“No, I’m good. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

You put your bent leg over his thigh and press your whole body close to his. Joel’s chest is rising and falling slowly, his warmth gives you peace and, caged in his arms, you feel loved and wanted.

His hand heavy on your hip, his big body flush against yours, his scent enveloping you — all the sensations stir up a fire deep inside you. You tilt your hips and absentmindedly grind your clothed pussy against his thigh.

Joel hums and you hear a smile in his voice when he asks, “Sure you don’t need anything, babygirl?

Only then your mind realizes what your body has been craving since the moment Joel came home, and you hide your face in his chest, feeling shy. You can’t hide how much you crave him. Your murmur is hardly audible.

“I need you, daddy.”

Joel pinches your chin with two fingers and tilts your head up. You breathe in sharply when his dark eyes meet yours. He leans in and kisses you, his tongue breaches your lips and licks inside your whimpering mouth.

Joel pushes you gently on your back and deepens the kiss. His hand is pressed to your lower belly, sharing his warmth like the best heating pad, until it slides down, and he cups your covered pussy.

“Daddy,” you whine into his mouth and Joel echoes you with a guttural groan.

He parts from your lips, and hovers over your face, visibly trying not to lose control over his growing desire.

“Do you want me to make you feel good, sweetie?”

You feel the anxiety crawl back up your throat and start breathing fast, your eyes filing with panic again.

“I — I don’t know. I…”

“Shh, baby. It’s ok. We don’t have to do anything.”

“No, daddy, I want you,” you whine, your voice shaky, “But I don’t know how we can— if I’m— like this— oh, daddy. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey.” Joel hugs you tightly, keeping you grounded to him, containing your anxiety that threatens to swallow you whole.

After a few moments, he reaches for your face and starts leaving kisses on your nose, your lips, your cheeks, your fluttering eyes.

“Let me help you, please. What that man did to you... Fucker. I wish I could make you feel different. Can I try, babygirl?”

You think for a few seconds and then give Joel a shy nod.

“Tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop, ok? " he coos, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.”

Joel gives you a reassuring smile before his lips press to yours again. His elbow is planted on the bed next to your shoulder, his plush lips are moving against yours. He sucks on your tongue and you moan while your hands are roaming his broad back, his muscular arms. Soon you start squirming under him, the ache between your legs getting too strong to ignore.

As if sensing your impatience, Joel covers your sex with his warm hand and murmurs,

“I’m gonna take your shorts off, ok?”

Your breathey ‘yes’ gives him a green light and he pulls them down and off your legs.

Joel’s hand returns to the apex of your thighs and now only your panties and a pad stand between his hand and your pussy.

He gently massages it and you breathe heavily, relishing the light stimulation but it’s not enough.

“Baby,” Joel rubs your nose with his and whispers, “what if I take your panties off as well? Will you let me?”

“But… the blood..”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put a towel on the bed. What do you say?”

You look into his warm eyes and feel how much you trust him in your soul.

”Ok, daddy.”

Joel gets up to grab a towel and you notice a big bulge, tenting his sweats. You lick your lips, craving a taste.

When Joel returns, he sits on his knees by your side and carefully places the towel under you. Then he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and, after a nod from you, slowly slides them down your legs.

It's your first day so the flow isn't heavy, but embarrassment overtakes you again, and you cover your face with your hands, keeping your legs closed.

For a few seconds you hear nothing except for your booming heart until Joel presses a soft kiss on the back of your hand and you peek at him from between your fingers.

"Can I see your pretty face, baby?"

You lower your hands and shily look up at him. Joel gives you a reassuring smile and commands,

"Now be a good girl and show daddy your sweet pussy."

You bite your lip, a mixture of arousal and fear coursing through your body, but his kindness, the desire in his gaze give you the needed courage and you slowly part your legs.

“Here she is,” Joel coos, lovingly staring at your cunt. “As beautiful as ever. My pretty flower.”

A smile spreads across your face and you breathe out with relief.

Joel leans down and kisses you, still kneeling, as if praying, but instead of gods he praises you, his girl who needs him more than air right now. Needs his adoration, his reassurance, his love.

You’re swept away by the kiss, passion and hunger are woven into every stroke of his lips. Your body lights up when his hand finds your cunt again and his thumb tentatively rubs your swollen clit. All the fears and worries evaporate when he starts caressing your pussy, lust rules over you now, your pleasured moans and whimpers ring loudly in the darkening bedroom.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and watches your face twist in pleasure, while his fingers are twirling your sensitive bud.

“You like it, little girl—?“ he whispers against your lips, “when daddy plays with your pussy like that?”

Your soft moan is the best answer. Joel gives you an adoring smile and his lips start tracing a soft path from your lips, down to your neck, then they reach your chest and he nuzzles it, pushing your top up and out of the way.

Your breasts are freed from the confines of the clothes and Joel latches on your nipple. It pebbles in his hot mouth, under the caress of his tongue.

“Ahhh, yes, daddy,” you sing and Joel growls against your tits.

You’re on cloud nine with his fingers rubbing your wet clit, his tongue swirling around your nipple, then around the other, his facial hair deliciously tickling the delicate skin of your breasts. You run your fingers through his silky curls, his name soft on your lips, but suddenly the pleasure gets too overwhelming and you lightly pull the hair on his nape.

Joel stops his ministrations this very second, his mouth leaves your breasts, and he searches for your eyes, his own gaze concerned and worried.

“Have I hurt you, baby? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t, daddy, it feels so good but … can I get a kiss?”

Joel beams at you, his smile warms your heart.

“Of course, sweetie.”

He kisses you and you grab onto him as if you’re going to float away. His hand is on your mound, his lips moving sensually against yours.

He parts from you to whisper,

“She’s so wet and warm. Can I kiss her too?”

You know he’s talking about your pussy, beating in his hand, but the insecurities are rooted deep inside you, so you shake your head ‘no’ with a sorry expression.

“It’s fine, babygirl,” Joel comforts you. “Next time. Today daddy’s gonna use only his fingers, yes?”

“Please.”

Joel starts again slowly. Giving you time to adjust to the pleasure, get ready to a bright release, he lightly traces your seam, his pads drawing patterns on your soft folds, and when you whine a weak ‘daddy‘ only then his fingers dive between your pussy lips and start dancing over your clit.

Joel’s face inches from yours, he drinks in every single sign of your pleasure- the way your lips part, soft gasps and moans escaping them again and again, the fluttering of your lashes before your eyes roll back and you bite on your lower lip.

”Damn, wish it was my mouth down there,” Joel gruffs, his obsidian eyes half-lidded. ”My tongue misses your sweet hole, misses you coming on it.”

“Ahhh, daddy, I’m gonna —“

“Yes, let it go. For me, baby, for your perfect pussy.”

His mouth covers your tit again and he sucks on your nipple hard. The combination of his dirty talk, his fingers massaging your clit, his lips wrapped around your bud pushes you over the precipice and you cry out as your body trembles with ecstasy, your pussy pulses against Joel’s hand and you feel wetness slide down from your fluttering hole. Is it cum or blood, you don’t care - an ocean of bliss that Joel is giving you has washed your anxiety away, only euphoria and love fill up your chest and mind.

It feels like your orgasm lasts forever with Joel prolonging it tirelessly, his mouth and fingers playing your body like the most exquisite instrument, and he stops only when you whine with overstimulation.

You’re catching your breath, limbs tingling, eyes closing by themselves, and Joel kisses your forehead and pulls you into his arms.

“Sleep, babygirl, get some rest.”

The bedroom is dark now, illuminated only by the nightstand lamp, and you’re about to drift off but then you feel Joel hard against your thigh and your eyes snap open.

“Daddy! What about you?!”

“What about me, baby?” He chuckles. “Don’t worry your pretty head. I’ll be fine.”

You furrow your brows at him, eyes still droopy but your voice determined.

“No, daddy. I want to make you feel good too.”

You see him open his mouth to protest but you press your finger to his lips and beg,

“Please, daddy. I want him in my mouth.”

Joel growls and kisses your finger on his lips.

“He wants it too, sweetie.”

His words are soft but you hear desire loud in the way his chest rumbles with every word.

Joel leans against the headboard and you settle between his legs, your elbows planted on the bed, the towel under your pussy. You know that eating him will make you unbearably horny again so you bunch up the towel to make it perfect for humping.

A mischievous smile twists your lips and you moan wantonly when you notice a dark stain on his huge bulge.

”See what you’re doing to me, babygirl? How can you be anything but perfect?” Joel breathes out and bucks his hips, not shy about your effect on him. He’s about to pull the sweats down but you stop his hand and lightly shake your head. You press your face against the big lump and nuzzle it gently.

“What are you doing there, little girl?” Joel coos at you, feigning composure, but his voice is strained with need.

You give him a mischievous smile before your mouth opens up and you lick the fabric, tasting the saltiness of Joel’s precum, and then nudge his clothed hard-on with your tongue.

“I love feeling you like this, daddy,” you purr seductively and Joel moans.

“Fuckkkk, naughty girl.” He takes your head between his hands and slowly moves his hips up and down, grinding his stiff bulge against your tongue, your lips and your chin. The dark stain grows bigger now, your drooling mouth and his leaking cock soaking the sweats generously, but soon the edging makes Joel grit his teeth.

“Baby, quit it. Daddy needs his cock sucked.”

He’s been so sweet to you today, so supportive, you decide to be bratty some other day. You look up at him with your innocent doe eyes and breathe out,

“Yes, daddy.”

He impatiently tugs his pants and boxers down and his big gorgeous cock springs free, drops of precum flying everywhere. One lands on your lower lip and you lick it off with a hum before leaning down and tracing the underside of his length with the tip of your tongue. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Baby,” Joel rumbles with a warning and you apologetically bat your lashes at him and give into his desire.

You wrap your lips around his tip and suck on it gently for a few moments, gliding your tongue back and forth over the sensitive slit. Then you take him deeper into the hot cavern of your mouth, careful not to hurt him.

“Oh, baby, oh, yeah.”

Joel’s thumbs are rubbing your temples while his hands are guiding you, setting the rhythm, when you start bobbing your head up and down the stiff rod of his cock.

You love sucking Joel off, seeing him gone with pleasure, but what makes your pussy drip is the sounds he always makes. He doesn’t hide his ecstasy, and now he’s moaning, singing how well you’re blowing him, voice gruff but needy at the same time.

He hums softly when you caress his heavy balls and praises you so much, you wish you could suck his cock forever. Love for him grows in your belly and confidence blooms in your chest. You make him happy, you make this perfect man happy.

Your hips start moving by themselves and your pussy grinds against the soft towel. The fibers gently stimulate your clit while Joel is making love to your mouth and to your soul with his sweet words.

“Oh, yes, baby, yes—jus’ like that— so good to me— my little girl. This mouth is heaven. Ah, yes, right there, sweetie, suckle on it. Good girl. You’re perfect… perfect...”

Joel grunts and his bliss starts filling your mouth. Your own pleasure on hold, you focus on his release. His balls twitch in your hand and you slightly pull away to let his cock spill all the cum directly onto your tongue. You want to savor his taste, feel the weight of his load fully before you swallow it all in small gulps.

When his cock gives you everything to the last drop, Joel closes his eyes and rests his head against the headboard, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips curled into a smile.

“Wow, that was —,” he pants and then looks down at you, sitting on your heels between his legs, licking your lips like a well fed cat.

“C’mere.”

His arms open up and you tentatively climb on his lap.

“But daddy… my pussy..”

”Shush, babygirl. She’s perfect and I want you both close to me.”

He pulls you down onto his chest and you wrap your arms around his waist, snuggling up to his broadness.

“I love you, daddy,” you whisper with a happy smile, filling your lungs with his scent, your heart with his love. Joel kisses the top of your head and squeezes you lightly in his arms, emphasizing his words,

“I love you too, baby. Always.”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

MASTERLIST || more daddy Joel

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name

[sierrale8ne]

something about you / juju watkins x fem!reader PART OF THE $$$4U COLLECTION ‘ i’m tryna do something explicit. you askin me what i like about you, girl how long you wanna sit in this kitchen? ’

summary a few substances and some conversation has juju realizing that no time apart is gonna stop her from wanting you. warnings sexual content, smoking, fingering from lena “in the morning” yeah yeah i’m a liar we already knew that next 🙄🙄 here’s the first post of my lil collection and my first juju fic because y’all alr know… that’s my lil shit.

The chime of the bell is what causes your attention to shift from your spot behind the counter. You’ve been working at the smoothie bar on campus for quite some time now, any chance to get more money in your pocket and your roommates off your back.

It was a slow day today, luckily for you, the wind of southern California kept majority of your peers bundled up and in their own dorms rather than the commons or in the store.

Until now.

You’re cleaning the counter top, paying attention to every crumb that lands on the floor that you’ll have to sweep— when you see her.

It was hard not to recognize her, the typical baggy jeans and graphic hoodie, her Nike dunks thudding across the floor as she walks in, and a slicked back bun, different than her everyday game bun. Anyone on campus would be able to see her and point her out, the Juju Watkins.

But you recognize her for other reasons, as the only person in the world who knew you like no one else did.

You haven’t seen Juju in a few weeks, all thanks to her efforts in bringing home a national championship. But still, even through all that, she never once made you feel left to the side. You were involved in every moment of her life— texts, calls, FaceTimes— Juju made an effort to show you that she really did like you. That she cared.

She walks towards the counter, one hand gripping her wallet and the other tucked into her pocket.

“What’s up, baby?” She smiles, and it makes you smile at how her eyes scrunch together. Juju’s perfume travels over the expanse of the counter and to your nose, smelling just as good as you remember she did.

“What are you doing here, Ju?” You ask. It takes everything in your body to hide the blush growing on your face. By second nature, you start ringing her up for her smoothie— mango and peach with extra vanilla protein.

She shrugs, digging in her wallet for her card. “We ain’t linked up in a minute. I gotta pay my girl a visit, y’know?”

You nod, watching the way the girl never takes her eyes off you, even as she pays for her smoothie. Her card lazily held in the tips of her fingers. “Your girl?”

“Stop playing.” Juju shakes her head.

“Judea. You just tipped me 20 for a six dollar drink.” You groan. She was never shy to make a show of how much she liked you, even if you made it clear that money wasn’t the way to do that. It seemed to have fallen on deaf ears, though.

The only lights left in the store are the ones low ones over the tables and the white light over the blenders, dim, but just enough for you to see the red haze over her eyes. “Maybe it’ll make you work faster so we can get outta here. I just wanna see you tonight.” Juju explains.

“I’m closing tonight, love.”

“Okay? When you finish?” She questions. You ignore her briefly, enough to turn your back and start on the athlete’s smoothie.

It gave Juju the opportunity to run her eyes over you. You wear black leggings that hug the curve of your ass perfectly. Your uniform shirt is cropped just enough to give her a view of your lower back. The bright lime green of your apron is nearly blinding, but also looks beautiful on your skin. She can’t seem to take her eyes off you.

“I get off in 30!” You yell over the sound of the blender, looking over your shoulder to see that nothing you said has registered in her head. “Ju?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. You said what, mama?” Juju blots her lips together, glossy and slightly rosy. They look plump and a part of you wants to jump over the counter and kiss them until all the breath in your lungs gives out.

Her eyes meet yours, and just by the look in them you know she’s not lying about wanting to see you. It’s something, almost a sparkle, that you haven’t seen in so long. She wants you.

“I get off in 30.” You repeat, handing the girl her drink.

“I’ll wait right here then.”

You cradle Deuce in your arms, the dog being quite happy to see you in Juju’s apartment again. Her hoodie is long gone, tossed somewhere on the couch which leaves her in a cropped shirt that puts her abs on display.

The seat of her kitchen counter gives her only a few inches over you as you both talk. That seemed to be what you guys did often, picking each other’s brains apart for any and everything.

“How’s school goin’?” Juju asks in between puffs of smoke. The joint rests lazily in her fingers, teasing her bottom lip. Her eyes are already low, raking over you like you were candy. And the slope of her lashes was not helping you keep your cool.

That’s how it always seemed to be with Juju, she could do nothing— but also doo too much— and you still be completely enamored with her.

“It’s alright. Stressful, but s’nothin’ I can’t handle.” You nod, darting your eyes to the joint she passes off to you. “And you? Though I doubt you’re even focused with all this basketball shit.”

You take a puff, the drug swirling through your lungs and messing with your head before you breathe it out. The slight haze traveling through the yellow light of the kitchen.

“What? I’m focused. Sometimes.” She hums and you let out a laugh.

For as long as you’ve known the athlete she’d claim that school comes first, and then as the season continues it becomes pushed to the back burner. She had one goal— or really two— win a natty, and get the girl. You.

“Just sometimes?”

“Why else do you think I play worse when I see you? You’re the distraction, mama.” Blushed. You’re blushed fucking red. And Juju can’t help but smirk at it, she finds you adorable.

Deuce fights in your arms, and you make quick work of setting him on the floor. “Can I ask you something?” You question her, passing over the joint back.

“Of course.”

Your tongue tingles at the thought of the words about to come out of your mouth. You and Juju liked each other, that was clear— but what wasn’t was why things were still kept under wraps. Why she never asked you out officially and honestly why you didn’t do the same.

“What do you like about me, Ju? ‘Cause you keep sayin’ you do, but we’re not moving anywhere.” You trail off, feeling a little small under all six feet and two inches of her.

She ashes the joint, crossing her arms over her chest before making her way over to you. The tension is thick, almost too thick to even focus on anything other than the warmth that spreads through your body.

“How long do you wanna sit here, baby? I could talk about you for hours. It’s just… something about you, got me hooked from the minute I met you.” She explains. You look at how she plays with her fingers, almost like she was nervous. But you know her, Juju doesn’t get nervous. Especially with you.

“I-I dunno, I just feel like—”

“You don’t think I want you?” She wonders. Juju trails closer, hands pressing to the counter on each side of your thighs. “‘Cause I do. I could show you?”

Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it. The words repeat in your head over and over again. But she’s standing here, smelling like lavender and something else that’s distinctly Juju Watkins. Her eyes are serious, telling you that everything she’s said isn’t a lie. And then you’re thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve even kissed her, weeks, maybe even a full month.

You remember it like it was tattooed in your brain. Just before Valentine’s day. She came to your job with flowers, much to the dismay of your coworkers. You two drove around for hours, Brent Faiyaz and Frank Ocean filling the car until you stopped at the beach. She kissed you with a purpose, so much so that the air left your lungs and all other thoughts left your brain.

You miss it.

“Show me, Ju.” You murmur, widening the gap between your legs for her to stand there.

Juju doesn’t even waste time. She grips your thigh with one hand, snaking her other into the crook of your neck and pulls you in. Your eyes flutter shut and her lips meet yours. Soft and even sweeter than you remembered.

Her lips glide against your own— slow— like she was savoring the moment. And she was, the tournament was approaching and it wasn’t clear the next time she’d be able to have you like this.

She breaks the kiss and you groan in disapproval, chasing after those plump lips before you can even think not to.

“That’s good enough? Or—”

“More.” You sigh, tugging her back to you by her jeans. “I want you, and I want more.” Juju presses her knee closer to your cunt as the kiss grows hungrier. Her mouth opens further, tongue darting out to slide against your own tongue. Like she was begging for more, begging for entry with a small whine. It’s the kind of kiss that makes you dizzy with need.

Juju digs her hands into the band of your leggings, snapping the elastic onto your hip. “Can I?” She mumbles against you.

It’s your turn to break the kiss, licking the saliva string between you both. Her eyes stare into your soul, deep and full of longing. She’s yearning for you, you see it how she grips your clothes, how her legs just slightly buckle.

“Yes. Please.” You whine, spreading your legs further.

The athlete leans into your neck, sniffing the fruity scent that lingers on you from work. Her lips find your sweet spot as she kisses along your skin. “Smell so good, baby. Taste even better.” She smiles against you.

“Ju, I need—” Your plea is cut off by the feel of her fingers inside your pants. She trails them down to your clothed cunt. Copping a feel of your clit through your panties.

“I know. You’re soaked. Just need me so fucking bad, yeah?” Her voice rings in your ear while her middle finger applied the kind of pressure that made your legs shake. You gush almost instantly, more of your slick drenching the fabric.

You nod fast—anything to get her to speed up—but you mean it. “Need you so bad, pretty girl.” Your hand holds the back of her neck, fingers toying with the flyaways of hair that reside there. “Please?”

“I don’t know, baby. I wanna make you my girl first.” She teases. Her fingers don’t stop, still running up and down your covered slit.

“Ask me.” You pant. Your hips buck up in need, free hand clutching the hem of her shirt.

Juju’s face comes back to view, looking down at you with a smirk she can’t hide, not in the slightest. “Y’sure? Here? Like thi—”

“Fucking ask me, Ju.” You stutter, and she doesn’t miss it.

She can’t miss it. How your mouth hangs open and your pants huff into her ears. You’re dying for it, for more. For anything she can give you.

“Will you be my girlfriend, beautiful? Please?” She smiled. Her fingers hook into your panties, tugging them to the side. Enough for the air to make you shiver, but not enough for her to touch you fully. She was leaving you on edge.

“You make your girlfriend feel good?” “You joke.

“Y’know I will, mama.”

“Then yes. Yes, baby, I’ll be your girlfriend.” Juju’s fingertips brush over your clit. Once, twice— and then the third time, she’s slipping her middle finger inside your pussy. Biting her lip as she does so.

“Take your shirt off.” She orders. Her voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, at least when she was with you. So you listen. Dragging your hands off her body and to your work shirt. It hits the floor with a thud that is ultimately drowned out by the sound of your moan.

She’s good. Better than you even imagined. Her finger is long, brushing along your g-spot with nearly every stroke. And when she curls them, God, it makes your eyes water.

“You feel so good.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the counter like your life depends on it. Juju relishes in the sounds you give her, not even the moans but your cunt. It’s loud, ringing in her ears as she slips another finger inside.

“Yeah? Who’s makin’ you feel this good, mama.” She asks, holding her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your head falls back, eyes rolling as she speeds up. “Y-you. You, baby. Only you, Ju.” You babble.

“Remember when you used to say you ain’t want me?” She starts, twisting her fingers in and out until your panties are all sloppy and you’re soaking your leggings. “Look at you now, legs shaking. Pussy just screamin’ for me.”

“Juju! Oh, fuck.” You grunt, meeting her halfway with each push of her fingers. Her hand trails up to your chest, squeezing your breast with a haste that makes you want to give her any and everything that she pleases. “I can’t—”

“Can’t take it? Really? ‘Cause I know you’re not a quitter. Ain’t nothing you can’t handle, right?” She hums, pressing her plump lips to your cheek.

You can smell the weed off her breath, the mango of her smoothie. And it’s all overstimulating.

Juju curls her fingers, and she knows she’s hit your spot when you nearly fly into her hold, arms wrapped tightly around her neck.

Your breath hits her ear, alongside the pleas of her name. “I’m so close.” You all but cry.

“Imma make you cum?” The question is rhetorical, she knows the answer. The way your body says all the words you don’t. “Yeahhhh, gonna make it feel good for you, baby. I promise.”

“Fuck, don’t stop! Don’t, Ju.” Your moans nearly make the athlete go blind with arousal. Soaking through her own underwear and they thought of having you finish here. On her kitchen counter.

“Lemme feel it. Cum, mama.”

It takes one more push of her fingers to make you nearly fall off the counter. Your legs tremble and your hands clutch Juju’s shoulders like a fucking life line. She works you through it, leaving kisses along your earlobe until she finally drags her coated fingers out of you.

They travel to her mouth, where she makes a show of licking them clean of you. Your eyes make sure they’re fully open to get the view, you’d rather die than miss it.

“Goddamn you taste good.” Juju groans, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Just something about me, I guess.”

🔖 @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @d3arapril @wbbgetsmewetter @ryywyd @tndaqlwifwy @ykylalex @ohmybueckers @flipthepaige @janaelalfysblunt @cherryswisherz @courtsidewithlani @vamptizm @bdbueckers @makethemhoesmad @omg-imtumbling @avvwritesstufff

[ssa-dado]

Aaron's Speech

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader Genre: whump, prepare your tissues kind of whump. hurt to comfort? what's comfort anyways? Summary: Aaron was certain he knew what love was - until Haley died. He loves you. But he still loves her, too. Warnings: clear signs of deep depression, PTSD, trauma, self-neglet, survivor's guilt, grief, mentions of 5×01 and 5×09 Please please please do not interact with this fic if you struggle with any of these. Word Count: 3.9k Dado's Corner: I... I don't know. It's a lot. Grab your tissues. This might be the most heart-wrenching thing I've ever written… and honestly, I’m a little scared of my own brain for managing to hallucinate this. I went back and forth on whether to post it because it just felt too much... :)))) I ended up adding a little extra at the end (something fluffy & domestic) just to take the edge off. But it’s still bittersweet. More bitter than sweet.

masterlist(s)

Plato wrote, "I mean to propose that each of us in turn, going left to right, shall make a speech in honor of Love."

Aaron wasn’t sure how to make sense of the fact that the very job that had stripped him down to nothing was also the reason he could still touch you like this.

That the same job that had taken… her, that had nearly taken his son - was also the reason he could still slip under the covers with you and lose himself just enough to relieve the stress of your days.

It wasn’t intimacy, not really.

Not in the way it was meant to be.

It was a release, a fleeting reprieve from the thoughts that never stopped, from the memories that threatened to drown him if he let them sit too long.

Sometimes, it was rough - driven by nothing but the desperate need to feel something, anything. Other times, it was slower, gentler.

But one thing never changed - he always kept his shirt on.

A week ago, it had been long sleeves. The scars were only on his torso, but for a long time, that hadn’t mattered. He had fought the urge to cover everything, to disappear beneath the fabric.

He felt dirty. He was dirty.

Didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want you to see them.

The only times you had were when he had no choice - when he was too weak, too drained to tend to them himself.

Then came the day he finally found the courage to face his reflection in the mirror. When he told you he could handle it now - that he had to - you hadn’t argued. You had only pressed a soft kiss to his lips before watching him disappear into the bathroom. You didn’t say a word. You trusted him. Had to trust him.

And when he came back, you kissed him again.

You still did. Every time.

Even today.

It had become a ritual – an ineffable I’m proud of you, a way to be close without needing to be there physically. Because even if you weren’t, your mind always went there.

You hoped he applied the medication carefully.

Hoped that, in tending to himself, he showed the same meticulous care he gave to you - the way he would sit you in a warm bath, wash your hair, run his hands over your skin with a gentleness so at odds with how he treated himself.

He gave you devotion. You wished he gave himself even half of it.

You hoped that every time you heard the water running, it was only to sterilize his hands - that he wasn’t standing over the sink, letting the antiseptic swirl down the drain, just enough to make it seem used, just enough to fool you. You knew he wasn’t stupid.

You had been more cautious ever since the day he caught you in the bathroom, turning the bottle over in your hands, checking for dents, for any proof that he was actually using it.

He hadn’t been angry. He understood. It wasn’t about distrust - not really.

If the roles were reversed, he knew he would have done the same.

…No, actually, he didn’t even need to imagine reversing them. He had checked. More than once. Because he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself anymore.

Because ever since he started tending to them on his own, he never let you see his scars again.

Maybe some subconscious part of him feared that if you did, you wouldn’t want him anymore.

Or maybe because he didn’t want to remind you - of what had happened to him, of the fear in your eyes, of the way your hands had trembled the first time they traced the edges of his pain.

Or maybe it wasn’t even about you.

Maybe he was afraid that if you saw them again, your mind would go back to the past, to the before, to all the things he lost…

…And, inevitably, to her.

Haley was only a problem because he made her one.

She was never a threat to you. You had never felt the need to compete with her because you understood something he probably never would: that a heart as vast as his had room for both of you.

That was simply part of loving him - even before everything that happened, even when they were just divorced - loving him meant sharing space in his heart with Haley.

And that was enough. More than enough. You never needed or wanted all of it.

He was the one who couldn’t reconcile it.

One true love.

It had been carved into him as a child, a belief so deeply rooted that no amount of logic could ever fully undo it. Sure, he could scoff at it now, call it outdated, tell himself he was too rational to believe in something so absolute.

But some lies told to us as children settle too deep to simply unlearn, and for Aaron, it was this: that love - true love - could only happen once.

And he hated that it had been her.

Not because he regretted loving her, but because it made him feel as though loving you somehow diminished that first love - or worse, that it made you her replacement.

You weren’t.

You were nothing like her. You were only you.

And yet, both of you had looked at him with the same kind of eyes - the kind that saw too much, worried too much.

And sometimes, despite himself, he wondered if that was why he fell in love with you.

Because of those eyes. To keep those eyes in his life.

But just as quickly as the thought came, so did the guilt. Not just because it wasn’t true, but because his mind had dared to go there at all.

…But if it had gone there, it meant some part of him believed it.

And he hated that.

Hated overanalyzing it.

Hated the way his own mind twisted something simple, something pure, into something that needed justification.

Hated that he had to dissect his love for you just to convince himself it was real, when he already knew it was.

Because it was real.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you because of anything you shared with her - he had fallen for you because of everything that made you you. Maybe he had even fallen harder once he realized that.

If Reid could see inside his head, he would have some scientific explanation for all of this. Something about neurochemistry.

He would tell him that guilt was irrational, that love was nothing more than a biological process designed to make humans bond, reproduce, and survive.

But that was what he hated most.

Not the surviving part. Not just the thought of contributing to the same human species that had created the kind of monsters he locked away every day.

Though, on the worst nights… maybe that too.

What he hated was the idea that it all boiled down to a few chemical formulas, a handful of C’s and O’s arranged on a page. That somewhere out there, a person could take one look at the sequence and know him, know the core of who he was.

Bullshit. That couldn't be possible.

Not when he wasn’t even sure he had a core anymore.

What was there to read?

Aaron had spent a lifetime believing love was what the poets described - the grand, the eternal, the tragic. Yet only… after everything that happened… had he begun to understand what they truly meant.

The Greek tragedies, the sonnets - some resonated so deeply now they ached, others felt so hollow he wondered how he’d ever admired them… how he had ever believed love could be so naïve.

Maybe, in the end, a few chemical bonds and molecular chains would have been simpler. Maybe they would have told him more about himself than poetry ever could.

How simple it was - that the tears he left on your skin, warm against your sternum as he pressed his face into you, could be reduced by science to nothing more than water and salt.

As if that could explain why he was crying.

As if it could account for the guilt gnawing at him, the shame of being allowed to break against you while your own tears slipped down your cheeks, unseen, as you stared at the ceiling.

As if it could break down the only closeness he could offer now - the desperate act of syncing his unsteady breaths to yours.

He just wanted to be your rock again.

Maybe science had a way to explain the guilt - the shame of falling apart in your arms, of letting you hold him, pull him closer, your fingers threading through strands of hair that hadn’t been this long in three years.

And then, the moment your hands unconsciously drifted too low - past the nape of his neck, following the path they once knew so well, tracing the lines of his back-

It wasn’t you touching him anymore.

But it was you. You were safe. You were here.

And still, his body jerked up.

It wasn’t fair.

No matter how much he wanted to surrender to your touch again, no matter how much he wished he could unlearn the fear, his body still braced for a blade instead of your hands.

Maybe science had a way to explain why.

Maybe it could name the way his body had learned to fear something it once - and still - craved more than anything.

Maybe there was a chemical formula that could define the way you both whispered "sorry" at the same time whenever it happened.

Maybe there was an equation, an angle, a perfect placement for the carbon bonds that could explain why, after flinching, after failing, he reached for your wrist. Why he brought it to his lips, pressed a kiss to the thundering pulse beneath your skin.

The skin was thinner there.

Maybe, if he kissed deep enough, his apology would sink into your bloodstream, carried by the oxygen in your blood, traveling through your veins until it reached your heart - so you’d know.

That he loved you.

He loved you, he loved you, he loved you.

And he needed you.

Needed your hands back on every inch of his skin - even on the places his mind dragged him back to, bleeding out on the carpet of his own living space, where he was assault-

“Aaron.”

“Hmm.”

“I want hot chocolate.” You shifted, sitting up on the bed, stretching your arms above your head. “And I need your help cutting the chocolate. Come on.”

Nothing still.

So you reached over, patted his head, ruffling his hair. “You know I never get the pieces small enough… get up.”

You didn’t even like chocolate that much.

But he did.

Aaron Hotchner, with his unreadable expressions and haunted eyes, had the biggest sweet tooth you had ever known.

It was one of the first things you noticed about him - the way he’d sneak sugar into his coffee when he thought no one was looking, the way he never turned down dessert, the way he’d order an extra pastry under the guise of “Jack will like this” when Jack wasn’t even there.

Hot chocolate was easy.

Because cutting chocolate into tiny, even pieces was something his hands could still do.

The day he finally handled a knife again without flinching, you had seized every possible excuse to make him keep doing it - to ease him back into muscle memory, to give his hands something to focus on. Just like now.

Him, and all of his ghosts, disappearing into the rhythm of slicing through a bar of fondant chocolate.

"See? When you cut it this small, the chocolate doesn’t fray. How do you do that?" You leaned in, watching him work. “Wait, was this your specialty back in SWAT?”

Nothing. Again.

God forbid anyone joke about his very secretive time in an all-men squad of alpha males, big guns, tactical gear, night vision-

“You want me to show you?”

You nodded.

You expected him to explain from where he stood, maybe demonstrate with another piece - but you hadn't expected him to step behind you. Once, maybe, but not now.

And yet, here he was.

Did not expect to feel his warmth again - his body against yours, his chest flush to your back, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his huge hands slipping over yours, guiding them to the handle of the knife.

"It’s in the pressure," he said, curling his fingers around yours, adjusting your grip. "Too much, and it crumbles. Too little, and it slips. You want the blade to do the work."

Damn. It was so intimate, so familiar-

God, this felt like… like one of your first dates. Back when he was still - no.

You swallowed, pushed the thought away, and focused. Followed his movement, feeling the blade glide through the chocolate beneath your fingertips - clean, effortless - perfect.

Just like his.

"There," he murmured. "Like that." And then, a kiss to your hair. "You did good."

So did he. God, he did. And you were so proud of him.

So you picked up one of the pieces he had helped you cut, rolling it between your fingers before holding it out to him.

"Quality check."

You had never fought back tears so hard as when you felt it - the smallest huff of breath against your hair. A sound, barely there, but unmistakable.

The closest thing to a laugh you'd heard from him all day.

You would cut all the chocolate in the world if it meant hearing that sound again.

And maybe you would - because he could have easily taken the piece from your hand himself.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his lips ghosted over your fingertips, his tongue dragging over your skin far too slowly as he caught the chocolate - before his teeth closed down, just sharp enough to be obnoxious.

That stupid bite.

Familiar.

The same bite that always made you swat him away, roll your eyes, mutter his name in exasperation.

The same bite that caught your fingertips every single time you offered him one of your fries, because Aaron Hotchner - who pretended to be far too above it - always ordered a salad as a side, only to spend the whole meal subtly eyeing your plate.

He would never ask for one, of course. God forbid.

So you always caved, sighing as you picked up a fry and held it out toward him, fully intending to place it onto his plate like a normal person.

But he never let you.

Instead, he would catch your fingers midair, biting down - not hard, but enough to make you yelp, enough to make your head snap toward him, enough to make you curse his name loud enough that the people at the next table would turn to look.

And then - as if he hadn’t just eaten out of your damn fingers in public – he’d sit back, napkin in hand, dabbing the corner of his mouth.

“Shh,” he’d say. “We’re at a fancy place. Can’t you see there are no prices on your menu?”

Condescending. Smirking. Like he wasn’t the one causing all the drama.

The same insufferable piece of shit he had always been.

And maybe that’s why you didn’t swat him away this time.

Maybe that’s why you just stood there, breath caught in your throat, only managing to turn around and stare at the glimpse of a ghost you hadn’t expected to see.

You knew it was temporary, just a matter of time before the weight settled back over him. But still- still, for a moment, you just watched.

His kitchen was now so quiet you could hear the crisp snap of chocolate between his teeth, the exaggerated hum of approval he always did just to startle you, always holding eye contact, watching – waiting - like your reaction was more satisfying than the chocolate itself.

“What?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

Under the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, his eyes looked lighter - a softer brown, warm in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long. You could see the few flecks of green – a similar shade of the untouched, steamed bitter greens he always left on his plate at fancy restaurants.

Could you even tell him?

Could you say that, for just a second, he wasn’t trapped in his own head, and that alone made you want to cry?

Of course not.

So you just shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Nothing," you murmured, turning back to the counter. "Just…. don't think you're getting more if you're gonna keep biting me."

“Then maybe you should stop feeding me like a child.” He huffed, leaned against the counter next to you, unbothered… almost – smug?

Hotchner humor. This must be Christmas.

"Oh, forgive me, Your Royal Highness, how would you prefer to be fed?"

"Well, if I had to suggest something…" he drawled, gaze dropping to your lips, "you could be more creative with it."

No way. You couldn’t believe it.

"Creative?"

He nodded. "Mhm."

No way.

You picked up half a piece of chocolate, pressed it between your lips - hesitated.

Maybe this was too much. Maybe the moment would crack, fragile as it was. Maybe you’d gone too far, been too reckless.

But still, you held his gaze, tilting your head ever so slightly, offering.

And waiting.

Before you even realized it, his lips were on yours, closing over the other half of the chocolate, pressing just enough to steal more than you had offered.

Asshole.

But God, did he take his time.

His tongue flickered over the chocolate, then back over you – unhurried - before he finally pulled away, his breath still so close you could almost taste the cocoa all over again. Wow.

“…Creative enough?” you managed.

Aaron slowly ran his tongue over his half-brown bottom lip. "It’s a start."

…A start.

Maybe it was. It felt like one.

Also because Aaron stayed close, studying your face, searching for something in your eyes.

If he found what he was looking for, he didn’t say. He just looked at you a moment longer and gave you one last smile.

A goodbye - not to you, but to your eyes, because in that moment, they looked too much like hers.

And maybe a part of him had always been waiting for this moment - when he could finally look into that gaze, your gaze, and know without hesitation that it wasn’t hers. That it had never been.

So he let go of the thought.

He reached past you, plucking another piece of chocolate from the cutting board and popping it into his mouth like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just left something behind.

"You should finish cutting the rest," he said, unfazed by your exasperated "Aaron."

"Me?"

"You did well enough." He nodded, though you knew him well enough to catch the hint of teasing in his voice. "Besides, I should get the milk on the stove…. can’t have you burning it again."

You scoffed. "That was one time, and only because your stove is way too strong."

"You say that every time you cook here… which, if I’m counting correctly, is once a week."

"You’re exaggerating," you muttered, but you still reached for the knife, rolling your eyes as you started chopping again.

Silence.

Silence until Aaron turned toward you as he poured the milk into the pot.

"…Thank you for what you’re doing for me. I don’t say it enough… not out loud."

You glanced up, smiling. "It’s all you, Aaron. I’m not doing anything."

“Bullshit.” He turned, eyeing the cutting board. “You’re cutting the chocolate.”

Before you could respond, he reached over and plucked a piece from the pile, popping it into his mouth.

"Really?" you deadpanned.

He stole another.

"This one was uneven," he said, completely straight-faced.

And then another.

"Do you even want hot chocolate, or are you just here to rob me blind?"

Aaron smirked - and for once, it would have been so damn nice to just enjoy seeing his dimples - if only he hadn’t, completely unrepentantly, reached for yet another piece.

You swatted his hand before he could grab it. "Oh my God, you really are just here to rob me blind."

Defeated, Aaron turned back to the stove, deciding it was safer to keep his hands occupied. He stirred the milk with far more focus than necessary... so much so that you half-wondered if he was trying to churn it into cream.

Maybe if he just kept moving, he could resist the temptation of another impromptu quality check… hopefully.

Or maybe, it wasn’t about the chocolate at all.

"Do you really think you’re not doing anything?" he asked. His eyes were still on the pot, but the way he had slowed his stirring - no longer overcompensating, no longer distrac-

"You are," he continued, looking at you. "You’re here. You stayed. And that’s… that’s more than I knew how to ask for."

"You can ask, you know," you murmured. "You need to say the words, Aaron."

Someone else had told him the exact same words once.

And still, he hadn’t learned how to listen.

Maybe he never would.

Maybe it was just the way he was - stubborn in his silence, in his inability to believe he was allowed to need something, someone.

But still, he cared.

He cared in the way he stole more chocolate than he should have - not just because of his sweet tooth, but because he knew you didn’t like it that much. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

Because he didn’t want the taste to overpower, didn’t want to make it too rich when he knew you’d only take a few sips before pushing your cup toward him, like you always did.

He cared in the way he let the chocolate sit on the stove just a little longer, thickening the way you preferred it.

In the way he never stopped you, even when you added far more cinnamon than he would have chosen for himself.

In the way he didn’t say a word.

Maybe he should. He needed to say the words. Maybe just start with some.

And so his grip tightened around the mug, the heat pressing into his palms, seeping into his skin.

He could feel it, the warmth.

He had never noticed before how much he liked the way it settled in his fingers, how it grounded him, how it made him feel… alive.

Like he was rediscovering - all over again - that if he held on too long, it would burn.

And it did.

Science might explain it as heat conduction - the transfer of thermal energy from the liquid to the ceramic, from the ceramic to his skin, exciting the molecules in his nerve endings until they fired signals to his brain, warning him of the impending risk of tissue damage.

A perfectly rational, biological response.

But not everything he felt could be charted in nerve endings and synapses, reduced to chemical reactions or evolutionary instinct.

Some things defied explanation.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Aaron.”

Good luck to the scientists trying to reduce that to a handful of chemical bonds and neural pathways.

Maybe they could try.

They’d still get it wrong.

Ineffable.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

Phi's Corner: I’m sorry if this made you cry… as an apology, I’m sending each of you a piece of focaccia... let me know if you want it with or without olives.

[vir-tanadahl]

Solas and the Blight: A Headcanon for a Lore-Friendly Cure

I don’t think I’ll ever go back to finish The Wolf’s Redemption (my post-DATV fic where Solas and Lavellan go to try to soothe/cure the Blight). There are a number of reasons for that—some unrelated to what happened—but it’s unlikely.

So instead, I’m going to share the little headcanon I had in mind for how Solas might soothe the Blight. I wanted something that felt as lore-friendly as possible.

Theories on Curing the Blight

When I first started digging into whether it was even possible, I checked Reddit to see what others had theorized. Some suggested blood magic. Others thought dragon blood. (Maric’s sperm lmao). The water that Maric and Fiona had sex in.

I remembered the mabari cure in Dragon Age: Origins. A simple flower, a convenient solution. But if I recall correctly, Gaider once mentioned on the old forums that it was just a game mechanic, nothing more. Those forums are long gone now, so I can’t confirm it. But for the sake of this idea, I’m going with it was a game mechanic.

We know the Blight can be cured. It happened with Grand Enchanter Fiona.  

She was a Grey Warden once, part of an expedition into the Deep Roads with King Maric and other Wardens. Somewhere along the way—after encountering the Architect—she was cured. How? That part remains a mystery.  

My Working Theory

Since DATV, I’ve been leaning toward spirits as part of the answer. There’s no solid evidence that spirits—true spirits, the ones who haven’t taken a physical form—can be tainted. If that holds true, it’s my starting point.

We know the Blight isn’t just a disease—it’s something deeper. It comes from the Titans’ dreams, twisted by fear and rage. That alone suggests a spiritual aspect, something beyond just corruption.  

We also know lyrium veins exist in the Fade (aka the blood of the titans exists in the Fade). We’ve seen them—first in DAO and again (if I remember right) in DA2. That leads to my second assumption: the Titans aren’t just physical beings bound to the earth. They have a connection to the Fade.

Before getting into my third assumption, I want to explain how I got there.  

I think Fiona was cured of the Blight because she became an abomination in The Calling. Duncan describes it—she didn’t just lose herself to possession. She physically changed.  

But then, after escaping the Fade prison, Duncan wakes up to find Fiona… normal. No trace of an abomination. No longer physically transformed into this grotesque monster. And I think this is the start of how she was cured.

(I also like to think that facing her Nightmare played a role in her cure. It wasn’t just about escaping the Fade—it was about confronting something deeper, something tied to fear. If the Blight is rooted in corrupted dreams, then maybe Fiona overcoming hers wasn’t just symbolic. Maybe it was part of what cured her.)

Which brings me to my third assumption: curing the Blight requires some kind of transformation. The Blight is fueled by fear and rage, then maybe confronting those emotions is part of the cure and has to go through some sort of physical transformation. 

Fiona didn’t just survive; she changed. Literally. And that shift might be the key.

(That said, I do think there’s a fourth assumption—one that involves dragon’s blood. I didn’t focus on it when I was first outlining The Wolf’s Redemption. At the time, I was ignoring it, or at least setting it aside. But it’s there. And it might matter.)

The Assumptions

Now, using these thoughts, the way Solas has to go about soothing/curing the blight involves at least these three assumptions

Assumption 1: Spirits and the Blight

There is no evidence that true spirits—those who have not taken physical form—can be tainted by the Blight.

If spirits are immune, they may play a role in cleansing or counteracting the corruption.

Assumption 2: The Titans’ Connection to the Fade

The Blight originates from the Titans’ dreams, which have been twisted by fear and rage, suggesting a spiritual aspect.

Lyrium veins—essentially the blood of the Titans—exist in the Fade, indicating that Titans are not just physical beings but also have a connection to the Fade.

Assumption 3: Transformation as a Cure

Fiona was cured of the Blight after becoming an abomination in The Calling, undergoing a physical transformation.

When she emerged from the Fade prison, she was no longer an abomination—suggesting that transformation may be a key part of the cure.

If the Blight is fueled by fear and rage, then confronting those emotions, possibly through a physical or metaphysical change, might be necessary for a cure.

For Solas to truly cure the Blight (at least how I had it some what planned in my fic), he would need to address all three assumptions—possibly even the fourth, the one involving dragon’s blood. It wouldn’t be a single solution, but a combination of forces working together: spirits, the Titans’ connection to the Fade, and transformation. Only by tackling all of them could he hope to undo the Blight completely.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hogwarts Classes (Part 1)

@wisteria-lodge reminded me recently of my notes regarding Hogwarts classes schedule, so I decided to take a stab at it again. The reason I haven't made this post up until now is that I could not, for the life of me, make the schedule make sense. Like, I'd explain it a little later in this post, but for classes to run as they do in the books we have to assume that certain classrooms exist multiple times in the same spot and that all the teachers have time turners.

This post would have two main purposes:

Determine how students are divided into classes based on book evidence.

Determine the class load and homework load that Hogwarts students have (how many weekly classes do they have).

The final attempt at a schedule will come at part 2 if/when I ever make something coherent.

I also want to note that in my fic I will likely contradict some of the information I'm bringing up here since I have a fanon schedule for their classes that makes way more sense than the picture the books paint. So if you notice these discrepancies, that's on purpose.

All that being said, let's get into it:

Classes Division

Let's start with laying down some important baseline numbers:

Hogwarts has about 700 students.

So each year has about 100 students.

Each house per year has about 25 students.

There are 7 mandatory classes, all students of all houses take until O.W.Ls (Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, History, Astronomy)

And each student takes 2 or more electives until O.W.Ls (Care / Divination / Muggle Studies / Ancient Runes / Arithmancy -> 5 electives in all).

Flying class only for first years.

Grade distribution for OWLs goes something like this:

(this is relevant for later discussion of NEWT classes. This table was made for this post, but adjusted to fit my current estimate of the Hogwarts population)

Now, as we only have 12 professors (13 if we count Madam Hooch), I always operated under the assumption classes at Hogwarts are taught to at least 2 houses of students per year, which will give us classes of 50 students (25 *2 = 50). That being said, reading the books, this doesn't appear to be the case for all classes.

When Gryffindor has a class with Slytherin, I can always tell since Harry is going to mention Draco at some point, but when it comes to other houses it's harder to tell, but I collected everything I could find here.

Joint Classes (pre-O.W.Ls)

1. Flying - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. (PS)

(Whether the 20 brooms refer to the unmanned brooms for 20 Gryffindors arriving or if JKR can't decide how large a year at Hogwarts is is anybody's guess. Someone needed to tell her there can't be 10 students in Harry's year in Gryffindor and hundreds of students in Hogwarts)

This line makes it clear it's only Gryffindor and Slytherins first years flying together.

2. Potions - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron.  (PS)

And it's clear potions continues in this way in later years:

Double Potions was always a horrible experience, but these days it was nothing short of torture. Being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with Snape and the Slytherins (GoF)

(I do want to note "double potions" is an hour and a half long, making a "regular potions" 45 minutes long)

As Harry refers to the joint classes like this:

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins (PS)

It appears it really is all first-year Gryffindors and all first-years Slytherins sharing these classes. I assume all joint classes work this way.

3. Care of Magical Creatures - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful. (PoA)

And the one line mentioning Theo cause I have to 💖:

There were only two other people who seemed to be able to see them: a stringy Slytherin boy standing just behind Goyle was watching the horse eating with an expression of great distaste on his face, and Neville, whose eyes were following the swishing progress of the long black tail. (OotP)

4. Herbology - Gryffindor & Hufflepuff (I assume Slytherin & Ravenclaw have this class together)

Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day (CoS)

And again later in the series:

Susan Bones, who had an uncle, aunt, and cousins who had all died at the hands of one of the ten, said miserably during Herbology that she now had a good idea what it felt like to be Harry. (OotP)

5. Astronomy - Gryffindor & Hufflepuff (I assume Slytherin & Ravenclaw have this class together)

“It’s very hard to Stun a giant, they’re like trolls, really tough... But poor Professor McGonagall... Four Stunners straight in the chest, and she’s not exactly young, is she?”

“Dreadful, dreadful,” said Ernie, shaking his head pompously. “Well, I’m off to bed... ’Night, all ...”

(OotP) - Astronomy Practical Exam

It's possible the classes are divided differently for the exam, but the fact you have both Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors there means there are enough telescopes for all of them. We also know the Slytherins aren't there as Harry would've mentioned Draco chuckling at McGonagall getting stunned or something. So I think it's a fair conclusion Gryffindor and Hufflepuff share Astronomy class.

Likely joint Classes (pre-O.W.Ls)

6. Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle studies

Likely joining classes like Care (Gryffindor & Slytherin and Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw). The fact Hermione knows Theo when Ron and Harry don't suggests she shares a class with him, Ron and Harry don't:

He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. (OotP)

7. Divination

Divination classes only ever mention Gryffindor students in the class, my guess is that this elective, too, is joint with Slytherin, but that no Slytherins in Harry's year take Divination.

Solo or Unknown Classes (pre-O.W.Ls)

8. DADA - Solo

It seems Gryffindor studies Defence alone. In the two scenes where you'd most expect students from outside of Gryffindor to be mentioned if they are present, don't mention them:

In PoA, during the Boggart lesson, only Gryffindor students face the Boggart.

In OotP, during the first class with Umbridge, only Gryffindor students speak up. Ravenclaws & Hufflepuffs would've spoken up and if Malfoy was there, we would know.

9. Charms

Only Gryffindors are ever mentioned in this class, but since Charms lessons are almost never written out, it's possible they are shared with either Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Harry’s partner was Seamus Finnigan (PS)

10. History of Magic - Solo

In CoS, in the class Hermione brings up the Chamber of Secrets, only Gryffindors ask questions:

“But, sir,” said Seamus Finnigan, “if the Chamber can only be opened by Slytherin’s true heir, no one else would be able to find it, would they?” “Nonsense, O’Flaherty,” said Professor Binns in an aggravated tone. “If a long succession of Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses haven’t found the thing —” “But, Professor,” piped up Parvati Patil, “you’d probably have to use Dark Magic to open it —” “Just because a wizard doesn’t use Dark Magic doesn’t mean he can’t, Miss Pennyfeather,” snapped Professor Binns. “I repeat, if the likes of Dumbledore —” “But maybe you’ve got to be related to Slytherin, so Dumbledore couldn’t —” began Dean Thomas, but Professor Binns had had enough. (CoS)

If other houses were there, they would've asked something. Like with Charms though, I consider it possible Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw are there and just not saying anything, though, unlikely.

11. Transfiguration - Solo

Harry overheard him telling Professor McGonagall so while the Gryffindors were lining up for Transfiguration. (CoS)

Only Gryffindors waiting outside the class. And again in PoA:

They had Transfiguration next. Harry, who had resolved to ask Professor McGonagall after the lesson whether he could go into Hogsmeade with the rest, joined the line outside the class trying to decide how he was going to argue his case. He was distracted, however, by a disturbance at the front of the line. Lavender Brown seemed to be crying. Parvati had her arm around her and was explaining something to Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were looking very serious. (PoA)

Sumamry

Most classes are likely paired for two houses.

Flying, Potions, and all electives are shared by Slytherin & Gryffindor and likely Ravenclaw & Hufflepuff.

Herbology and Astronony are shared by Hufflepuff & Gryffindor and likely Slytherin & Ravenclaw.

Charms might be shared as well. I assume Gryffindor shares it with Hufflepuff as it seems Harry knows Hufflepuffs better than Ravenclaws:

Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry did not know [Susan]; three Ravenclaw boys he was pretty sure were called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot (OotP)

Transfiguration, DADA, and History of Magic seem to be taught to each house separately in classes of 25.

Post-O.W.Ls, how classes are organized changes becouse fewer students are taking each class, allowing teachers to merge classes.

Joint Classes (post-O.W.Ls)

1. Potions - All Houses

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner. (HBP)

2. Herbology - Still shared Gryffindor & Hufflepuff and Slytherin & Ravenclaw

There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since. (HBP)

Herbology is considered a "softer" subject, and not many fail, which could be why classes remained in their former sizes.

3. DADA - Gryffindor & Slytherin (I assume Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw have this class together)

The class is shared with Slytherin:

“An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six,” said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered) (HBP)

And apparently no other house:

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. […] Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively (HBP)

Likely joint Classes (post-O.W.Ls)

4. All Electives (Divination, Care, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies)

I assume they are shared by all houses like Potions since many students likely drop them after O.W.Ls like Harry and Ron (and many of them like Divination didn't have many students to begin with).

5. History of Magic - Everyone

This is a subject I also assume N.E.W.T students share since most students likely drop it, so the class should be small enough.

6. Astronony

Couldn't find anything, but i assume it's joint by at least two houses (like pre 5th year).

Solo or Unknown Classes (post-O.W.Ls)

7. Transfiguration - Solo

“— and what is more,” said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, “Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.” Harry gaped at her, deflating. “How do you know, Professor?” “Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter,” (HBP)

In the above quote it appears Harry didn't know Draco didn't submit his Transfiguration homework multiple times. Since HBP is the height of his Malfoy obsession, we can be assured from this that Slytherin isn't studying Transfiguration with Gryffindor.

Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. (HBP)

Again, only Gryffindors are mentioned to be in Transfiguration classes, though it's possible they are shared with Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, if unlikely.

I take this to mean Transfiguration is a very popular subject to take N.E.W.Ts in, that looks good on your resume, so most students stick with it.

8. Charms

Nothing is mentioned (that I could find), but as it's seen as a "soft" subject like herbology, I assume the class size is similar and it's two houses sharing these classes.

Sumamry

N.E.W.T classes are emptier, and therefore more subjects are shared by all houses.

Potions, History, and all electives are shared by all houses.

Herbology is still shared by Gryffindor & Hufflepuff and Slytherin & Ravenclaw. (Astronomy likley as well)

Charms is probably also shared by more than one house.

DADAs N.E.W.T classes are now shared by Gryffindor & Slytherin and Hufflepuff & Ravenclaw.

Transfiguration (likely the most popular N.E.W.T subject) is still a single house class.

Weekly Workload

As we mentioned, we have 7 mandatory subjects and 5 elective ones (flying doesn't count). Each subject has one professor, leaving us with 12 professors overall, one per subject. (and one of the worst student: teacher's ratios I've ever witnessed)

The news about his shouting match with Umbridge seemed to have traveled exceptionally fast even by Hogwarts standards. [...] The following day dawned just as leaden and rainy as the previous one. [...] Double Charms was succeeded by double Transfiguration

(OotP) - The day after the first lesson with Umbridge, a.k.a Tuesday.

It was another bad day for Harry; he was one of the worst in Transfiguration, not having practiced Vanishing Spells at all. He had to give up his lunch hour to complete the picture of the bowtruckle, and meanwhile, Professors McGonagall, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra gave them yet more homework

(OotP) - Transfiguration on a day without Charms sometime later in the week.

So, at least 3 Transfiguration classes in a week.

“History of Magic, double Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts . . . Binns, Snape, Trelawney, and that Umbridge woman all in one day! [...] “Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”

(OotP) - Double Potions on Monday

said Snape. “Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.”

(OotP) - Another Potions class on Thursday

Meaning there are also at least 3 weekly Potions lessons.

And in PS:

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology (PS)

Harry outright says there are 3 Herbology classes.

So, for the rest of the calculations I will use the assumption they have 3 weekly classes in each subject (except Flying, but I don't really count it anyways). I will be counting Astronomy, since I assume not all Astronomy classes are midnight observation classes:

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets (PS)

Harry mentions a study session of the night sky on Wednesday, and learn the names and movements separately, so I assume there is 1 midnight class and 2 regular lecture classes. (They repeatedly fill in star charts, a cold, dark, tall tower is great for stargazing, not so great for filling up charts).

For Students before O.W.Ls, we have 5 years of students, each with various class divisions:

Potions, Elective 1, Elective 2, Herbology, Charms, and Astronomy - shared by 2 houses -> 36 weekly classes per year.

Transfiguration, DADA, History - solo classes -> 36 weekly classes per year.

So, all students between years 1-5 (together) are taught 360 classes a week or 270 hours.

Then in years 6-7:

Potions, History, Elective 1, Elective 2 - shared by all houses -> 12 weekly classes per year.

Herbology, DADA, Charms, Astronomy - shared by two houses -> 24 weekly classes per year.

Transfiguration - solo class -> 24 weekly classes per year.

So that adds another 60 weekly class (45 hours) these poor professors need to teach.

We have 12 professors teaching (together) 420 classes a week (with McGonagall teaching more than any other teacher). Which, I don't think makes sense mathematically. Like, McGonagall would have to teach 84 classes a week (in the same classrooms) which means she teaches 16.8 classes every day even though school doesn't continue into the afternoon. Somehow. Not going into how all professors have time turners or clones of their classrooms. I don't want to touch that now.

Now, if each class only happens 3 times a week (it's already an unreasonable workload on the professors, and that's the minimal number according to the books), each student then (before year 6th when many drop subjects left and right) will have 27 weekly classes -> 5.4 daily classes they need to get to. (Or 20.25 hours a week, 4.05 hours a day).

As for how much homework they have to complete and how much of their week is taken up by schoolwork:

9 classes, let's say they get essays in 8 (Binns doesn't give homework and I'm counting for students who take electives that do give out homework).

A4 paper is 11.69 inches long and includes roughly 400 words (assuming average writing size). That means that a "2 feet" essay would be roughly 800 words. (most of their assignments are less than 2 feet and most often are "1 foot of parchment", but I'm going for a worst case scenario).

10-12 words per minute is the average writing speed for 1st years (5th-6th grade. Study used us from 1995).

Each 2-foot essay will take 1 hour and 20 minutes, lets round it up to 2 hours, to complete (approximately).

We'll give them another 2 hours for research.

4 * 8 = 32 weekly homework hours.

So Harry and Ron's complaints about the homework load on weeks where every teacher assigns a footlong essay actually make sense. That could really accumulate to be quite a lot of work.

In this worst-case scenario of homework above (that might need more research time, depending on assignment) they will spend 20 hours in classes + 32 hours on homework = 52 hours a week on schoolwork.

So, this is the end of part 1 of this, not sure when/if I'll get to part 2. It really depends on if I could rangle the information to be coherent, which is hard to do when it's clear JKR only had notes regarding the schedule of Harry's class alone and no one else for each book — meaning the moment we try to apply this information school-wide, issues start to emerge and professors need to basically constantly be in more than one place at once. (Why aren't there more professors? That could have been such an easy solution!)

[erinwantstowrite]

do you have any advice how to get over the fear of posting fanfiction?

idk if you would relate to that but for some reason I just can't publish anything online that isn't my original work, idk if I'm scared that fandoms are going to bully me or that nobody will read it or something else

I know these fears are irrational, but I would love to hear if you had any advice for me

you gotta jump headfirst into it. like this:

when i was 13 years old i wrote a mary sue oc for a marauders fanfiction, named Lana Portland, who could see the future and fell in love with Sirius Black. her one goal was stopping the prophecy and saving everyone, but she died, came back to life at her own funeral, and then disappeared off the face of the earth because she lost her mind. what happened to her? she could only have a sane mind while she was an owl, her animagus form, but no one knew she was an animagus. you'll never believe what owl she was: Hedwig.

if the Erin writing to you right now was the Erin from about six years ago, they would NEVER have admitted that. however, the Erin I am now can. why? because the embarrassment i felt when i turned 15 and hated looking at it has worn off.

Now Erin has finally come to terms with the fact that being "cringe" is a hell of our making. 15 year old Erin was absolutely sure they'd get bullied to hell and back if anyone knew what they had written at 13. they were much more mature than 13 year old Erin, because they wrote Voltron fanfic, not Harry Potter

being scared of what people thought of my writing was a huge obstacle to overcome, and that's because writing is intensely personal

at first, i wrote my Voltron fics with the fandom in mind. i really wanted some validation, but i was miserable and hated writing. eventually, i went back to my roots of just... writing with only myself in mind. and i was happy again, posting with barely any thought to if someone would like the fic. so sure, reading any of my old works would make me want to throw myself into a pit of fire, but there's something freeing about knowing i had posted them. i am where i am now because i hadn't worried about what people thought of it when i was writing it.

over the years, i've found that fics i wrote that were intended to make absolutely everyone happy with me were my worst fics. i didn't enjoy making them, and people still found a way to be dissatisfied with something i've done. the fics where i do absolutely anything i want, even if it ends up making no sense, were the fics i had the most fun writing. and i didn't regret making them

all this to say: treat your fanfic like it's your own original work, have your fun! don't worry about if people tell you "Character would never do that, you are awful." because 1) who cares, and 2) you can block them, and they can block you

now let's say you're no longer scared of getting dunked on for your writing, so you posted it. good job! now you're wanting people to read your work, but you're scared they won't.

this part is complicated because you could do all the "right" things and still get nothing. that can be making sure you're tagging your fic correctly, or making a bunch of posts about your fic and asking people to read, etc. so, before you focus on getting more people to read, you should remind yourself that even if absolutely no one reads your fic, that doesn't mean you should be ashamed of your work. this also ties back into being content with your writing and doing it for yourself first and foremost.

my favorite fic i've written is "Coffee Jelly Disaster." it's only 900 words, it's not nearly my best writing technically, and barely anyone has read it. that last part ate at me when i first posted it because i thought more people would read it. but i still love it! it's so simple and i had fun

when i started writing LoF it was just for me and my friend, and then it got popular because i made a couple of silly tiktoks, which were also for me and my friend. i hadn't expected so many people to tune in when i started, because i had a couple of well read fics before, but nothing like this.

you don't have control over that kind of stuff because there's a lot of different favtors. and it really depends on what fandom you're writing for, too. Saiki K is not nearly as big as Spider-Man and Batman.

so the way i see it, if you post and get two hits and one like, that's still somebody out there who saw your work and wanted you to see they liked it. if you never post it at all, no one will. you gotta take the first step forward to get somewhere, and eventually you'll be running. we end up regretting our inactions the most

[starly-amazing]

ISAT fanfiction for Palestine

I realized I can feed two birds with one scone and motivate myself to write more and help raise money for charity.

Donate $10 HERE or to PCRF and I will finish one of my ISAT fic WIPs ASAP. All of these have been started but have been thrown to the wayside because of burnout.

All you need to do is send me proof of donation through asks or messages & pick which fic(s) and I'll get working right away. Should be done within a few days depending on how many requests I get.

0/3

(Full-game spoilers btw)

The 2nd chapter to my intersex Siffrin Hates Doctors fic. I was originally just going to have it 2 chapters but it might end up being 4 with Sif's interaction with the rest of their family over it + him and Mira dealing with useless doctors.

Alternate Act 5 scene where Isabeau sneaks back after Siffrin rips into him and overhears their conversation with Loop. He manages to talk them down and Loop gets them to tell Isabeau what's really bothering them. ($20 for this one because it's kicking my ass)

Loop is sent back to their own Universe after the 2hats fight right to the moment before they were sent back for the final time. They panic and their friends race them to the infirmary but they can't say more than a few one-word answers. When they finally give them space, Loop calls stardust and begs him to help on what to do now that they're not Siffrin anymore.

A continuation of Kamary's "Loop wins the 2hats fight and takes over Siffrin's body" where Isabeau loops back to right before the fight ends knowing what's going to happen.

Siffrin tries to loop back after Bad Touch Event but Isabeau grabs him and is pulled into the loops. Siffrin now has to face the consequences for his actions and spill the beans. ($20 for this one because it's also kicking my ass)

Post-loop Siffrin for some ~mysterious~ reason gets simultaneously transported back to the moments before he looped in every loop. Will be an anthology of sorts of several-months-free Siffrin's reaction to being back in the blinding building again. ($5 per chapter as they will be short.) Will go over most big events: Dying to the King, dying to a sadness, the rock trap, Loop's hangout, Bad Touch, Tutorial, and other events, getting stuck after wrong turn, something's failing, rotting, etc.

Fic based on my theory that Siffrin was the King's clone during my first playthrough. They figure it out while translating the diary in the Orrery room (which I misremembered as being written in the Forgotten Language) when it continues and reveals Siffrin is the King's clone who got separated when the Island disappeared. They have a breakdown in front of their family who have to fight through confusion to comfort them.

@commissions4aid-international

NSFW WIPS under the cut (Do NOT pick one of these if you are a minor)

Siffrin isn't able to kiss Isabeau in the Bad Touch event, and instead has a little feelings talky-talk and cuddle with him. This leads to them getting down and dirty in the woods and eventually causes Siffrin to let slip their predicament with the loops. AKA Siffrin fucks their way out of the loops.

AFAB Siffrin Bodycrafts a Penis and Isabeau helps test it. Compliment to my "AMAB Siffrin Bodycrafts a Vagina and Isabeau helps"

[mailmango]

Gel-ousy

Pairing: Lucas Ron Thomas x Sanctum Alexander Arroyo (ITLITW OC)

Genre: Fluff

Notes: Jealousy; childhood crushes; misunderstanding trope

Length: 2.8k words, Fic

Synopsis: Lucas always takes forever to do his hair, and Sanctum often takes the opportunity to ogle his handsome boyfriend. Today, though, he'll get to learn why the man picked up hair gel in the first place.

A/N: This is a repost of one of my Choices fics from last year GAHHAHAHA I LOOOVE Lucas and I want the boyo to be happy so I wrote this oekmd vcjbvvjcv ALSO I apologize for the switch up to everyone here because of One-on-One, I'll post more smut soon!! ALSO I RLLY WENT OFF WITH THE OUTFIT DESCRIPTIONS LMAO MY BAD BESTIES

Credits: @/aquazero for the divider and @/whatisreggieshortfor for encouraging me to do Choices stuff <3

I picked this one just for you! I hope it's the sweetest of the bunch...

“You know, with today, you’ve brought the average time you spend doing your hair in the morning to seventeen minutes.” 

Sanctum was on his and Lucas’s shared bed, typing away at his sticker-covered laptop. With confusion and a bit of concern, Lucas stopped tying his blue tie. The fabric still undone in hand, he looked to his boyfriend.

“What? How do you know that?” 

“Data and observations.” 

“You’ve been recording my hair routine time?” 

Lucas felt self-conscious all of a sudden. When Sanctum looked at him, he could see that pang of uncertainty in Lucas’s eyes. He knew it well; it had painted Lucas’s face nearly every day of middle school when he sat down for lunch, having just been teased and ridiculed for whatever reason cruel kids would tease and ridicule him for.

“Yeah… it’s rather difficult to keep my eyes off you, so I figured I may as well be ‘productive.’ I can stop, if you’d like.” 

Sanctum spun his laptop around to reveal a spreadsheet. Lucas pulled on his glasses, noting that his boyfriend had been cataloguing nearly every day since they moved in together a half year ago. A sinking doubt started to weigh in his stomach. 

His words came in a mutter, almost indistinguishable and inaudible. 

“I‘m surprised you’d want to watch me in the mornings that much.” 

Sanctum was taken aback. He closed and set aside his laptop, motioning Lucas to take a seat by him on the bed as he sat up. He held Lucas’s shaking hands, and his thumbs brushed over the man’s knuckles.

Did Lucas really think Sanctum wouldn’t want to look at him? 

“What do you mean by that?” 

With a deep breath, Lucas took his seat by Sanctum’s side. Sanctum’s hands never let go of his, and his eyes never let go of a concerned expression. 

“Well, I figured that without the gel and the clothes you…” 

His voice trailed off as he remembered the day that cemented his daily usage of that drugstore hair gel. 

“You can tell me.” 

Sanctum’s hands found Lucas’s just as their eyes did. With a soft smile, he urged his boyfriend on. 

“It- It started back in high school…”

“Oh, you’re here. Morning, Lucas.”

It was freshman year. Although the friend group of Sanctum, Ava, Lucas, and the others who had met Reddield didn’t communicate much, these three did from time to time. At least, they did back then. 

Lucas remembered that Ava was on the steps of one of the less busy entrances to their school. Having just fully realised her true alternative style, her clothing was a mish-mash of dark leathers, spiked boots, stripped leathers, and a skirt. She had this awkward haircut, with straightened and dyed hair accompanied by some horrendously large bangs. It was so strange, too, because her makeup had yet to, well, exist. She would get her personal style well and cohesive eventually, he thought.

But Lucas couldn’t really judge. He was in an awkward phase in terms of style as well. Blazers and v-necks were being replaced by cotton sweaters and button-ups. His pants, however, lagged behind, with ripped jeans rarely being swapped out for what he would come to wear more often, dress pants. 

The biggest change ongoing, however, was his hair. He had been tired of sideswept hair, envious of seniors with their pushed back and immaculate hair. The cause for all of that jealousy? 

“Hi Lucas!”

Sanctum Alexander Arroyo. 

Sanctum and Lucas had remained the closest amongst the group, save for the former and Ava. Sanctum, in that time, also remained as a permanent and prominent part of Lucas’s heart. 

Sanctum’s awkward phase had just finished by then. Once, he wore plain clothing. Sneakers, baggy pants, and plain shirts he left untucked were all slowly but surely replaced throughout middle school. 

Sanctum’s style was very close to both Lucas and Ava’s, at least, what they would become. Some days, he would wear black mesh and turtlenecks, well-fitted leather pants or studded jeans, and he always had a perfect boot to match. These would often be accompanied by clip-on earring studs, chokers and bracelets with chunky spikes, and necklaces of all sorts. He often claimed that version of him to be the fault of his older sister, who would give him “advice” as to what to wear, which is to say would dress him each morning without his input. He liked it though, and never had many complaints. 

Lucas found that version of Sanctum’s dress attractive. Mesh shirts that showed a bit too much skin, especially for their age, and the specifcially devious smile he would wear left a hormonal, confused Lucas’s head spinning. But what really drew Lucas in was the clothing Sanctum claimed as his ultimate favorite, his truest style.

Sanctum’s style was characterised by curly hair being done in what was essentially a fluffy poof. He wore sweaters that were just smack dab in between something loose and perfectly fitted. His pants were khakis a size or so too big for him, which he kept cuffed and held closed by a leather belt with his initials on the buckle. His socks often matched his sweaters, going stripped and stripped, dots and dots, or any manner of patterning, and his shoes were either his favorite brown boots, one of his hundreds of pairs of colored sneakers, or even dress shoes. 

That day, Sanctum had opted for a deep green sweater and his boots, which Lucas had to admit he loved the most. But Lucas’s eyes never got the chance to flick down to his footwear.

“You want to have lunch later?”

He was far too focused on the way the hazel of Sanctum’s eyes became hypnotizingly vibrant and the way his voice sounded like a long-perfected orchestra.

“Yeah!” 

Little Lucas shouted a bit—okay, a lot—too eager with a blush to his cheeks. 

Ava snorted.

“You were really cute back then.” 

Sanctum tried to lighten the mood as he and his boyfriend stared down at a picture the three had taken that day. The three were smiling—well, Ava was sort of smiling—at their usual lunch spot. 

“Cute, sure…” 

Lucas took another deep breath. 

“But do you remember what happened that day?” 

The three were hanging out in one of the back corners of the cafeteria, one with the perfect balance of enough light and little noise. They had been sitting in that spot for the two months of freshman year that they had managed to survive. 

Lucas and Ava were trying to stomach the school lunch: a strangely texture pizza and some indescribable diet coke. Sanctum took pity on them and shared some of his quesadillas, although he fully hogged his bacon and rice. He even gloated a bit.

“Mm- So, Mr. Packed Lunch, how were tryouts?” 

“Tryouts?” 

Lucas swallowed the piece of quesadilla in his mouth. He looked between his two lunchmates, trying to gleam what they were talking about.

“I, uh, tried out for the cheerleading squad.”  

“Really? That’s awesome!” 

“Yeah… it’s just that I-”

All of a sudden, a large hand clapped down onto Sanctum’s shoulder. 

“Did amazing?” 

There, with a hand on Sanctum’s shoulder, was Jason, the student body president and vice captain of the football team. He flashed his pearly whites, taking his seat right beside Sanctum. 

Lucas had to admit, the senior was really, really handsome. He was obviously well-built, dressed in nicely styled but simple clothing, had beautiful emerald green eyes, and had an amazingly styled head of sweptback brown hair.

“You guys have a little prodigy over here! Little ‘Tum did amazing!” 

He smiled and chuckled, an arm coming to hug Sanctum across his shoulders. The boy was speechless, mouth agape and cheeks dusted rosy pink. 

Lucas could feel the jealousy flood his system. He couldn’t bear to watch it, to be frank. Sanctum was being held so close—was it too close? And the way that this handsome, older guy made Sanctum blush without even trying… the way called him “‘Tum”? It was starting to grate on him. 

“That’s… great to hear.” 

His words were steady, but his hands were gripping his knees like they were a lifeline. 

“Hell yeah! ‘Tum here showed up with some of the best freshman gymnastics Kate or I have seen.” 

“Jason, you’re being too kind-”

“I’m just telling the truth!” 

God, Lucas hated the Sanctum blushed when Jason ruffled his hair. He wanted Sanctum to blush for him, not Jason. 

“Best dressed, too. We’ve gotta go shopping sometime, I admire your style.” 

“Th-thank you, Jason! I… think your hair looks really nice!” 

Lucas could feel a spark of anger and an explosion of jealousy inside him. He watched as Jason laughed some more, wishing with every second he had been the one making Sanctum blush that cutely. 

Gah, Sanctum was cute. 

“Babe, you were jealous of Jason?” 

Sanctum and Lucas were closer now, resting their backs on the headboard. Their hands were intertwined, and Sanctum’s head was rested on Lucas’s shoulder. 

“…yeah.” 

“I see… do you want to continue? We can talk more now, if you’d rather not.” 

“I… I’ll finish the story.”

Sanctum waved goodbye to Jason, who had give his own polite niceties to Ava and Lucas. But Lucas didn’t mind that, no, he simply let Jason’s words to Sanctum resonate through him. 

“I’ll see you at practice, ‘Tum.” 

Abruptly, Lucas shot up. As he stood, he knocked his tray, the food swishing to the other side. He couldn’t take it. 

“I’ve got to go to my locker. I’ll see you guys later.” 

He rushed out, his mind a mess. He focused on one step, then the next, and the next again. He was making good progress. Excellent, even. 

Until he realised he forgot to give Sanctum a goodbye hug. 

He was mad, sure. He was brimming with jealousy, sure. But the last person he was upset with was Sanctum, and he didn’t want him to think he was mad at him. It would be the furthest thing from the truth, in fact. He turned on his heel, steps thrice as fast as they were when he was leaving.

He could see their table. Ava and Sanctum were still side-by-side and faced away from him, Ava using her elbow to nudge Sanctum as he laid his head down. 

Lucas was not pleased to hear what Sanctum was whing out. 

“Why?! Ava, tell me, why is Prez so handsome?!” 

Prez? Who’s Prez? Prez… president…

“I dunno. Why is he so handsome, Sanctum?” 

Jason?

Sanctum groaned loudly.

“Because he looks so good in that shirt! And his smile? It was so pretty! And and and his hair- gosh, his hair! I just-”

Lucas was running again, now trying to hold it together as he ran back into the hallway. It was empty, he noticed, and boy was he glad. 

He slowed down, trying to steady his breathing, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. 

And then he walked into a wall, falling back in recoil. Except it wasn’t a wall.

“Woah, Lucas, you okay, little guy?” 

Jason. Lucas pushed himself up, fumbling with his glasses for a moment before slipping them on. Jason was holding out a hand with an apologetic, perfect smile on his immaculate face. 

Lucas wanted to cry, just a bit.

Instead, he took the offer, using the leverage to pull himself up. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m… I’m fine.” 

“Hm. You sure? There’s something going on, I can see it on your face.”

Jason leaned in, a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m telling you, Jason, I’m alright. Thanks for asking.” 

“Oh come on! You don’t gotta tell me what’s wrong, but you could at least let me help cheer you up. Is there anything at all that I can do?” 

Lucas’s mouth fell open. For a second, he wanted to tell Jason to stop being so close with Sanctum. But it felt wrong. It was wrong. Instead… 

“How do you get your hair to look like that?” 

“What? Really? That’s… that’s what you need?”

“Yeah.” 

He was stone faced. Inside, on the other hand, he was waiting with bated breath.

“Gel. I buy it from Marv’s in town. Are you sure that’s all?” 

Lucas was already setting off, eager to get his phone. He had to tell his mom he was going to get something from the store. He needed to do this. 

“Yeah! Thank you!” 

“That’s where you got the idea?” 

Sanctum laughed a bit, and Lucas did as well. He wanted to begin reassuring his boyfriend, but he could see it in the way Lucas’s face returned to a bleak expression. 

“You can keep going, Lucas. I’m here, and I’ll listen.”

The next day, Lucas was running late. Late for Lucas Ron Thomas, at least. 

With an absent Ava, who had gone on a trip with her dad, Sanctum was alone on those steps. When it had reached twenty-two minutes prior to class starting, he sort of lost hope. Lucas was ten minutes later than normal, and he figured he probably had something going on and had forgotten to text Sanctum about it.

Sanctum, crestfallen, stood up. He dusted his pants off, pulled his backpack straps taut, and began to turn on his heel. Lucas, emerging from his car, noticed and began to run with an accompanying cry. 

“Sanctum! Wait!” 

“Lucas?” 

Sanctum turn around mid-step, seeking a slightly-out-of-breath Lucas. Something was different today, something had to have changed. 

“Your hair…” 

His dad had helped him brush and style his hair that morning. Lucas’s hair was brushed back, swishing to the side as it got further and further from the base. It was so, so very new, and as Sanctum noted, it all held in place even as Lucas moved his head. 

“I, ahem, tried gel. For my hair. What do you think?” 

The next few moments were tense for Lucas. 

Lucas’s left hand fiddled with his right hand pointer finger as he gazed at Sanctum with uncertainty. Sanctum had his arms crossed by then while his face was scrunched in a look of scrutiny. His eyes seemed to track the flow of his hair, his weight even shifting in an effort to get another view.

Lucas’s chest let out the tension when he got finally a beaming smile back. 

“You look very handsome, Lucas!”

“I was never handsome to you before that.” 

Sanctum tried. He really, really tried. His darnest, in fact. But he couldn’t hold back his laugh. 

“Lucas, I love you!” 

“What?” 

Lucas looked up as his hands stopped their nervous fidgeting. Sanctum’s smile was so wide Lucas was almost offended. 

“Lucas, do you know who ‘Prez’ is?” 

Lucas winced at the mention of Jason. He could feel his chest tighten with jealousy.

“Jason Rousseau.” 

More laughter. 

“Lucas, my stupid, lovely, handsome genius, you’re ‘Prez’. Have been ever since you were student body president in middle school.” 

It was like a chord being plugged in and a circuit starting. Lucas’s breathing began to steady once more, only for him to break into a chuckle as well. 

“What?” 

“Babe, Ava and I were talking about you that day—we were most days. I was obsessing over how handsome you were in your cute new blue polo.” 

Lucas saw it then: Sanctum’s eyes, wiped clean of laughter tears, were filled with nothing but affection. 

“I remember it, in fact. I was talking about how if you ever came home in a polo like that, I probably wouldn’t be able to stand. Just drop to my knees out of pure joy; your pretty face would be the culprit.” 

“‘Come home’? You were thinking about us moving in by then?” 

“Moving in? No, not just that. As embarrassing as it is to admit, I was imagining our life together, idiot. Do you know how long I’ve liked you?” 

Lucas let out a chuckle of disbelief and relief. His body felt lighter, his heart less sunken, and his cheeks starting to ache from the abrupt and overwhelming amount of smiling he was doing. 

“I bet no longer than me. I’ve been imagining it since fourth grade. Well, I was imagining us holding hands at that age.” 

“...I suppose you’re right. But we’re tied! And I was imagining us dancing by then! So really, I win.” 

He couldn’t help himself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to Sanctum’s cheek. Sanctum huffed and pouted before pulling Lucas in for a proper one. Then another, and another, and another. 

When he finally stopped, he felt obligated to explain something. 

“Lucas, you look handsome with the gel. But you’ve always been handsome to me. Always have been, always will be.”

His hand rested on his boyfriend’s cheek. 

“Always?” 

“Always. Even when you had those chunky Simon glasses.” 

Lucas laughed properly now, letting any tenseness fully melt away. He pecked his boyfriend on the lips yet again. 

“So, if I stop wearing gel tomorrow, I won’t get any less kisses?” 

“Less? Babe, you won’t be able to keep me off you.” 

His smile was wide and his ears were red. 

“I’m throwing my gel away. Immediately.” 

Laughter and kisses kept them occupied that day. So did Sanctum running his hair through his boyfriend’s soft, luscious hair.

THANK YOU to any and all Choices enthusiasts. We are TOO many, but we're here!

@whatisreggieshortfor @darlingminjin @worstwolverinesbf @inhumanshadows @ellxio @starboye @yoursweetdxll @boypied

LMAO TO EVERYONE EXCEPT REGGIE IF YOU DONT WANT TO GET TAGGED IN THESE JUST TELL ME!! Reggie, you can't escape me bestie

[housewifebuck]

I kinda did want all that info but didn't know how to word it correctly. So thank you for sharing.

Ur SO welcome <3

[bowserbowser29]

The Guardian Angel

[encoreverie]

dissection of the heart

it's kinda sketchy and not extremely detailed, more abstract and messy to be honest and im kinda lost how to format and post this kind of art here?? i really need to get more info on it tbh

(full ↓↓↓)

[chrollogy]

[damthosefandoms]

also if anyone is wondering why so many of us have gone insane over tex and also the dally-mark-tex brothers au go read this fic by @your-unfriendlyghost and you’ll get it

[quibbs126]

Something that’s been bothering me, in Cyberverse Season 1 we hear about the Decepticon cause being made because Megatron wanted to fight against and change the corruption on Cybertron

But like, we never actually saw any of that in the flashbacks. Best you can say is Starscream having a high opinion of himself due to being a jet (or at least that’s what I think was going on? It was something about Starscream and being a jet), but you can also assume Starscream’s just being an ass, not that this is a systemic issue on Cybertron. Outside of that, everyone seems to have been doing fine, they got along and everyone was vibing and having fun, going to Cube games and chilling at Maccadam’s, going out to do some racing on a vacation to Velocitron

I do suppose we were limited to only seeing things that Bee witnessed himself, but he was there for other important events before war was declared, we could have seen some more evidence that things were bad on Cybertron before the war and why Megatron and Optimus were so intent on changing things

As it is, it feels more like telling and not showing, and I don’t really understand why the Decepticon cause was needed in the first place. Well I mean I do, but that’s because I know the story in other continuities, not because Cyberverse told me

And if I can pivot slightly, I feel like this is an issue in other shows as well. Earthspark barely went into the backstory of the war at all, only making vague allusions like the “lower-class” remark and Orion Pax getting the Matrix (which honestly I don’t remember why he got at all and if it was related to the war). And yes, Earthspark was about moving forward after the war, but also the show wanted to portray Decepticons in a more neutral light, allowing them their second chances to do better after the war. Not to mention Megatron switching sides due to realizing how far he’d strayed from his original cause. I don’t feel like telling the Terrans the original causes of the war would be out of question, it makes all the sense. Also if we’re trying to portray the Decepticons as not being pure evil, explaining the horrible conditions that drove them to starting it would do wonders. Megatron is here, he can tell the Terrans with all the correct info if the Autobots can’t

Prime also has this problem, but I’m willing to give it a lot more leeway because it was part of the Aligned continuity, which was made up of more than just this one show, and Transformers Exodus I’m told went into this backstory a lot more. So okay, it’s explained somewhere. Though personally, I wish we went into this backstory a bit more in the actual show, because all I know from it was that Megatron was a gladiator fighting for change, Orion Pax met him and agreed, then they proposed their ideas for change to the Senate and it caused them to split. I don’t actually know why they were fighting for change. Again, I know Exodus did and it was around at the same time as the show, but we don’t all have access to Exodus. And honestly it might be the reason the other shows don’t go into it much either, despite it being the only one with an excuse

Like I think this annoys me because it feels like the shows expect you to know the general backstory so we don’t have to go into it. But you’re supposed to tell us this, especially when this isn’t like Batman or Superman’s origins where everyone knows the backstory of the war

I know what the backstory is, but not because these shows told me. It’s because Emperor Kumquat told me in a YouTube video where he was explaining the Aligned backstory from Exodus, while making the point that people who only watched Prime wouldn’t know all of this. How was I supposed to know this information if I hadn’t?

And to go back to Cyberverse, I can make excuses for Prime and Earthspark; both were set long after the war started and Prime especially didn’t have much reason to go into it outside of what it did. But not only did Cyberverse have the means to show us corrupt pre-war Cybertron vis Bumblebee’s flashbacks in Season 1, it had at least a little leaning to making the Decepticons more sympathetic. They are still for the most part antagonistic, but it did make the point that Optimus originally agreed with Megatron, we had bots on both sides getting along during peace talks and Windblade being angry at Slipstream’s killer, had most of the main threats not be Megatron’s forces that had the two sides forced to team up, and by the latter half of Season 3, had Megatron be more heroic, with him saving the day from the Quintessons and wielding his own Matrix of Leadership, and working to stop the other him that he knows is coming to reclaim his Matrix. They aren’t at Earthspark Season 1’s level, but they weren’t making the Decepticons pure evil either. So I feel like we should really see what it is they were fighting for originally

[trashcanwithsprinkles]

The trying to see if he can get Chen Zhongli back and the holding the body hostage thing feels like it comes a bit out of nowhere. If I remember correctly he even talked about how he doubts he survived because of the drowning death. Can you explain a bit of his thought process here? Cuz it feels a bit left field. I love the chapter and I will be going insane about it. But I’m still a bit confused where this thought came from. Zhongli in general here feels… very willing to die though. So I suppose it isn’t too surprising

i think the reason it feels out of left field for you might be because you're remembering that very scene you pointed out wrong

the 'doubts he survived bc of the drowning death' scene isn't like. about czl not surviving. that scene is about how zl is of the belief that czl can't be in his teyvat bc his body explodes upon death, n so there would be no body for czl to go to there specifically if it were a bodyswap scenario. the 'he would just die again bc i drowned' bit was him trying to tell the others how it wouldn't be possible without spilling the beans about there being no body to swap into. he's not lying about czl drowning again if he were to spawn in zl's body while it's at the bottom of the ocean, but the issue here is (and this is what he wanted to omit from the others): that there is no body. at least there isn't supposed to be one.

not to mention that scene was on the scenario were it is indeed a bodyswap situation, which zl is fairly convinced it isn't

genuinely i think i've been p thorough on keeping zl straight on the fact that he doesn't actually know wtf happened to czl (in the terms of like. where his soul is. obv he knows now what happened to him as in how he died lol). please the rest of you correct me if i'm wrong if i ever slipped up n gave that impression, but as far as the story has gotten rn, zl has no idea where czl is. he has no clue. the only things he does know about that issue is that 1) he's not in the body with him and 2) he's not in his body in his teyvat bc. again. no body

so uh yeah

[king-candybug-backup]

I'm noticing an uptick in comments complaining that most of the current WIR fandom content is Turbo instead of the other characters and, like... you guys know you can search other characters by their specific tags, right??? Or exclude Turbo from search results by temporarily blacklisting him in your filtered tags?

Idk, it's just weird to me to be discouraging towards people making fandom content just because it's not the specific content you want to see, like, it's ok to want to see other content, but complaining about how other people aren't catering to your tastes enough instead of just making the content you want to see yourself is kinda bad vibes, y'know?? (And that's not to say that I think those comments are intended out of malice of course, I really don't think they are, I just wanted to point out that it can come off as a little entitled, as well as discouraging towards people who just want to draw Turbo, which is something that should be fine if that's what they want to do. Fandom should be fun for everybody, and there's lots of tools available to curate your experience with it!)