#and he says no that's what the 15¢ was for

[victusinveritas]

Some of the replies to this got a bit out of hand, but I think I've ended the discussion. However, if you don't, please feel free to join in. I might not reply right away, because this is the internet and nothing we do on here matters much. I thought about screenshotting and posting a chain of pretty picture replies, but then realized how damn long my response was...and didn't want to do that.

santa-ana-winds

2d

Russia is going to nuke themselves and all of you are going to become pro-israel and believe in Jesus amen Hide replies

themarospeaker

The moon will come crashing down onto the earth, but it's made of cheese, and everyone will eat cheddar cheese and convert to Islam. Amen.Reply

[there's some more comments here but to cut down on space I've removed them, go read them though, they're good stuff]

hootenannyskeleton

21h

jesus is a puppy girl who humped the 24 legs of the 12 apostles while moaning 'puppy loves you'Reply

dae-15

15h

Get my Lord's name out of your mouth Jesus stood for the oppressed and those rejected by society he will not stand for your bsReply

victusinveritas

now

Original Poster

@dae-15 I try not to step into comments, because I generally have better things to do. On the one hand, I get where you are coming from, and agree entirely that Jesus stood for the oppressed and those rejected by society. I think Liberation Theology is like the absolute tits (to quote the Blessed Oscar Romero loosely) and that without the preferential option for the poor, Christianity is kind of...worthless as a spiritual path since all it does is gladhand folks that believe for their own eternal sake. However, I also think the Big J-Man would have a bit of a sense of humor, because he hung out with whores and lepers and social outcasts and their humor was probably pretty coarse. Once you explained to him what a puppy girl was (if he didn't already know because of his seat at the Right Hand of the Father and all that in Heaven), he'd be like, yeah, no, I wouldn't do that because that's not my thing, not to kinkshame though, whatever fills your net with fish I say verily unto you, but Judas Iscariot absolutely would do that, right boyyyyz? And the Apostles would all just nod and grunt and high five except for Judas who would look up from Hell and say "Yeah, that's why I betrayed you because of jokes like that, it's not ok, guys." And Judas would kinda be right there. Jesus, as fully human and fully divine, both told dirty jokes as patter before his parables, and forgave those who only remembered the dirty joke from before the important part of the parable.

[Plus, I add in this post rather than the reply because I just thought of it, the Man's middle name was Fucking, of course he had a sense of humor. Here endeth the office chair theology.]

Anyway, I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream and because genocide is wrong no matter who does it. Unilever, Ben and Jerry's parent company, is also a sack of shit, but it's nice that Ben Cohen spoke out. Also, Ben and Jerry's is pro-union. Which is good. There's no ethical consumption under capitalism, but you could do worse. I haven't been keeping track of any issues they've had since supporting their workers when they formed a union, so if it turns out they've since tossed the main agitators into a a special blend of Phish Food for the band themselves, well, then that sucks.

Made by @mattxiv on Instagram.

[sirfrogsworth]

This man just loves shooting movies on "hard mode."

The 15 perf, 70mm film he uses is pretty special. In very limited circumstances, it can have the same detail as an 80 megapixel medium format camera. Roughly 12K if you average out the sharpness of the lens (the center is sharper).

It's gotta be the lowest speed film and on a tripod and *nothing* can be moving and there has to be plenty of light and the lens needs to be sharp enough to resolve that much detail and the air cannot be too moist or dusty... but yeah, sure... theoretically you can get a tiny circle in the center of the frame to be 18K. With the entire frame averaging out to be 12K.

And as you watch that 12K image on a 100 foot IMAX screen you can say to yourself, "Cillian Murphy should really try a pore cleanser."

But Nolan *rarely* uses it under those ideal conditions. So he is mostly preserving the resolution of the grain structure.

I know people go to movies to admire the high-resolution film grain structure. Right? Any grain nerds reading this?

So why is he doing this?

There is the "film look" that is a bit of a cheat code to reduce the need for extensive color grading. People just like the look of film. It has a nostalgic aesthetic that gives us comfort. All of the films of my childhood were on film. All of my childhood photos were on film.

But you can get film without film.

They have developed workflows that emulate film to a near-imperceptible level. There are filmvestigators who think they can always tell. But if it is close enough that only a few specially trained people can see the difference, it is imperceptible.

You can also hack digital to be film. Dune 2 took the digital footage and exposed it onto film and then scanned it back to digital.

Looked great.

Looked like film.

So he doesn't need to do this to get the film look.

WHY? What else could compel him to go through this considerable bother to capture his movie?

I could make an argument for gradients.

Any large format is going to capture very nice gradations. Gradations are probably the most underrated aspect of image quality. People get obsessed with Ks and megapixels, but 1080p is enough detail for most people.

Whereas having one color smoothly transition into another color is a very subtle thing that gives our brain an aesthetic buzz. It's that thing that makes people go, "Oh wow, you must have a really nice camera." It's that subconscious element in photos that helps differentiate snapshot from art.

This iPhone photo is great.

It is amazing this can be captured by a phone.

But a large format image just hits different.

And you can't always put your finger on why.

I mean, the why is because a professional photographer took the photo. (Unless that is one of those dentists with a Hasselblad.)

But if you account for the skill of the photographer, what else makes the photo special?

I think it is the gradients. The megapixels are nice. The color science is nice. But the way those tones just seamlessly shift into each other makes my brain tingle.

But the Arri 65 digital cinema camera is also large format. It has nicer lenses that weren't designed before the 90s. It doesn't cost thousands of dollars just to develop a few minutes of footage. It has more dynamic range. It can do the buttery smooth gradients. It weighs an entire 2-year-old child less than IMAX cameras.

And you don't need 4 dudes to deliver the movie to the projectionist.

And unless Christopher had them develop a silent IMAX camera, I guess all of the dialogue is going to be recorded in post.

I mean, IMAX claims they made them "30% quieter."

Which is a bit like when I inquired about an $8,000 treatment and explained that I had 0 money and the doctor offered me a 30% coupon.

So whyyyyyy?

It's heavy. It's loud. It doesn't offer better image quality.

I think it is just because film is cool and he doesn't want it to die.

I wish he would stop saying unscientific things about the magical 15/70mm film and just say "Because it is fucking cool."

I'm sold. That works for me.

By using the most extreme film camera, he brings attention to the use of film. He inspires people to learn about it and maybe even use it in their personal photography. (Film photography is very popular right now.) And he makes other big Hollywood directors think they can manage the pain in the ass of film as well.

I'm glad Nolan is this stubborn and willing to take on the challenges of using the heaviest and loudest cameras in existence.

The large format quality is good enough that it will be preserved well. We won't have a Star Wars crisis where people are trying to stitch together degraded 40 year old film to make sure Han shot first.

An 18K scan of IMAX will stand the test of time.

That doesn't mean IMAX is 18K or any other K.

The Ks don't matter! Stop talking about 18K! All you reddit r/IMAX nerds need to calm down about the Ks.

Talk about them sweet, sweet gradients.

Film is a variable resolution medium. If it is dark and you are using a Russian lens from the 50s, you might be getting 3K IMAX. You could have one scene from two angles be completely different resolutions. It's fine. No one is complaining that a movie isn't Kenough.

The only thing "scanned in 18K" means is that all of the detail will be well preserved, including that sexy grain structure.

Nice.

[kxsagi]

I love your content and your writing sm it hurts, but if you don’t mind I request for a super popular reader that knows every possible person alive and when she goes out to a crowded place she starts to talk to everyone that comes to talk to her (because they’ve met before) and the boys are like🧍‍♂️(maybe Rin, Sae, Nagi and any others you want)

(Btw english is not my first language so I don’t know if I explained well— love youu)

“𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲”

a/n: thank youuu and girl your english was so perfect

(could not choose a header HELP)

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

rin already doesn’t like going out, so imagine his utter horror when he agrees to a date at a festival and watches you get stopped every five seconds. 

“wait [name]?? is that you?? we were in the same preschool class!” 

and you’re just like “omg yes!!! no way how are you!?” and launch into a 15-minute catch-up while rin stands next to you with the coldest, most judgmental face known to mankind. 

one guy you met in line was like, “you’re still as beautiful as i remember…” 

rin activated his eye twitch death stare. 

the only way he can keep you moving is by grabbing your hand and just dragging you along while muttering, “you don’t even remember half those people.” 

and you go, “of course i do! we were all in the same kumon class!” 

he doesn’t know what that is. he doesn’t care. he wants to go home. 

rin is convinced you’re in a secret cult at this point. how do you know so many people? how is everyone on earth your old neighbor? 

itoshi sae

sae doesn’t even react anymore. he’s just like 🧍‍♂️with his hands in his pockets as you wave to some barista you “shared a sociology class with once in 11th grade.” 

someone walks up and goes “[name]? from taekwondo camp 10 years ago?” 

sae blinks. “you did taekwondo?” 

“just for one week. i made friends though!!” 

he just side-eyes the person and then side-eyes you like you’re the main character in a sitcom he didn’t sign up for. 

the only time he says anything is when someone hugs you too long. then he magically appears beside you and is like, “that’s enough.” 

he absolutely roasts you for it afterward though. 

“do you just… exist in every country? were you a celebrity in a past life?” 

“no i’m just friendly :)” 

he’ll never admit it but he lowkey thinks it’s cute how loved you are. he just doesn’t want to meet your tap dancing club from third grade again. 

nagi seishiro

the way this man zones out IMMEDIATELY. 

you’re in a mall and someone runs up like “[name]!!! remember our volleyball tournament in middle school??” 

you immediately launch into a memory about how she sprained her ankle and you carried her off the court and the coach cried– 

meanwhile, nagi’s just standing there staring at the gacha machine nearby, debating if he has enough coins to pull. 

“sei. sei. sei??” 

“hm? oh. cool story. can we eat now?” 

he doesn’t mind at all, he just never remembers any of their faces. literally none. 

you’ll be like, “remember the girl from the dog park?” and he’s like “what dog park?” 

but he’ll always be next to you, low-effort but loyal. someone gives him weird vibes? arm’s around your waist. casually. but firmly. 

“are you her boyfriend?” 

“yeah. move.” 

mikage reo

reo is SHOOKETH. 

at first, he’s all smiley and impressed like “wow, you’re popular haha!” but it doesn’t stop. 

“wait, you knew the waiter?” 

“yeah! i helped him with his resume last year :)” 

“and the DJ?” 

“oh she was my nail tech’s cousin’s girlfriend!” 

“AND THE MAYOR?!” 

you wave at the mayor like you’re besties and reo is literally gripping his wine glass like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. 

he starts wondering if you’re secretly royalty or an ex-influencer or something. how do you have this much social capital?? why does everyone like you??? 

he doesn’t get jealous per se, but he does start going out of his way to one-up everyone else. 

someone’s like “she helped me build a shelf once!” and reo goes “well i bought her a summer home in italy. next.” 

kaiser michael

oh he’s jealous immediately. 

you get stopped in the street and the guy’s like “i remember you! you helped me with a flat tire once!” 

kaiser’s already inserting himself in the convo like “cool story. anyway we’re busy, tschüss.” 

you keep trying to explain like “no no! this is the guy whose grandma’s bakery i used to volunteer at!” and he’s like “okay well now he’s irrelevant sooo can we go?” 

he’s 100% convinced you’re some international socialite and starts demanding answers. 

“did you go to school with everyone? are you a clone? do you have diplomatic immunity???” 

he calls you "main character.” 

“ugh, main character energy again? fine, go greet the people like it’s your coronation or something.” 

you think it’s funny but he’s dead serious. he holds your hand the whole time. like a watchdog. 

also constantly brags: “yeah everyone knows her. but only i get to kiss her. sucks to be you, huh?” 

karasu tabito

karasu agreed to go to a cafe date with you. simple. quiet. cute. 

until someone from across the street yells, “WAIT, [NAME]?? IS THAT YOU FROM THE YOUTH ORCHESTRA SUMMER TOUR FOUR YEARS AGO???” 

karasu doesn’t even get the chance to sip his overpriced coffee before a guy in plaid pants runs across the street and hugs you like you're long-lost soulmates. 

you light up, “oh my gosh!! you play the oboe, right?!” 

karasu blinks. “you dated a guy who plays the oboe??” he already hates it here. 

“no,” you laugh. “we were roommates on that UK tour. i clogged a toilet and he helped me fix it. long story.” 

“... long story that i don’t need to know, thanks.” 

he watches you two chat like it’s a high school reunion, and his brain is buffering. how do you know so many people? why are all of them strangely attractive? why is the barista giving you a free cookie? 

finally, that oboe guy leaves. and before karasu can make a joke about it, a girl walks by. stops. blinks. 

“[name]?! oh my GOSH. do you remember me? we were in the same SAT prep course and you let me cheat off your vocab list!” 

you squeal and hug her, and karasu just stares at his coffee like he’s been personally attacked. 

he leans over, deadpan: “are you secretly the queen of england or am i on some hidden camera prank show?” 

when you finally sit down, you giggle, “sorry! small world, right?” 

karasu sips his coffee slowly and says, “babe, at this point, the entire world is your neighborhood block party.” 

isagi yoichi

he thought you two were going out for a quiet day downtown. just you, him, and maybe a crêpe. but five minutes in– “[NAME]?? it’s me! from that one volunteer beach clean-up??” 

“omg!! how’s your turtle rescue going??” 

isagi blinks. turtle rescue? 

okay. cool. you know a lot of people. no big deal. 

but it doesn’t stop. 

someone else waves. then another. then a group selfie happens. then a guy hugs you and calls you “sunshine.” 

isagi’s standing there like 🧍‍♂️ holding your purse. just smiling through the social apocalypse. 

he leans in mid-conversation and whispers, “... be honest. were you in a cult? like a really friendly cult?” 

you laugh. you call him dramatic. 

“no because how do you know a guy who sells handmade leather belts and someone who trains therapy goats?” 

every new person that recognizes you, his ego takes psychic damage. 

“do i even know you?? or are you secretly the mayor??” 

by the end, he’s fully spiraling. ‘is this what it’s like dating a celebrity? should i start networking too? maybe print business cards?’ 

you: “sorry, that was the last one, i swear.” 

guy #17: “[name]?! from that flash mob in shibuya?!” 

isagi: “IM LEAVING. I’M GOING HOME.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mytherapyisreading14]

The Professor Effect

Summary: You were always one of the best students - until you got a new professor. Now you're often distracted and your grades are dropping. He notices and decides to confront you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: dirty talk, kissing, making out, praise kink, fingering, oral sex, spanking, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (stay safe pls), dom!spencer (pls let me know if I forgot something)

Word Count: 4,2k

It's Monday morning, 8:15 a.m. The air in the lecture hall is fresh. The windows are still open, even though it's noticeably colder outside. Autumn has begun, and the first leaves are already falling from the trees. You're sitting in your usual seat in the second row, right by the window.

You're prepared, as always. Criminology is more than just a subject for you. It's your thing. And yes, you're good at it. One of the best, according to your professor. But you simply have a good memory, and it's easy for you to find the connections. You love what you do.

Professor Hartmann is a great professor. Old-fashioned, but smart. And strict. He challenges his students, never going easy on you. You respect him and like his teaching style. But a few weeks ago, in one of his lectures, he said that he is soon retiring because of health reasons. The announcement came unexpected.

Since then, no one knows who will replace him. No information, no photo, no name – just an email from the student council with the vague sentence “We're looking forward to a fresh, modern perspective in the Criminology department." And then... he enters the room.

You don't know whether you notice his voice or his face first. Maybe both at the same time. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm excited to be exploring criminology with you starting this semester - with an eye on the reality out there,” he says when he comes in.

He's tall, slim, with an almost outrageously casual elegance. Shirt, dark brown blazer, sleeves slightly rolled up. His hair is messy and curly. And his eyes... those eyes. You can't look away. Your heart is beating faster. What the hell is wrong with you? You usually never get distracted, especially not because of a man.

You’re one of the students who always writes everything down, who thinks along, analyzes, asks critical questions. But at this moment? You have no idea what he's saying. Something about the history of profiling, you think. Or is it forensic psychology? You look at your notebook. Empty. Your pen lies there. Untouched.

As he explains the semester's outline, your gaze keeps wandering to him. Not just because he's handsome - that's almost beside the point. It's the way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he treats the topics as if they were alive. As if he weren't just teaching them, but understanding them on a whole other level. He's smart. And not just "I have a doctorate" smart.

And you? You sit there, as if hypnotized. Completely distracted. Your mind is racing. You don't know what to do. The semester hasn't even really started yet, and you know you're in trouble.

-

Since that first Monday, something has changed. You still arrive on time, sit in your usual seat, prepared and yet it happens every time. As soon as he enters the room, your mind is blank. Not blank-blank, but full – with the wrong thoughts.

His lecture on perpetrator typologies? Fascinating. His explanations of psychological casework at BAU? Impressive. You want to listen, you want to think along, but all you do is look at him. The way he walks around the room. The way he sometimes speaks too fast because his mind is apparently faster than his words.

He's a genius. Not in that exhausting way, but in the way that fascinates and leaves you speechless. And he's not even arrogant about it – just completely absorbed in what he's doing.

You're lost in your thoughts. More and more often, you find yourself watching his hands as he writes something down. Or how his voice changes when he talks about difficult cases. It’s more quiet, more serious, with an expression you only have when you've seen things you'll never fully forget.

You understand the content but there's this discrepancy between knowledge and performance now. You don't lose track. You trade it for thoughts that have nothing to do with the class but rather with him. In the third week, you're unprepared for the first time. It's not a disaster, but you haven't finished reading the case study. And you hate it.

You hate not being able to concentrate as much anymore. Not being properly prepared. But you've been too busy trying to explain to yourself what's actually going on with you and how to get yourself back on track.

-

It’s another Monday morning and the room fills with nervous murmuring. Spencer is standing at the front of the desk, handing out the marked exams. You don't even want to know what grade you got. The subject actually suited you. You knew the answers - at least until you looked up for a moment and saw him roll up the sleeves from his shirt. That was enough to completely distract you.

You wait, trying not to let on, but your gaze keeps wandering to him. You're trying really hard to ignore him. But it's not working. As he places your exam on your desk, he gives you a quick nod. You can barely look at him. When you glance at the grade, the infatuation immediately disappears.

You understand the material. You used to be the best. But lately, your mind seems to be more focused on your professor than on studying. You shove the papers into your bag and are about to head for the door when you hear your name. You freeze. His voice hits you like an electric shock. You slowly turn around.

"We need to talk about your exam. Let's say around 3 p.m in my office?” he asks. You feel hot. Not from fear but because your mind immediately runs through a thousand scenarios. You nod. "Yeah, sure," you mumble, trying to hide your blush. "Fine," he says and smiles before he goes back to his papers.

-

Now you're standing in front of the building. Third floor, left corridor. Room 3.17. His office. It's 2:56 p.m. You arrived way too early, hiding in the library for ten minutes, but now you're here. You take a deep breath and try to stay calm. Your heart isn't cooperating. This is just a conversation. Maybe he wants feedback. Maybe it was just a bad exam. Maybe he's noticed how you look at him in every lecture - then you have a problem.

You push your hair back from your face and knock. "Come in." You press the handle and step inside. He's standing at the window, just turning around. Shirt, sleeves rolled up. And oh god, he’s wearing glasses. Your brain is on strike. "Hello," you say. Or do you think that? No, you're really saying it. Luckily, your voice sounds more stable than you feel.

He nods at you. "It's great to have you here. Please sit down." You take a seat, put down your bag, and try not to appear nervous. He sits down and folds his hands. "I wanted to talk to you about your exam," he begins calmly. "You were one of Professor Hartmann's strongest students. According to him, your contributions were precise and analytical. He specifically praised you." You nod.

"That's why your grade surprised me," he says. "The analysis was superficial. And I wouldn't have expected those mistakes from you." You want to say something. An explanation. But your mouth remains dry. So you just nod. Then he asks, "Is there anything going on in your life that distracts you from studying?" You look at him. A moment too long. Your lips part. But what are you trying to say?

That he’s the reason? That your head is chaos every time he enters the room? You swallow. "It's nothing bad," you say quietly. He raises an eyebrow, tilts his head. He's analyzing you. Reading you. "Good," he says. "Then let's change that. I think there's more to you than this grade shows." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer. You nod and try to avoid his eyes. Sitting here, alone with him, in his office - it makes you nervous.

For a moment it is quiet and you are about to say that you should leave now when he speaks up again. "You know, it's not hard to see that you were a little... distracted." Your heart races and your eyes widen. Oh no. You know you've just given too much away. "Don't worry," he continues. "I understand. Thoughts sometimes take on a life of their own. Especially when you're sitting across from someone so... fascinating."

Fascinating. The word echoes in your head. You feel like he knows exactly what he's doing. And you have no idea how you'll ever get out of this. He leans back and looks at you, a small smile on his lips, while you almost feel like he's secretly wondering how much longer you'll last without blushing with embarrassment.

He raises an eyebrow, as if trying to read you - as if he's already read you. "Or did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?" Your heart skips a beat. Heat crawls up your neck. Too late. Your eyes give you away and he sees it. He continues leaning back ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. It’s a slow, calculated move, as if he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, how he’s doing it. And you have no idea how you’ll escape this, or if you even want to. He watches you as though he’s already playing a game you don’t know the rules to. His lips curl slightly, a hint of something almost teasing. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you. "I wonder..." His voice lowers and he leans closer to you, "What exactly occupies that pretty little head of yours... to the point where you almost forget how obvious it all is."

He lets the words hang in the air, like a challenge or a threat. And as you hold your breath, you realize: you’ve already lost. The only question is whether you’ll admit it - or if he’ll make you. Your breath hitches, barely audible, but it’s enough. His eyes flicker. He looks pleased. Not surprised. Like he was expecting it, like he was hoping for it. 

You try to speak, to say something, but you can’t get a word out. He stands up, walks around his desk and comes closer to you. You can smell the faint trace of coffe and books. You blink once and suddenly he’s in your space, hovering just at the edge of touch, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you, that would make it too easy.

“I think,” he says slowly, every word deliberate, “you like pretending you still have control.” His gaze drops for the briefest second and when it meets yours again, it’s different. Full of lust and desire. “But you gave that up the second you lied to me.” You feel your heart beating faster and faster.

He leans in, mouth near your ear now. “The question, sweetheart, isn’t whether I noticed,” his breath is warm, intoxicating, “it’s what I’ll do now that I have.” Something inside you unravels. His lips linger against your ear, resting there like he belongs there, like he’s earned the right to touch you this way. And maybe he has. Maybe that’s the most dangerous part: how natural it feels now, to have him this close, this deep under your skin.

You exhale shakily as his hand trails lower, fingertips ghosting along your thigh, teasing, never quite where you want them, where you need them. Your hips shift instinctively, seeking more, but he only smirks, dragging his mouth down your neck, each kiss deliberate, maddening. "Still holding on?" he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing just below your collarbone.

You want to challenge him. Tell him he hasn't won. That you're still in control. But the words never make it past your lips. Because his hand finally slides exactly where you need him, and your body arches into his like it was made for this moment. A quiet curse slips from your mouth, caught somewhere between surrender and desire, and he drinks in the sound like it's a reward.

He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and burning. "Say it. Say you want this." And you do - god, you do -but your pride clings to silence even as your body betrays you, trembling beneath his touch. He leans in again, this time pressing his lips to yours, his breath uneven, his control clearly thinning.

“Why don’t you get up and lock the door for me, sweetheart?” he asks and that’s the moment you give in. You've dreamed about it so often, so why not take the chance and make it come true? Besides, you're too much turned on right now to leave. It’s wrong, you know that - he’s your professor after all - but you don’t care. You want him. You need him.

So you get up and quickly lock his door. When you turn back to him, he's leaning against his desk, grinning. "See, it wasn't that hard to listen to me, was it?” he says and motions for you to come closer. Your heart has never beat as fast as it does now and when you feel his lips on yours again, you could swear that it is bursting with excitement.

He doesn't stop kissing you, even as he shifts, fitting his body more fully against yours, like he's been waiting for this moment far longer than he'd ever admit. His hand slides behind your knee, lifting your leg to wrap around his hip, guiding you into him with aching precision. The friction alone draws a gasp from your lips-and his in return. "You feel that?" he growls softly, teeth grazing your jaw. "That's what you do to me."

There's no space left between you now and you cling to him, hands roaming, greedy, nails dragging under his shirt and down his back just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. Then he moves, a slow roll of his hips that sets every nerve in your body alight. It's maddening, torturous. “Oh god, Professor. I - I need more.” He slides his hand up your thigh slowly, stopping where you need him the most.

“Then beg for it,” he says. “What?” you ask, confused. “You heard me. Beg for it. Beg me to touch you, to fuck you, to ruin you,” he says and smirks. “I’m not going to beg,” you say, annoyed that he’s not giving you what you want so bad. “Then I won't fuck you, it's that simple. And I don’t think you want that, do you?” he asks you and pushes against you. You can feel how hard he is and it drives you crazy.

“I hate you,” you hiss out, grinding against him in order to release some friction. He grabs your hips and holds them still before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “No, you don’t. And now, be good girl and beg. If you keep making this difficult there won’t be much time left for me to fuck you and that would be such a shame, considering I wanted to take my time to worship you like you deserve it,” he says.

You didn’t think it was possible, but these words turn you on even more. You need him, now, everywhere. You push your pride aside and look up to him through your lashes, roaming your hands over his chest and opening the first buttons of his shirt while maintaining eye contact. “Please, Professor. I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me. Please make me come on your cock,” you say and he looks pleased.

“See, that was not hard, was it?” he asks but you ignore him. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat - anywhere he can reach. "You're mine now," he breathes, hips grinding more against you, slower, enough to leave you trembling. "Every inch of you,” he says before he finally slips his hand up your skirt again, grazing your clit through your panties. You shiver.

His hand tugs at your panties before he pulls them to the side, sliding a finger through your folds. “Now look at that. You’re already soaked,” he says with a smirk and slips a finger inside you, while his thumb circles your clit. You moan out loud and his other hand covers your mouth immediately. “Shh, sweetheart. You have to keep quiet for me if you don’t want us to get caught,” he says.

The thought makes you clench around his finger and he chuckles. “Interesting. You like the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” he asks and pushes another finger in. You bite down on your lip in order to stay quiet because he is right - you don’t want to get caught. Not here, not now. But the thought definitely turns you on. “Answer me,” he says, pumping his fingers faster. “Y-yes, I - I do.”

Your legs begin to shake and you hold onto his arms in order to still stand up straight. He notices your struggle and lifts you up so you sit on his desk. He finally takes your panties off, stuffing them in his pocket. You spread your legs wider for him and he looks pleased at the sight in front of him. “Please fuck me, Professor. I need you so bad,” you whine but he shakes his head.

“Not yet. I have to taste you first,” he says and leans down, his head disappearing between your thighs. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep you close to him before he leans forward and places a kiss on your cunt. You can feel his breath on you and reach for his hair, pulling him closer against you. Then his tongue finally makes contact with your cunt, flicking over your clit first. You gasp out loudly, tugging at his soft, brown curls and looking down to him.

Seeing your Professor down on his knees, between your thighs is a sight you will never forget. He eats you out like he wants to draw every last sound out of you. And he does. When he finally starts to push his tongue into you, he drinks all your whimpers and moans in like they're fuel, like they prove something, and in the way he watches you, you realize that this isn't just about lust. This is control. Intimacy. A claiming.

He adds his fingers again and the pleasure becomes too much. Your toes are curling and you can feel your orgasm approaching. Spencer can tell that you’re close too. He sucks at your clit again and your mind goes blank. But then he suddenly pulls back. You pant and give him an angry look. “What are you doing? I was close,” you breath out, already fucked out. “I know. But I decided I’m not letting you come yet,” he says.

“Asshole,” you hiss through gritted theeth and he shakes his head in disappointment. “That's no way to talk to your professor. It looks to me like I need to give you a lesson in respect,” he says. “I -“ you begin but he already pulls you from the table before turning you around and bending you over it. He pulls down your skirt in one quick motion before his hand roams over your ass.

You turn around to look at him, to snap at him, to tell him you hate him for doing that but you can’t because his hand is coming down onto your ass, spanking you. You didn’t expect that but it turns you on immensely. “Count and take your punishment like a good girl,” he says. “O -one,” you breath out and feel a wave of excitement washing through you. He was really not lying when he said he’s making all your dreams come true. Because as much as you hate to admit it, this is what you dreamed about too.

His hand comes down again and you feel the sharp pain again. But it feels good. You didn’t think it’s even possible but every minute with him turns you on even more. You push against him to show him you want more, feeling his hard cock again. “Oh you are enjoying this, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asks and you nod. His hand comes down again and you continue counting. After ten strikes he decides that you have enough.

“That’s it, you took it like a good girl for me,” he says and leans down to kiss your neck gently. It’s a sweet, caring moment and it makes you feel safe with him. However, you’re still turned on, especially after he punished you like this. “Will you fuck me now?” you ask him eagerly and he laughs. “Of course, sweetheart. You think I don’t want to feel your pretty pussy wrapped around my cock?” he says and begins to open his pants.

When he finally pulls out his cock your eyes widen. He is big, way bigger than you always expected. He strokes his cock a few times and you watch him with a hungry look in your eyes. If you weren't so turned on right now, you'd be embarrassed about how much you want him, need him. But you don’t care, who blames you? He's hot and smart, the perfect combination.

He comes closer and finally slides his cock through your folds, hitting your clit and teasing you yet again. “Just - just fuck me already,” you hiss out through gritted teeth. When he stops you quickly add a “Please, Professor” and he praises you. “Good girl, that’s what I wanted to hear.” Then he finally pushes in.

It feels even better than you expected. You can’t help but moan out his name loudly. “Shh, quiet sweetheart,” he reminds you and you nod. He’s right. You don’t want anyone to find out or worse, get interrupted right now. Not now, when you finally have him.

He starts to pound into you and your eyes roll back in pleasure. The sensation of him inside you drives you crazy. Low groans fell from Spencer's lips when one of his hands moved to your clit, rubbing rough circles. The way you move with him, the way your body responds, open and aching and utterly undone - that's your surrender.

And he feels it. You can tell in the way he growls your name like it's sacred. “You look so good like this, completely fucked out by your Professor,” he says and his pace falters, deepens, roughens. The rhythm between you spirals into something frantic, raw-beautiful in its chaos. The kind of connection that blurs the line between pleasure and need. Between dominance and devotion.

When he hits the right spot over and over again and trails his hand down to circle your clit, you completely lose it. You clench around him and he knows you’re close. He almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. He pushes deeper, increasing his pace until he’s close too. But instead of making you two come together, he pulls out. “What the fuck are you -“ you start but he shifts, pulling you up from his desk to push you on your knees. “Open,” he says and you obey, taking his cock in your mouth to swallow his cum.

You think he has something else planned for you, convinced he still wants to make you come but when he finished and starts to put himself together again you give him a questioning look. “What are you doing?” you ask him. “As you can see, we’re done, sweetheart. I’m putting myself back together. My office hours start soon. You have to leave now,” he simply says and sits down at his desk. “Are you fucking serious?” you ask furiously. “I didn’t even come,” you say.

“Only good girls - good students - get to come. And you haven't been that lately. Show me you're getting better, focus on your exams, get a better grade the next time and you'll get what you deserve,” he says with a smirk on his face and you are so angry, so frustrated that you can’t get a word out for about a minute. Then you have an idea.

He’s not playing fair, but you can do that too. “I can just report you, you know,” you say. You never plan to do that, but he doesn’t need to know that. He looks up and laughs before getting up from his chair, walking around his desk and slowly approaching you again. Your whole body is shaking with anger, frustration and pleasure. “You can, but you won’t,” he says with a grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, and how do you know that?" you ask him defiantly. “Because these lips long for me," he says and unexpectedly pushes a finger inside you again. You tremble. Oh god, he just knows you too well. “And in order for these lips to get what they want, these lips,” he says and traces his finger over your lips. “have to stay quiet.”

[cixteenyne]

#NEED THAT.

Your brother had originally planed a hang out with his friends in the living room, but- something came up and he had to bail. with them still in the house. Issue? They're hot.

RELATIONSHIP(S): Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Elements of Suguru x Satoru. They def be fuckin. Satosugu x reader, yeah.

CW: Suggestive, but NSFW cussing (duh), Big Brothers best friend(s) trope. no actual fucking happens... yet. Still NSFW

Yap: I channeled my own personality into this MY BADDD-

Damn….DAMN. you were going fucking insane in your room right now. Batshit.

Your dipshit brother brought his fine ass friends over and ain’t say SHIT.

Now you out here lookin’ crazy, shorts riding up, hair all types o’ fucked from that good ass nap you just took, and hungry as shit.

Problem. 

They’re in the living room, and you refuse to walk in that bitch until EVERYBODY is gone. Point blank period.

Second problem. Satoru and Suguru don’t plan on leaving, and Satoru knows you’re here. Shit.

Ugh, just look at the cocky motherfucker. Manspreading to the MAX on your new couch, the one you helped your godforsaken mother who stood there for hours deciding on what shade of the same damn color to buy- bless her heart. And he’s manspreading, dick to the world- on it.

And damn if he didn’t look so fine doin’ it. 

Oh, Satoru pisses you off BAD.

And god forbid somebody get you started on Suguru, fucking dick head. And he KNOW IT TOO.

Long ass leg kicked over the other, stupid head leaning on his hand. Elbow on that damn couch. 

He looked uncaring constantly to the things going on around him if it didn’t concern Satoru- but you knew. Oh, you knew just how much he ate up whenever Satoru managed to get under your skin- which was way too easy to do.

Asshole would just sit back and smile like you’re not about to put your whole foot up his bestfriends ass. Suguru didn’t need to say a damn thing to piss you off the way Satoru did, he just does!

So, both of them together? In your home? Brother done ran out for a quick minute, god knows how long a ‘minute’ is to him, fucker would disappear for 3 hours and say he was just 10 seconds.

Hell no.

But fuck, that post-nap hunger was hitting, and it was peeling away at your resolve. BUT! Your resolve is not stronger than your need to eat, so that’s tough.

Fuck your resolve, if a bitch is hungry, she will eat- so you took your happy ass to your kitchen. Or- you tried to.

Not even a step into the living room before those eerie ass blue eyes snapped into your direction and a stupid lazy grin made its way onto his stupid face. Fuck.

“Ohoho-! And look who decided to wake up- suguru, look. Told you she’d show..”

The fucker said it like he knew from the beginning that you’d crack and show your face. Damn it why is that definitely what he’s thinking.

Suguru looked up from his phone slowly, and as he laid his low eyes onto you his eyebrows raised in exaggerated shock. “And here I thought you’d finally snapped and started hallucinating, she’s really here.”

Though, his tone said that he’d also always known you were there, not only Satoru.

Fuck, they BOTH came here knowing you were home. That’s… genuinely so annoying of them.

“What, I can't live in my own house?”

Satoru seemed to think on your rhetorical question and he made a whole show of it.

“Not if I have anything to say about it, which I do.”

This idiot ALWAYS has something to say, always running his mouth- yap yap yap! Like a damn broken record. Fuck, why was he dressed like that?

“Unsurprising. Well- i was hungry, so.. I'm gonna go.”

You made a step towards the kitchen, so close in your grasp.. So fucking close. But Suguru had to remind you that he was here too. Damn it.

“I like your outfit. Just hopped outta bed?”

Said outfit being shorts that had your ass hanging out, a stupid band shirt with the collar cut off, and calf socks with Garfield plastered on them. Maybe he liked your socks. he better because the bitches were 15 dollars at Spencers.

But- you didn’t even get to answer before Thing 2 was talking.

“C’mon- sit down.. Right here. Said you’re hungry, yeah? We ordered out. Sit and have some.”

Pizza, 3 whole boxes of it- who the hell needed 3 whole boxes of pizza. One of each for Dumb, Dumber and dumbest? Speaking of Dumbest, your brother been out for MIGHTY long, the fucker probably got caught up in a party, and most likely won’t be back until 4AM when you’re woken up by shit hitting the ground because he cant walk straight.

“It’s just pizza, sweetness- s’not gonna bite you.”

Fuckin’ Satoru, ugh.

 “That’s not- bitc- ugh. Nevermind, move over.”

So, now you’re stuck in between both Satoru and Suguru on the Couch that in another timeline, is a different shade of the same damn color (You really need to get over that.), pizza box in your lap despite criticizing them for need a whole one, and you’re kind of not mad at this.. Shit.

You’ve already eaten 2 slices, and debating eating 2 more- hey, gotta keep the ass fat somehow.

But you decide against it for your poor stomach later, and put the box back on the table. As you lean forward to set the box down, Satoru finally speaks after about 12 minutes. (longest he’s ever gone, you bet.)

��Y’know you’re right suguru- really nice outfit. Like it.. It’s.. nice to look at.”

Suguru hummed in agreement to this, 

“Right? I told you- I have an eye for these things ‘Toru.” The smirk in his voice is unmistakable.

They were not talking about your ass as if you were not there. No way.

“An eye for sure, almost can’t look away, yeah?”

“Can’t, no.”

They so were. For fucks sake.

“Oh, you’re both ridiculous. Is my ass tonight's talking point? Really?”

Satoru held his hands in the air in mock self defense 

“You’re the one with your ass out in a room of two guys who aren’t blind.”

You huff out an exasperated breath at him and look to suguru for a bit of support, you don’t know why because he has a history of letting his little yapping dog do whatever the hell he wanted. All you receive from him is a shrug and words of agreement.

“He’s right, we have eyes, y’know.”

Ugh, he’s never any fucking help. And he loves it.

“Whatever. Not like you guys would do anything. More ass than you know what to do with.”

You mumbled it just to be messy, you didn't wanna outright call them virgins cause… c'mon. They fuck. HAVE to be.

The air in the room definitely changed after that slick comment.

Satoru went quiet and his eyes slid over to Suguru, a silent conversation. A verdict. They seemed to have both reached the same one, because Suguru shook his head with a laugh and leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah?”

You sat down cautiously, the energy was weird now, like an inside joke you weren’t privy to… hm.

“..yeah, why? I’m not gonna take it back, either.”

To them, that sounded like a ‘Make me take it back.’, and they took it as such with way too much glee.

“Hear that, Guru? Little thing thinks were baseless virgins who can’t handle a bit of ass, funny, hm?”

“Hilarious, say.. Toru- now that i think about it.. We just might be a bit out of practice.”

Suguru always knew how to get a party started. That’s what Satoru liked about him- among other things..

“Crazy- i was thinking the same thing..! Why not warm up?”

Ok. what the hell were they talking about, and why were they being slick about it. Lord, they pissed you off BAD.

“What.. the hell are you guys talking about?” Came your slightly nervous reply.

“Well would you look at that- a volunteer.”

Volun- who the hell- VOLUNTEER? 

Oh. OH. 

You may not make it out alive if this was what you fantasized about every night. Yeah0 the pissed you off constantly- but you weren’t blind. They were fine. Way too fucking pretty for their own good, and you got to be around them 24/7. Safe to say- they were a NEED, not a want.

Satoru looked down at you and dropped his little act, moving impossible closer to you, his chest to your side as you sat on the couch. He got low and into your ear whispering so close you could confuse it for a voice inside your head.

“Or can she not handle it..?”

Oh. You need that.

[nickssidewitch]

😈 Exposing the NDA Accounts ~ Part Two 2️⃣🧨

I told y'all I know what I'm doing. Whoever unfollowed because of my little shenanigans, come back! 😭

Obviously, y’all saw the straight-up lies made. and you also saw the (horrible, immature, stupid) rebuttals made by those who are a part of the whole NDA scheme.

So, I have a part two to add some updates.

After they were freaking out to me about posting Part One, they came flooding to my DMs with anger and feelings of betrayal, and how I lied to the, and how they were crying, and yadda yadda yadda...

The accounts are @dollysturniolo @coolasice01 @munchingmini

The “Chris” account was so mad 😭 So I was like “Okay, let me see proof.” I asked for concrete proof, which I specifically requested a photo of them all together with Dolly or the girl claiming to be Matt’s girlfriend. I framed it like "As long as you have a third-party (who would be me) to verify that you're telling the truth, then people are more inclined to believe you. The logic behind that is that when you want people to believe a secret you’re spilling, whether it’s the full truth or a full lie, you need an outside source to verify everything, kind of like an intervention.

There were some hiccups before I got what I wanted. It was the obvious liar tricks pulled right out of their hats, like "She's insecure about the way she looks so she won't give you anything", or "My hair looked bad in that photo so I put my hoodie on and it won't be obvious", or yadda yadda yadda.

But I didn't give a fuck. I pressured until they gave me the photos.

So, I got my photos. And dear God or whoever's up there in the universe, they were the worst pieces of evidence I have ever seen.

The first photo I got was of the boys, excluding Nick, and some friends when they were obviously still young and in high school. I recognized Matt's ex Nicole next to them, not that that's relevant, but it provides extra context to the photos. Keep in mind, the characters like Dolly and Chris and Matt have all claimed to have known each other for almost a decade, so this checks out time-wise.

"Chris" blocked out Doll's face because she's insecure... or whatever.

However, that image was easily traceable and I reverse-image-searched it and voila: It popped up on Pinterest as an old throwback photo from their Snapchat. And I saw what she looked like.

And that is not Doll, that is one of their high school friends that even popped up in one of their earlier, now-deleted, vlogs. Dolly is British, and the girl doesn't have a British accent in the videos I remember seeing her in. It was straight-up American, and especially Bostonian.

Also, all of the characters claim that Doll is much older than the boys'. My thing is, if she's much older than them, it would be weird of her to hang out with them when they're 14-15 year old teenagers. But let's gloss over that since the "characters" gloss over how weird that is too.

There's another photo too. This one took a lot more convincing to get, but I finally got it! It is a picture of her and Chris. "Chris" posted and deleted that picture fast, so I had to be fast AS FUCK to get a screenshot. I'm impressed with myself.

Now, here's the the thing: Maybe if you're looking at it on first glance, or if you aren't wearing your glasses, or if you're just not a Chris girl, then that photo seems convincing.

But please use your eyes. That photo is a real photo with real people. It can't be reverse-searched. But why do I say it's not Chris? Because it is doctored. Like obviously.

Now I'm impressed by Doll- or whoever's- tech skills because by gosh it looks pretty good. But as someone who knows a thing or two about editing photos and figuring out what's real and what isn't, it was pretty obviously fake.

The photo was a pic of Chris masked over an actual man's, maybe AI was used to mask Chris's face over the actual guy's, or maybe it was FaceApp, or just some really good photoshop.

God he's fine as hell. You know what Doja Cat said about noses.

Here’s some pics of Chris. Now let’s compare them, shall we? 🥰

The eyes are the main giveaway. One eye looks normal with a reflection, while the other has no pupil, and the reflection is not where it should be based on the positioning of the photo and where the main lighting is coming from in the photo.

The tip of this man's nose is longer than that of Chris's.

The real Chris's cupid's bow and arch is wider than that of the man in the photo's.

The real Chris's mustache stops more centimeters away from his lips compared to this man's. The hairs of Chris's mustache and facial hair in general are darker than those of this man's.

Chris has a square jaw while this man's jaw is triangle shaped, and no, the hoodie isn't obscuring anything. Even if the hoodie is removed and you see that bit of shadowed jaw, the angle of the jawline is different than that of the real Chris Sturniolo's.

There's other miniscule details, such as the way the hair fibers of her hair over his face are fuzzy rather than obvious strands which should be obvious since its a dark substance over something light, the hairs create a shadow on the man's face rather than creating actual lines as hair usually does, his hand literally not Chris's hand as it is fuller than Chris's, and the shadows are not where they should be in this photo based on the lighting and angles.

There's a lot more things we discussed in details such as Chris's kinks which, based on tarot, were all lies.

I mentioned how Chris is a submissive, chain-using, piss kink foot lover... which are all very untrue.

So, yeah they're faking it. 😭😭 I'm super curious of how they're gonna try to explain all of this. Let's stay tuned. 🤷🏾‍♀️

Again, sorry for causing y'all anxiety with those fake kiss-ass posts. I won't scare y'all like this again LMAO.

[buttercups-song]

Not fandom but today was the first round of presidential election in Poland and I just want to say: what the fuck what the fuck what the absolute fuck. Clown fucking country. Absolute clown car that’s crashing and burning as we speak. The fucking nazis getting more votes than the only semi normal candidates? The man who physically attacked a doctor in a hospital got 6% of votes? The man who publicly said it’s fine to hit children got over 15%?? Yes Trzaskowski has a (tiny) majority now but you know he won’t get votes from the clowns who voted for the far right so he’ll most likely lose (and I don’t even want him to be the president but he’s the lesser of two evils) well anyway congrats on almost certainly choosing a president who essentially scammed an old man to get his flat

[siri-ike]

(This got a little long)

Danny quieted down when he realized he wasn't in any danger. He stumbled out of bed, his legs were numb and wobbly, and everything looked out of focus. He grabbed onto the window sill to stay standing, but he just couldn't.

Suddenly, someone wearing white burst into the room. He couldn't tell who it was, or even if he knew them. It didn't help that he couldn't seem to keep his head still. The figure rushed toward him, and he flinched.

"It's ok, you're in the hospital. My name is Katie, I'm a nurse here. I can help." The woman had a Midwestern accent. She slowly stroked his sholder and held his cheek until he caught his breath and stopped shaking.

He sniffled as his vision slowly faded into focus. Katie was holding his head still. It really helped. He let his shoulders relax. "There was- th was a woman, she, she threw me into the water. And, and, and-"

"Vivid dreams are normal. But you're safe now. How about we get you back in bed? You can tell me everything you saw while we wait for Doctor Benton to get here." Katie helped him up and onto the bed. She held out his arm and reached for a butterfly needle hanging from an IV bag.

"What's that?" He asked diffencively, pulling his hand away.

"It's just some IV fluids. Saline, B vitamins, electrolytes, a little glucose." She listed reassuringly, but Danny didn't give her his arm. She smiled and put the needle down. "It can wait. Do you still want to tell me about your dream?"

He looked at her full of questions, but he did want to tell someone about what he saw. The problem is; how much does she know? He probably can't tell her about being Robin or the League of Assassins. Whether he's here as Jason Todd Wayne or Jon Doe. To them, he should have no reason to know about that. "How, long- ha-has it been." He stuttered. He never had a stutter before. Could it have been caused by the explosion?... wait. There was an explosion. How is he in one piece? He looked at his arms and lifted up his pant legs. Everything was still intact. Aside from some fading lichtenberg scars on his hands, he was fine.

"Six months." She took his hands in hers. "The scars will heal in due time. But until then, you'll certainly have the coolest thing to show off at school." She grinned like they were planning a prank together or something. "Now, how about telling me about your nightmare?"

Jason picked at the inner corners of his eyes and wiped the clumps on his soft pajama shirt. "I was -, arguing with my dad. About - something. He sent me to my room. But I didn't listen. And this guy, I never learned his name, he hit me. Over and over. Then I was alone, and I died... after that, this woman, she's always flirting with my dad, took me to her home, and threw me in the water." He wanted to say more. But how? Even if he told these things to a therapist, they would be obligated by law to report to the police.

"Sweety. Do you want to see your dad? Your family's been over a lot. I'm sure they'll drop everything when we call them."

"Drop everything," ha. Bruce probably "dropped" the joker after what he did. But it would be nice to see him. Even if the last time they spoke wasn't on the best of terms. "Thanks."

"Ahem," a woman in a labcoat cleared her throat in the doorway. She probably didn't wanna startle them.

"Doctor Benton. Danny, she's just going to give you a checkup. I can go call your parents, so they'll be here when you're done."

Danny? Why would she call him Danny? And parents? Plural? Has Jason been confused for someone else? Come on, this isn't like mixing up newborn babies. He's 15. Plus, he had to have been flown in from Ethiopia. And how would Bruce not have noticed? Is some other boy living at the manor pretending to be him?

Katie affectionately touched Dr. Bentons upper arm. "Speech, reflexes, and attention, normal. Temperature, low. Breathing patern, stable. His IV and catheter fell out again." She was testing him? The whole time? He couldn't even be mad. That was pretty impressive.

"Now then, Danny. I have a few simple tests here. Most people in your position need to relearn some skills, and these will help us figure out which ones." Dr Benton pulled out a table and placed a note card and several colored pens on it. "I would like you to draw a clock that reads ten thirty, a green square with an orange letter G in it, and write your name."

OK, so a memory test and a dexterity test in one. Danny picked up the red pen. With a shaky hand, he drew a circular clock, one hand down, one up, and to the left. He picked up the orange pen and wrote the letter G, then drew a green square around it and filled it in. He hastily wrote his signature and handed the card over.

Sure, the lines were unsteady, and he didn't put any numbers on the clock, but he's still going to get a good grade in waking up from a coma. "What's next?" He eyed the folder Dr Benton held.

She placed a sheet of paper with a few simple math problems and shapes with the names of colors written under them.

The tests must have lasted at least 20 to 30 minutes. By the end, his handwriting didn't look half bad anymore.

There was a bit of ruckus in the hallway that seemed to put Dr Benton in a bit of a rush. Who could blame her? There was a guy yelling and clearly getting closer. Working in a hospital probably means dealing with a lot of people like that. Danny was just going to ignore it and hoped they weren't headed to a nearby room. But then.

"DANNO!"

The guy came into his room. He was huge, loud, and worst of all. He was holding Jason in a bear hug. Two women walked in behind him. One of them was all too eager to leave lipstic marks all over his face, but the younger one, the red head, stood back and scolded the large man for making such a ruckus in a hospital.

Who are these people? How are they not noticing that the person they are talking to is someone else? Does Jason have a doppelganger? Or better yet, a clone. He's overdue to be cloned. Hmm. But then, wouldn't it be the other way around?

"Dad! Would you put Danny down. He could have had serious mental regression or new sensitivities. You didn't even ask him how he's doing. Or if he remembers who you are." The girl was right. All of this was a lot so soon.

"Nonsense, Jazzy pants." The guy ruffled Jasons hair. "You remember who we are, right?"

They're probably civilians. If Jason was switched with someone, chances are these people are obvious to it. "You're... my family." Keep it vague. Don't wanna make too many assumptions.

Something about his dismissal made Jason feel uneasy. It was so fast. He expected to stay another night, or at least have more tests run. They just handed him his hoodie and practically dragged him out the door. He was already in a car less than an hour after waking up. The receptionist seemed so relieved. Most of the staff seemed relieved.

Is he actually ok to go?! Does anyone care?

The car was weird, too. It was full of add-ons like the batmobile, but nowhere near as sleek and clean. At least the driving was eaqualy reckless. Although they weren't chasing anyone.

"Danny... Danny." The girl spoke to him.

Oh, right, he's Danny. "Yes?" He rubbed his eyes to sell it. Gotta keep those expectations low.

"Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

"Uhm, I guess I'm kinda hungry. And stiff."

"I mean, emotionally, how are you feeling?"

Emotionally? He literally just woke up. He's supposed to have feelings this early. Let a guy shake off the rigormortis, whatever your name is. "I... don't know." Maybe he can use this to his advantage. "Did anything happen while I was asleep?"

There was a record scratch, somehow, and everything went silent.

"Honey," the woman in the front seat spoke up. "Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when we get home." She had a slight Midwestern accent. Just like Katie. Are they in the Midwest?

"Why? Did you get divorced or something? I'm not dead."

And there was the awkward silence again.

Crap, bad joke, bad joke. That was a full-on Jason response. Danny might have a completely different sense of humor.

This time, the silence lasted until they got home. He awkwardly shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie and felt a folded up piece of paper inside.

They still didn't say anything when they got home. He didn't get punished for joking about death, at least. That was a nice touch. But it was weird that they all went in different directions. The two adults ran straight to the basement, yelling something about "overheating" and "GHOSTS!". And the red head went for the stairs before Jason stopped her.

"Could you help me? Dr. Benton said I shouldn't cook anything unsupervised."

She looked surprised at the request. It's not like he wants to have someone cook for him. It was literally doctors' orders.

"I'm not supposed to be around sharp knives of fire." He justified.

"Oh, I read about that. Some people can be self-destructive after waking up from a long coma. Often, they are trying to test if they're still dreaming." She sounded too excited about his potentially dangerous mental state.

While... crap, gotta find out their names. She cut up some vegetables and left him to assemble a sandwich. That sure was quick. Usually, he would have had to sit through endless conversation just to eat something. This gave him time to snoop.

The sandwich was amazing. It was like eating something for the first time in months. When he was done, he remembered the note. He pulled it out of his pocket, and, ok, Jason swears he is a good reader. Why are only some of the letters making words?

He powered through and eventually managed to decipher the letter.

Dear Mr. Fenton

It is important that you continue your brain exercises. You may also experience some decline in fine motor skills. Below is a list of activities that can speed up recovery.

Reading, puzzles, writing, drawing.

-Nurse Katie

She must have slipped it in before she left. Would it still be developmentally appropriate to have a crush on his nurse? She seemed to be in her late 20s to early 30s... "we could make it work." Jason nodded delusionaly.

*bdrrrrr*

The doorbell cought Jason off guard. He answered it and saw two teenagers, the same age as him. One male, African American, red barrette, yellow t-shirt. Height 5"4, teal eyes. The other female, Caucasian, black clothes, black hair. Height 5"6', violet eyes. Their facial expressions suggested they were friends, but of course, Jason didn't know them.

"Danny!" They cheered in unison.

"We came as soon as we heard."

"Are you ok?"

"Sam was so worried about you." The boy mocked, only to get jabbed in the abdomen.

"I'm fine." This "danny" sure has a lot of people to keep track of. Why couldn't Jason have been switched with some loner?

They both stared at him for a moment. "Can we come in?"

Jason looked back inside. Put on a show for five people, or for two people? "Uhm, let's go somewhere else." He practically shoved himself outside.

They looked at each other, and it was clear they were avoiding saying something.

Jason couldn't risk choosing where to go, so he let them pick. He wasn't really sure what he expected, what with the lack of third places in American cities now a days. But a science museum? He would have preferred a library, but he could still read here.

"What should we look at first?"

"Your choice. This place has gotten three new exhibits. There's a brain maze-"

"A human skeleton-"

"And they added a thing that you can stand on, and it zaps you."

They looked at each other in silence.

"We can ignore that one." They seemed to agree.

"Why? I wanna get zapped. Which way?" Jason grabbed a map at the front desk while the girl paid for 3 passes. "The brain is closer. Let's start there." He looked back at the others. "Bet I could get through faster than you." He grinned and dashed through the hall.

Jason stopped in front of the big plastic brain. He expected the others to run after him, but they were far behind. He had to take his shoes off in order to enter the structure. It's kind of like those indoor playgrounds. Except way bigger.

Despite all the big talk, Jason ended up wandering into every dead end in order to find all the fun facts. Each one came with a small stamp on the arm, and if you find all of them, you get a sticker.

On the way out, Jason spotted the two teens he came here with. They didn't even go inside. He can't beat them if they don't even play. The brain has no pain receptors!" He shouted to them as an employee put a sticker on his hoodie. It was a brain wearing pants with the words "Smarty Pants" written under it.

"I know you didn't go in, but I'm still counting this victory. I win." Jason showed off his sticker with that sassy little smile. You know the one.

Their supportive smiles looked fake. Jason could tell they were hiding something. He didn't even need to look for micro-expressions. These people were terrible liars. Finally, he snapped. "What's wrong? You two have been acting like you covered up a murder or something."

Mini Prompt: Death Runs in the Family

Danny and Jason are twins separated at birth. When they were born Danny was very sick and it didn’t look good for him from the start. As a final act of love or malice Sheila abandoned Danny at the hospital–making sure that there is nothing connecting him to her–leaving him to whatever fate desired for the small boy.

On the other hand she took Jason with her who then ended up being raised by Willis and Catherine. With them being completely unaware that Jason has a twin brother.

Jason’s life continues on as normal with him eventually being found, adopted, and becoming Robin. He dies at 15 in Ethiopia with his bio-mom never knowing about his brother. He comes back

Meanwhile Danny gets better and is later on adopted by the Fenton’s. Living in a crazy ghost-invested town. His parents build the portal in the basement, and at 15 dies with a press of a button. He comes back.

What no one knows though is that both meet their fate at the same time. A portal opening and a bomb going off. The two become twins in life and in death.

[fanficsat12am]

Even When You're Here (Xavier)

cw: none

word count: 1279 words

prompt: Reader has been feeling forgotten/has been missing the boys recently and tells them

a/n: This is my first LADs work so please be nice and I hope ya like it <3 please lemme know if ya want another part with the other boys :>

Maybe he’s stuck in traffic

With the recent increase of metaflux and wanderer sightings, it's no surprise that the UNICORNS has been on their toes recently. Despite being his partner, you had no time with Xavier outside of work. He even took on missions on your days off, which made it almost impossible to spend some time with him. That coupled with his responsibilities as Lumiere, to say he had a lot on his plate was an understatement. So when he agreed to a date with you after such a long week at work, you were practically bursting at the seams. The excitement had you wearing your favorite dress and coming to the restaurant at 5:30, despite agreeing to meet at 6:00. You counted the minutes that ticked by as the time drew closer and closer. At 6:15, you chalked it up to maybe being a bit behind. 

By the time 6:30 rolled around, you checked your watch for any missed messages or calls. Nothing.

Hey, you running late? I’m in the restaurant Sent at 6:33

Don’t tell me you fell asleep! Sent at 6:45

As the waiter approaches you for what feels like the fifth time, the spark of excitement you'd been holding onto has faded into nothing more than a flicker.

“Miss, perhaps I can get you an appetizer? Or would you like another minute?” Despite the polite smile on his face, you could see the pity in his eyes as they flicked to the empty chair across from you.

“That won’t be necessary,” you murmur, already reaching for your purse as you gently push your chair back. You take out a few hundred-dollar bills and hand them to him.

“Here’s a tip.”

“Miss, this is too much—” he says, trying to offer it back.

You shake your head.

“Don’t sweat it,” you say, giving him a small, tired smile before taking your leave. You check your phone again, hoping for a message from Xavier. Nothing. 

Another sigh of disappointment slips past your lips as you start making your way to your apartment. A cool gust of wind wraps around you, tugging at your coat, and you can’t help but wonder where the blonde boy is. Maybe he’s out fighting more wanderers, keeping Linkon City safer than it’s ever been. And here you were, trying to take him away from it. 

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and your finger hovers over the button for your own floor… but instead, you press his.

The hum of the elevator is low and distant, almost meditative, like your thoughts. When the doors open again, you're met with the familiar sight of his hallway, the number on his door etched into your memory like muscle.

You knock gently. “Xavier?”

Silence.

You knock again, a little softer. “Hey... it’s me.”

Still nothing.

Biting your lip, you reach into your coat pocket and pull out the spare keys he gave you—“for emergencies,” he said once, but you think maybe this counts in its own quiet way. The door clicks open, and you step inside. It's quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of a kitchen nightlight. His apartment smells like cedar and something warm—something that always felt like him.

You take a slow lap around the space, but there’s no sign of him. Just as your heart starts to sink again, you hear it—soft, steady snores coming from his bedroom.

You step toward the door and push it open gently.

There he is.

Xavier, curled up on the bed, still in his work clothes. His blond hair is tousled, his expression relaxed in the kind of sleep that only comes after too many days pushing too hard.

You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips. You gently sit on the bed beside him and brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, careful not to wake him. His chest rises and falls in steady rhythm, exhaustion written into every line of his face.

You lean back against the headboard, letting your head rest on the wall, and close your eyes. The worries and disappointment from earlier fade into a quiet calm. Maybe tonight isn’t about waiting for messages or empty seats.

Maybe it’s about moments like this—small, imperfect, and unexpectedly comforting.

You stay there, savoring the silence between you two, hoping that when he wakes, things might feel a little lighter.

You hear the gentle rustling of the bed.

“(Y/N)?” He mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his eyes awake. You look to him and send him a small smile

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you grin softly.

Xavier blinks at you, disoriented. “What are you doing here? I don’t think you were here when I fell asleep…” His eyes trail over your outfit. “And you’re looking awfully dressed up. Is there an occasion?”

Your smile falters, just slightly, but you keep it on. “We were supposed to go on a date tonight. But I’m guessing the last mission took a lot out of you?”

At that, Xavier sits up straighter, glancing at the time. A look of guilt washes over him.

“Shit… it seems I did.” His voice quiets, his expression dimming. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. We can reschedule, if you’d like…”

You nod, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

But he knows you too well. He might be a bit social awkward, but he knows when your smile is real, and when it’s just something you wear to spare someone else’s feelings. And he hates it whenever you do it to him.

Before you can move away, his arms are around you—warm, strong, and gentle. He pulls you close against his chest.

“I can tell something’s wrong,” he murmurs.

“It’s nothing…”

“Alright,” he whispers, not pushing further. “Then we’ll just stay like this... until it’s something.”

He pulls you in closer, his chin resting lightly atop your head. The world stills for a while, your heartbeat syncing with the rise and fall of his breath. Eventually, you find your voice again.

“I’m sorry if I keep you from your work…”

He shakes his head and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes—earnest, serious.

“Why would you be sorry about that?”

You look down, avoiding his gaze

“We’re supposed to be out there making the city a safer place for the people of Linkon…”

He takes your chin into his hands, tilting it ever so slightly so that his gaze is staring at you

“I just…I miss you sometimes, Xavier. I miss you, even when you’re standing right in front of me. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Not at all…" he says. “I’m sorry. I guess I got so caught up in everything out there… I forgot the most important responsibility of all. ” His hand brushes your cheek. I’ll stop overloading myself with missions. I’ll even talk to Jenna and ask for time off. A real break. No excuses, no distractions. Just you and me. Just… us. Doing whatever you want. Wherever you want. Does that sound good?”

He gently takes a hold of your hands.

“Please let me make it up to you. Let me show you that I haven’t forgotten how to put you first.”

He watches as your smile finally reaches your eyes

“That sounds perfect,” you whisper, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “I love you, Xavier.”

He pulls you to his chest, burying your head against his warmth like he never wants to let go.

“You’re the light I’ll always come home to,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I ever made you forget that.”

[ghost-bison]

I had a sort of epiphany as to what makes Ten and Donna's relationship so appealing to so many people, so much so that it's been over 15 years and we're still talking about it.

What i'm about to say is nothing really new but I find it interesting how for hundreds of years, the Doctor's been the person and the companion has been the mirror.

What I mean by that is, the Doctor's this all impressive, wonderful being, this super-human to the people he meets and especially those he travels with, and so they think that in order to deserve him and this life, they need to be like him.

We saw it with Rose, who by series 2 started becoming a totally different character: careless, her immaturity hidden behind a newfound confidence encouraged by the Doctor - who, at this point in the show where his most defining traits are guilt and regret, desperately needs an equal.

This change in Rose's personality and demeanor is explored during her talk with her mum in 2x12 "Army of Ghosts":

JACKIE: You even look like him. ROSE: How do you mean? I suppose I do, yeah. JACKIE: You've changed so much. ROSE: For the better. JACKIE: I suppose. ROSE: Mum, I used to work in a shop. JACKIE: I've worked in shops. What's wrong with that? ROSE: No, I didn't mean that. JACKIE: I know what you meant. What happens when I'm gone? ROSE: Don't talk like that. JACKIE: No, but really. When I'm dead and buried, you won't have any reason to come back home. What happens then? ROSE: I don't know. JACKIE: Do you think you'll ever settle down? ROSE: The Doctor never will, so I can't. I'll just keep on travelling. JACKIE: And you'll keep on changing. And in forty years time, fifty, there'll be this woman, this strange woman, walking through the marketplace on some planet a billion miles from Earth. But she's not Rose Tyler. Not anymore. She's not even human.

Then, we have Martha. The better-known side of her relationship with the Doctor is that she has an unrequited love for him, but do people ever think about what's going on inside his head during his year with her?

Cause he pretends like he doesn't see it and it sort of works, for we all know he's pretty dense (when Cassandra possessed Rose's body, not ONCE did he glance down at her voluntarily revealing neckline, and he always looks so dazed and surprised when women kiss him, etc...). So Martha believes him when he acts like he doesn't see how she looks at him.

But he didn't have to kiss her passionately if he didn't want her to fall for him. He could have just done some weird shit as always and lick her cheek or something. He chose to kiss her because at this point, because of what he's done to Rose, he's forgotten that that's not what his relationship with people needs to be. He thinks she'll leave him if she doesn't idolize him.

Another side of their relationship we think even less about is Martha being a doctor (or doctor-to-be). She has this particular view of the title that comes with years of university and hospital internships, a view that's less present in companions who don't work in the medical field (Rose, Donna, Amy, Clara, Bill, Ruby...). So she has this advantage where, as she said, "You need to earn that title", but also this bias where she realizes he does live up to it, and because she wants to be a doctor, he's everything she needs to be.

This creates an interesting parallel with other medical worker companions: Rory and Belinda, the nurses.

Rory's relationship with the Doctor mainly exists through Amy's relationship with the Doctor: he's been seeing, ever since they were kids, what their encounter did to her, and then by the time they're adults and Amy sees the Doctor again, what it evolves and will evolve into.

At some point, Rory tells the Doctor:

RORY: You know what is dangerous about you? It's not that you make people take risks, it's that you make them want to impress you. You make it so they don't want to let you down. You have no idea how dangerous you make people to themselves when you're around.

And then, this is what Belinda tells the Doctor the first time he takes her into the TARDIS:

BELINDA: Is that what you say to all the girls? Is that what you said to Sasha? She trusted you, and she died. You tested my DNA without even asking my permission. God... You're dangerous. [...] I am not one of your adventures. Now I'm asking you, Doctor, to do the right thing.

Interesting coincidence that the two nurses of the show, basically the two people who aren't impressed (in the sense of "dazed") by the title of "Doctor", are two of the only companions who can see how messed up some situations he puts them in actually are where most companions would make an awkward "that was bad" joke out of it, or even just not say anything.

BELINDA: Some things don't change. There's always a doctor standing back while the nurses do all the hard work.

then:

BELINDA: So what's your name? Doctor what? THE DOCTOR: Just the Doctor. BELINDA: What? You're actually called "the Doctor"? THE DOCTOR: Yeah. BELINDA: All right then, I'm called "the Nurse".

To them, this title is just this: a title. To Martha, it's her future.

And to Donna... it means strictly nothing.

The first time she meets him in 2x14 "The Runaway Bride", she's transported directly inside the TARDIS. She sees the inside before she sees the outside. So where other companions would realize "it's bigger on the inside", Donna sees the contrary: it's smaller on the outside.

When she asks WHO he is, he just says "I'm the Doctor". Then he asks who she is in turn, and she says "Donna". She doesn't try to understand why he gave her this instead of an actual name, nor does she try to obtain an actual answer to her question. She just gets that he's strange, rolls with it, and tells him her name in turn.

By the end of the episode, there's no mistaking the fact that she IS impressed with him... but it's not a good thing.

The Doctor is surprised: he's used to it being a good thing. Generally, it gets him what he wants, which is a new companion. He's done everything right: saved her life, showed her the stars, he's even made it snow to make her smile!

And yet, at this point, all Donna thinks about is how the Doctor drowned kids in front of her, and in front of their own mother, and didn't even blink as he did.

THE DOCTOR: Come with me? DONNA: No. [...] I can't. I mean, everything we did today... Do you live your life like that? THE DOCTOR: ...Not all the time. DONNA: I think you do. And I couldn't. THE DOCTOR: But you've seen it out there. It's beautiful. DONNA: And it's terrible. That place was flooding and burning and they were dying and you stood there like... I don't know. A stranger. And then you made it snow, I mean, you scare me to death!

She is impressed, yes, but she is not dazed, yet. And by the time she is in series 4, she's had too long to think about it to let it cloud her judgment:

When they meet again in 4x01 "Partners in Crime", and she's finally ready to come with him, she gets a glimpse of how narcissistic and self-centered he is when he makes it clear that he thinks she wants to be with him in a romantic way (as I said earlier, he's forgotten that not all his relationships needed to be like this, and this belief that he has was reinforced by his time with Martha).

But Donna immediately puts him back in his place, twice:

DONNA: That Martha must have done you good. THE DOCTOR: Yeah, she did, yeah... She fancied me. DONNA: Mad Martha, that one! Blind Martha, charity Martha. [...] THE DOCTOR: I just want a mate. DONNA: You just want to mate? THE DOCTOR: I just want a mate! DONNA: You're not mating with me, sunshine! THE DOCTOR: A mate! I want a mate! DONNA: Well just as well because I'm not having any of that nonsense, I mean you're just a long streak of nothing. You know, alien nothing.

Then, throughout the whole of series 4, she spends half of their time together learning things about the Universe, about herself, and the other half challenging him:

In 4x02 "The Fires of Pompeii", she doesn't obey blindly. She asks interesting questions, pushes back, disagrees with him. She wants to save the whole town, he tells her they can't do that, she doesn't care. He's not used to having to engage in long explanations as to why his word is to be followed, because he considers himself to be righteous. This is mainly why she challenges him: she's a grown, capable woman and he treats her like a child:

THE DOCTOR: Donna, stop it. DONNA: Listen, I don't know what sort of kids you've been flying around with, but you're not telling me to shut up.

Then, she reminds him once more that they're equals and that she knows what she's doing with him when she puts her hands on that lever, taking on part of a burden that the Doctor thought was going to be entirely his again. And then, finally, she shows him that if you can't save everyone, one person is better than no one at all. She gives him hope and reminds him of his purpose.

On and on, she keeps doing stuff like that, until the point where the line starts blurring between them: they were the DoctorDonna before Donna had even gotten near that hand.

And instead of the companion trying to mirror the Doctor like every other time, the Doctor starts becoming the companion. And Donna does find him dazzling, she said it to her gramps, but she knew better than to let it show when she was with him.

Where he changed Rose into someone else entirely (which ended badly and could have been avoided had they been more careful), pushed Martha into forgetting her own individual worth (which she ended up understanding and decided to leave for her own good), he only gave Donna a glimpse into what she already was, and SHE was the one who changed HIM for the better.

Donna's fate couldn't have been predicted or prevented by either of them; it was destined to end like this, and this, all of this, is what makes their relationship so absolutely magnificent: both the simplicity and complexity of it, and its ineffability.

[wonderjanga2]

Trigger Warning(?): Mutilation/slight gore (not to our precious Y/N though)

Neglected Figure Skater!Reader x Yan!Batfam

I love it. I love it with all my heart.

Now, obviously, since this is a neglected AU, that means Y/N is obviously gonna be neglected. But, I wanna go into the specifics of this Y/N and have her figure skating thing be similar to Tonya Harding. Like, our mother pushed us into skating and we’ve been doing it ever since we were three years old. She pushed us to always be the best, on top.

Second place was first place for losers, third was barely good enough, and fourth…? We don’t like to talk about fourth.

Number one is all that matters.

Either we win of we don’t. That’s the ideology our mother instilled into us.

And trust us, we won. A lot. It made all the slaps, pinches, and demeaning words worth it.

Because we would win, and we good.

Then, our mother died. She got into a car crash. It happened when we’re about 15.

Now, with absolutely no one to support us, because by this point, we knew we’d never receive attention, let alone love and support from the remaining family members, and with our mother gone, which even then, she didn’t show us much love either, we had no one. This left the only thing we could really control. The thing we knew would be there for us no matter what: Skating.

That’s it.

As the next few years passed, we went from good to wonderful-spectacular-amazing, and we were able to compete in multiple competitions both inside and outside of Gotham. Of course, in true neglected!reader fashion, none of the family showed up and we always performed alone.

(I’d also like to point out that whenever a reporter or somebody asked where our family is, we just nod and smile and spout some bullshit like “I’m sure they’re watching from home!”

No one believes that, and obviously we don’t believe that either.)

So, bam, backstory.

Now, here’s what I think would finally grab the batfam’s, and the world’s (or at least the US’s) attention:

The day starts off pretty nice. We’re doing our thing. We do some spins, we glide elegantly, and do some nice skating moves that hopefully earn a bunch of points.

This time, the competitions in Metropolis, far away from home, down in a nice, pretty rink with a nice, quiet crowd.

Then, all of a sudden, a kidnapper decided to roll up. This obvious imbecile ended up fumbling around the ice, without skates must we add, and while this might not pose much of a threat, the strangely glowing gun in his hand did. He tried to fire it at us and we skated out-of-did-way. When it hit the glass behind us, it quivered before it imploded on itself, crushing itself into a little ball.

Now, this should’ve confused us, because isn’t he supposed to be capturing us? The kidnapper implied that the gun was the thing that was supposed to restrain us so he could… y’know… kidnap us, but, if that’s what’s supposed to happen…

Yeah, no.

We’re gonna try our very best not to get hit by that. And even if we did, and somehow we didn’t implode into a little flesh ball, who’s to say our family would even help us? If we were able to go across the country, competing in multiple competitions without any of them noticing, who used to say they’d notice if we were kidnapped?

Yeah, no, we’re definitely not gonna be hit by that.

That’s how we end up skating around the rink, dodging and weaving any of the blasts, of which implode many more objects. There are screams and cries as people evacuate the rink and we can hear the clattering and clinking of any glass or metal against the ice.

Now, contrary to most stories, we’re not kidnapped. We don’t suddenly trip and fall and then get hit.

No no.

We do the first thing that comes to our mind after reading an article about hockey injuries the day before. We move our leg at just the right angle, at just the right time, just when the guy slips again and tries to right himself, and our leg, well, slices across the kidnapper’s face. I mean, shit, we’re pretty sure one of the guys’s eyes got sliced in the process, judging by the fact that when he went down, he clutched at it. The imploding-gun slid away.

This was deadass our face too as we glided to a stop:

Now, unfortunately, or fortunately, we don’t know yet, this was still being broadcasted live.

Many… many… many… figure skating enthusiasts saw this happen. It also happened to reach the news stations.

We think we’re positively fucked…

…Not because we’re worried about our reputation pshhh… who cares about that? We’re just worried we might be barred from participating in future competitions. After all, how can you get away with murder on ice? Even if it was self-defense?

One of the few staff members left in the building looked at us crazy when we voiced these thoughts.

It took a little over a day for this news to reach outlets.

(In fact, when Bruce sat down to watch the news that following morning, with a nice cup of morning Joe, he went slack jawed and had coffee dripping out of his mouth as he watched the replayed, censored version of the video)

[cherrywriterrr]

grease & honey

word count: 2,092

warning: mechanic rafe / established relationship / sexual themes / sweat, oil, dominance / soft domestic vibes

you show up at the shop around 4:15.

the sun’s still high, slanting gold through the open garage doors, and the air smells like motor oil, gasoline, and his sweat.

you find him under the hood of a beat-up chevy, shirtless, skin glistening with heat and work. he’s wearing those loose dark jeans with the frayed knees and a backwards hat that’s halfway falling off his head. his hands are black with grease, forearms flexed as he tightens something with a wrench, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

you just lean in the doorway and watch him for a second.

watch the sweat drip from his neck to his chest. watch the way his shoulders move, the way he wipes his face with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of dirt across his cheekbone.

he glances up and double-takes when he sees you.

“look at you,” he grins, stepping back from the car, dragging his hat off. “you tryna kill me or what?”

you’re just in a black tank top and jean shorts, but the way he says it makes you blush anyway.

you cross the floor slowly. “figured i’d come help.”

he eyes you with something dangerous. something starved.

“you wanna help?” he asks, voice low.

you nod, and he jerks his chin toward the toolbox.

“grab the socket wrench.”

you don’t even make it halfway there before he grabs you by the hips, pulls you in, and presses his mouth to yours—hot, messy, and impatient. he tastes like sweat and smoke and something metallic, like he’s been breathing the garage all day.

his hands are filthy, but he touches you anyway, leaves black streaks on your waist, your ribs, the back of your neck.

“you sure you wanna get dirty?” he mutters against your mouth.

“you’re the one grabbing me with your grime hands.”

he smirks. “you like it.”

you do.

you really fucking do.

thirty minutes later, you’re both under the car, lying side-by-side on the creeper. he’s working on something above, arms stretched up, and you’re handing him tools and pretending not to stare at the veins in his biceps.

he glances at you, sweaty and flushed.

“you good, baby?”

you nod. “just hot.”

he laughs, deep and rich. “told you not to wear that. knew it’d stick to you.”

you roll your eyes but still smile, cheeks warm.

he’s so in his element like this. grease-slicked, shirtless, focused. every now and then, he’ll say something soft—ask if you want water, brush your hair behind your ear, run his thumb along your thigh without even thinking.

you hand him the next tool and he hums.

“good girl.”

the words go straight to your stomach.

he knows it too.

he pauses, looking down at you, grin slow and lazy.

“what?”

you shrug. “nothin’.”

“nah. you got that look in your eye.”

“what look?”

“like you’re thinkin’ about me fuckin’ you on this garage floor.”

you glare. “you’re such a—“

“you are thinkin’ about it,” he cuts in, smug. “can’t blame you, though. i mean—” he lifts his arms, muscles flexing, body shining under the light. “—i am kind of irresistible right now.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re disgusting.”

“but you love me.”

you sigh dramatically. “unfortunately.”

he leans over, kisses your cheek, then smears a line of oil across your jaw with his thumb.

“mine,” he says.

“you’re insane.”

he shrugs. “so are you.”

you lay there for a second, just breathing. just listening to the quiet whir of the fan overhead and the buzz of the afternoon outside.

then you say it, soft: “can i stay tonight?”

he looks over, serious now. “you have to ask?”

you shrug. “just wasn’t sure.”

he drops the wrench, rolls onto his side to face you.

“you can always stay.”

your throat tightens.

“okay.”

he studies your face for a second.

“hey,” he says. “you know i’m gonna marry you one day, right?”

your eyes snap to his. “rafe—”

“don’t freak out.” he grins, but it’s softer this time. “i’m just sayin’. you’re it for me. always have been.”

you blink a few times too fast. “you’re covered in oil.”

“you love it.”

“you’re leaking sweat onto the floor.”

“you wanna lick it off.”

you shove him and he laughs so loud the whole damn garage echoes with it.

it’s later when you finally sit on the hood of his car, drinking cold cokes from a mini-fridge and watching the sky turn orange outside the open door.

he’s leaning between your legs, arms wrapped around your hips, face pressed into your neck.

“you smell like gasoline,” you murmur.

he kisses your shoulder. “you smell like mine.”

you smile and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

he sighs into your skin. “you make all this shit worth it.”

you tilt your head. “the cars?”

“nah. the long days. the busted knuckles. the heat. the bullshit.” he looks up at you. “don’t mean nothin’ if i don’t have you.”

you run your fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead.

“i’m proud of you.”

he swallows, hard.

“i know.”

you kiss him again.

“i love you.”

he exhales, like it’s the only thing holding him up.

“i love you too.”

when you finally leave the shop, you’ve both got grease on your arms, your lips, your clothes. your hair smells like engine oil. your back is sore. your tank top’s crooked.

but his hand never leaves your waist the whole walk to the truck.

and later, when he takes you home, he touches you like you’re the only clean thing in the whole damn world.

tags: 🏷️ @rafesbabygirlx @rafesfavegf

[cosmicalily]

୨ৎ @cosmicalily presents . . . 100 idols vs 1 gorilla (a categorised list)

author's note: btw when your faves are enlisting in the military this is actually what they're training for.

୨ৎ initial distraction team:

1. jake (puppy aegyo) 2. soul (spider walk) 3. beomgyu 4. yeosang (specifically the sexyback dance) 5. jin (supertuna performance) 6. chuu (gay allegations) 7. sunghoon (get sunghooned) 8. fireworks era seonghwa (side part) 9. matthew (moo) 10. jay park (mommae solo)

୨ৎ first line of defence:

11. mingi (just so he can say 'fix on' to start the battle) 12. taehyun 13. san (ice on my teeth) 14. jennie 15. miroh changbin 16. bob ryujin 17. bob chaewon 18. momo 19. jihyo (talk that talk dance break) 20. whip-nae-nae taehyung 21. debut era yoongi 22. pink haired giselle 23. wooyoung (courreges show) 24. jiung (gimme my money) 25. jimin (blonde bowl cut)

୨ৎ second line of defence:

26. nayeon 27. huening kai 28. jay 29. yeonjun (ggum) 30. yunjin (smart era) 31. johnny 32. jeongyeon 33. yuqi (beggin cover) 34. ginger haired jiung 35. momo (go hard dance break) 36. jongseob (with skateboard) 37. intak 38. solar (with her twink dancers) 39. debut era jungkook 40. jj (with her bob)

୨ৎ backup distraction team:

46. microbangs jeongin 47. hwasa (in red leather) 48. jessi 49. jongho (apple breaking) 50. predebut felix 51. predebut jisung 52. predebut niki 53. s.coups (justin bieber edit) 54. momo (likey dance break) 55. heeseung walk

୨ৎ visuals team:

56. maki 57. mullet hongjoong 58. chaeyoung (look at me stage) 59. hyunjin 60. joy (peekaboo era) 61. theo (elsa costume) 62. yuna (u-go-girl cover) 63. blonde winter 64. irene 65. kazuha (antifragile long black hair)

୨ৎ negotiation team:

66. wonyoung (who would say no to a baddie) 67. jisoo 68. haerin (probably would meow) 69. soobin (just yaps a lot) 70. minnie 71. danielle (curly haired) 72. hoseok (he's our only hope!)

୨ৎ operation leaders:

73. bangchan (also a translator) 74. woozi 75. chungha

୨ৎ verbal attack team:

76. blonde seungmin 77. soyeon (unpretty rapstar) 78. i-land sunoo 79. minho 80. keeho 81. wooyoung 82. hoshi 83. shuhua 84. jeongin (with ugly shoes) 85. chaeryeong

୨ৎ attack strategist team:

86. moonbyul 87. wendy 88. lily (book club) 89. jungwon 90. sana (shy-shy-shy) 91. yunho 92. ningning 93. mark (everything's a possibility) 94. tzuyu 95. vernon (do you want to live to 100?)

୨ৎ sponsors:

96. jyp 97. namjoon 98. lisa 99. gdragon 100. lee hyori

tagging my whole taglist anyways because this is PRIME content: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @heartsbyani @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger @woozarts @zelinkcrossing @urlocalmultigroupfan @shuuporanglinos @lezleeferguson-120 @r1nstaaa @bibibahngg @jessxxxfwd @koiiqqqq @lenfilms @yaniblvsh @dearmini @ilovedallywinston @0sunshinecryptid0 @peskybirdysya @channieschocco @straberieslee @hanverse-recs

[elf-kid2]

Lost Childhood & Adult Responsibilities in Helluva Boss

There's something to be said, about Stolas and Blitz and being forced to grow up too fast.

When Stolas as a kid, with a bed full of stuffed animals...

When he was JUST old enough to find out what his FUTURE job would be, and start training for it...

Blitzo was already working as a circus-performer.

Blitzo (and Fizzarolli, and Barbie) were, at this age, doing multiple shows per day.

They are, at this age, already starting to be sent out to entertain at private parties, if the price is right.

They are children, playing pretend, making jokes, and goofing around. Playing with toys they made while at work, trying to entertain the crowds and put on a good show.

At this young age, Blitzo is told that it's HIS RESPONSIBILITY to work, to steal, to take on odd jobs, to make sure that he & his family have food and shelter.

They're kids. They're just kids.

But, When the Goetia Prince, Stolas, is just starting to LEARN about what his job WILL BE...

The little imp-kid, Blitzo, already has a job.

He's already working to provide for his family, just like his Papa taught him to. They've gotta work to keep food on the table, after all!

.

Then, on the OTHER hand... When Blitzo was still in braces, when he was going on dates, attending concerts, and having fun...

Prince Stolas was preparing to take on his full responsibilities as part of the Goetia family.

He was getting married, to a beautiful woman that his Father picked out for him when they were both per-pubescent little nestlings.

The closet-door was closed, and locked from the outside.

Fifteen years ago, Blitzo and Fizzarolli were celebrating a Birthday Party with their friends, family, and co-workers.

By this time, Stolas, who is about the same age as Blitzo & Fizzarolli, was already a father to a 2-year-old daughter.

Let me say that again.

15 years ago, when The Fire happened, Blitzo was still in his braces.

Blitzo and Fizz were just coming of age. Experiencing first loves, life-altering physical & psychological traumas, etc...

They're at the start of their adult careers.

They've got years of change, exploration, relationships, and breakups ahead of them.

They're in their early twenties!

They're at that age when everyone is making questionable relationship decisions!

Everyone is making questionable and potentially life-altering decisions about their love-lives, their careers, and their futures!

But at this age, Stolas is ALREADY married, with a kid to look after.

In the end, they all grew up too fast. Just in different ways.

[theangryman]

Jessica Leeds told The New York Times in 2016 that, in the late 1970s, Trump, who was a stranger to her, reached his hand up her skirt and grabbed her breasts on a flight to New York. She said he “was like an octopus” and his “hands were everywhere” before she fled to the back of the plane.

Ivana Trump, Trump’s first wife, accused him in a divorce deposition of raping her in a fit of rage in 1989, when they were married. She later said that she hadn’t meant in a “literal or criminal sense.”

Kristin Anderson, a photographer and former model, told The Washington Post in 2016 that Trump sat next to her at a nightclub in the early 1990s and reached under her skirt. Anderson said the incident lasted about 30 seconds, but she and her friends were “very grossed out and weirded out.”

Jill Harth, who worked with Trump in the 1990s, accused him of “attempted rape” in a 1997 complaint. She said that in 1993, Trump tried to kiss her in his daughter’s bedroom at his Mar-a-Lago resort, pushing her against a wall and putting his hand up her dress. She dropped the suit a few weeks after filing it, she said as part of a settlement with Trump in a separate breach of contract case, according to the Associated Press.

Lisa Boyne, a health food business entrepreneur, told HuffPost in 2016 that she attended a dinner with Trump in 1996 where several women were forced to walk across a table while Trump looked up their skirts and commented on their underwear and bodies. “It was the most offensive scene I’ve ever been a part of,” Boyne said.

Five former Miss Teen USA contestants told BuzzFeed News in 2016 that in 1997, Trump, the owner of the pageant at the time, unexpectedly walked into the contestants’ dressing room while they were changing, which they found inappropriate. Mariah Billado said she rushed to put on her dress and remembered him saying, “Don’t worry ladies, I’ve seen it all before.” Victoria Hughes said that it was “the most inappropriate time to meet us all for the first time. The youngest girl was 15, and I was the eldest at 19.” The other three women described a similar situation to BuzzFeed anonymously; however, 11 others said they did not recall seeing Trump in the dressing room at all.  In an April 2005 interview on The Howard Stern Show, when asked about Miss USA and Miss Universe, Trump said he would go backstage before beauty pageant shows, the only man in the room while the women were “standing there with no clothes.” As the owner, “I sort of get away with things like that,” he added. He was not asked about Miss Teen USA in this interview.

E. Jean Carroll, a writer, said Trump raped her in 1996 in a Bergdorf Goodman dressing room. Carroll wrote about the incident in her 2019 memoir called “What Do We Need Men For?” In May, Carroll was awarded $5 million after a jury held Trump liable for sexual abuse and defamation, though not rape.

Temple Taggart, former Miss Utah, told The New York Times in 2016 that Trump “kissed me directly on the lips” when he met her at the 1997 Miss USA pageant and again when she met with him in Manhattan after he offered to help with her modeling career. Taggart described the incident as “inappropriate” and said her first thought after he kissed her was, “Oh my God, gross.”

Cathy Heller told The Guardian in 2016 that Trump forcibly kissed her when she attended a Mother’s Day brunch at Mar-a-Lago in the 1990s. Heller said she was “angry and shaken” after the former president ignored her handshake, grabbed her and went for the lips and became angry when she tried to turn her head away.

Amy Dorris, a former model, said Trump forcibly kissed and groped her in his private box at the U.S. Open tennis championship in 1997. Dorris told The Guardian in 2020 that Trump “shoved his tongue down my throat” and “his hands were very gropey and all over my butt, my breasts, my back, everything.”

Karena Virginia, a yoga instructor and life coach, told The Washington Post in 2016 that Trump groped her, unexpectedly wrapping his arm around her and touching her breast, in 1998 while she waited for a car outside the U.S. Open.

Karen Johnson, who was a regular at Mar-a-Lago, said Trump pulled her behind a tapestry to kiss and grope her during a New Year’s Eve party in the early 2000s. Johnson detailed the incident to journalists Barry Levine and Monique El-Faizy, who published it in their 2019 book, “All the President’s Women: Donald Trump and the Making of a Predator,” along with 42 other allegations of sexual misconduct.

Bridget Sullivan, another former Miss USA contestant, told BuzzFeed News in 2016 that she met Trump at a party promoting the competition, and he hugged her “a little low on your back” and gave “a squeeze that your creepy uncle would.” In a separate instance in 2000, Sullivan said, Trump walked backstage while many of the contestants were naked or getting dressed.

Tasha Dixon, a former Miss USA contestant, told CBS in 2016 that, in 2001, Trump walked into where she and other contestants were changing. Dixon said she thought Trump “owned the pageant for the reasons to utilize his power to get around beautiful women.”

Melinda McGillivray told the Palm Beach Post in 2016 that Trump grabbed her butt without her consent in 2003 when they were backstage at a Ray Charles concert at Mar-a-Lago.

Natasha Stoynoff, a former reporter for People magazine, wrote in 2016that Trump sexually assaulted her in 2005 while she was visiting Mar-a-Lago to work on a story about his first year of marriage with Melania. When they were alone, Stoynoff said, Trump closed the door and pushed her against the wall before “forcing his tongue down my throat.”

Juliet Huddy, a former Fox News anchor, said on the “Mornin!!! With Bill Schulz” podcast in 2017 that Trump kissed her unexpectedly and without her consent in Trump Tower in the mid-2000s. Huddy said she “didn’t feel threatened” at the time but later realized she would’ve said no more clearly.

Rachel Crooks, a former receptionist at Trump Tower, told The New York Times in 2016 that Trump kissed her “directly on the mouth” without consent when she first met him in 2005.

Samantha Holvey, a former Miss USA contestant, told CNN in 2016 that when she competed in 2006, Trump personally inspected each contestant, looking at them from head to toe like “sexual objects,” which made her feel “the dirtiest I felt in my entire life.”

Ninni Laaksonen, a model and former Miss Finland, in 2016 told Ilta-Sanomat, a Finnish newspaper, that Trump squeezed her butt in 2006 when they were backstage at the “Late Show with David Letterman.”

Jessica Drake, an actor in adult films, accused Trump during a 2016 news conference of grabbing her, kissing her without her consent and offering her $10,000 to come to his penthouse hotel room in 2006.

Summer Zervos, a former contestant on “The Apprentice,” told reporters at a 2016 news conference that Trump sexually assaulted her on two separate occasions in 2007. The first was when she met him and he kissed her on the lips. Later that year, Zervos said Trump grabbed her shoulder, kissed her “aggressively,” placed his hand on her breast and thrust himself on her before she was able to pull away and leave the room.

Cassandra Searles, a former Miss USA contestant, wrote in a 2016 Facebook post that Trump “continually grabbed my ass and invited me to his hotel room” when she competed in 2013.

Alva Johnson, a former campaign staff member, alleged in a 2019 lawsuit that Trump grabbed her hand and kissed her on the side of the mouth without her consent during a rally in 2016.

[revolvingsaturn]

It’s too hot- any ways to combat the heat?

(Virgin!TomuraShigaraki x reader)

🫧🌱

It’s warm, humid and all too stuffy in the bar. You groan as you slump down to rest your forehead on the wood, shoving a stray strand of hair out of your clammy face, seething with jealousy at Toga; she doesn’t seem to feel the heat at all, and you lazily wave her goodbye as she skips out of the door into the blazing heat of the sun to do who knows what who knows where.

It’s stiflingly warm, even as Shigaraki slips his way into the bar from the hall that leads to his room and seats himself next to you, collarbones prominent in the sickly light of the room.

“Hi, boss.” You manage to drag out of your dry throat. It’s teasing, really- you don’t have it in you to be intimidated by Tomura, his skinny arms and pale hair, dry skin and chapped lips don’t scare you.

His lips.

Maybe it’s just the heat and humidity talking, the fact you admittedly haven’t got much action since you joined the League, but his lips look softer today- you think as you prop your chin up on one hand, elbow resting on the wood of the bar and feet perched on the base of your stool that squeaks when you move.

“It’s hot.” He rasps out indifferently, red eyes hidden by the straggly fringe he insists on keeping in front of his face.

“You’re hot.” You say back, matter of factly- you definitely had some form of undiagnosed heatstroke, why on earth would you let that slip out? Your eyes meet Tomura’s in thinly veiled horror, filled with shock and something else-something else that tinges the very edges of his scarlet irises. It’s almost akin to- to curiosity, you think.

You swallow thickly in awkwardness as you get up to leave the bar and find Toga to drain your blood out so you never have to face Shigaraki and his oddly attractive face again. You make it about halfway out of your seat before you’re stopped.

“Wait.” He breathes out. You slowly turn around to face him, sinking back into your seat like a child being scolded at school. But he doesn’t sound angry- he sounds curious, almost tentative. You raise your head slightly and make eye contact with him. You’re so close- if you lean in a little further, then maybe-

He moves first.

Awkward, inexperienced chapped lips make contact with yours in the humid heat of the Japanese summer that seeps in through the cracks in the wall and entwined itself with all the oxygen in the room- not that you feel like there is any, the kiss isn’t even hard and yet it knocks all the wind out of your lungs as you start to kiss back.

As your lips roll against his, you become aware of the fact he’s actively gripping the seat of the stool he’s awkwardly perched on with his middle fingers slightly elevated as to not crumble the seat beneath him- you’d feel sorry for him if you weren’t so dazed.

You pull back and pant, not just from the heat this time- you slowly, tentatively get up from your rather uncomfortable seat and motion jerkily with your head in the distance of the hall that leads to Shigaraki’s bedroom.

His eyes, what little you can see of them anyway, widen in shock under his fringe as he stands to his feet like he’s unsure of what’s actually happening. You walk slowly and deliberately towards the door to his bedroom, hoping he’s following and hasn’t collapsed from heat exhaustion in the middle of the bar.

He hasn’t, luckily- in fact he’s stood directly behind you, breathing shakily down your neck like he isn’t sure what to do with himself as he tentatively clears his throat when you start speaking.

“Um, you know why I’m in here, right?”

He nods awkwardly.

“It’s ’cause I wanna have sex with you, if that’s- if that’s okay?” You cringe internally at yourself.

A bead of sweat runs down the back of your neck.

Exactly 15 minutes later, you’re on top of him, panting as your hands roam his chest. His hands are tied above his head to the headboard- his idea, he said he didn’t want to decay the first person he ever had sex with. You’re his first- he’s a virgin, you think when you look down at his face as he lets out a choked whimper when you roll your hips on his cock. A thin, crystalline line of teardrops bead in his waterline when you lean down to suck and mark at his prominent collarbone.

He’s so pretty.

You want to see him crying.

You keep going, keep bouncing your hips onto him even when he tugs at the restraints and arches his spine up towards you. You grin against his collarbone when he moans your name; he sounds wrecked, but he doesn’t protest when you kiss him again. When you pull back, there’s a thin strand of saliva connecting you both. He gazes at your tits when you lean backwards to bounce your hips up and down, up and down-

You reach a hand down to rub at your neglected, puffy clit and moan unabashedly into the heated air. You think it pushes him over the edge as he cums into your pussy with a fractured whimper; hearing his resolve crack and shatter as the tears in his waterline spill over, dragging shiny trails down his cheeks is the hottest thing you think you’ve ever heard, and it has you cumming soon after him with a strangled cry of “To-Tomura!” As your pussy convulses along his length and practically milks him for all he’s worth.

You have the wherewithal to roll off of him, the mixture of your own slick and sweat slowly seeping out of you as you drag the condom you nabbed from your bottom drawer off of him. He shudders at the overstimulation as you lean down to lightly kiss his tip before sitting back up and panting as Tomura’s ceiling fan rattles back into action.

“Guess I should probably untie your hands, huh.”

“Yeah.” He croaks back.

🫧🌱