#and how simultaneously freeing and suffocating that can be

[lepetitchemin]

y’all i am so tired of incorrect interpretations

if i see one more person say that dancing with our hands tied is about bondage i’m going to kms

[ghoulsbounty]

Hi! I wanted to request a TH/fem reader and RZMM/fem reader

Maybe like a how would they show possessiveness over someone? A little angsty bc they're big guys and they would definitely manhandle their so in the heat of the moment

How Thomas Hewitt and RZ!Michael Myers Show Possessiveness Over You

Warnings: smut (18+), aggressive sex, slight mention of dumbification, manhandling, bruising/mark making, angst, obsession, stripping, stalking, slight yandere i guess?, possessiveness, canon-typical violence, control.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: Anon, thank you so much for my first slasher request! I love these boys so much and wanted to delve into their intentions behind their protectiveness a little, cause I think it would be very different for both. This is my first time writing a headcanon, I hope I've done you proud. I’d love to know what you all think to this, and feel free to send me more requests 💌

Thomas Hewitt

→ Thomas's struggle with social norms makes his possessiveness glaringly apparent. He perceives everyone outside the family as a potential threat to his happiness, particularly when it concerns you. His demeanour shifts abruptly at the slightest hint of danger; his typically measured movements become swift and aggressive. Despite his efforts to restrain his emotions in public, such as at the Cele Community Centre where you and his mother work, Thomas often finds himself instinctively drawn to your side. His hand firmly grasps the fabric of your shirt, his protective stance evident to anyone who dares to look at you. His gaze sweeps the surroundings with a discerning eye, meticulously assessing each customer until you gently remove his grip and convince him to wait in the back.

→ Thomas's overprotectiveness occasionally acts as a double-edged sword, simultaneously shielding you from harm while subtly restricting your freedom. As a man of few words, he struggles to articulate the depth of his need to keep you safe, resulting in actions that may be misinterpreted as possessiveness rather than genuine concern or fear of losing you. He means well, but it can feel suffocating.

→ Preferring to keep you within his line of sight whenever possible, Thomas's protective instincts often clash with the demands of daily life, leading to occasional conflicts with Charlie over the use of his time. The older man's frustration with what he perceives as your bad influence over Thomas' attention to his work further exacerbates tensions within the household. 

→ Certain areas of the house are off limits to you. The basement serves as a sanctuary for Thomas's work, and he is adamant that you are shielded from the horrors that happen inside. However, he still insists on your presence nearby, perched on the steps that lead down to the space or listening to the radio in the dining room upstairs. Your proximity seems to offer him a sense of security and focus, enabling him to delve into his his task with unwavering concentration and produce some of his best work.

→ Thomas finds solace in words of affirmation and constantly seeks reassurance from you. Despite the intimacy you share and the countless times you've assured him otherwise, he harbours an unshakeable fear that if he loosens his grip even for a moment, you might slip away from him. This nagging insecurity gnaws at him, overshadowing moments of connection, leaving him perpetually haunted by the possibility of losing you.

→ Physical gestures become one your languages of reassurance. You hold his hand tightly, intertwining your fingers as a silent promise that you're there for him. Running your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles into you becomes a comforting ritual, soothing both him and you. Your touch on his chest, just over his heart, keeps his anxieties at bay.

→ Words also become a source of comfort for Thomas. You express your pride in him, highlighting his strengths and the ways he makes your life better. You tell him how happy you are to have him by your side, emphasizing that he's not just your protector but also your partner. Sometimes, the simplest affirmations have the greatest impact on Thomas. Hearing you call him "yours" fills him with a sense of belonging and purpose, and when you tell him that he's been good, he can't help but prove just how good he can be by filling you with his fingers, tongue or cock.

→ Thomas feels most valued when you grant him your undivided attention and allow him to reciprocate. He revels in spending hours between your legs, skilfully coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your willing body until you're left a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. Despite his efforts to maintain control in your relationship, you always seem to hold the upper hand, which is why he finds solace in reducing you to a thoroughly fucked-out state on his bed. In those moments, with your mind blissfully empty and your body consumed by a primal hunger for his touch, he feels a sense of power and satisfaction unlike any other.

→ Despite this, the mounting tensions within the household, particularly with Charlie, often leave Thomas grappling with pent-up aggression. As the demands on his time intensify, with Charlie clamouring for more of Thomas's attention and you taking on additional shifts at the community centre to assist his mother, Thomas finds it increasingly challenging to maintain his composure.

→ You've become attuned to the subtle shifts in his demeanour, recognizing the tell-tale signs when he's received a stern tongue lashing from his uncle or had a particularly taxing session in the basement. Thomas' simmering rage begins to permeate his interactions with you. His touch, once tender and reassuring, now carries an undercurrent of tension. The few words he mutters in your presence are laced with frustration and discontent, rather than devotion.

→ Despite your best efforts to sooth him, there are moments when Thomas's volatile emotions threaten to overwhelm him. In those instances, you find yourself walking on eggshells, navigating the precarious balance between offering solace and inadvertently stoking the flames of his anger. You are never fearful of Thomas, but these are the times when you remove yourself from his presence when possible. That is, until you learn that the best way to calm him during these storms is with your body.

→ Thomas's heavy-handed nature becomes even more pronounced during these moments of heightened emotion. He handles you with a forcefulness that borders on brutality, moulding and contorting your body into painful positions that elicit tears of discomfort. While he typically refrains from spanking you unless requested, in these instances, his large hand comes crashing down upon your flesh with punishing force, leaving behind welts and bruises that you carry for days. Unlike his usual attentiveness to your pleasure, Thomas's focus shifts solely towards finding an outlet for his frustration, using your body as a means to an end in his quest for release. He bites, scratches, and fucks every inch of you with an almost desperate intensity, seeking solace in the physical connection between you.

→ Yet, there are fleeting moments of clarity when the clouds in his eyes dissipate, and the gentle giant you know and love re-emerges. It's in these moments of vulnerability that you offer him comfort, reassuring him that he can take what he needs from you, and that you will still love him.

→ After the intensity of the moment subsides, Thomas retreats into the solitude of the basement, locking himself away as a form of self-imposed punishment for his mistreatment of you. Despite your efforts to coax him out, reassuring him of your well-being and offering comfort, he remains secluded until he feels ready to face you once more. When Thomas finally does emerge, you're quick to envelop him in the warmth of your affection and reassurance. With a soft kiss to his leather-clad cheek, you convey your unwavering support and understanding, letting him know that you harbour no resentment towards him.

→ In the aftermath of the encounter, Thomas's protective instincts kick into overdrive as he tends to any wounds that adorn your body, his touch gentle yet purposeful. It's in these moments that his true nature shines through—he may be heavy-handed and prone to bouts of aggression, but above all else, he possesses a deep-seated desire to care for and protect you, to make amends for any harm he may have caused.

RZ!Michael Myers

→ Michael's possessive nature over you begins with an intense and inexplicable fixation. From the moment his eyes land on you, something primal within him snaps, and he becomes singularly obsessed with making you his own.

→ He can't quite explain what draws him to the Red Rabbit Lounge that evening, but as he leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath after a harrowing escape from Smith's Grove, he is immediately captivated when you emerge from the back door. Unlike others who shrink away from him in fear, you meet his gaze with a calm demeanour, lighting your cigarette and casually pointing out his papier-mâché mask. Your nonchalant remark about liking the orange because it reminds you of your favourite holiday only adds to the intrigue, sparking something deep within Michael's psyche.

→ Following that initial encounter, Michael becomes an omnipresent presence in your life, a shadow that lingers at the edges of your awareness. You sense him in the periphery of your vision, catch glimpses of his shadow darting past windows, and hear the faintest rustle of his breath in the stillness of the night. He becomes your unseen companion, meticulously observing your every move. He studies your routines and habits, committing them to memory with an almost obsessive attention to detail. Always one step ahead, he waits patiently until the opportune moment presents itself to make his presence truly known.

→ Michael finds immense pleasure in the exhilarating pursuit of you, convinced that you share in his enjoyment of the chase. He keenly observes the subtle signs of your awareness, noticing the wry smirk that graces your lips when you sense his presence nearby. In those moments, he imagines feeling the same giddiness that surges through you when he lightly brushes your hair, a fleeting touch that leaves you yearning for more, even as it vanishes before you can turn around. The first time you called out to him, he battled against every instinct urging him to step out from the shadows and claim you as his own. Despite the overwhelming desire possess you, he restrains himself, savouring the anticipation of the inevitable moment when he would finally make his move.

→ In Michael's twisted psyche, you are more than just a person; you are a coveted prize that he will protect at all costs. He perceives himself as the sole rightful owner of your being, and he harbours an intense fixation on claiming you as his own.

→ As the regular patrons of the lounge mysteriously vanish one by one, leaving a bewildered community in their wake, Michael remains a silent observer, his gaze fixed unwaveringly upon you. He knows all too well the allure of your presence, the captivating dance you perform for these men, reminiscent of the performances his late mother once gave. Yet, while others may see you as an entertainer, Michael sees something far deeper—a connection, a possession, a symbol of his ultimate dominance that he must preserve.

→ From the shadows, he watches as you bare your body to these patrons. To Michael, it doesn't matter whether you are aware of his claim over you; what matters is that he sees you as his, and he will go to any lengths to ensure that no one dares to challenge him. In his mind, you are his alone, and he will stop at nothing to secure what he believes is rightfully his.

→ When Michael finally decides to collect his prize, it's in the eerie stillness of the night. He patiently waits in the shadows of your home, a silent sentinel standing rigidly in the corner of your bedroom as he observes your every move. You can feel his presence, an unspoken acknowledgment that he has come to stake his claim on his property.

→ As you undress, acutely aware of his watchful gaze, a shiver runs down your spine. There's a palpable tension in the air, a sense of anticipation mingled with apprehension. Yet, despite the unease that courses through you, there's also a strange allure, a primal instinct drawing you inexorably towards him. When you finally coax him from the shadows, he engulfs you in his arms with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The force of his embrace is suffocating, his touch demanding as he grasps and claws at every part of your body. In that moment, there's no denying the intensity of his desire, the need to make you his own consuming him entirely.

→ Michael is not gentle with you; he doesn't hold back his deep urges to possess you completely. He revels in your whimpers and the screams of his name as he stretches you open and takes what he deems rightfully his. His touch is rough, unyielding, as if trying to merge your bodies into one. Each movement is driven by a fierce need to mark you, to ensure you understand that you belong to him and no one else. Every night with Michael is filled with a mix of pain and pleasure. His eyes intense and unwavering, remain locked on you, drinking in every reaction, every cry. To him, this is the final step in owning you, the ultimate act of protecting what is his.

→  Removing the mask takes time. It's one evening, after the intensity of your shared orgasms have ebbed, and Michael lies heavy on top of you. Your fingers tentatively trace the edges of the white rubber mask, sensing his body tense beneath your touch. His hand instinctively reaches out, grasping your wrist to halt your movement, but your lips find solace in the warmth of his knuckles as you plant a gentle kiss, your breath whispering a desire to see him. For a fleeting moment, there's resistance, a hesitancy borne from years of concealing his true self, before he lets you unmask him. His long hair cascades over your face as the mask falls away, revealing the man beneath. In that vulnerable moment, you stroke his sweat-glistened cheek, your fingers tracing the contours of his features as you call him "handsome", perhaps the first time he's heard the word since his mother.

→ Despite Michael's disapproval of your continued work at the lounge, you are unwilling to relinquish your independence completely. He grumbles and fumes when things don't go his way, but deep down, he appreciates your defiance, feels a strange allure in your willingness to challenge him. Although his overly protective nature remains, he secretly enjoys the way you push back against his control, finding a strange sense of satisfaction in the game of give and take between you. A hand on his chest or a kiss along his strong jawline is all it takes for him to soften, his resolve melting under the warmth of your affection. You eventually compromise, only working certain shifts and allowing him to escort you home. As if you really have a choice on the matter. Michael finds your attempts at negotiation endearing.

→ If anyone dares to come between Michael and what is his, he reacts with violent outbursts of rage. His attacks are brutal and merciless, driven by a primal need to assert his dominance and protect you. Unfortunately, you are also not exempt from his aggression, and when he catches sight of you one night, engaged in conversation with a stranger outside the back of the lounge during your smoke break, he snaps. In a frenzy of fury, he swiftly disposes of the man, his actions marked by a sickening crunch of bones as his body is hurled against the brick wall. Then, turning his attention to you, Michael's muscles coil with tension and his chest heaves with barely-contained anger. Gripping your arms so fiercely that bruises bloom in their wake, he shoves you against the wall, once, then again, as if attempting to jolt some some sense into you.

→ With swift determination, Michael hoists you over his shoulder and retreats into the shadows, his purposeful strides carrying you home. But the journey doesn't lead to the bedroom; instead, he deposits you onto the stairs with a roughness that steals your breath. There, in the dim light, he strips away the remnants of your clothing, his actions forceful and unyielding. Again and again, he fucks into you with a ferocity that leaves you screaming his name, your pleas mingling with the echoes of both passion and pain. In those moments, as his protectiveness gives way to possession and consumes you, you find yourself uttering the words he craves to hear—that you are his, and his alone.

→ Yet, even amidst the ecstasy, a shadow of uncertainty looms. You can never be certain that Michael wouldn't cross that final line, that his compulsion wouldn't drive him to take everything from you, including your life. For Michael, protection is not just about control—it's about ownership to the point of obsession. If he can't have you, no one else can either.

[jinirat]

[ Dinner Can Wait ]

a smutty little Hyunjin x reader drabble.

You're in the kitchen, cooking dinner. You and Hyunjin haven't seen each other much, due to work schedules. There hasn't exactly been time to have a proper homecooked meal together in awhile, and you've decided to make things a bit... spicy, tonight.

He just got home, and is making his way towards you in the kitchen as you've already started preparing the food. He leaves his work clothes on, as he knows you always go crazy over how he looks after he gets home from a shift. Pristine white work shirt unbuttoned at the top, his belt off, his tie loosened... absolute perfection. You decided to wear one of his favorite dresses of yours as a little home greeting to make the night special.

"Dinner looks amazing baby, I'm absolutely ravenous, it's been such a long day… you're wearing that dress, huh? Gorgeous. Come here, I haven't held you since this morning."

He comes behind you to hold your body, as you stir the food on the stove. He sighs in relief. His hands roam over your hips on top of your dress.. and he realizes..

Your panties are missing.

He smirks and picks up on your intentions immediately, and chuckles quietly to himself. He knows exactly what you want him to do.

"You're a needy little slut, aren't you baby? You must've missed me pretty badly. I love when you try to play coy when you so obviously crave me. My beautiful girl. I've missed you."

He gently grabs the front of your neck and chokes you from behind, and tilts your head to the side, exposing your neck to him. He's quick to latch his lips onto your sensitive skin, placing slow and torturous open mouthed kisses. You give him full access, and his mouth moves close to your ear. He licks and nibbles on your earlobe, sending goosebumps over your flesh.

He whispers into your ear. "You know exactly what you want from me... You want to be ruined, don't you? Can't even wait until dinner's over. Cock hungry little baby wants to be fucked. Where'd those panties go, hmm? Answer me."

You decide to be a brat and refuse to answer him, and he tightens his grip on your throat. You smirk to yourself, getting the exact response you wanted, and you start to close your eyes, enjoying the sensation of his lips on your neck and his hand on your throat… until he startles you with an unexpected spank on your ass with his unoccupied hand.

"You think you're so tough when you don't answer me, brat. But brats always get punished. Did I tell you that you could close your eyes? No. Face forward. Eyes open. Don't let our food burn. Keep stirring. Our dinner needs to be delicious, doesn't it? You need to pay attention, sweetheart. Wouldn't want our meal to go to waste. Are you gonna behave and do as I say? You want to be fucked, don't you? Good girls who get what they want have to listen."

You whine in protest, but begrudgingly nod at his demand, and he releases your throat. He unbuttons his pants and yanks them down, shoving his briefs simultaneously. His heavy, already hard and throbbing warm cock smacks against your ass as it springs free from its suffocating confinement. He flips the back of your dress up past your hips, grabs your thighs, and forces your legs to spread slightly apart for him. He impatiently aligns himself with your entrance, your pussy aching and drenched with arousal. You arch your ass back on him, your face and eyes held forward, attempting to concentrate on the food to make sure you do as he says and play along with his little power trip game.

You do want to be fucked, after all. That was the whole point of wearing no panties. He outwitted you, though. You have to play along with his impossible rules of focusing on the cooking. You just wanted to be fucked dumb as soon as he got home, but of course, he has to challenge you.

Hyunjin is usually a man of foreplay and teasing, as his favorite hobby is making you writhe and beg for what you want in your frequent love making. His dirty talk is unmatched. He loves dominating you and forcing your bratty ass to be compliant. He loves the challenge of taming you. You love watching him get riled up when you mouth off to him. He loves torturing you with his touch, his prowess of your body and your pleasure making you succumb to him far more quickly than you'd like. You always try to hold out, to resist his ministrations as long as possible, but all efforts are proven futile against this sex demi-god of a man. He loves when you finally give in to him. His lips are the most luscious when they're moving against your own. His tongue is pure sin between your legs. His beautifully long, elegant fingers a thing of incoherent ecstacy when they're inside of you. Making you cum over and over. He sadistically loves to draw out your need to be filled with him as long as possible, watching tears of desperation pool in your eyes from how mad he drives you... until he finally caves in to his own desires, and fucks you dumb and dizzy on his cock.

No unbearable build up tonight, though. He's wired. It seems as though your overt "forgotten panties" trick drove him to primal desires, no longer caring about foreplay. The idea of implied free use of your pussy driving him completely mad.

"You're doing so good for me, obeying me just like I wanted. You must be desperate for me to fill you up, brat. You're never usually this compliant. I'm a man of my word. Hold on to the counter, pretty baby."

You barely have a chance to grab the lip of the countertop. A strangled gasp escapes you as you feel him swiftly enter you, stretching you and filling you completely without any warning. He bottoms out quickly inside of you, a throaty, sinful moan escaping his lips as he begins to set a quickened pace of shallow thrusts. He's hitting that deep spot he knows you both go crazy for.

"Fuck baby." He hisses under his breath, his voice full of desire. "You've been ready for me for awhile, huh? I can tell, you're so warm and wet for me. That's my good girl. Always so ready for me. You feel so fucking good… Bend over all the way."

He's pushing your head down, a fist full of your hair gently held in his grip. You do as he says, and you lower your body more to angle yourself better for him to take you against the counter. 

 "That's it, my little cock whore, fuck. Tell me who you belong to, babygirl."

You whimper that you belong to him, and he chuckles darkly. His thrusts increase in speed, and you try your best to grip the countertop for support. Moans and whines are spilling out of you as he's relentlessly pounding your walls. Your eyes flutter closed and your head starts to lean back to give into the pleasure. He immediately notices and yanks your hair in his fist, and his other hand spanks you as a warning.

"What did I tell you, beautiful? You can't be fucked out this early, princess. I'm nowhere near done with you. Keep focused on making our delicious meal. Eyes forward. Concentrate. If you stop, I stop. I can do this for as looooong as I want. Your body is all fucking mine. You just have to play by the rules. You're mine to completely devour tonight. This pussy belongs to me. And daddy is starving."

[whorediaries-09]

take another drag;

pairing- dealer!sirius black x reader warning(s)- 18+ content, usage of drugs. a/n- this is for my kinkotober event. dealer sirius has me on a chokehold 😵‍💫

ps- here's the inspo whores. thank me later. my man can slut me out anyday.

kink- choking (number 12)

the slut club kinkotober rules kinkotober masterlist

turn me to ashes'

'i'll give you your money!' you screams are muffled by a thud as he pushes you against the wall, his hand enclosing around your chin. he tilts your head at an angle, making you look up at his dark gray eyes. his touch, so hot on your skin restricts any sane thought and you're thinking how you'd look underneath him, as he fucked you senseless.

but it's the chase he goes for. so you don't give in. so a grimaced feature sits atop your face instead.

'yeah sure,' he drawls. 'you're a little screwy. can't even afford your rent and you're out here smoking my shit.'

'sirius, i'll do anything if you postponed the payment,' you say, desperation sown into your voice. oh and you would. sirius considers your words for a moment, his hot breath fanning over your face. the ends of his choppy hair tickle your face, and you feel him pushing his hips against your torso.

'what gives you the idea i came here without the intention of making you do anything?' he whispers. his tongue rolls over your face without touching it, as he hardens the strength of his hand around your jaw. his free hand trails over the fabric of your trousers.

and he's pulling down your pants, tearing off your shirt.

'fuck,' you whimper, as he unbuckles his belt, the metal striking against the floor of your apartment with a clank. your breathing shudders, and he wraps your legs around his waist. his erections sits underneath your pussy folds so warm, so close yet so far. he grits his teeth, pushing himself in you so fast, and you think it knocks out the breath you had left in your lungs.

it's a fast, burning yet delicious stretch and you think it makes you loose the strength of your knees. you bite your lip and he's enclosing his hand around your throat, his hips rutting into yours, profanities and his name falling off your lips like a chant. he's breathing heavy into your ears, and the oxygen flow is cut off to your brain.

he's relentless, scandalous while he abuses your pussy for all the times you hadn't paid him. your eyes roll backwards with each thrust, his cock hitting your spot perfectly. it's a rhythm and a roll his hips, along with the force of his hand against your neck that makes you loose your decency and you're begging for him.

'sirius please,' he muffles his growl against your hair, destroying in the name of exploring your guts, and you're letting out breathy moans with the furious orgasm that coils within you.

'beg, beg for my cock,' he croons, and your back scratches against wall he holds you against.

'please, please-sirius-shit...' you moan. you feel dizzy, and your orgasm so on the edge consumes you from within and you babble incoherent words. he laughs, and there's a cruel mirth behind his voice.

your pussy walls, flutter around his cock, and he pounds into you, rocks into you and with each thrust, your slickness welcomes him, and it consumes you and him both. your clit rubs deliciously on his torso and simultaneously, his cock hits your sweet spot. your throat rips out a fetishized moan and you're breaking apart on his cock, while he's chasing his own release. your orgasm clutches his cock so tight, he resents the force on your own throat, and menacingly you wonder how he's not suffocated you to death yet.

'st-stop-' you beg, but he doesn't acknowledge you. he's chasing his own release, and the way you grip him drives him into a high of insanity.

'oh? is this too much for this poor cunt?' he mocks-and before the either of you know it, he's painting the walls of your abused cunt with his cum. it's filthy, his cum dripping onto the floor of your apartment from your used hole. you unwrap your shaking legs from his waist, and he lets go off your throat. you cough and splutter, taking in heavy breaths as he makes you kneel on the floor. he sits beside you, holding your hair while you struggle with your breathes.

he whispers in your ear, his finger still messing with your stimulated clit.

'take another drag, and i'll turn you to fucking ashes.'

[en-la-casademiamor]

The body always remembers, right?

He physically beat his success story and there was seldom any mercy to be extended. By the time he accepted in his old age that he would never get a gold star for his attempts to erase blood and history, it was too late to undo any of it. But before he understood his own demise, and the unpredictable nature of my expressions, he beat me to act out, just how much he resented his mestizaje. He beat me because at any moment, like a babalu, I guess, I could come out of the closet? Or out from beneath the bed. He hated himself while idolizing the wealthy white women we'd see on 5th ave, while simultaneously, may I say, speaking highly of Malcolm X. The brother was confused? Or do you see, can you admit by now?-- that this is a schism caused by a very sick society.

He literally commented aloud, that time while on 5th, something about white women never having cellulite. As if cellulite and being white were two worlds that shan't/ever could meet, and I said, excuse me? And right there, at a red traffic light between 5th and Lex, we fought. I was driving and I was never having any of it again.

My dad's favorite movies were as follows: Ragtime (whew, this one) A soldier's story (close second) The sound of music The ox-bow incident A raisin in the sun Imitation of life (he was covertly banking on this one) Battle of Algiers all the Italian anti fascist movies Sophia Loren starred in The Nuremberg Trials The prisoner of second avenue Dr. Zhivago Hello Dolly (favorite scene with Louis Armstrong) and Singing in the rain, but more importantly West Side Story. These movies are all pieces of a puzzle; shards of a broken mirror.

Every admission spoken to me or exposed through the arts was an absolute act of revealing the hypocrisy, the anger, and the taboo he suffocated on. Every bruise I subsequently acquired because of this has been my hard fought salvation, but too, my ultimate reclamation. These old bruises never go away. I know a lot of people would like to hear otherwise and maybe for some they do (?) That's not my truth. My bruises are not on the surface~surface. They have sank but through the strata within, transformed into hidden soul welts I polish up and tend to with gentleness. In my work, I've sculpted my fathers abuse, and the one perpetrated against him by his mother, grandfather, by his culture, government, patriarchy, religion, and by global history itself, into hopefully, something that looks like generational healing. Generational healing takes courage and vigilance. Getting back to Malcolm X--Somewhere in him, he must've known that I would one day read Malcolm X, and that in doing so, my father's life would be completely laid out. Because I was obnoxiously rebellious, I would read Malcolm at the breakfast table each morning, while he ate his cereal. He behaved, unfazed. Almost pleased. As much as he despised me, because I honestly think he did, he had me tag along wherever he went, for a very long time, even as he aged; and because of this, I got to live out vicariously how cheaply this society regarded him; how utterly dangerous it was to be someone like him.

I've logically surmised that my father would attack me as a means to kill his perceived racial hex, his tragedy, his limitations, humiliations, emasculation, the struggle against poverty, the demons that seem to closely pursue those labeled, "other" wherever they go. In my writing this, leaving it as a testament so that it can be its own thing outside my head, I need to also stress that he physically abused me too, to show me, as if it were an act of charity, how and why "they" beat him; and how and why they could beat me. Wherever you go, he would hammer in, you are not safe.

There is a legitimate price to pay if you want to be free, and free ain't ever free. It really is not. You have to literally claim it, take freedom into your chest and mark some boundaries. Sometimes all this looks like someone taking up space while out in public; and sometimes, when needed, that looks like someone baring teeth from feelings of indignation. I'm not a black woman, but I've paid an unforgettable price for the violent racial erasure that was played out through/against my body; and it's important for you to know reader, if you truly want to understand this sort of stuff, you can't turn away from these experiences. There are millions of us, carrying history like this as if it were a stillborn lodged between our hearts and our genitals. Knowing history does not diminish us. Think of it in terms of domestic abuse or any other kind of abuse. To heal from it, we must face it. A well spring of genuine love for humanity comes from doing this, I promise you. Nina Simone famously said, I'll tell you what freedom is to me: no fear! And that's what I want for us all. Forever and ever, until the end of time.

[slavdollz4mangione]

Okay your last set of head canons really brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for writing it, and thank you to the anon who came up with the idea.

I know we know absolutely nothing about his family situation, and objectively they probably tried their best to give him a happy fulfilling life (and still are helping him in every way they can)

But a part of me wonders if there’s an unintentional kernel of truth to what you wrote. Maybe *he* felt that way, considering how desperately he was running from his past. Even if his family didn’t mean to suffocate him, maybe they accidentally did. I don’t know.

More than anything that happened in December, I really want to know what happened to him before (and simultaneously feel like a vulture for wanting to know). What trauma could this nice happy Catholic Italian family have inflicted on him that he felt the need to run so far? Cut them off completely? It can’t just be about the family business right?

I also feel sad because he broke away from everyone he knew so he could start over, have a shot at real freedom. And now he’s in a cage, financially beholden to the same people he was trying to escape. I know they’re his parents and love him, but I wonder how he’ll feel about having gone to such lengths to break away only to have them bail him out again. It’s one of the reasons I’m praying the fundraiser can cover majority of the costs. It would be a shame if he’s back under the same family control he tried so hard to escape if he’s set free.

For someone who valued his autonomy so much, he’s had every inch of it snatched away from him now. Seeing those shackles on him makes me so sad. They feel ominous somehow, like a mockery of the life he wanted to live. It’s like watching an angel get dragged to hell.

I don’t know this man, and to be honest I don’t even know men *like* this man. He’s not my father or brother or son or friend or lover, and yet I find my stomach in a constant state of discomfort because of what he’s going through. It’s like neverending static in my body now. Even if he walks away a free man this very minute, there’s something irreversible about the trauma he has gone through.

I look at him and think, I could have loved this person, if only I had known him. I think a lot of us are so invested in what happens to him because we might not know him but we recognise some innate goodness in him, and we can’t help but mourn for that lost innocence. I just want him to escape this circus and disappear and have life compensate him a million times over for everything that’s been taken from him.

Sorry for the trauma dumping in your inbox. I think you’re very kind (we’ve spoken through your asks before) and I really want to thank you for listening and responding. Have a nice day ♥️

hi angel!

first of all don’t apologize for your ask, i love having conversations with you all, no matter what the subject is or how heavy the topic might be <3

i’m SO so happy you enjoyed my hc :,) i’m not gonna lie, i had a hard time starting it because i didn’t want to project on lu and really wanted to keep it as respectful as i could. that’s why it took me so long to post it (i’m sorry to my lovely anon who requested it and again thank you so so much for being so patient <333)

with that being said, i understand what you mean, i can’t say i haven’t thought of it myself.. like i said i’m sure lu loves his family and they love him just as much, and i’m more than sure they’re doing everything they can to support their son, no matter what conspiracy theories people might be throwing online; but surely it couldn’t have been all sunshine and rainbows if he felt the need to run away without a trace and be missing for months without contacting his relatives.

i remember reading something about his mother being very overbearing but i can’t remember where or how valid the source of that statement was so i brushed it off.

i think lu is the type of person who goes out of his way to always be of help and assistance to the people around him, i feel like that’s one of the ways he expresses his love.

i don’t want to say he might’ve been a people pleaser but i see myself in him a lot and i’ve been described as one so.. and at one point, it truly gets too much, you feel like you keep on giving and giving without receiving the same kind of support in return and it makes you question yourself like “am i not worthy enough of the same kind of love and support back?” even if you’re of course not doing those things waiting for something in return!

he might’ve been going through a lot mentally (and physically obviously with his back issues) that it just made him snap one day and he felt the need to start over or he’d never break out of that cycle, be there for everyone around me while i feel stuck in this constant suffocating feeling type of way.

i hope people keep donating even if we reach our donation goal, donate for his commission, donate on new funds that might be started later, keep sending him letters to let him know he’s not alone. i truly do hope he finally gets to feel like he’s not on his own, that whatever burden and trauma he might’ve been carrying with himself for years doesn’t have to be dealt with alone anymore, and most importantly, when he’s found non guilty on all charges and gets his freedom again, that he can live the life he’s always wished to live; no family or friendship expectations, no more feeling suffocated by his surroundings, just him taking all the time in the world it’s gonna need for him to not only heal from the unresolved trauma he might be carrying but also from the ptsd his arrest and everything that came with it is gonna give him, what he’s going through will never leave him and i wish i could take it all away for him i really do.

luigi is the type of man and person in general we won’t find again for another 50+ years, he’s so so special and i don’t even think he realizes how much. i remember saying this in a ask i answered once but, when i first saw his face i felt my heart drop to my stomach; i felt like i couldn’t breathe for a moment because he looked so familiar to me even tho prior to that perp walk video i had no idea he even existed. and i know how crazy i might sound for some and people might call this unhealthy parasocial behavior or whatever but i truly feel like in another life, i knew him; i’ve never felt this strongly connected to a person before without being able to explain it.

in the end, all i know is that i truly believe from the bottom of my heart that he’s innocent, and i pray and pray and hope to god, to the universe, he gets released a free man, and that he finally gets to be who he is deep down in his heart, and lives the rest of his life the way he’s always dreamed of.

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 17)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut

Words: 1,566

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

As you left the doctor's office, the walls seemed to close in around you. The secrets you carried were becoming heavier by the second, threatening to suffocate your very existence.

With a deep breath, you made your way to Robert’s office again, determined to confront Robert about the situation. He had to know what lay ahead, hearing it from you rather than the doctor and this, itself made you worry.

Arriving at the outside of the small building, the secrecy that had shrouded your affair began to dissipate with every step closer to the door and since Robert saw you walking towards the building which once used to be a school, a gleam of curiosity became visible to you in his eyes.

“What did the doctor say?” was the first thing he asked after his office door closed behind you, and you mustered the strength to meet his gaze.

You gestured for him to sit, and with a heavy heart, you sat opposite him, fumbling with your trembling hands.

"The doctor suspects I might be pregnant, Robert," you told him as shock rippled across his face, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Pregnant? But...how is that possible?” he asked, causing you to laugh and cry simultaneously.

“Are you really asking me that?” you asked with tears welling in your eyes, and Robert leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I never expected... I mean, I always knew the possibility was there, but..." he stammered before asking you about your plans for the future. "What do you want to do?" he asked, and, of course, this was a fair question for him to ask.

You sighed, your heart heavy with the weight of the decision. "Robert, as much as I love you, I can't jeopardise my dreams for this child. I can't have a baby. Not now, not like this. Not here and not while you are married to another woman," you told him, and his eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of pain and understanding.

“I can leave Katherine,” he told you, and tears cascaded down your cheeks as you spoke the words you never thought you would utter.

“And then I become just like her?” you gasped. “Married to you because you took pity on me, and it was the right thing to do because you knocked me up?” you asked, and, at that moment, you saw the flicker of devastation in his eyes, a pang of guilt striking your heart. But you couldn't let it deter you. This was your choice, your life, and you had to be true to yourself.

“It would not be like that, Y/N. I already told you that I love you,” Robert said before telling you again that his feelings for you were much more potent than those he had ever harboured for his wife.

“I want to have a career, Robert,” you told him, crying.

“And you can have a career. We will make it work. Despite this, abortion is illegal. It is a dangerous procedure so I won’t allow it,” Robert then said, snapping at you, his voice laced with pain.

“It’s not your choice to make, Robert. It’s mine. It’s my body,” you told him, and he reflected on the time Kitty told him that she was pregnant, not wanting an abortion at her age after he had suggested it.

“No, it’s my choice too. You are carrying my child, which, by this point in time, may already have a heartbeat,” Robert told you, and, with that, the room fell into silence, broken only by the heavy weight of the decision that hung between you. The once-bright future of your affair seemed to dim, swallowed by the harsh reality of the choices you had to make.

The room span as his words sank in, the anguish of the decision tearing at your heart. Should you sacrifice your career and the child's chance at a stable family?

"Robert, it's not that simple," you managed to say, your voice trembling. "This baby is not something I was prepared for. It could change everything,” you told him as his eyes never left yours, filled with a steadfast resolve.

"And I'm willing to risk everything for you and our child, if you will have me,” Robert told you as emotions surged within you, a whirlwind of joy and uncertainty. The allure of a life with Robert pulled at your heart, yet the fear of losing yourself and your dreams reigned heavy.

"I need time to think," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. "This decision is not one I can make lightly," you told Robert, and Robert nodded, his gaze filled with understanding.

"Take all the time you need, my love,” he told you, and with a heavy heart, you left Robert's office, the weight of your decision hanging over you like a shadow for days until you saw him in his office again, telling him that you needed to talk.

By that point, you had your pregnancy confirmed via the necessary tests and concluded that you would keep Robert’s child provided that he leaves his wife for you, following the conclusion of the project which you both considered to be most important.

“I would have done that anyway, and you know that. But, considering the circumstances, waiting until we have the gadget may not be an option. If the doctor is right in his assumption and you are indeed pregnant, then you will show soon, and there are rumours about us already. Kitty knows about us, and she will not take kindly to the news of your pregnancy,” Robert explained shortly after you informed him of your decision.

“So, what will you do?” you asked him worryingly as he caressed your face gently, but he did not have an answer.

“That I do not know yet. But what I know is that I want to be a part of our child’s life, so I will have to figure something out,” Robert told you reassuringly before making the somewhat harsh decision to pull you of the plutonium research team.

“Robert, no!” you told him angrily and again, he cupped your face, this time using both of his hands.

“You know very well that this is a necessary precaution. I will put you on design. You will work with me and Hans Bethe. This way, I can keep an eye on you,” Robert said, his piercing blue eyes searching for your agreeance.

“Fine,” you eventually gave up, knowing yourself that he was right and, in the end, you also knew that this was a stepping stone for you. You were part of the inner circle now and this was something exciting for you.

***

Your excitement, however, was short-lived when, at around 10 o’clock that evening, Kitty Oppenheimer made her way to your lodging and stormed into your room, her eyes burning with anger. You immediately felt a gust of tension fill the air as if the atmosphere was holding its breath.

She clenched her trembling fists, her voice dripping with venom. "I know about the pregnancy. Robert did not tell me, but his secretary did. She’s got good ears,” she hissed, her words laced with accusation.

You froze, feeling a mixture of fear and defiance coursing through your veins. You knew instantly that secrets had a way of escaping, and this one had just blown wide open.

Kitty's gaze burned into you, challenging you to deny her claims. But there was no denying it, not when the evidence was growing inside you.

Slowly, she reached into her bag, her hand emerging with a small container. Without a word, she placed it on the table and pushed it towards you.

"These will make the problem go away," Kitty said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Take them, or I'll make sure your career here is over before it even started,” she threatened you.

The weight of her words hit you like a ton of bricks. You had worked so hard to prove yourself in the scientific community, and now it was all at risk.

You glanced at the tablets, a surge of conflicting emotions swelling within you. But deep down, you knew you couldn't sacrifice the life growing inside you.

Taking a deep breath, you summoned the strength to look Kitty in the eye, your voice trembling yet steady. "Screw you, Kitty”, you spat and Kitty's eyes narrowed as she absorbed your defiant stance, her anger only growing.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into," she spat, her voice shaking with suppressed rage.

Then, Kitty's face twisted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Robert would not want this," she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. "He would want you to get rid of it!"

"I doubt that, Kitty," you countered, your voice cracking as you fought back tears. "He understands the significance of this life, of our love, and he wants to leave you. He told me so yourself," you told her in anguish, which is when Kitty's fist slammed down on the table, causing the small vial of tablets to topple and roll away.

“You are nothing but a whore, and I will ensure that, come next week, you will disappear from Los Alamos and our lives,” Kitty spat before you watched her retreating figure, a mixture of relief and sadness swirling within you. The road ahead would not be easy, but neither of you were willing to back down.

As the door closed behind her, you slumped into your chair, the weight of the world pressing down upon you. This was only the beginning of a tumultuous journey that would test your strength and resilience.

[archduchessgortash]

The Dryads Love test with your OC

Zethino the Dryad asks you how well you know your love interest. But what would the answer be, if your love interest was asked?

Thanks for the tag, @michanvalentine !

Rules: Think of three answers with approval, disapproval, and explanation.

Tyrsa =)

Okay, so... Tyrsa romanced Astarion, but my redemption arc Gortash joined the party after the coronation in the universe into which I'm writing them. Astarion is very threatened by their past and wants to prove he knows Tyrsa better, so this is definitely his idea, but Gortash is perfectly happy to prove him wrong. Thus, I'm adding a fourth, Gortash-only answer to each question.

(FYI: This is my Gortash from his redemption arc, so he is NOT going to talk like canon-Gortash. Five+ years of AITA Anonymous have had a measurable and therapeutic effect on him. See: more well-adjusted adult, less petty bitch.)

Zethino: The heart is fraught, so let us begin with the joyous. When is your OC happiest?

When she's playing an instrument, lost in the ebb and flow of song, and she thinks that no one is watching. +2

This definitely makes her happy, and both of her partners could easily answer it correctly. Tyrsa loves to perform for others, but the joy of being inside the music with only her own thoughts and feelings is rare bliss.

When the ecstasy of murder is upon her, the abject joy of pure annihilation thrumming through her veins. -4

What Bhaal sends her is tainted. No matter how high the high, the comedown is always a motherfucker. She cannot help the agonizing guilt it brings. Her true nature is to reject him, and she's known it for so long that his supposed 'better than sex' killing joy now causes instant, simultaneous nausea. Even amnesia couldn't erase how it disgusts her.

When she's enjoying a good meal on a peaceful evening after a day of hard work, surrounded by her loved-ones, both humanoid and animal. +3

Simple pleasures truly are Tyrsa's greatest joys, but neither of her partners have had more than a few opportunities to see her in these circumstances.

[Gortash only] This is a trick question. She can find a positively unreasonable amount of joy in almost anything. The more mundane it is, the more it tickles her when she can find the beauty in it... and share it with someone else. +4

This man definitely knows her.

Zethino: Many things delight the heart, but only one makes it sing. Tell me, what does your OC desire most?

Me. +2

If Tyrsa is with someone, they are obviously at the top of her desires list, but this isn't the best answer, of course.

To rule Toril with an equal, or equals by her side. -4

A literal nightmare she has actually had. No ascension for ANYONE!

To live a life without the interference of gods. +3

Tyrsa is so sick of the way gods use, mistreat and abandon mortals. Even the 'good' gods don't care enough, in her view. She'd tell them all to kick rocks if she could.

[Gortash only] Freedom. For herself, certainly, but if she had to choose, she would accept the cruelest chains for herself - if it was the price for breaking those worn by the ones she loves the most. +4

Like I said, he knows her. He also knows that candor is infinitely more valuable to her than courtesy. She's a firm believer that the truth sets us free. A lie from a loved one is a restraint that she will not tolerate.

Zethino: Fear sits in the soul of all - to tame it, we must name it. What is your OC's deepest fear?

A cage with no windows. +1

Tyrsa is claustrophobic. It's partly a remnant from being trapped in the pod for months, conscious, in the mind flayer colony, but it's also psychological. Her Urge has moments of extreme intensity, its needs almost suffocating her. Like every Durge, she blacks out when it takes her over. The fear that this time, she may not wake up, is omnipresent, lurking at the back of her mind.

Her father. -2

There's truth in this answer, certainly, but Tyrsa loathes Bhaal more than she fears him. He doesn't get the top spot in anything. And, yes, it is purely spite that has her refuse him even the title of most feared.

That we will lose this fight, and all will fall under the yoke of the Illithid Grand Design. +2

Bards are well-read. Thus, Tyrsa knows exactly how dangerous an elder brain as powerful as the Absolute is to the entirety of the cosmos. The consequences of failure would be disastrous.

[Gortash only] This question... is shit. Fear is ever-evolving. Once, her greatest fear was that she might fail to stop her father from using her to end all life on Toril. Then, it was any life lived without me in it. However, as long as I've known her, a deeper dread has lurked in her, one she now has no choice but make into reality herself: to wield the blade that ends her sister's life. +4

Tyrsa has never truly wanted to hurt Orin, no matter how much Orin wanted to hurt her, though circumstances arranged by Sarevok often forced her to do so anyway. Even after everything she's done, she will still try to save her.

Tags sans pressure: @rinwellisathing , @slayerdurge , @astarioffsimpmain , @defira85 , @elinorbard

[pearlypairings]

I wish you’d write a fic where Trip finds out T’Pol is ticklish

your wish is my command! so much so, that I also posted this ficlet on ao3 as my first ever fic for Enterprise<3

trip x t'pol || fluff, humor, banter || ~1k wc

“You know, when I got the pitch to join Starfleet, I was promised unimaginable adventure, opportunity for technological innovation, a chance to advance mankind in the unchartered territory of space,” Trip lamented, shimmying his upper body to lay flat on his back. “No one mentioned the hours I’d spend trapped in a cargo box with our First Officer.”

T’Pol did not budge; she laid extremely still. In fact, if Trip’s eyes hadn’t adjusted from the past few hours of being held here in the pitch black, he would have been more concerned she’d passed out or fell into some weird Vulcan stasis. But he could see her chest inflate and shrink ever so slightly with what could be made out in the darkness of their snug crate.

They had been sent on an exploration mission for discreet observation only, no contact allowed with the vulnerable, primitive species on the newly discovered M-class Planet. But when their transport had been unintentionally found by the native humanoid species during a windstorm, they’d set it aflame along with most of their medical and survival supplies. Their comms were able to reach the Enterprise, but the transporter pads had already been halted for routine maintenance and would take hours to be put back online.

Instructed to hide safely away from the paranoid populace, Trip and T’pol followed orders and snuck into a storage lot, quickly picking an inconspicuous box to stow away in when the lot was inundated by workers. They had to wait inside, even after the area mostly cleared for midday meals, until their transporter pads or a rescue team would be dispatched. Armed with only phase pistols and communicators, they were hardly enjoying the hours cramped together without any breaks or provisions.

Trip tried to stretch his neck out, but the top of his head met resistance with the scrap wood surrounding them. A bead of disappointed sweat slipped down his spine. He sighed.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were dead. Anybody home?”

She stirred, just a little, near his left side. Her voice kept unusually quiet despite how close they were to each other.

“I would not call this a ‘home,’ Commander Tucker. I also find our predicament exceedingly unpleasant and am trying to meditate until we are free to return to Enterprise.”

“Meditate? Is that all you Vulcans do, meditate? Can you meditate this box to be bigger—because my legs….even my arms….are killin’ me.” Trip said with biting sarcasm, gradually uncurling his elbows maneuvering within the confines of their temporary prison.

“Vulcans do meditate regularly to control our emotions. Something you would likely greatly benefit from, it seems.” T’pol said coolly. “Here, allow me to move so you can have more space for your limbs and your untempered feelings.”

As the slender Vulcan acquiesced to her side allowing him to press his hands out and down, something peculiar happened. His fingers grazed T’pol’s side with the motion—they’d both moved simultaneously, getting in each other’s way as a result. Despite the heat and humid climate, her suit was fairly dry and cooler than his palm, a relief actually from the suffocating heat. Trip could feel the gentle curve of her rib, and for a moment, he wondered if Vulcan women had the same number of ribs as the human counterpart.  His musing didn’t last long as his fingers found the dip of her waist and with it, a hard knee in his thigh and the galaxy’s tiniest squeak. Luckily, his pistol was hitched to his other side, outside of where T’pol could flinch into him.

“Commander, please remove your hand—” T’pol pressed out, squirming uncomfortably and still deeply puncturing his leg with her knee. She sucked in a deep breath. “My side is….sensitive. I am afraid I will hurt you or worse, ruin the mission by being located.”

His hand retreated with the bend of his elbow, letting the rough surface of the wood scratch at his skin. Trip’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you tellin’ me you’re ticklish?”

Her pinned effort to drill a hole into his leg relaxed with the absence of his stretch. T’pol shifted beside him to move onto her back once more, stiffening her arms across her chest.

“I am saying that sensation is extremely…discomforting.”

“I didn’t know Vulcans, with all their peace and control nonsense, could be tickled.” Trip said in awe. A chuckle tumbled out as he turned to face her and at the same time, allow more space for her.

“I assure you this is not typical.”

“Still, I’m keeping note of that for a later date.”

“Hmm,” she murmured. Even in the dark haze of their box, her profile looked pointed and pretty. There was no denying that.

“You know, I was thinkin’—”

Trip’s offer was cut off by the sound of his communicator's incoming signal beeping. Archer’s voice filled the hollow of their box.

“Commander Tucker, T’pol. We’re ready to extract you from the location designated by your communicators. Hold tight a little longer and we’ll have you back on board in no time.”

Trip clicked his receiver. “Message received, sir. Get the mess hall ready for us, ‘cause I’m starving.”

“I’ll turn that request into an order, Trip. See you sooner than later. Archer Out.”

T’pol turned back on her side, slowly this time to look at him. He could barely see the faint reflection of her eyes as she stared at him in the restored silence.

“If you make anyone aware on the Enterprise, Commander Tucker—” “Alright, alright. I know a threat when I hear one. I swear on my dear mother I won’t say a word to anyone else…..” He smirked. “For now. You’ll owe me one.”

[1000fiction]

Mercer had always been a hateful man, he had that toxic tendency of skipping over jealousy and jumping straight to hating those that had which he couldn't have. You were one such person, you had the guild wrapped around your finger within days of your initiation, and despite his best attempts to defame you, everyone seemed weak to your charms. Worse still, he was one of them. You had skill, and passion too, but you didn't follow rules like an obedient mutt. The focus you put on self-preservation reminded him of himself in his youth, he’d seen your greed outweigh your loyalty, and if he didn't see so much of himself, he too probably would have fallen for your lies the way the others had. 

The others truly were desperate to get the Guild back on its feet, weren't they? 

It was pitiful, watching the others dote and clutch at the scraps of attention you fed them, keeping them hanging by a thread. Not him, no. He’d hated the scraps, and so demanded more.

Which is how your relationship came to be, one full of bile, bitter and acrid. You could feel it in your throat along with his cock, the pre-seeping straight down your cullet. His fingers linked behind your head, pulling you flush and keeping you stuffed against his crotch, hidden dark beneath the desk. Your movements were sloppy and wet, the faint clicking from your saliva seemed to echo. He hated the sound, and you got blissfully quiet when he locked you in place, still.

He could almost imagine you suffocating down there on his cock.

He hated this, turmoil that gave him headaches and butterflies simultaneously. How he wanted to drown you and kiss you. How he wanted to humiliate you in front of everyone yet keep you all to himself. How he hated you.

How dare you waltz in, stir things up, take his cock so good, and still begin to unravel the secrets he’s spent so long weaving? His eyes glance over the numerous papers you’ve uncovered leading to Karliah's involvement - no doubt if you discover her you’ll find out all his dirty little secrets. And then you’d hate him too.

He doesn't have long to ponder why such a statement makes his heartache.

He blinks, refocusing as the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock brings him back to reality. You claw at his calves, and he realises you're still pressed against him. He unlocks his fingers, eyes turned downward as you pull yourself free. Water dribbles down your cheeks and spit down your chin, mouth agape, chest rising. He watches as you work your jaw back to life, stiffened and sore. 

And yet you still grin. It makes him growl, and snarl, his lips rising and baring a canine. The disgusted look suits his aged features beautifully. You can feel the hatred radiating off him, so you dive back in, sucking and swirling, taking him deep till he reaches his release. 

After all, he hates you a lot less when you're covered in his cum.

[blade-of-the-endless-paths]

what if we were both watchers but one of us was also a cipher and then we kissed. what then.

i did no more than the bare minimum proof reading. ta da.

The moment they are alone Lior collapses against him. Arms thrown around his waist and head pressing against the cooler metal of his breastplate. She leans her entire weight into him. Adaryc can do little but physically support her form. His hand smooths down her hair and back, softly as if he’s afraid to overstep her comfort.

“Lior?” he asks confused, they’ve embraced before but not like this, not this long. Her only response is to cling tighter.

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment, please,” she finally speaks, her voice was muffled but he could hear it shaking. For a moment Lior loses control of herself and her feelings bleed into Adaryc; fatigue, exasperation primarily, and something else simultaneously lighter and heavier than the others. Abruptly she mentally pulls back, leaving them both bereft. She relaxes, letting herself melt into his embrace.

Lior eventually pulls away from pressing herself flush against him. She misses the feeling of him already. The thought comes and goes, and her face blooms pink as her mind falters. Scrambling to reign in her mind before it decides to run wild and intrude upon his, breaking their gentle trust built over the years.

“Thank you for being here, for how much you’ve helped me,” Lior admits. Her smile is soft and gentle.

“Compared to what you’re doing Lior, standing around and waiting for your return is hardly helping,” Adaryc replies. He shifts slightly, arms still around her but more loose.

Her smile becomes wry at his deflection, “It helps me more than you know. Someone I can trust, caring for Vela? Someone I care about that isn’t following me on this fool’s errand? So please, just take the compliment.”

Before he can try to deflect or downplay again, she reaches as high up as she can and pecks him on the cheek. “I mean it. Don’t sell yourself short with this.”

He doesn’t argue, even if to her it looks like he might. The silence between them is contemplative, but not awkward. His hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing gently over her blushing skin. The other rests lightly on her waist. She can break free and run if she wants to with no resistance from him. She doesn’t, she won’t. Lior’s gaze dances across his face. It’s difficult to tell whose desire this is, how oppressive and suffocating it is. Hers? His? Both of theirs? She doesn’t know if it's her abilities as a cipher or their souls tangling again like when they first met. She does know that at this moment she wants him to kiss her, wants it bad enough it feels like a need.

Adaryc kisses her gently, a tenderness she seldom feels. She makes a small noise in surprise and her mind falls blank. She feels him pull from her. His eyes search for any discomfort, expression drawn. Lior’s hands rest on his shoulders, looking up at him through her lashes. She pulls him back towards her, their noses brushing against each other. Just a little further and she’ll have closed the distance again.

He leans back into her, and kisses her again. This time she’s prepared and responds with a fervor. Lior feels his hand cradle her head. Her hands find their way to his hair, threading into the short strands and pulling him closer. The kiss deepens easily as she follows his lead, surrendering to the sensation. Her mind spiking wildly, desperately torn between trying to reign it in to not bleed over into him and leaving him the impression of how he's making her feel. Her training wins out in the end and she wrangles herself in before intruding on him…too much. She must have pressed upon him somewhat from the groan he makes. She knows she’s not good at kissing, so it has to be.

Lior reluctantly untangles from him, between the need for air and the fact that the both of them have been gone long enough that others will start searching for them soon. She’s silent as she catches her breath. Her lips feel swollen and bruised, probably look like it too. She can only hope none of the nosier ones of them ask about it.

“Perhaps it’s foolish to hope so, but come back to me Lior,” he whispers.

“I can only promise to try.”

“Then that is all I ask for,” Adaryc sighs, “You should leave, before one of your companions thinks I’ve done something to you.”

She can only nod at that. It was for the best, she had things to do, people to piss off or save.

“Farewell Adaryc,” Lior says. She smiles at him, he returns it with a crooked one of his own.

[immobiliter]

Step by step was made into the ever compressing dimension. A place that demands understanding as a key to continue to Be. Another allocated height had been found, and with true Trailblazing grit Caelus had ensured the premise led to a plateau that's rarely exercised from an opponent, where the mere thought of their own vigor draws a smile to his lips. Despite the agony of knowledge as a price, he advances, his share of injury being slowly mended through Destruction's mastery. It was another boon learned by her merciless truth. To begin with, this was a challenge, a dance that allows for a sense of freedom to ignite from their starlit collision. The realm he walks, from the unseen ground, to the violet swirls of 'circuitry' couldn't be considered space no longer. Reality itself was unfolding, as the torrential downpour of Path Energy worked to heighten his mind, while simultaneously overloading it, and that in itself was unintentional. This was merely a byproduct of who laid at the core in this mirror realm. Once darkened halls began to brighten, the erratic crackles of cosmic electricity dulled from requiring his counter attacks.

Unlike before, where failure was his proof of effort, it'd be his resilient legs standing, his body stepping upon the footholds of a higher plane that tells of his triumph.

In that success? What he sees is a truth that is honest as it is beautiful, power that could suffocate countless if carelessly wielded. Yet, that golden flare of the Stellaron bloomed from his chest, blanketing his figure in rebellion as a sight that defies meets his vision.

A body that looked to be constantly redefining energy itself. Remnants of a familiar body hold true, tells that this was Herta in a way he knew her, but what settled before him in a few that began actively agitating his eyes. It was due to using human senses without the bolstering nature of Paths to align that uncanny valley. The very space felt indomitable as it was fragile, prompting him to instinctively clench at the Amber lance fixed in a steadfast grip. Right now, many could consider this a picture of hell, a certain death.

For Caelus? This was a truth that found itself alleviating, freeing. It was one more secret he adamantly worked to discover.

A frame of being he pushed her towards.

"Herta." His voice cuts through the thrumming nature of her very being, a signifying 'code' to capture her attention, one of her many cores of identity. "Having a mind that could basically replace the universe itself. Almost thought I saw a lil dust around here due to the lack of guests." As a torrent of wild flame began to blend with the gold, igniting an aura that was akin to a raindrop against an ocean, a stance finds itself taken as he found a center point within this realm a mirrors.

A way she can keep her power active and wisely contained.

Bruised, bloody, but never more alive, the Nameless intends to test the newest limits in a new dance with this Emanator. A familiar tension dances between them, a blend of excitement and the cruelly beautiful states of their power unleashed. Erudition; the very weight of not merely knowledge, but that innate human curiosity would be challenged with his own.

"Time we made ya feel a lil less cozy in that 'seat' of yours!" (Caelus to Herta! How about a lil flex of that grand cosmic power?)

       There were benefits to living in relative seclusion from the rest of the cosmos. No irritants, no nuisances, no interruptions from her incredibly important work. No naysayers to tell her that what she was working towards was futile and pointless. This is what she would tell anyone when asked, and this was of course a huge component of her decision to relocate to a mysterious clock tower at the edge of the universe.

       But there was another reason. One she was not so keen on divulging to others. A reason that did not make seclusion necessary, but helpful. The power of the Erudition was useful, enlightening, technically spectacular in almost every respect when in its rawest form... but it was also unforgiving. Droidhead, like any machine, did not care for morality, politics, civilisation, creative expression or indeed nuance. THEY only saw the cosmos in terms of the binary arithmetic that coded it, in the many calculations that it could use to extrapolate the data THEY gathered and continue to strive towards solving the unsolvable. Collateral damage was of no consideration to THEM. Much like the rest of the Aeons, all that mattered was THEIR will and reason for ascension in the first place.

       Mastery and control over that had always been paramount to Herta, and so her secluded tower at the far reaches of the known cosmos was the perfect playground within which she could test that limit. Test her control, test the parameters she used to keep Nous' power on her leash. Ensure that one wrong move didn't vaporise an entire floor of her space station — the potential paperwork and intervention from the IPC that would result was something she sorely wished to avoid ( or indeed burden poor Asta with ).

       Enter Caelus, stage left. He had asked for this, she would remind herself repeatedly. He had asked to play ball with the full and primal force of her Emanator-hood, had encouraged her to push the curious exploration of her own powers to a point that she had been hesitant to broach even when alone. Some part of her admired his tenacity in wishing to meet her head on like this, while another sorely wished to know whether he had been dropped on his head as a small child. Nevertheless, she had conceded to his insane request, and so, after the relevant preparation, an entire realm of her own making had opened up to the pair.

       A realm with Madam Herta as both the battery and conductor at the centre of this reality-bending maze of mirrors. In such a state of intense, meditative concentration, the wild energy that sustained this simulated space whipped up storm-like winds around her. In her mind's eye — the only one currently able to perceive anything at all — data and numbers and calculations flashed before her with all the pain of a searing hot iron against the spongy flesh of her brain. It hurt, yes, it consumed, of course — why shouldn't great power like this leave some sort of mark? — but she had learned to contend with that eons ago.

       Channelling Droidhead like this... she could see the building blocks of the universe, the mathematical underpinning that would allow her to create and destroy anything she pleased. This realm itself was a mere plaything, her toy to throw around and upend as her moods and whims ebbed and flowed, hence why the one who insisted on confronting it ( and her ) had already been faced with such an arduous challenge to simply get this far.

       But he had.

       Herta.

       Nowhere in her calculations before this had she considered the power in a voice, in a name spoken by someone familiar, able to reach into her cocooned self and anchor her back into the present. She heard him. The controlled realm of their experiment — and the destruction wrought here — swam back into her vision, and she looked over at Caelus, gaze fixing on his with a peculiar mix of both gratitude and relief.

       He spoke, and the deadpan challenge in his words further anchored her into reality. Herta was not herself enough yet to answer him with a sharp retort in turn, but the corners of her lips quirked upwards in amusement, the humanity slowly returning to those violet irises. “ Hm. ”

       Energy still crackled from her very being, ashen hair whipping up around her face as her boots came down to touch upon the same platform on which Caelus stood. Meanwhile, her precious mirrors gathered and began to circle the pair, a sign that this Emanator was readying herself to square off against her Trailblazing challenger. The rest of the maze disintegrated below them as her will shifted to their one-on-one arena alone

       Herta's instinct was to hold back, but she knew that he would have none of it. “ Go on, Caelus. Dethrone me, and send us back to where we came from. ”

       If Stephen were here, he'd surely remark that she looked every inch the final end-game boss of this domain.

@astrxlfinale

[gedeven]

Chase atlantic "Swim" explanation.

"Swim" by Chase Atlantic is a moody, atmospheric song that blends elements of R&B, pop, and alternative music, creating a dreamy yet intense vibe. The song's lyrics and mood evoke themes of escapism, drowning in emotions, and navigating the complexities of a relationship. Here's a deeper breakdown of the song:

Lyrics and Themes:

The central metaphor in "Swim" revolves around the concept of water, which is often used symbolically to represent emotional depth, the subconscious, or even danger. The act of swimming in the song could represent trying to stay afloat amid emotional turmoil or a toxic relationship. The lyrics talk about feeling overwhelmed and losing control, almost as if the protagonist is being pulled deeper into something they can't escape.

Escapism and Self-Destruction: The song explores the tension between wanting to escape from a difficult emotional or relational situation while simultaneously being drawn into it. The lyrics suggest the protagonist is struggling to break free from their feelings but also feels compelled to "swim" through the discomfort. The water represents both a sense of freedom and a risk of drowning, mirroring the push and pull of desire and fear.

The Emotional Undertow: There is a sense of being consumed by one's emotions or desires, which might be both intoxicating and suffocating. This "swimming" can symbolize being stuck in a cycle of self-destructive behavior or a toxic relationship that feels impossible to escape from, yet the protagonist is still enticed by it.

Tone and Production:

Musically, the song's production complements these themes of emotional drowning. The ethereal synths, laid-back yet ominous beats, and the heavy reverb create an immersive atmosphere that mirrors the feeling of sinking or floating in water. The haunting, almost hypnotic vocals from the band’s lead singer add to the dreamy but disorienting feel of the track.

The tempo and the way the beat drops throughout the song give it an almost trance-like quality, suggesting that the protagonist is submerged in the relationship or situation, unable to break free, yet compelled to stay. The track’s steady beat can evoke a sense of being stuck in the cycle of emotional overwhelm.

Interpretation of Key Phrases:

"I'm just tryna keep my head above water" – This phrase could represent the struggle to stay emotionally stable while dealing with a turbulent relationship or internal conflict.

"Swim" – The idea of swimming may symbolize the protagonist's attempt to navigate through emotional waters, where they are caught between sinking and staying afloat. It can also hint at the idea of being pulled into something dangerous, but continuing anyway.

Overall Meaning:

"Swim" reflects the internal conflict of being pulled in two directions—wanting to escape but also feeling drawn to the situation or person despite the emotional toll it takes. The water serves as a metaphor for both a sense of calm or a refreshing escape, and a perilous force that threatens to overwhelm. It speaks to the complexity of relationships that are both alluring and toxic, showing how emotions and desires can sometimes leave us trapped in a cycle that we struggle to break free from.

In sum, the song uses its rich atmosphere and layered production to embody a deep sense of emotional conflict, where the protagonist is caught between escaping a difficult reality and continuing to engage in it despite the risks. The water imagery and the metaphor of swimming powerfully convey feelings of being out of control and struggling to find balance.

[ipsen]

I HAVE THOUGHT OF A THING FOR THE FIC TITLE ASK GAME. I have one that's more abstract and one that's more particular, feel free to choose either, both are meant for etoken.

"Pendulum" or "To solve a puzzle."

"Pendulum."

"Sometimes she's so close he'll suffocate. Other times, so painfully distant that he almost misses her."

I can see this fic taking place in a Root A-esque narrative (not that I would know anything about writing a Root A-esque narrative, not at all). I've said this before, but a "Kaneki joins Aogiri" AU must address the fact that his perception of Aogiri and actual Aogiri are at odds with one another. You can do this simply by expanding on his relationship to Eto, who easily embodies aspects of both. Her extremist tendencies initially validate his perception; she's incredibly violent when she fights and she's a huge cannibal. However, as he digs deeper into who and why she kills, it changes to the actual Aogiri purpose. A world for ghouls, paved in blood and violence.

The fic navigates the stages in their relationship, which simultaneously navigates the radicalization of Ken Kaneki. The "pendulum" portion is him constantly oscillating between both how his mind makes Aogiri look and how Eto (eventually) makes Aogiri look. Also the fact that Eto is both close and afar in unpredictable amounts. In return, Eto sort of relearns some form of proper empathy by example, if only empathy for Kaneki specifically.

(Kaneki makes friends with Miza too. I just think they'd get along really well.)

--

I wanted to make one for "to solve a puzzle" but my brain shortcircuited :(

Thanks for the ask though!

[hellogirlslikegirlslikeboysdo]

You ever regret an idea that was never yours? - A Flash Memoir

Summary: In 5 billion years, all of the lights will go out, and all of this will be all the less nasty and all the less disappointing.

All we can hear is the clang of my fork against the measuring cup (I've just realized that you've served me ramen in a measuring cup, ramen because in a house overflowing with farmer's market-looking ingredients, you wanted instant ramen that you didn't even want because the green packaging looked too unfamiliar, and in a measuring cup because you're fucking hilarious and the array of kitschy, bright bowls that I'm sure are lining the shelves behind those high cabinets simply do not appeal to you in this moment).

I don't know if you can hear the football game 10 feet away, you probably can, but I can't. I usually hear everything, all the time, at all volumes, simultaneously. Simba's panting. The shuffling of the cushions we're suffocating. The crunch of gummies (well, really I just smell that one, but I smell loud enough to hear it). For some anxiety-induced reason, I only have access to dishware unwillingly mingling (I can practically hear my dad's complaint at the sound) and the sound of my own voice.

All dinner, it's been asking you questions, but the only one I remember is what you do in your free time, which transforms into what you look forward to on a day off in search of a more satisfying answer. I ask to start conversation, and to be an interesting guest that you actively want to bring over again, and because you like getting philosophical during 1am manic episodes and I lack the awareness to consider those being special circumstances, and because I'm vaguely worried about how much time you spend scrolling memes you've already saved and already scrolled.

Probably something that can be dealt with later, but this is your weekend trip and you're quiet, and I'm worried, even if it's the ever-encompassing buzz of worry that floats around whenever I'm...around.

You don't respond to "Luc, do you ever..." (a pause of regret) "...do you ever feel...trapped by where you are in life? Like, what you have to do, and all that?". I apologize and regret spoiling your trip and you tell me that your "...social battery is kinda low?"

"[Oh, fuck,] really?" (I don't swear outside of my writing, but the fuck is implied).

Hunched into yourself and tiptoeing like you're headed to timeout, You scurry off to your room at my request and assurance to go talk your boyfriend to sleep, giving me a chance to inhale the rest of a ramen like a vicious animal and chat your mother's ear off about historical creative nonfiction and get worried (sensing a theme, yet?) about your social battery having enough juice for him. It's jealousy, probably, burning the back of my throat more than the accidental heap of chili flakes I threw into the broth, because I've never met a friend's lover that I haven't wanted to eat alive and envy is one of the deadlier sins.

Same face, though. Same itchy voice, same manufactured laugh as punctuation, same brain to pick apart. Same scalp to soothe.

(He's judgy, foul-tempered, foul-mannered, and calculated, stubby pointer finger in hand at all times. So am I. I'd probably want a fresher face to look at too.)

[purplesurveys]

1747

What colour are the sheets on your bed? Black.

Have you ever had a storage locker? If so, what is/was stored in it? I've never had a locker other than the one I had in high school, which had nothing but textbooks in it.

Do you have a gas, electric or induction cooktop? That would be gas.

Are you interested in plants? Not in the least. Sorry Namjoon...

How far away is the nearest capital city? Manila is a little over 20 kilometers away.

What was the last movie trailer you watched? I honestly wouldn't be able to tell you because I never watch those. The closest thing is probably catching a few seconds of DP's trailer on Netflix, the one that automatically plays when you hover over the choice, but I never finished it as I had gone straight to Episode 1 lol.

What's your favourite meal of the day? Dinner; it's the only one I regularly have.

Do you know your neighbours? Hardly. They keep to themselves and so do we.

Tell me all your plans for the next week or so. Just the usual chaos at work. Thursday I have a client lunch I need to join even though it's suffocating to think about, but apart from that my week is free for making plans. Oh I do plan on watching the rest of Prison Playbook which I started this afternoon but holy shit is each episode a lifetime and a half long.

What can you hear and smell right now? SOOOOOO my sister recently got me into the creamy keyboard part of the internet, so I have an hour-long keyboard ASMR thing playing right now lol. I have that playing simultaneously with a SE SO NEON playlist and surprisingly they work well together! I can also hear my aircon whirring.

I can faintly make out the aroma from my coffee but that's it as far as smelling things.

Are you expecting anything in the mail? My Jack in the Box should be arriving any time in the next few weeks.

Do you hate cars with loud exhausts? Yes.

How many roommates have you had? I've never had a roommate.

Have you ever broken any bones in your feet or hands? No broken bones but I have sprained my left ankle twice. Idk why that one area on my foot is so vulnerable hahah.

Do you keep your house tidy or is it always pretty cluttered? It only gets cluttered during the day when I need to routinely whip out a variety of items for work (boxes, paper bags, envelopes, etc) but I make sure that shit is clean and out of sight by the end of the day because I don't want to be surrounded with remnants of my job when I'm supposed to be relaxing.

What's the altitude of your town or city? Idk and I can't be bothered to look it up.

Do you like movies with vampires in them? No. Twilight is the sole exception but liking the saga doesn't mean I'm into vampire movies as a whole.

Have you ever bought groceries online? For myself, yeah. There was a point during the pandemic when I tried to convince my parents to try getting our groceries online, but they weren't so much a fan of the ridiculous delivery fees which is super understandable.

If you have a pet, what is its favourite treat? If you don't have a pet, what's one of your favourite treats? :) They love chicken bits and Cooper in particular already recognizes the word 'chicken' and is ready to do tricks the moment I say it out loud lol.

Do you own any items of clothing that were originally borrowed from someone else? Yes. I have a pair of yellow pants that Rita lent me, but I wasn't ever able to return it because the pandemic happened.

What was the last thing you drank other than water, and was it yummy? Coffee. Yes it's good :)

How do you usually style your hair? A half-pony is the typical way to go for me, but sometimes I'll go for a low pony.

What's your favourite kind of soup to make? I don't make soup, but my favorite is miso.

Do you get distracted easily when you read? It can happen. I'm for the most part a quick reader, but I will occasionally zone out and keep going over the same sentence without even realizing I've been repeating the same words for 5 minutes.

What kind of questions do you generally dislike when it comes to Bzoink surveys? I can't stress enough how much I dislike philosophical and hypothetical-situation questions. Also questions about Target and Walmart and states and seasons.

What will you do after you finish this survey? I want to take another one but we'll see how that fares. I have to stay up until 4 because I need to catch Jungkook at the Global Citizen Festival :((

If you play The Sims, which of all the games is your favourite iteration? I never was a regular player of The Sims.

Do you remember the first house you lived in? Not at all. My parents moved out of it when I was only a few months old.

When was the last time you threw up, and do you know why? Thursday. I had HORRIBLE motion sickness the entire ride home.

Who was the last person you said "I love you" to? Not sure, I think it may have been Andi.