#and i understand myself and my limits but i also keep pushing them to further establish how far i can go

[pikslasrce]

girls will reach self actualization and get so scared by it theyll believe something terrible must be in store for them

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[3vergr3en]

Hi again! I also have this idea of hate fucking Nicholas. He’s getting on my nerves these past few episodes and ofc I love him but I kinda have this fantasy of a wild night with nico where yeah you dislike each other but also have unexplainable desire to HAVE each other right then and there.

Of course, only if you like the idea and are comfortable writing it! Thanks love

🥂 Entangled Desires

(⛓) PAIRING . brother’s!bestfriend!idol!nicholas x fem!reader

(💿) CONTENT . contains mature writing, MDNI.

(📞) A/N . ugh anon, your brain is so yummy 😫😫 Ik what you mean babes, he gives me so— nonchalant but cocky type of vibe that although you know he’s the last person you should consider to let inside your pants, you have this burning desire to fuck him bc you know that he’d fuck you good.

Brother’s!best!friend!Nicholas was always deemed a cocky man. You will never understand how he is best friends with your brother. Euijoo is kind, considerate, and humble. Nicholas is the polar opposite of all of those things.

You thought that little egoism of his would burn out by the end of high school, but it had just gotten so much worse as all three of you grew into adults. It's almost tragic that no one else can see past that ‘I’m so nice and caring’ facade. Not even his fans, not his band members, and unfortunately not Euijoo. Your poor brother has been so oblivious to this, which isn't surprising because he always prioritize the good in people that he oversees the bad. But Nicholas being the little asshole he is, always keeps this crack open for you to peer in, getting a real close look to see his intentions. Wanting you make you seem crazy when you try to warn your brother about him.

He loves to push you over your limits. That little obsession of his started when you three were teens. He’d snatch your clean clothes when you went to shower in the locker rooms after the gym. And he’d only give it back if you..

“Beg nicely for them.” He hums behind you, lips narrowly touching your earlobe.

Startled, you let out a small yelp as you quickly whipped your body around, hands clutching the towel that wrapped around your naked figure that hid beneath. But that fear resided into annoyance remarkably quickly when you saw that stupid, smug grin on his face. “Give. Those. Back. Yixiang.” You muttered, irritation clearly audible in your tone.

He shakes his head disappointingly, “I’ll repeat myself again. Beg. Nicely.” Nicholas recites, giving you a brief, not-so-genuine smile. “C’mon, let me hear you.” His voice deepens when he insists, taking a step forward.

But as much as you hate him, your body tends to react otherwise. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel anything whenever he’d talk to you with such assertion. Especially when he would look at you in a certain way that would make your knees buckle. But being the stubborn person you are, you push past your hormones practically screaming at you and be a big girl. “I’m not begging for shit. Especially not for you.”

“Yeah? Well let’s see about that.”

.

And unfortunately, it continues as you guys are now adults. But instead of verbally taunting you, he’s taken a step further with being more.. physical.

You find yourself hanging out with the group during your free time. Whether it was at their practice rooms, their dorm, or out somewhere— you like being around them and its vise versa for them,, besides one person in particular. And he takes it upon himself to make sure that whenever he sees you, he’d try to have you reeling for the rest of the night.

Tonight, you and the guys were out getting dinner. And unfortunately, the man you oh, so despised had deliberately chosen to sit right next to you— so shocking. “Not tonight, Yixiang. Just let me eat in peace.” You speak, swirling the red liquid around in your glass before taking a long sip.

You fail to notice his eyes gazing down at you, at your figure specifically. The way that mini-dress rode up your thighs and how low-cut the top was, your breasts nearly spilling out if he just.. tug the fabric down. He’s practically eye-fucking you without any shame.

He inches his lips towards your ear, getting real close where you can feel his warm breath on your neck. “No funny business, Nicholas.” You warn once more, eyes darting between the others who were engrossed in their own conversations to notice the two of you who sat at the end.

His big, vainy hand found a place on your bare thigh. His cold rings making contact with your warm skin, making you lightly hiss through gritted teeth. “You look like a whore in that dress. Pretty hot I’d say.” His words rung in your ear, thumb caressing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You go to wrap your hands around his wrist, contemplating if you should stop him.. or move his hand closer to there. “Wow, so kind coming from a guy like you.” You murmured, side-eyeing him with an unamused expression written all over your face.

“Hm, you say that.. but I can practically feel how hot you are.” He whispers, taking your earlobe in between his teeth to bite on. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough that it makes you squeeze your thighs together— trapping his hand in between your legs.

“Just admit it. You want me.” He adds on, prying your legs apart. “Tell me how badly you want my fingers inside of you.” His voice velvety smooth, just like his fingers as they trace up your thigh till it reaches your underwear.

“I don’t want you touching anywhere on me.” You breathe out, chest heaving as you feel yourself growing hotter.

“Is that so? So you would stop me if I did.. something like this?” He asked, his index and middle finger rubbing your clit through the cotton fabric.

You take in a sharp breath, eyelids threatening to close as you let yourself indulge in the feeling a little bit. “What would the others say if they saw you like this? What would your brother say, hm?” His voice taunts you, but its turning you on even more. And he can feel that as your wetness seeped through your underwear.

Your eyelids shoots open as reality hits you. You’re out at dinner right now. In front of people. In front of your brother who sat oblivious next to you.

He quickens the pace on his fingers, “N-Not here, Yixiang.” You reply, biting down your bottom lip to suppress a moan.

And just like that, he stops.

You gawk at him, eyes hooded with need that couldn’t compare to how his was. Nicholas stared at you with lips slightly parted, deep breaths and eyes filled with lust that sent shivers down your spine. “Meet me in the car in 5.” Is all he said before excusing himself.

.

You don’t know what happened, but you found yourself being pulled into the back seat of his car, and onto his lap with a pair of lips eagerly attaching onto yours. No words were shared, but you both can feel the yearning that was exchanged.

Your hands were found to be in his hair, gently tugging his black locks as he kissed you feverishly. Your heads swayed in a rhythm to match the desperation that was oozing out of you guys.

He momentarily pulls away to catch his breath, and he swears to himself when he allows himself to take in the sight before him. Your hair was disheveled, lips swollen and parted to let out staggering breaths but were glistening in his saliva, and the straps of your dress were hung past your shoulders— top threatening to fall down.

“You look so—“ He was cut short when you kiss him, taking him aback. And a groan emits from his throat when you grind your clothed cunt against his crotch. “Fucking slut.” He curses in between kisses, hands groaping at your ass.

“Shut the fuck up.” You retaliate, lips parting to let out a series of whimpers as his kisses made their way down to your neck. Your flesh was found to be in between his teeth, nibbling on the skin to form red bruises— him knowing that it’ll appear darker for the next occurring days.

You slip the straps off of your arms, allowing the top of your dress to fall freely— your breasts spilling out of its confines. “Fuck. Such gorgeous tits.” You hear him say, one of his hands traveling up your sides till he cups one of the soft flesh in his palms.

“Hurry up Yixiang, before I get dry.” You warn, hands desperately reaching under to undo the belt of his pants. But was stopped with a hand around your wrist, halting you.

“Beg for it then.”

“Fuck you.” You spat.

But his other hand was quick to wrap around your neck and the moan that followed from you was enough to feed his already high of an ego. He pulls you closer to him, lips ghosting over yours. “Beg for it or else I’m leaving you here.” You would’ve thought he was kidding, but knowing him, he’s a man of his word.

He pinches his fingers into the side of your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to give you a warning.

“Please, give it to me, Nicholas.. I want it.” You plea, rolling your hips around in attempt to rub your clothed cunt on his prominent bulge. “Please, Yixiang?”

The way you said his name made something within him internally snap. Was it you calling out for him? Maybe you saying his name in such a seductive manner? Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re finally begging him, especially when it’s for him to fuck you.

He flips you two over with his hand pinning you down onto the seat cushion by your throat. “Such a good girl.” He hums with a cocky smile, halting his movements to dip down and give you a gentle kiss, “All you could’ve done was beg like a good slut and maybe then I could’ve fucked you earlier than now.”

You reacted to that statement with a moan that was not intended to come out, but hey, does it matter at this point? “God, I knew you were a slut— but I didn’t know how much. You’ve probably been waiting for me to fuck you for a while now, hm?” And you nod. You nod desperately. Finally succumbing into your desires all these years.

He leans down to take your lips with his once more, but this kiss was more passionate than lustful. It was as if he was confessing his similar desires, but with a more personal touch to it.

In that interim, his pants were pulled down and discarded, along with his underwear and shirt. Your dress was bunched up to your waist, revealing your lower half. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispered against your lips as he pumps himself in his hand.

“Please, Nicholas,, I—I need you.” You mewl, hands finding themselves on him. One cupping the side of his face, and one pressed flat against his bare chest.

Your underwear was pulled to the side by his fingers, and he allowed the head of his cock to slide between your slicked folds. He thought you may needed prep, but with how much of his cock was being smothered in your arousal, you didn’t need it. His mouth hung open in awe as he watches how easily he’s gliding between you. “You’re so wet, princess.” The pet name rolls off his tongue so smoothly that it makes you clench around nothing but air. You gasp when his head continuously nudges against your clit, giving you the stimulation you needed. He pulls his hips back, grabbing the shaft of his cock to align his tip to your entrance. “Gon’ let me rub this pretty clit, hm?” He coos, his hand reaching up to rub fast circles along the bundle of nerves. “Oh my god—!” You moan as you feel him start to push himself into you.

The sensation of his cock prying your walls apart so deliciously was enough to have your head lolling back with his name slipping off your tongue in a desperate manner. You were concerned with how long you were gonna last when you already felt this good when he wasn’t even fully in yet.

“Oh, fuck.” Nicholas groans as your heat engulfed him tightly. “You’re so tight, fuck. Don’t know why I didn’t fuck this pussy before.” With one push of his hips, he fully bottoms out inside of you— and in unison, you both moan out in pure bliss. Nicholas’s eyes momentarily flutters shut as your warm, gummy walls squeezing him tight was a sensation he didn’t know he needed so badly in his lifetime.

“J-Just.. give me a moment.” You breathe out, your fingers gently taps his chest to indicate that you need a little time to get used to his size. And he gladly onliges without hesitation. Probably the first time where he went along with your wishes. Once you felt more relaxed, you didn’t waste any more time to let him know. “M-Move, please.”

He started with a slow but steady pace, making sure not to overwhelm you although the thing he wants to do to you right now is to fuck you senseless. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing your face contort in pleasure, moans slipping freely past those plump lips. “Yixiang..!” You gasp when a particular thrust had your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Yeah, princess? Does this spot feel good?” He rolls his hips experimentally, wanting to get another reaction like that out of you. And just as he thought, another delicious cry emits from you. “Tell me, does it feel good?” He questions, beginning to pick up the pace. You want to reply, but you’re unable to voice it out at the moment when the tip of his cock keeps hitting at a certain spot that makes your vision blur. “Yixiang! Oh fuck!” You cry as he starts snapping his hips against yours. The force of his thrusts were powerful enough to have you hike up the seat if it weren’t for his hand pinning you down by your neck. “M-More! Oh my god!”

Nicholas had to ground himself from losing his control. But it doesn’t necessarily help when he has the girl of his dreams writhing underneath him, taking his cock like a fucking champ. He forces his eyes to stay open rather than closing them and letting himself get lost in his head and potentially lasting shorter than he anticipated to. Which is the last thing he wants when he finally has you to himself.

You looked so beautiful under right now. The way your glossy eyes gazes at him with such a distinct look of desperation, your furrowed brows of concentration to not finish that quickly, and those beautiful moans that made him want to listen to for hours on end.

You were feeling like you were nearing your end, and the pressure in your lower abdomen was a huge factor. “Y-Yixiang, I’m gonna cum!” You announce with a shaky voice, sharp breaths along with a mantra of his name follows afterwards. And he can definitely feel it too with the way your clamping down on him was dangerously pushing him to cumming inside of you. “Fuck, you feel so good, princess. Come with me, okay? Just hold on a little longer.” He urges you, dipping down to leave open-mouthed kisses on your flushed cheek.

You nod in response, wanting to come with him. But with each passing moment was harder for you. Your hands latched onto his sweaty back, nails digging into the smooth flesh, dragging along his skin as you desperately tried to suppress your growing need to come. “Please, Nicholas!”

He grabbed the back of your knees and pushed them up to your chest, essentially folding you in half. When he pushed himself up onto his knees, he began slamming his hips down onto yours, reaching a deeper angle in this position. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, y/n.” Hot, fat tears starts rolling down your cheeks as the pressure became unbearable for you to hold. But with one last thrust, his hips were flushed against your ass, and just like that— the knot within your stomach comes undone. A lewd cry leaves your lips as waves of your orgasm washed over you, leaving you to ride it out. With your name spilling out, he spills his load into your sopping cunt. Filling you up so much to the point where his cum began seeping out of your hole.

You guys stayed like that for a few more seconds until he eventually has to pull out, resulting in you whining as even that sensation was overwhelming for you. Your hands reach out to hold his, “D-Don’t go,, stay here for a minute, please?” You breathe out heavily, eyelids threatening to close on you. Nicholas couldn’t help but chuckle as he goes to lay down beside you. He engulfs you into his arms, making sure your naked figure was covered by his. “Wasn’t planning on it, princess.” He whispers, kissing your temple. “Whatever.. I know you would.” You mumble, sighing in content when his hand would gently massage your thigh. “Hm, I’m a little hurt, princess. After all these years, you still don’t know me.”

“I think I know you a little too well.” You respond, looking over your shoulder to give him a small smile.

“Yeah? On a scale of 1-10, how much do you think I wanna go for round 2?”

[just-some-random-blogger]

So you know the Chinese saying that once you've saved a person's life, you're responsible for them forever? where after the reader saves Dream, Dream keeps appearing expecting the reader to take care of him and be responsible for him in a variety of situations and moments. Bonus Points: Dream doesn't exactly explain anything to the reader. Those are the old laws, the reader should be aware of what he was doing when he decided to reach out and save him and that was it.

ANOTHER BONUS: this is why no one rescued Dream— NO ONE WANTED THIS AN INFINITE LIMIT FOR THEM IN SUCH A WAY

Why Are You Here?

Dream of the Endless x Reader

Summary: You accidentally saved the King of Dreams from his century old prison, now he's your everyday nightmare (affectionate).

Word Count: >900

Warnings: Gender neutral!reader, clingy!Dream, jealous!dream, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: I think I am now finally able to write requests again 🥲🫶 slay for me Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9 @sloanexx

I wiped my face as I looked at the clock at the bottom right of my computer screen. I huffed and leaned back on my office chair, twirling myself around as I waited for my file to upload.

One.

Two.

Three twirls in.

Suddenly, I stop in a panic when a dark figure manifests in front of me.

I cling onto the side of my desk and jump out of my chair, "Dream, what are you-"

"I was unable to procure the results we had last time we baked, and I came to tell-"

I grab his arms and frantically look around my office, "what did I tell you about manifesting yourself in inappropriate settings?"

Dream looks down at me with his eyes as I look past him on both sides of his arms. His brows faintly furrow, "this is not an inappropriate setting. You are fully dressed and I am-"

"That is not what-" I quip, pinching my fingers together. I sigh as I look at the befumbled entity, his galactic blue eyes glassed with an innocent incapacity to understand he was not meant to be suddenly in my place of work. I grab his biceps and push him back.

I begin to lead him to the bathroom with our linked arms, "I can't answer your baking questions right now," I look around the room, "also, didn't we establish you should only come to me if you were in actual trouble."

He mumbles, placing a hand on my arm that was linked with his, "my cake did not rise."

I turn to him, "Dream-"

"You told me baking could alleviate my sorrow. It has done nothing but frustrate further. I would think you should bare some responsibility for the fact."

I grunt as I stop in my tracks. I pull away to cross my arms, "did you follow the recipe you have?"

Dream looks back at me, "to the best of my capacity."

"Then I don't know what to tell you," I mutter, shrugging, "I can't really see what you did-"

"Precisely why," he takes my hand, "you should come to the Dreaming with me."

I look around the room and give him an incredulous expression. I whisper-yell, "I'm working right now."

Dream steps forward. His face solemn, "I will make sure no one will notice."

Shutter.

Dream and I snap to the side. Behold, there stood my nosy co-worker, Liam, one hand holding a smoothie, and another holding up a phone, camera pointed at us.

Fuck.

"Liam," I pull away from Dream.

"I didn't take a photo of you," he immediately says, "I took a selfie." He begins to pose and take a photo of himself.

"Liar," Dream retorts with an echo, not having to open his mouth.

I look around the room when the lights flicker because of this.

Liam reacts to it, extremely on edge as he too looks around the room.

I release a breath, thinking of an excuse as to explain why this unknown man dressed for a funeral and I were talking. I look at Dream. Maybe I could say he was going to a funreal?

"So," Liam starts, shaking his head, "who's this?"

"This is..." I start, turning to Liam, "Murphy."

"Murphy?" Liam squints at the Lord Morpheus, "you don't look like a Murphy."

Dream does not respond.

Liam sips on his smoothie before pulling it abruptly away, shaking his phone, "oh I know who this is!" He points repeatedly at me, "this is they guy that has been sending you flowers!"

"No."

"What?"

Dream and I said this at the same time.

Dream turns to me, as I grab his arm and push past Liam, "good talk, Liam. Murphy has to go now."

I sigh as I lead him to the exit, "I was going to make you disappear through the bathroom, but then Liam caught us together."

He makes a sound, "do you not want me to be seen by this person who sends you flowers?"

"What?" I turn to Dream, "that was a mistake in delivery. It was for Abigail. She recently got married-- but I mean you already know that."

"I do," he mutters.

I shake my head, "Liam made a big deal out of it, like he does everything."

"Would you like to do something about Liam?"

I exit our office and drag Dream towards the elevator, "I would like for you never to suddenly pop up here again."

I watch him pout and furrow his brows, "but you are my person," he replies. He stops us both in our tracks, "the old laws bind us together."

I sigh and nod as I walk off and repeatedly press on the elevator button, "I know! I know. The old laws that even you have to answer to."

Dream's face hardens, his posture falls, "is my presence such a nuisance to you?"

"Morpheus," I sigh, "It's not your presence," I reply, "it's the fact you're at my job," I mumble, "my job that I worked so hard to get and would make me spiral if I lost."

I turn from the elevator doors to Dream as he straightens up, "it was not my intention to cause you distress."

I nod, "I know," I place a hand on his arm, "and you're both kind of really cute for this, and super annoying."

The elevator doors open. I motion for Dream to enter. When he does, I smile at him and wave goodbye. He looks and raises his hand, "I will redo my cake in a manner in which will impress you."

I chuckle, "I look forward to trying it."

He presses his lips into a smile, "farewell."

[jheseltheunswerving]

The Sad Truth About Bill Cipher

Originally posted to the Gravity Falls Amino in September, 2017.

There seems to be this common misconception that Bill Cipher is this sympathetic, remorseful antagonist. So, today I’m here to remind everyone that Cipher is an insane psychopath that should never be trusted.

Let’s start with how much he’s lied. He tricked Dipper into letting him possess his body, he lied to Ford about why he wanted the portal built, and he tricked Mabel into giving him the rift. These are just a few of his lies over countless others.

He is a bully, to say the least. My personal favorite example of this is this scene.

"I, um, I- DO IT, kid!  Do some brilliant thing that takes me down right now. Whaddya got, Pinetree? Everyone’s watching! DO IT!”

Now let’s talk about how murderous he is. He tortured Ford through electrocution so he would tell him the equation that would collapse the barrier keeping Bill and his friends from spreading their weirdness around Dimension 46. He was set on killing Mabel “just for the heck of it”, and there is a high probability that he killed Wendy’s mom.

A Tumblr post from user dilfiisms pointed out that in the episode “Not What He Seems”, a yellow ribbon can be seen on that back of Manly Dan’s truck. This might be referencing the Yellow Ribbon Suicide Prevention Program.

dilfiisms then went on to pointing out what Bill said about Wendy’s mom in his AMA, “WENDY’S MOM HAS GOT IT GOING ON. SHE’S ALL I WANT AND I’VE WAITED FOR SO LONG”. This is a reference to the song “Stacy’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne, but it also suggests that Bill had some kind of connection with Mrs. Corduroy’s death. We know for sure Wendy’s mom is "no longer with us”.

In the official Journal 3, Mabel attaches a note written by Bill she found in the car on the way back from the theatre after the events of “Sock Opera”.

Bill was planning to kill Dipper’s body and frame it as a suicide. He could have done just that with Wendy’s mom.

Here’s a prime example of Bill’s instability. He burned his own dimension! The question is, why?

"Flat minds in a flat world with flat dreams.” Based on what Bill said about his dimension in his AMA, “Edwin Abbott Abbott has a decent idea,” (Abbott wrote the book Flatland), it is possible Bill played a similar part to A Square who tried to convince his fellow two-dimensional shapes of a three-dimensional world. Despite all his efforts, however, he failed and was imprisoned for mentioning the existence of a three-dimensional world. If Bill had to deal with something similar in his dimension, it’s understandable why he got so frustrated.

There is also a page in the official journal describing a two-dimensional world Ford visits during his thirty years on the other side of the portal. At first he mistakes it to be Bill’s birthplace, and theorizes that Bill came from a similar dimension.

Notice the key on the side of the page. In this dimension, circles are upper class (much like how circles are considered the “perfect shape” in Flatland) and triangles are lower class. If this was the case in Bill’s dimension, then it might explain his thirst for power. As a triangle, he had no power in his dimension. All that built up frustration is probably what pushed Bill over the line.

The Axolotl’s message is likely to blame for all the wrong impressions of Bill. I won’t be reciting the whole thing. By now, everyone should know it, and if you don’t, look it up. I’ll only mention the lines that are relevant.

"Misses home and can’t return.” This line has misled the lot of us, myself included. I didn’t understand how Bill, the perfect psychopath, could possibly miss his home or regret what he did, and that’s because it’s not possible. Psychopaths have no conscience. They can only miss something when that thing provided them with immediate supposed gain. Which only further confused me because, if his dimension was so flat and limiting, what would Bill miss about it? The answer is actually simple, despite how long it took me to figure it out. Praise. Not necessarily from other shapes, but perhaps from his parents.

Here's a part in the journal where Bill's parents are briefly mentioned:

Bill wouldn’t miss his parents because of a genuine relationship he had with them, but because they praised him for simply being in their lives. Ever since he burned his dimension, Bill gets praise solely for his power, but it’s likely he didn’t always have that power.

Psychopaths love praise. They don’t want friends, they want worshippers. That’s why I’m calling bull on his message in the journal, “CURSE THE AXOLOTL EVERY CONSPIRACY IS TRUE”. He was just trying to win over empathy. Psychopaths do that too. Pretend to feel bad for what they’ve done so people will forgive them and give them multiple second chances.

"Blame the arson for the fire." Talk about a six word story. I have seen several theories that Bill didn't mean to burn his dimension. That it was all some kind of accident. Quite the contrary, actually.

Arson: (n) The criminal act of DELIBERATELY setting fire to property.

So, there you have it. Bill Cipher is far from a sympathetic antagonist. Evil does not have boundaries, and anyone who thinks it does is making a big mistake.

Having said all that, Bill Cipher is still my favorite character. He's the most interesting and entertaining villain I've seen in stories, and I can't wait for the Gravity Falls graphic novel which will hopefully give us more insight about him.

2024 Review: This is the first of two posts from the Gravity Falls Amino I plan on posting here. While most of the information still holds up, a lot of it is outdated. Stay tuned for the second post which is a bit more current.

[sunyot]

Must See T.V. Moments - Invincible 2024

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

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I'm in my T.V. Phase now...

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*******I MEAN IT. SPOILERS AHEAD******

The 'parasitic alien' remains a classic Super Hero villain. My personal first introduction to this villain came from watching Batman Beyond. In a two-episode Saga, Terry gets the opportunity to fight alongside The Justice League of his era. Naturally, he finds discord only to discover... well you get the idea.

This concept plays on one of our fears as people: being controlled. As gamers, we're so used to being puppetiers. Yet imagine Being the puppet. Imagine further maintaining a small hint of consciousness; an out of body experience where you watch your every action taking place. We might wonder if we'd still feel pain? Would we feel anything at all? The parasite would probably have a total lack of self-preservation, and that scares us.

This show still reigns as one of the best-written shows on television. Robert Kirkman handles tension so well. I'm avoiding reading the comics, but when I see an episode as good as this one it's very tempting. The series integrates so many layers, adding a density to the storytelling. Amazing story craft like this, in my opinion, is the cause of fiction withdrawal. I know the feeling well.

Sometimes, a series feels like it's speaking to you personally. It becomes a drug that taps directly into your veins. I keep a list of shows on my phone that give me this feeling. Maybe one day I'll share them. Really, I keep them to remind myself which shows give me the true feeling I'm searching for. I do this in the hopes of limiting my sometimes lengthy searches for new entertainment.

Let's start with the obvious.

Do you Ship 'Mark X Amber' or 'Invincible X Atom Eve'?

Fans of the series remain vocal about their preferences. And I get it. They prefer for Mark to spend the majority of his time as Invincible, the superhero. They want to see him at his most powerful, going on adventures, fighting alongside a crew, and receiving the admiration of beautiful potential partners. Seeing Mark in a more ordinary human life could feel less fun. And Amber is, in a way, a representation of that. Her groundedness reminds Mark, and the audience, that he's still just a guy. This can cause conflict between the audience and certain characters. Protagonists often serve a cathartic outlets for viewers. Fans of Twilight want to see the quiet, studious, normal young lady swept up into an extraordinary series of events. Seeing someone like themselves, allows them to live vicariously through the plot.

Likewise, superheroes serve as one of our culture's best self-insert fantasies...

This is good. This is healthy, I'd argue. Being able to explore yourself in an idealized fashion can help people create fragments of identity which can sometimes become the sparks of our moral centers. All that said, writers like Kirkman, understand that stitching these fantasies to universal human experiences are what make them memorable. It's the filtering of the wild through the boring that make our stories sing.

In real life, we have relationship problems. We screw up. We do poorly in school. We fail at our obligations time and time again, while the world forces us to push onward because our obligations are always with us. As Mark continues to try and do the right thing, his humanity outshines his Viltrumite heritage.

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

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Rexsplosion reads Home Decor Magazines - Invincible 2024

"I actually thought Rex died..."

This series plays with tension brilliantly. It also avoids having too many moments of relief. When the immediate danger fades, the characters still live in a state of worry. They're always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We learn something quirky about Rex, but only because he almost died. This semi-sweet moment humanizes him, yet emphasizes the ominous nature of the series. Our heroes have to take their happy moments when they can get them. The Team, now scattered, became a question mark. This world cannot afford uncertainty surrounding its heroes. We saw their near demise in Mark's absence.

And with a few quick scenes of Mark's loved ones, we're of where he's most vulnerable.

This brings me to my favorite aspect of the episode:

- The Fiction inside the fiction -

This will always be one of my favorite methods of storytelling. Seeing characters in fiction read or watch their own fiction lets us see how they relate to their world. Sometimes it's done through myths and legends. Sometimes in other clever ways...

When Mark receives a box of science fiction stories (stories written by his father) we are able to more directly relate to the character.

This look of wonder and skepticism on his face. This is all of us...

My father introduced me to Star Wars. He had the original trilogy on VHS tapes. He recorded the movies when one of the major networks aired them without commercials. I wore those tapes out, watching until my imagination expanded to the vastness of any epic tale; spilling over into my daily life sunshine I could carry in my pockets.

At this moment in the show, I am Mark. I'm sitting on my bed, hearing my father's voice as the story plays out on the pages and in my mind. And I'd wager, I'm not the only one.

In dramatic fashion, we now get to go on the journey inside this new universe. This fiction within a fiction is crucial as it becomes the notion of creation from the perspective of beings we know to be created. How funny is that. Funnier still, to Mark this tale plays as cinema. Whereas to us, it's still animated; which is a wild concept when thinking of sentience.

Even the title 'The Man with the Invincible Gun' ...feels like foreshadowing to me.

*****SPOILERS for SEASON 2: EPISODE 6*****

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I'm sure most of you caught on quick, realizing that these stories are based on Mark's Father's real adventures. I think it's funny seeing a character like Mark, superhero, space traveler, one of the strongest beings in the Universe, forget all that, and lose himself in the story. Again, this character trait displays Mark's humanity. Of course, he eventually realizes that these stories are far from lore.

Knowing his father, it's probably safe to assume these were not heroic journeys of an idealistic space explorer. More than likely they were unsuccessful Viltrumite invasions of unsuspecting alien inhabitants. I also think we'll at some point get to meet some of these aliens and learn the truth of these encounters. But still, it's fun to dream.

This episode makes me want to read a good book...

It also makes me want to write. It's been a while since I've done that either.

A few more things. Seeing the Seth Rogan alien makes me wonder when I'm going to be able to hear him as his own character because every time he talks, all I hear is Seth Rogan. His is the only character that does that to me. I'm hoping my brain eventually adjusts.

Also, let's readdress the title screen.

What does it mean this season? In Season 1, the answer felt obvious. The blood splattered across the title showed the surprising violence of the heroes world, which slowly dragged Mark deeper into its depths. In this season, the classic 'Invincible' logo cracks away to reveal a red one.

What's the meaning, I wonder. Mark might be one bad event away from turning into Omniman, a true Viltrumite warrior, like the Mark of the other Universe. And speaking of other Universes...

Our friend Giant-Brain-Outside-My-Body-Man returns to get a bespoke suit from a tailor with four arms.

This tells me that no matter the universe, timeline, or year, nothing feels better than wearing a fresh new suit. We also get to see him do a little multi-dimensional hopping.

I wonder which Universe this could be...

Cryston

[broodwolf221]

act 1 - first, second, and third memories | first major choice cws: death; blight; war; slavery

really just theorizing about why these are solas' regrets. the first feels obvious: the woman who ghilan'nain blighted, and the fact that solas had to kill her. rook & co. see this as cruel, but it's inevitable, isn't it, really? i suppose one read of the situation is that, because we don't see her die, perhaps solas did something worse to her... but i don't really buy into that, myself. he understands the blight, at least the risk it poses, and it wasn't like there was even an option to turn her into a grey warden at that time.

he killed one of his people because she became blighted. she became blighted because she carried out her role in this mission.

a regret.

the second one is different. solas and felassan liberating elves. spoke with a friend about this already (waves at u if ur reading this. hi skip!) and there seem to be many possible reasons this was a regret. i don't think he regretted liberating the slaves, but elgar'nan spoke of a payment to be made, and elgar'nan is brutal and cruel. my best guess is that solas' punishment for this was the death of some - or even many - of the slaves he had freed. obviously i don't know, but it seems like a viable possibility.

the other big possibility, imo, is that the injury solas sustained in that battle was somehow the beginning of the end for him, or for his rebellion. elgar'nan could have taken something from him, could have limited his powers somehow, or he could have simply - "simply" - wounded solas enough that he could no longer be in the midst of things. which, he always seems to be? he's an interesting leader, because he keeps showing up and pushing into danger right alongside those he assigned to the task.

the third is... it hurts. but the regret, in this case, is obvious. he used those spirits. he sacrificed them. it was brutal, and it was tactical, and very possibly it was necessary. but, as felassan said, they're supposed to be better than that. but i don't know that solas had that luxury, really; how do you war with numerous gods, your power not a match to any single one much less multiple of them, and remain ethical? he knows it was a horrible thing to do, but he still cared for those spirits. he used ones who would retain their nature unto their death.

solas is and has always been a tactician. felassan, at least what we see in the game, is much more earnest and idealistic. i'm not saying that's bad! it's not! but i can see some of the roots of solas' unwillingness to trust. because it feels like felassan would have stopped him, if solas had been open about his plan here. and they needed that artifact. it's horrible. but i understand, and i truly wonder if there were any alternatives, any other possible approach.

it also hearkens back to one line in the prologue, one of those lines that seems incredibly brutal upon first hearing, but upon further consideration, begins to make a lot of sense. "people always die. it is what they do."

people always die... because of what solas did. he took elvhen immortality from them - and more than that, he took their magic from them, much of it. he robbed them of the ability to defend themselves. he doesn't only care about elves, not at all, but he feels a great personal responsibility for them, because it was his actions that led to their current status.

but he did what he did to prevent the entire planet from being destroyed. the blight is not a war, seeking to claim a territory or a people; it is a force, a contagion, something that infects everything without hesitance. freed, it will destroy the entire planet. all animals, all plantlife, all people, even minerals and stone. dragons and titans. nothing will be free from its grasp.

and for all that rook & co criticize and condemn him... we're already beginning to do the same thing. choosing between treviso and minrathous. there's no moral option; no matter what you do, you're wrong. but we can only do what we can do, and there are choices that have to be made, and rook made them.

similar to the bad magic future timeline in dai. it feels like the only choice is to eradicate that future, but, as leliana says, all of it was real. it happened. sure, our inky rolled back time and prevented that blighted future. but how many children did our inky prevent being born? how many lovers did we erase? how many families did we prevent ever happening? there is no moral option here. there is only the best of bad choices, of impossible choices that have to be made - that's a cornerstone of the scale of things in da games.

all through dai - and now i'm seeing it in davg - we are slowly but surely following the same route solas did so long ago. starting out with an idealistic goal, and increasingly feeling the reality of impossible choices and constant no-win scenarios closing in on us.

[starsandpigs]

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖕𝖎𝖌𝖘. ---- indie mabel pines from disney's gravity falls. extremely selective & private. canon and headcanon based, including materials from books. ( mun has not read book of bill yet, but plans to! ) blog established march 2018. revamped sep 2024. personals dni.

geoff | he/him | 30+. mobile rules below.

RULES

one. due to the nature of my roleplaying style, there will absolutely be mature (please keep reading to know what this means) themes here and there on this blog. i’d like to stress that i will not usually be comfortable roleplaying with muns that are under the age of eighteen (18) so please understand my confidence / comfort-ability is all based on how i feel around the mun. as this character is underage canonly, there will be no smut writing on this blog. any NSFW content will be only gore/horror related, not smut related. the mun is FAR over the age of 21 (i just turned 31) and just isn't comfortable writing that sort of thing with a character who is originally the age of 12/13, even if aged up. ya nasties. stop sexualizing children.

two. this is a selective/private blog. i really only roleplay with mutuals, however you’re more than welcome to reply to any of my open starters if i specify that you can but just know i might not reply because i (1) don’t know your muse, (2) have zero muse for the reply and will get to it later, (3) have no interest in the thread, or (4) am uncomfortable with something on your blog. roleplaying is also a hobby for me. i work full time and sometimes i genuinely cannot reply fast. if you hassle me to reply to things, i will not want to roleplay with you and it will turn me off from roleplaying with you completely. in fact, if you harrass me to reply to threads, i will automatically unfollow you because i’m not about that life of being pushed to reply to things. if you spam my follow button to try and get my attention, that will result in a soft block on your behalf. please don’t test my patience. if you do not have your ooc name on your page i will not follow you, due to me thinking hiding your ooc alias is shady and sketchy af.

three. i love shipping and i love roleplaying so much. this is not a single ship blog and none of the ships i portray are at the same time (unless further discussed with muns, of course). my muse is a free for all but only if chemistry. if i do have mains, which will be listed, they are just the people i will reply to the most, however, i won't actually limit myself to only roleplaying with them and i hope my mains respect and are comfortable with that.

four. tagging triggers is something that means a lot to me as i am not comfortable with needles or puppets on my dashboard so i blacklist needles tw and puppets tw. i know it’s weird but hey, we all have our things. please let me know if you need anything tagged- even if i don’t personally follow you. you deserve a clean and safe dashboard to roleplay in. warning.

five. anon hate will be deleted on the spot. no exceptions. i don’t care about your petty feelings and i won’t tolerate them in the slightest. i’m not here to entertain horrible people’s opinions of myself. constructive criticisms are allowed, but at the respect of myself reblogging a meme asking for it specifically.

six. mutuals are allowed to ask for my discord, since i tend to also roleplay on it!

seven. i very rarely will send in passwords, as i do not require it and i should not have to be tested on your blog to be allowed to roleplay with someone. usually if you have a password, i genuinely just didn’t think to look for it and i apologize if this upsets you but you probably won’t see any from me.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

maso my love <3

can we get some jay briscoe cnc headcannons?? 🥺

Uh Tahlia, babe…right in my weak spot: Briscoe and CNC 🤤. I gave myself the luxury to add a bit of degradation to the dirty talk because c’mon, it’s Briscoe! As always I let myself go when it comes to this man so it became a drabble *sorry not sorry*. Also not at all edited, because sometimes you must die by your mistakes like a proud woman should 😌.

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @damnnhausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @sldghmmr , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @blaquekittycat

The nine letters word was spread around the bedroom, glued into the furniture and walls in bright neon yellow post-it notes. “Nectarine” could be read in the small pieces of paper, and even a few samples of the fruit were tossed around in strategic places by the reach of your hand, in case you couldn’t talk. The peculiar choice for a safeword had been Jay’s idea, since your “stop” was the synonym to “keep going” whenever you played like this. “Nectarines are like the closest thing to a peach. So whenever I’m going extra rough on my little peach” He bit your cheek softly “I wanna make sure that I’m not taking it too far”.

His hands pinned yours down on the bed, you were both fully clothed yet, just testing each other’s limits and will. Your hands fought against his grip, twisting and pulling hard enough for him to understand but not too hard to free yourself completely. Jay’s lips covered your neck, where he sank his teeth on your pulse point, quickly releasing you enough so you could slap his chest and push him away from you. He slapped you back, hitting your cheek with a low growl “I’m going rough on you tonight, my little peach” His hand closed around your neck, not applying any pressure yet.

“And what if I don’t let you?” Your words dared him to do something, so he just added the much needed pressure to the sides of your neck, and as always, it instantly made you wet.

“Then I’ll enjoy it even more” Jay grinned and rubbed his erection against your thigh. The feeling made you bit back a needy moan as he just kept going “I’m gonna fuck you whether you like it or not” He quickly stood up and pulled you further down on the bed by your ankles, dragging your skirt up your legs. Jay closed his fists around the red lace adorning your hips and with a sudden pull, he tore the flimsy piece of fabric and proceeded to place it inside his mouth. Jay moaned at the taste of your wetness that now covered the lace panties, “Taste so fucking good, like a good little slut should” He stated, before spitting the fabric in your face. “Fucking asshole” You spat, making him smirk before slapping your face again “Want me to fuck that tight ass too?” Jay mocked while taking a handful of your hair and tugging at your scalp. He made you get up from the bed until you stood before him “Nah, I don’t think you deserve it. That kind of reward is reserved just for the good fuck toys, not for a sour little bitch like you” Jay’s free hand covered your mouth until he let his middle and ring finger push past your lips, dragging his skin in and out of your lips until you bit down on his digits. “Oh you’ll regret that” He chuckled as you tried to gain some distance from him.

“Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He pulled you back by your hair before he pushed you face down on the mattress.

“Let me go, you fucking prick!” You tried to scratch his forearms as he grabbed and pinned them down on top of your head, “That’s right, peach. Fight me! Fight me, baby. It just makes me want to fuck you even harder” He whispered in your ear and you heard the sound of his belt being unbuckled.

“As if you have what it takes to fuck me hard, jerk” You rubbed your ass against his groin, making the both of you moan in response.

“Oh, I’m gonna fucking ruin you, lil peach” Jay slid in your void in one swift motion, your wetness made it incredibly easy for him to bury himself in you without any pain. “I’m gonna make this tight pussy take this dick until you’re begging me to fuck you through the mattress”

“Stop” You gasped, when he somehow managed to go even further “Shit, shit, shit. Oh fuck, stop” Your hands closed around the bedsheet, while you looked up at Jay with semi hooded eyes “Baby, please”.

“That’s what I like to hear” Jay grabbed your hips, gluing your ass to his pelvic bone “Shit, I barely even started and you’re already begging?” He bit your jawline and your cheek until your walls clenched around him.

“Shut up, fucker” You groaned, before pulling one of his hands away from your hip to place it around your throat.

Jay smirked and pressed his free hand against your tailbone, successfully keeping you pinned down to the mattress. He quickly thrusted in and out of you for a couple of minutes until he suddenly stopped “Wanna try that again, slut?”

“Please keep going, sir. Your cock feels incredible inside me” You panted heavily

“That’s more like it!” Jay kissed your temple before he aimed your head towards the mirror, where a post-it note was glued to it “Keep your eyes there, peach. In case you get too dumbfucked” His deep green eyes met yours in the mirror as a wicked grin took over his lips “We don’t want you to forget your special word now, do we?”

[remyfire]

The canoe life truly is lonely, but alas it is the life I make for myself. And I think you're absolutely right about how and why there is such a variety of different ships here! The rules are different during a situation like war, and the broad cast of characters plus the variety of recurring characters means there are so many different ways to push people together and have it make sense. Like I once had a friend ask who my main Hawkeye ship was and my response was that I never totally understood the term "fandom bicycle" until him and I think that also has to do with that vibe of anything goes. There are so many characters he interacts with and has a connection with that like... why *not* test those limits a little bit, you know?

I'm glad you enjoy the Mulcahy thoughts! And yeah I think his faith helped him get through the war mentally intact, but war also opened his eyes to a lot of things, to the point where I feel like a big realization like that isn't far off once he gets home. From working with so many people from so many different walks of life, he learns to see the world in a broader sense than just his Catholic worldview, and I think that makes him ripe for an epiphany of sorts. And GOD how could I forget about Trapper's names too? Like it certainly seems like he came from a Catholic family even if he no longer believes it himself, and I'd like to know where his undoing came into play. I also think he deserved more screentime with Mulcahy, I think the two of them would have given us some very fun scenes.

YESSSS all the love in CAVE!!! I can't even coherently put into words everything I felt while watching that episode because GOD it was all so much in the best way possible. I honestly never would have even thought of jealousy until you just mentioned it, because BJ so clearly cares so deeply about them both! And just the thought that BJ brought Hawkeye the little cup of comfort because he knew his friend was struggling, and then the way Hawkeye passes it immediately to Margaret before getting it back because he helps others every chance he get and he knew she needed it too! That honestly got me directly through the heart, god, I love them. CAVE was also such a good episode for the furthering of Margaret's friendship with the rest of the camp, in my opinion. For the first several seasons she wanted to always be in control and had kind of a "better than you" mindset that made her very unpopular with everyone else at camp. But watching her evolve past that has been so lovely and deserved! She's wonderful, and I think she could have some great relationships with the rest of the camp if she just allowed herself to. And this episode showed that so well!

I did have the thought recently that this show honestly is so timeless. There are obviously things that date it, but so many of the attitudes and feelings just transcend time. It sucks that we understand the negatives of course, but it's also just fascinating that everything else kind of makes sense as well. I'm not sure if I'm wording this the best, but so much of it feels modern, you know? It's just as good now as it was in the 70s, and I think that's a really powerful thing to be able to do with media. The prevalence of online communities to be able to meet other fans just makes it all the better.

(And no worries! Definitely make sure you're taking care of yourself. I hope things get better for you soon!)

Truly my favorite thing is that Hawk is the perfect fandom bicycle not just because he has protagonist syndrome, which makes it easy for him to be the center of every web, but also that he just. Cannot keep his hands off, his mouth shut, and his desire to be bred silent. Buddy what are you doing. Writers what were you doing. It's fucking delightful. I need that man at the center of as many cuddle piles as possible.

You're gonna activate my Trap brain if you're not careful, oh dear. Just that one-off line, "My folks wanted me to become a priest." There's so much tucked in there for me. Clearly I'm not supposed to read too deeply into any of these one-liners, but it says a lot! He's got all those names. I would say that one of them is probably a confirmation name, but he's also got it attached to his initials to the point that it's on his footlocker, so maybe it's not! Maybe his parents slapped him with the full range of names. Does that mean he has another secret confirmation name? Why would he hold onto a confirmation name to the point that it's on his luggage? So many questions. Trapper I am opening your skull and peering inside. There is no escape.

And Margaret, dear Margaret. A friend of mine watched The Nurses for the first time the other day and it instantly made my mind flash forward to Temporary Duty and her conversation with BJ and Charles near the end of it. "Did you ever offer me a lousy cup of coffee?" to offering the coffee to someone herself to having it handed to her unrequested in CAVE. What a cute little unintentional through line that ended up being.

She's a character that I'm scared of letting myself dig too deeply into because I know she will inevitably take control of me and I will never escape hsfdf like I am so compelled by everything she does to try to get just one shred of respect, one ounce of control over her life over the course of the 1940s and '50s, and the pain she reckons with every day as she realizes that wresting the power out of the hands of others isn't necessarily the best way to find it. That's another epiphany I'd love to see, kind of related to what we've been talking about with Mulcahy and having to come to terms with the fact that his faith is causing irreparable colonizing harm. Would be nice to see Margaret recognize that she's been taught that the only way she can have respect and control over her life is if she kicks other people down under her feet, and...hmm...maybe the Army in fact taught her the bad way...

[jessieisqueer]

On being queer and neurodivergent: Isolation and marginalisation

I'm an autistic, non binary pansexual in my mid 20s, and I'm beginning to come out in all aspects of my life.

One of the things I was really looking forward to with "completely" coming out, was not having to hold back from building community. I was excited to enter queer spaces as me, and not having to worry about keeping it secret or hiding the before or after. But most of all, I was looking forward to building queer community.

When I discovered I was queer, from the outside looking in, I saw all these queer people with incredible friendships and relationships. I longed for those deep, loving connection. That deep sense of camaraderie and solidarity between people. The physical affection, mutual understanding, empathy and love.

But I've very quickly found that gaining those sorts of connections isn't quite as straight forward as you might think. As an autistic introverted person (with many other parts of the ND experience), I experience a lot of compound discrimination. I experience constant exclusion and lack of care and understanding in my university course, spending my spoons battling to get an equal and fair education. By the time I've had to deal with the ableism, the day to day exhaustion of being in an NT world as an ND person, and the general hostile environment for queer folk at the moment, I'm left with little energy to push myself to socialise.

To make it worse, accessing queer spaces as an introverted and neurodivergent person has been a challenge. Many of them are geared toward cis people, many revolve around drinking. Even trying to find my way in less "club like" spaces has not been straightforward and a lot of the time, I have felt excluded. Some spaces I've hung around in have had cliquey tendencies: all the quieter people gather in one corner of the room, with the louder people on the other side. To make things worse, neither side of the room seems to do a very good job of welcoming in a newer quiet person, to make them feel included, welcome and wanted in the space. Even more upsetting is who's been on the receiving end of such cliqueyness. Having spoken to a few people of color in these spaces, they've also felt the same, and it happens that a majority of those experiencing this behaviour in these spaces have been people of color.

This is particularly disappointing, because as queer people, we should know what its like to be excluded and marginalised, and we should be doing better to help those who are still finding their feet. This also has a further marginalising affect for those of us who experience compound discrimination. As a disabled transfemme, I've found this experience incredibly isolating. Being able to access IRL queer spaces is a vital tool for building strong support networks, to feel seen and to grow as a queer person. But unfortunately for me and many others, a lot of us feel cut off from our community.

This often leads those of us with those experiences to seek out connections elsewhere. Maybe we download a few dating apps to meet other queer people, be it in a romantic, sexual, platonic or a mixture of those contexts. On the one hand, meeting people online can be very accessible for those of us with low spoons, but on the other, it still poses an issue. Dating apps are famously fickle, and queer dating apps are generally no exception. Ghosting, no replies, limited matches depending on location, and one sided conversations all gradually gnaw away at morale and self esteem, leading to feelings of further isolation and marginalisation within our own community.

Using apps requires constant and consistent effort (to navigate the fickle nature/behaviours that they encourage), even more so with a smaller queer dating pool. For disabled people, or those of us with compound discrimination, this can be a very draining experience.

One of the most important things when we're navigating the world as a baby queer is building and maintaining good support networks. I fear that there are many people, especially those of us with multiple marginalised identities, navigate the world without such support networks. Through therapy, I've found that one thing that would make coming out less scary is stronger and better queer support networks. And here in lies the issue: the marginalised in our community can often experience inaccessible routes to coming out, or at the very least, roads to coming out which are fraught with isolation, pain and desolateness.

I'm being tenacious, I'm on many apps, I've been talking with my online friends about my profiles and getting feedback on them (mostly good, aside from maybe getting more full body shots!), and I continue to swipe, message and meet with people. Its taking a lot of time and effort (and self esteem hits, if we're being honest!), but I'm very very slowly starting to find new and cool people to connect with.

My experiences have been eye opening. Despite what a welcoming and inclusive community we can be, I've seen from both my perspective and others, how we ourselves are capable of leaving those of us behind with compounding issues. It hurts, because I want to have a flourishing love life, I want a fulfilling and nutritious social life with people who understand and accept me. But sometimes that feels so far out of reach, and I fear that many others with the same, differing or a mixture of marginalised identities experience the same or even worse.

Either way, for those of us experiencing this: I see you and I hope that you can find your special people soon. You don't have to feel hope, but please keep trying, we all deserve to have people we feel safe, secure and loved around.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '19 Prompts No. 17 & 18 — "There is just something about [him]." / "Secrets? I love secrets."

Category: Original WIP: WASTE Rating: T Timeline: sometime during the book I guess CW: mature language Word Count: 952 Additional Notes: this was the first time I featured Mercury in my writing!!

***

"Oh…shit."

The bad thing about using weapons that rely pretty solely on electric currents is that when you're fixing or performing general maintenance on them, one wrong move and your entire day is ruined. For me, however, that is true times, like, two, I think.

So why did I choose to use weapons that rely so heavily on electricity when I know damn well I have a computer wired throughout my brain? I'll wait for someone else to answer, ‘cause I'm dense as a black hole and I don't fucking know.

Three things happened when I jammed that precision screwdriver into the power supply of my whip—it was an accident but I don't think that makes me look any less like a dumbass here—I blacked out. Immediately. I was told later that I also spiked the screwdriver so hard across the room that if Adam had been standing two feet to the left it would've gone through his skull. Also, Adam had come to visit at that exact moment.

I don't know how long I was out but I woke up already fighting to stand up.

"Whoa, hold on a sec, Guetry," Adam was saying, I think. "You're smokin'."

"Nah, I'm quitting," I said, and my voice both sounded buzzy and did not come out of my mouth but rather a hole in my face I had no control over.

"Sit down." Adam took my arm and everything hurt so much. My fingers, my toes, my back, my front, my sides, my upside-down, between, under, and over. "Sit here. I'll be damned, how're you not dead? I'm gonna call emergency services—"

"No, no," I choked out, feeling myself dropping onto a chair and that was about it. "Scotty…Scotty, you there?"

He was not there, and I couldn't get a hold of him even after I managed to stop short-circuiting. Adam took care of me, made sure I didn't need emergency services after all, but it only occurred to me much too late that I no longer had an AI keeping my body functioning, and I further blacked out four more times before I finally woke up in a hospital bed with a headache that could've woken the dead.

Adam watched me from a chair in the corner of the room, arms folded. He lifted an eyebrow. "So. Got somethin' to tell me?"

My face was half-buried in a pillow and I was on my side, which meant that I had fluid somewhere that needed draining or whatever; I don't pretend to understand half the things that are wrong with me at any point and I definitely don't understand them in relation to Scotty and why I need him.

Speaking of which…half-consciously I reached up and used the pad of my middle finger to suss out the triangle etched into my temple. "S-Scotty..."

"That's kinda what I wanted to know about," Adam said. "You got an AI in your head?"

"Mm," I groaned, running a tired hand over my arm tattoo and taking care to avoid the burn scars. "He's…a secret."

Adam cocked his head, a strand of silky gray hair falling into his amber eyes.

Yeah, I swooned a bit. So what? I was hard-up. Leave me alone.

"Secret? I love secrets." His dimpled smile sucker punched me in the gut despite feeling like someone had already done that.

"Sorry," I breathed, grasping the rail of the bed and shutting my eyes before my other brain decided to push my limits. "He's the product of a bad time for me…I don't really…talk about him much to people I don't know on a deeply intimate basis." I paused for effect. "…Or aren't part of my team."

Adam laughed—a hearty, throaty laugh that squeezed my chest as if it came from me. "That it, huh? You tryin' that hard to get me on this quest with you? You won't even tell me 'bout it, Guetry."

"Can't. Not without your agreement to the contract. 'Sort policy."

When I opened my eyes again, Adam had leaned toward me, granting me a thoughtful stare. I stared right back, aware that all that stood between my nakedness and him was a blanket and a flimsy hospital gown. The way he smiled at me, though, could've leveled buildings. He exuded charisma and fortitude the likes of which I've only seen in one other person, but Adam's was…good. He felt…good.

"I get the feelin' it ain't in your nature to follow Consortium policy," he murmured.

I closed my eyes again and sighed. "Great, now I'm gonna have to explain my semi to the nurses. It's gonna be a whole ordeal..."

"I'll join you on one condition," Adam said, skyrocketing my hopes for the most frustrating millisecond of my life. "We gotta make a pit stop on Logoryt. I got…a loose end to tie up. It won't be too outta the way."

"We can work with that, I think." I tapped the nurses' call button with my knuckle.

…I think about Adam a lot. There is something about him. He's funny as hell and gorgeous and…he had a surprise or two on him I found out once we got closer that I cherished and lavished with affection. Made him even better in my eyes, even more beautiful.

I hope I get a chance to see him again. I really do, because the more that time goes on and our paths don't cross, I can't help but feel like I'm missing out on something amazing and real, and something I fucking deserve. The short time we had together, our summer fling I guess you could say, he made me happy.

And I know he'd never let me live any of this down.

[tappingintodeepertruth]

Unfoldment

As the days are clothed in ever new tasks still, slowly and silently, routine starts to immerge in my time at Vegetarium.

How familiarity wanders through this world, I’m not surprised to find old patterns clinging like a goblin to the leg of lagging routine – I greet it like a tiring responsibility.

I found out, it calls itself „avoidance“ quite some time ago.

Most recognizable by immedeate inner freezing and internal search for balance by swaying to familiar tasks.

 It comes with no surprise then to say, discipline and organization have never been my strength and admittedly also one of those weaknesses that I keep having to challenge continuously as not to be swallowed by the goblin of avoidance entirely.

It pains my heart to realize how much I miss out on the sensation of life with that as well.

Even though my head is stirring from trying to figure out which strings I need to play to move my heart.

I know, I will need to move through time and space this lifetime.

Being surrounded by different environments and engaging with the unfamiliar to some degree brings me joy.

Yet, sightseeing and adventure hunting does not truly reach my heart.

As a child I truly wanted to become an actress, touching deeply into emotions, travelling through them, changing shape and self, only to exit again from what I’ve never been and question reality in the end. Madness didn’t scare me, I was prepared for that. I didn’t want to do it for fame however, especially not by being guided by a brainwashed director that doesn’t understand the trancelike state acting can provoke. It’s an illusion that doesn’t need any hallucinogenic external influence and I still believe in it’s power, only haven’t found the environment to enter the magic stage.

Writing as well enticed me, but I fell into a perfectionistic trap, which kills words and befogs their meaning.

So I stopped writing altogether for a long while and by that cut my access to conscious processing.

Which I need and for that I am happy we’ve got to write these articles. For now I cannot care about who’s going to read them, because at least I can allow myself now to look inward.

Surely, I would like to develop that here.

Conscious intoperspection explored through different writing styles.

Forgetting about the weight of my words, but mixing them up, enjoying the flow or their rattling tumbles as I type them on my keyboard.

That does remind me oft he concept of any repressed state, showing up altered, with increased energy.

Maybe that’s how the complexity and multifacedness of mixed media and musical exploration reaches me so deeply.

There’s a strong desie for me to move more into the expressionistic area, yet still I am stuck on something that doesn’t allow me to move any further.

Some obstacle that I hope will be resolved over time.

I think it’s more inner wounding, which still pushes this dream into the realms of vagueness.

Beside that I am holding myself back in the awareness that some detail is not quite right for me to move along:

With all the colours that I love to see in the world, it’s easy for me to foretell their fading in a tragedy of human sorrow, if we take them for granted and don’t align them with our natural environment.

When I start exploring and experimenting, I will take up resources from my environment.

I will have to step out of my provider role and trust that I will be cared for.

Literally.

- Not psychoanalytically.

Because, if I take from the world, and our earth has limited resources, how do I create in that?

Delving into LandArt? It is meditative.

I do like strong colours though! That by itself is not enough!

So how to combine it?

I live by intention and refuse to live in a way that I believe causes harm.

Only that it’s easy to be manipulated into believing many things.

That got me stuck in the mud of unknown for way too long.

Yet, they spread „think before acting“.

I deeply believe, cognitive dissonance is like the synthesis between thesis and antithesis.

Life arguing with itself and going for neither option –

instead, throwing it all tot he wind and finding another path.

An endless spiral of dysatisfaction and hopeful curiosity.

In that regard, it’s interesting to observe my attention taking on new shapes here,

when suddenly everything becomes important,

as fire hungrily flickers in the oven, wanting to be fed and helping to feed us.

 

At the same time fire is grappling for attention with water,

as the plants yearn for droplets to drink under the still visiting sun.

Everything is reaching out for health and stability.

Engagement, connection.

Sometimes I want to opt out.

And othertimes to dive so deeply to create all anew by my own learnings.

Even thouth that might be just another expression of duality.

I barely learnt how to stay somewhat alive within a society that is nonetheless unhealthy.

How do I transform into a living being in an environment, which tries to top itself in healthy habits?

Because right now, my coping strategies still burn down to what’s fairly destructive.

I drink coffee, when having to do difficult tasks or such that I find not motivation for.

For too long  chocolate has been connected to softening my anger and rage,

which shoots through my veins, every time I try to look for a lostconnection.

Cognitive dissonance and double empathy isn’t recognized and divison stays,

my view feels unrecognized and diminished, so I don’t feel the need to engage.

Which leeds me to…

Sleep - the only state I feel accepted in to not participate (consciously).

Now we can go deep.

Because that’s the avoidance that hits my consience:

My personal responsibilty towards my own actions.

I guess that’s why I might be so keen about coming back to myself.

It is so vital for me to realize, where I am, so I can create from there.

When and how can I stay in my own energy?

What is my own energy?

When do I connect it to the outer world and when do I keep it for myself?

These questions are so necessary.

I don’t believe my journey into this direction is a singular one, either,

which is why I choose to publish it.

We all carry gifts that serve to enrich the world.

even if that means to take on the nasty job to tear old structures down to rebuild new ones.

Not because new necessarily is better.

Instead maybe because it’s time for a change, so we can reach different realms.

Difficult though to hold the balance and remember and preserve the valuable foundations of the past on which history is build and allows us to thrive.

It’s a circle. Calm your mind.

There’s no escape from any unlearned lessons anyway…

My heart knows it has to learn for sure – that it has closed some doors to shut out all the pain it felt and could guess would continue. But how else to grow, than by reconnecting, asking for forgiveness and guidance in newfound strength?

Many times I have been guided to find beauty in what I deem ugly.

To question the judgement I soak up from my environments.

So far, I have barely truly understood, why I continue doing things I dislike and slipping into various roles, which make not even sense to me.

Yet, now I’m wondering, whether maybe what I’m trying to reveil by laying open my own ugly sides is: horse dung.

Maybe my soul is trying to help me become a fertilizer to help my environment grow, even though I might not always be pleasant. For myself and others.

So perhaps, growing in appreciation for myself can genuinely help me absorb what I need,

so I can serve my environments better.

(Which has been an advise I’ve heard a couple of times this week, only coveyed in different words)

Growing up, I learnt to present myself in a way that is tolerable for others to bear –

only going out and leaving the house when I was „okay enough“ –

again, I don’t see this as therapy session,

but as an opportunity to connect with those (maybe they are few in number, I cannot tell,

but those experiences bear a weight that might lighten, when shared).

Here, in between thorns in my hair, soil on my clothes and horse dung,

I do get to surrender to what I cannot hide anymore.

It is a freeing experience.

Yet simply being put into an environment that has managed to follow certain practices,

doesn’t help me access more serence and balanced layers or open my heart right away.

I’m technically in my fourth week and I’m still working on my personal challenge to drink two liters a day.

There’s no thinking of getting up early in the morning to follow morning practices,

even though I’m sure they would help.

It’s those internal barriers that keep me stuck.

„If I don’t help x with y, they will be upset and that I have to balance again,

because the mood drops and….“ Mind blank.

Which is why I put mind first, even though I continue to get told I am thinking to much.

That’s a boundary for me!

Such exclamations hinder my growth and appeal for me to stop my development as not to get into the way of their needs and plans.

Whose to judge though on which dreams and whose growth is more important?

How to organize a group so there’s equal access to growth for everyone?

What even means growth?

Where do the pictures come from that make us strive towards anything?

I dislike that!

That’s why I want to develop my exploration skills and meditate more.

I need to become one with myself,

so I feel my inner compass, so I can feel the moment and create from there with or without impulse.

And it does raise the question of how to manage living in a community

- (and even more in a society) -

with your full and rich inner life full of people with full rich inner lives?

Especially when your inner life is full of conflict

and needs working through before being able to connect with the outer world?

I constantly feel I carry a lot of Karma within me, which I want to learn to clarify.

And still, there is so much poisonous interaction that comes out of me, when I follow this path.

I want to protect my environment from that.

Only that this will make everything worse.

So I try to diffuse things slowly.

Which makes me unbearingly slow.

Yet that’s the only way I see to balance what I carry within.

Here, I become aware of what I was able to guess before, but didn’t make space to see:

where my heart has been closed and shut off, where it doesn’t find air to breathe,

where it’s afraid to feel into.

And I hope to, step by step tap into some re-connection again, sense what it needs to gain in inner strength and bravery to work through my fears.

What I would genuine like is to rebalance a grow back what I built barriers against.

In that sense I am glad to experience not being comfortable here and learing to accept some things I hoped for not working out.

It‘s pretty strengthening to observe, that at the end of the day, a good nights sleep can resolve many a discomfort of the day.

That, mayhaps, is some form of rapid growth though and part of creation:

To see what is.

Coming up with what would be nice to have and to reach –

while already allowing oneself to heal from what might not be realised.

Being okay with the moment and allowing oneself the chance to make space for what is good.

There’s a book in the library here that mentioned something along the lines of:

„Imagine the unpleasant to be a burning ring of emotional fire and on the other side someone who might benefit from you walking through it and maybe helping them.“

I like this line of thinking how doing an unpleasant task for the group might help others.

I believe, I’d like to develop the skill to surrender and to serve in ways that feel aligned with my path.

 

To do justice to my teenage self and honour it for what it went through, I did  find a quote,

which I would have loved to write down ten years ago.

So I will do that now:

„To love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you.“

~ by A History of My Brief Body by Billy-Ray Belcourt

What that means to me in this moment of time is

to surrender (yet not succumb) to the pain of this world with compassion

and to give myself to each moment as it comes with an open heart,

so I can start loving life –

not only to survive it.

I’m sure I can learn from my fellow surrounding souls

how to enter that path with awareness of luring attachments.

Maybe I’ll even start some Yogi, Ayurvedic path.

(I guess I’ll have to meditate on that…)

~ Michelle B.

************************************************************************

Adding a cherry on top by emphazising my human hypocracy: here’s me going against my values and needs by adding a picture of myself to fulfill my contract and prove that my words are not an invention of AI, just to be able to stay in this project and not endanger it of being considered corruptive…

Adorably, selling myself for advertisement, while genuinely trying to appreciate the opportunity I am being given here.

What a thin line to balance on.

Maybe the only way is to fall and to call it a bungee jump.

I do hope, I get bonus points for being a good citizen and writing a long article…

Or did I rule myself out by writing too honestly?

Too “self-absorbed”, as they love calling it?

Thinking too much again?

Overreacting and making a mountain of a molehill?

You know, I get the official reasoning of wanting to see a real human behind written words.

Yet I suggest questioning the measuring standards of defining a real human.

That would wake philosopher's, to whom lending an ear the majority of people has no patience in.

(But that's not what this is truly about, is it?)

Which is why this article won't be even read likely and I'm simply typing away my frustration of those traps we are setting up for one another,

which are the leading steps to some societal outrage "that couldn't be expected - oh woe!"

No realization of those endless circles will get me out of this place we call earth, will it?

I hope we can dissolve the cruelty of acting against our values over time!

Because this disgusts me deeply and from the deepest pit of my stomach.

Is it only possible to live authentically by always being disagreeable and crashing sytems? I wish there was another way!

But maybe that’s just the result of countless unrecognized unmet needs of others.

Maybe that’s how we learn to empathize. And maybe, someday… we will find and choose a different path! I truly hope so!

Until then, I guess I practice breathing instead of spitting fire (to save it for another time).

And come to a halt.

Breathing in sharply.

And in that... finding the point that makes all these words redundant.

Because all I need... is me.

[mysticalskunk]

It has come to my attention that Miranda / Randa / Mia / Lavender is sneaking around to talk about me behind my back to people. I would like to be informed if she tries to talk about me or tries to get any of my partners involved into drama. I have never told anybody about what happened between us but she keeps trying to involve other people into something that was supposed to stay between us. I did not want to address it, but I realized it has become a pattern and then take her word for it without asking my side of the story. She tries block evading and is creepily obsessed with me and views me as competition due to her jealousy and inferiority complex. I still have the screenshots of that.

Having said that, those who know me do know that I usually do not engage in petty call outs posts myself but at this point I have been pushed to my limit. Having said that - this is petty friendship drama and I will go more into it in another google doc I am writing, this one will not be made public. I have no interest to draw this out even further, I just want to move on from her so this will be my only post about her. At this point it's for my own safety.

I did not want to do this but she keeps involving other people and I had enough of explaining myself and that is what the google doc will serve for at this point. I am full aware that this is a hurt on both sides and my own part in this and it’s clear that there is a lack of communication involved but Mia is seeking deliberately out those I interact with to drag them into this and quite frankly I cannot take it anymore.

With this post, do not approach her or me about it and leave her alone and do not go around to bother her in some way. If you think you can play third party and say stuff without even knowing what this is about, stay out of it. This has been going on for at least 2018-2019 and has become nothing but an utter mess and you are only making it worse by trying to help. She is the one who needs to move on and stop being obsessed with me. Do not bother trying to tell me her side, she had her chance and blow it. I do not need to hear any of that from a third party, nor do I want comments on it. You do not know what is actually happening here so even if she tries to drag you into something, keep away from it. I hate that other people get involved into petty stuff like that because of her jealousy and I would have not written that post but at this point I do not feel safe. I just want to move on from this and not have constantly old wounds opened.

Mia is nothing but an extremely passive aggressive person who loves gossiping about other people. She will also share your private information to others. I am not the only one she treats that way - she is like that with a lot of people but I am the only one so far who has caught onto her behavior patterns and since 2018 nothing has changed and she keeps doing the same.

For years, she has talked with someone else I considered a friend behind my back and shared private information about me with each other. Her trying to drag people into drama when someone snapped at her for understandable reasons is nothing new. She has a habit of doing that because she does not want you to interact with people that make her persnally uncomfortable and then goes on to talk about them behind their back. She does not just do that with me, she does it with a lot of people.

Mia has a habit of pushing other peoples buttons, she repeats each pattern. At this point it s not slip ups, you can tell it is deliberate. She knows what she is doing and admits to doing it every time. She can berate you for something all she wants, but when you go “hey x is not okay” she will accuse you of “attacking her” “being lecturing and annoying” “being an angry bristling wolf” “too blunt and too aggressive” “criticizing her a lot” "bringing out her anxiety and trigger her"

She has no problem dropping you if you "call her out" on her behavior. She thinks the internet is her personal playground where she can get away without facing the consequences. She is trying to seek for people who have not caught onto her behavior, she is looking for people who let her get away with as much as she pleases because Mia does not listen to anybody but herself.

Mia will never take accountability for her own actions. She would rather point fingers and blame you or others for it. If she does give some sort of apology or regret, it is fake. This is not about those she hurts, this is for herself. Each “apology” was in connection of “I was worried you are going to cancel culture me” or “I was worried you will make a call out post” . She does not care for others feelings, she is worried about her image.

Again - the internet is her own personal playground and everything needs to be about her. She thinks she simply knows better because of her own experiences and pretends to be better than anyone else. She does not care if you have your own irl issues in going - when you do not respond as fast to her liking she will chase you across your blogs and spams them, switching between asks and dms (despite me repeatingly telling her to stick to dms) and then drop and block you for making her wait "bring out her anxiety by making her wait". She then comes crawling back and whines about it how sorry she is for doing so -she is not, she just wants attention.

She also resents and blames me for "still having the space she lost”. I know how she "lost” it in the first place and all this came from her sticking her nose into something that was not her business (not regarding me but two other people), her own jealousy and other insecurities but rather than owning up to that she would rather point fingers, blame me and call that other person she caused distress an angry bristling wolf. I will go more into it during that doc.

Having said that, here are a few screenshots that says a lot about her personality and what a red flag she actually is.

This was years ago but I never deleted the screenshots of it so I will always remember the person she actually is. It was a terrifying read back then and it is a terrifying read now.

On top of that, she knows bullshit about my life and just bases this on my internet experiences. I suffer majorly from depression, anxiety and other disabilites to a point where I cannot even find work (the fact that she then goes "I am expected to build up and earn money" is disgusting. She is throwing a pity party for herself, acts like I am some kinda rich person who has no problems at all).

Just because I do not dump all my issues onto someone like she loves to do for attention and just because she was considered "a friend" does not mean it gives her access to what is happening in my life - keep in mind, the message also came on what currently was the worst time of my life and I already wanted to lash out but decided she was not worth the effort. I am wasting my life away with depression, I never had "a sense of living life or security".

Keep in mind, that was also when our friendship was already over. I felt nothing but relief when our friendship was over because she was a nightmare to deal with. But she is unable to let go and kept hunting me across my blogs. I eventually was desperate enough to tell her to cut it out because I genuinely could not deal with this right now with everything going on irl but she kept chasing after me "what is 'this' instead of giving me a break.

Having said that - the likes of her are not, and never will be my friend. She never viewed me as a friend, she views me as competition. She makes that clear in that message. And if you ever get a message like that run as far away as you can.

People like that will do anything to try and make you as miserable as them because they are petty like that. If they can’t do better themselves they refuse to do so for everyone else either and want to drag them down just so they can feel better in their pathetic life.

If you read "I wanted to be stronger than you and wanted what you seemed to have I wanted to win" that is a huge red flag. She makes it clear hear that she never saw me as an equal and has an obsessive, one sided competition in going.

Anyway, that is only half of it. I am not really in the mood to go into the rest of that petty high school drama on Tumblr and that is not even the basics of it, nor should it have been anybod's business to begin with.

[healthfinest]

Aizen Power Supplements: A Game Changer for Boosting My Performance

I've always been active and health-conscious, but lately, I felt like my performance in the gym and bedroom had plateaued. I wasn't seeing the same results I once did, and it was honestly getting a bit discouraging. That's when I came across Aizen Power Supplements and decided to give them a try. Let me tell you, it was a decision that's completely changed the game for me.

Increased Stamina and Endurance

Before Aizen Power Supplements, my workouts would leave me feeling drained and sluggish. I'd hit a wall midway through my routine, and pushing myself further felt like a struggle. But since incorporating these supplements, I've noticed a significant increase in my stamina and endurance. I can power through my entire workout with more energy and focus, allowing me to push my limits and achieve better results.

Enhanced Performance

The improvement in my stamina has directly translated into better performance in the gym. I'm lifting heavier weights, completing more reps, and feeling stronger overall. This newfound strength and stamina have also spilled over into other aspects of my life, giving me that extra boost I needed to tackle daily challenges with more confidence.

Improved Recovery Time

One of the most frustrating parts of an intense workout routine is the long recovery times. Muscle soreness and fatigue used to slow me down considerably. However, since using Aizen Power Supplements, I've noticed a significant reduction in recovery time. My muscles feel less sore after workouts, and I' m back in the gym feeling refreshed and ready to go much quicker.

Natural and Safe Ingredients

A big concern I had when considering performance-enhancing supplements was the use of harsh chemicals or artificial ingredients. Aizen Power Supplements stood out to me because they focus on natural and safe ingredients. After researching the components, I felt confident that I was putting something healthy and beneficial into my body.

Discreet Packaging and Fast Delivery

Let's face it, there can sometimes be a stigma around using performance-enhancing supplements. Aizen Power understands this, and they offer discreet packaging that keeps your order completely confidential. Plus, the delivery was incredibly fast and efficient. I received my order within a few days of placing it, which was impressive.

Overall Experience: Highly Recommend

Overall, I've had a fantastic experience with Aizen Power Supplements. They've helped me reach new levels of performance in the gym and bedroom, and I feel generally more energised and revitalised. If you're looking for a natural way to boost your stamina, endurance, and overall performance, I highly recommend giving Aizen Power Supplements a try. You won't be disappointed.

[la-principessa-nuova]

So I’m in this weird situation where I’m wanting to try and explore more styles with fem clothes, but also I’m not out to anybody IRL yet, so I’m still dressing masc, and I’m now aware of how much I was forcing myself to wear very basic clothing, so I’m wanting to explore more with what I’m wearing on days I go outside.

Part of it is just because I understand why I was choosing plain, boring clothes, and I don’t feel limited by it now, and part of it is because I want to stop suppressing my femininity little by little so it’s not quite so jarring when I come out to my family and seems maybe obvious in hindsight.

A large part of my fear of wearing things more on the feminine side of men’s clothing was because my dad will make comments about the smallest detail that is remotely feminine and make fun of me for it, but now that I know that at some point I’m going to come out as trans, I’m willing to endure some teasing now to push his expectations further towards fem.

I know it’s not going to take away the initial shock of telling them, but I’m hoping to make it seem less like suddenly a new person shows up the day I tell them.

Anyway, all of this is to say that it was very weird shopping for men’s clothes now because I was trying to do it the way I shop for women’s clothes, but it still feels so much different and occasionally dysphoric.

Like with women’s clothes, it’s all about what I find cute and how it will make my body look, and the style I want to go for with the outfit. With men’s clothes, it’s all about the balance between shifting expectations more fem but also remembering how my family will react to it and carefully picking what won’t upset anybody more than I intend it to. Less, “Ooh, this is cute, but how will it fit on me?,” and more, “OK, this pattern sells the message, but is to too jarring a change from my usual?”

It also feels very wasteful to be buying clothes I only intend to wear for one season, but I just have to keep reminding myself that while I am wasting my own money, anything I don’t want to keep because it’s gender neutral enough or would be good for costumes or nostalgia can be donated, and newer clothes will just mean even better donations.

It also makes me more aware that in my head I’m starting to form a timeline of when I’m coming out because when I see men’s shirts with Christmas patterns, I’m like, “No, I won’t be needing those.”