#and not talking to people makes it worse.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[identitty-dickruption]

the range of “verified disability fakers” include: people who talk about their disability too much, people who never talk about their disability, people who joke about their disability, people who complain about their disability too frequently, people who have tried every possible cure, and people who take risks that might make their disability worse

[tammog]

Do you live in a bizarro world?

Kamala did not try to be "centrist". She actively courted Republican voters by trying to be the Republican Party with a different paint job. She wanted genocide in Palestine. She wanted immigrants to be criminalized and MORE people to die during border crossings. She wasn't "Centrist", unless you want to call her that to point out how much she kissed fascist ass while being absolutely ineffectual in how I would use the word "centrist": Derogatorily.

But even aside from her policy her campaign was absolute ass. She started with huge momentum and then turned around 180 to instantly kill it.

Her campaign sent Bill fucking Clinton to Michigan Arab communities to tell them how Israel has a right to shoot missiles at children.

They basically relied on having people actually on the left held hostage - "It's me or Trump", true enough - while then also doing everything to look as much as the Republicans as possible to get Republican votes somehow. IDK why Republicans would vote for watered down Republicans over the real ones, OR how people on the left would NOT lose motivation to vote for her if she tries to be as much as the other guy as she possibly can, so this was a clearly losing strategy in both directions, AS STAFFERS TOLD PEOPLE, AS ANALYSTS WARNED HER AND THE OTHER CAMPAIGN LEADERS, as everyone on the left kept telling people.

And now after the election, an election that she lost because 15 million people just did not show up to vote, in large part because she tried to make herself seem as bad as possible while relying on the fact that people would try to vote for her to avert something worse, who gets the blame?

Not the fascist-maxxing DNC campaign, not even the voter suppression I heard being talked about so much before, but people on the left, minorities, and the fucking Palestinians BEING MURDERED AS YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT THEM despite them not even being in the same country or being able to vote.

So many posts of liberals - derogatory, again - being gleeful that even if they are going to have it bad, Palestinians are going to die. Posts from liberals hoping that minorities get deported. Posts from liberals wishing queer people death because they have deluded themselves into thinking that all these groups made their sports team lose and everything would be fine and dandy if Harris had won.

Look in a mirror. Look at all the things Harris did. Ask yourself if you truly think she did ANYTHING right.

And if you think she did everything right, why don't you go sign up for the GOP or the KKK, they seem to be more your place.

[rosesradio]

Hey, I've got questions about your stance against ai

In writing, ik you are against Ai "writing your fic"

But are there ways ai can be used in writing fics that you are okay with?

Like obviously saying "Hey chatgpt, write a (insert fandom) fic where (insert plot) happens" then just copy pasting it, is wrong

But what about getting ideas from ai? Like prompts, or titles (like i did with 1 fic) or having ai re-write like a sentence to make it sound better or other stuff

tbh i don’t think it’s good to use AI like that for anything related to the creation of art. the brain is a muscle, and in order to hone your skills, you need to step out of your comfort zone. i for one hate titling my fics, but i’d rather struggle & then come to the satisfaction of finding a title on my own than asking a bot to spit a title back at me. plus, i’ve titled over 50+ fics, so that skill is strengthened with repetition.

(plus i’m pretty sure chatgpt is regenerative, meaning that if you send it your fic to give a title to, it can use your work as data to write other people’s fics :/)

prompts are even worse tbh. fandom thrives from conversation. if you’re looking for something to write, explore certain tags and post in them, i promise a real person will have an idea you’re interested in, and maybe you can make a new friend in fandom by talking about that idea together.

also, using AI for rewriting is probably the worst thing you can do. again with strengthening the muscle of your mind and honing the skill. you need to reread your work, reach out to others & maybe get an editor/beta reader. you can and should find writing blogs written by real people, and read books to find writing that intrigues you. that’s crucial to the human experience.

of course, i don’t mean any offense when i say this. i can’t stop you. but i for one would never turn to something non-human to aid in something i consider very human & vulnerable, and i don’t think you should either.

[angelltheninth]

Comforting Blue Lock Men After They Miss a Goal

Pairing: Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, Sae Itoshi, Rin Itoshi, Kunigami Rensuke, Hyoma Chigiri, Nagi Seishiro, Reo Mikage x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, kissing, self-doubt, dating, cuddles, anger

A/N: Everyone needs some comfort right now.

Isagi already went to Blue Lock with a lot of doubt so for him to miss an important goal is crushing. He would rather you not see him like that. At the same time he can't help but lean into you when you hug him. The last thing he needs right now is to push you away.

Bachira pretends that it doesn't bother him. Turns out he can fool many people with his fake smile but not you. With you he doesn't need to pretend, he can be angry, he can be frustrated. Because he knows you'll hear him out, you'll be there to embrace him.

Sae isn't too bothered at first, it. Then again he knows it makes him look a little bit worse in certain eyes, and that does bother him. However he also knows you'd never look down on him for that. As long as he as you to cheer for him he knows he'll make the next goal.

Rin gets really angry with himself and goes right back to training. The more he does this the more he burns himself out. Both of you are aware that it's not good for him. You're there to pull him away and convince him to cuddle up with you and rest a little.

Kunigami rushes into the locker room and closes himself off to everyone. You're the only person who responds to and talks to. When you hug him and pull him into bed with you he curls up to you and lets himself cry. He won't do it in front of anyone else.

Chigiri brushes off your concerns at first, but you can tell he's upset. The moment your lips touch his you feel tears fall down his cheeks and he can't hold it in anymore. He is upset about this, he knows he could have made it if he was better. He will be better, for you.

Nagi never showed much sign of caring that he missed an important goal. What he did do was he threw himself into more training. Of course you're there to support him through it. At the next game you're his loudest cheerleader, yelling the loudest when he scores.

Reo distracts himself by taking you out on a date. The last thing he wants is to wallow in his misery. He is sad yes, very sad, in fact you swear you felt him cry against your neck when you met up for your fate. But he doesn't want to have you worry about him all the time.

[erinwantstowrite]

i think im not a fan of what dc keeps doing with jason because they keep having him, the abused, become an abuser in some way shape or form. and the classism they don't want to talk about (i am being so for real there is a genuine problem of both writers and readers who do not understand jason's background and it pissed me off so bad because it always shapes their opinion of him in the wrong way and they don't care to even try to listen). and how if they were going to have him come back they should have had delved into his identity crisis and the inherent horror of coming back but not knowing how or why or what to do about it and not knowing what you were doing while dead and having to deal with time jumping forward on you and the fact that you will never get the time back and no one will he the same as they were before you died and how isolating and lonely that would be. and they also definitely weren't prepared for the fact that jason was grieving his life and his death and his hopes for his mother and his dad who didn't get there in time and the dc writers are fucking cowards. which brings me to my next point: why do we keep listening to them about shit because they are quite literally always fighting with each other and projecting their own personal biases into characters (i.e. making them worse than they are/2 dimensional/trying to make them iredeemable so their favorite character gets to shine) and also they are all freaks of nature with a consistent problem of being God Awful People who why would we trust them with these characters. jason todd they don't get you like i do

[phoebe-andromeda]

Alright so I appreciate the efforts to listen to Palestinian journalists and promote Palestinian campaigns, and I don't really like starting shit especially with people who are mostly on my side, but this is a terrible take. I'm a second generation Palestinian with family over there. Almost everyone in my family is extremely conservative when it comes to gender and ethnicities besides their own, but wanted Kamala Harris to win anyway (aside from a few of them who moved to the US and think queer people & mexicans are the biggest threat to their lives). Make no mistake, no one thinks she's their savior - they just know Trump will be worse.

This take also completely ignores the situation in Ukraine, and in the US domestically. Trump definitely won't be on Ukraine's side. Nothing more to say here really, just something important to mention.

Talking about how "better" and "worse" mean nothing to you because you've seen so many atrocities is honestly privileged. Sure, your privilege could take you to worse places - I'm glad you're recognizing that things are horrible, but this still lacks the level of personal investment necessary to see the difference between bad and worse. If 1,000 more people die for no reason, that might not be a huge amount relatively, but that's still 1,000 lives and every single one of them has meaning. None of them will say "oh, well, the other candidate in America would have also been capitalist, so it doesn't matter that I died! my death isn't THAT much of a difference." If you can't see that difference, you either can't see beyond black & white in general or have succumbed to doomerism on some level

Lastly, I think 1,000 is a low estimate. We could have protested if we got Kamala. We could have had more paths towards helping Palestinians. Trump is only worse. My family knows that. We don't know how many lives this election will cost, but it will be more than if he wasn't elected, and that deserves frustration and grief.

i've been feeling incredible anger and frustration lately with these posts lamenting what the next four years will look like in the u.s., how much "worse" things will get under the trump administration, as if we haven't been witnessing a holocaust for the past year funded by the biden administration. if you have seen a single video from gaza, a single picture, read a feature from a gazan journalist, spoken to a single person in your inbox when they plead for your attention and help, words like "worse" or "better" turn to ash in your mouth. just yesterday my friend hilda texted me that even when her family manages to get food, smoke from the fire needed to cook aggravates her sinus allergies, making it difficult to breathe. this is how she's been living for the past year and a month, under a democrat-funded genocide.

below is a small fraction of the palestinians who have reached out to me for help with their campaigns. it is a huge source of shame to me that i can't keep up with all of the people in my inbox. please go to their accounts and read their stories. and please give what you can spare.

hilda @hildanasr1 / GFM - 5%

dina @dina179 / GFM - 33%

yousseff @youseffamily / GFM - 92%

suad @suad-khaled / GFM - 51%

nada @nadamd44 / GFM - 1%

asma @asmaayyad2 / GFM - 62%

shehab family @reemshehabnew / GFM - 90%

yahya @yahyabkheet-blog / GFM - 21%

mohammed @mohammed-hassouna1 / GFM - 19%

abdulrahman @3bdulra7manosama / GFM - 9%

mai @abuhamdasblog / GFM - 5%

ibrahim @aburakhiaibrahim / GFM - 22%

mona @mansh99 / GFM - 13%

ahmed @najah-meshal5 / GFM - 16%

noor @noor-yashour / GFM - 10%

*ALL CAMPAIGNS ARE VETTED*

[lovscb97]

tags: step-brother!park jongseong x fem!reader, d/s dynamics, dom!jay x sub!reader, manipulation lowkey?, implied male masturbation, kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), dirty talk, use of nicknames (baby, princess, jjongie, etc), degradation (slut, whore, etc), spit kink, begging, daddy kink, unprotected sex (plz don’t), breeding kink, choking, praise kink, creampie, fluff and uncertainty at the end, etc

wc: 4.12k

add. notes: ok i know i said i would Not upload soon much less written work either but guess who lied!!! no but fr my mood was pretty terrible yst morning bcs of some stupid classmates not contributing to group work but u know what i had food n ice cream w my friend n i felt a bit better at the least. it still doesn’t excuse their actions but ya anyways bcs of my peace of mind n bcs i finished my part for my presentation, i present to u a Very long stepbro jay fic hehe.. some parts or sentences may look familiar but that's cus i acc sent them to a blog here as anon messages LMFAO but yea i hope u guys enjoy :3 icon creds to @/purinkiss btw!

. . . 

ever since your parents’ divorce, your entire world shattered. it only got worse when your dad announced he’d be bringing home a new woman, much less one who had a child the same age as you. of course, you disagreed at first, throwing harsh words at him up until the point he forced you to meet the delinquent, dragging you by the arm to the restaurant where you were to have dinner with whoever these random people who were about to become part of your small family circle were. you’d even made a firm promise to yourself to not entertain them and to be petty, whether that translated through snide remarks or rolling your eyes, and you swear you really were going to go through with it—

that is, until you met jay.

jay was nothing like you’d imagined him to be. in your head, your new, soon-to-be stepbrother was an ugly, rude and snobby brat who didn’t give two cents about joining your family, the jay you met in reality though? everything but that. he was sweet, and polite, and absolutely fucking gorgeous; blonde hair swept back with a strand falling over his forehead, lean shoulders outlined in the tight fitting black shirt he’d decided to wear for the occasion, and a smile worth a thousand bucks or even dying for. any words that were previously on the tip of your tongue died down when he took your hand in his to shake it, the soft feel of his skin and his bright grin making your insides positively melt and the thoughts of your parents split dissipate within seconds. 

your stepbrother’s attitude and good looks carried through the months you spent with him too. if anything, it became even more reinforced with him taking care of you whenever you needed him. he’d handle sharp objects for you while making your favourite food, hold your hand on the street if you had to cross the road, carry your bags when they got too heavy, rush in front of the door to open it for you, and so, so much more. you were at a privilege to be able to watch him walk around with nothing but a simple shirt and sweatpants around the house too, shamelessly raking your eyes over his attractive features and boring them into his back when he leaned over the stovetop to cook you ramen. 

part of you felt like a perv, for behaving this way and finding him good looking even if he objectively was. you knew it wasn’t like you could help it, you had eyes and they obviously saw what was in front of you, but you tried shoving it down anyways. it also didn’t help that jay constantly hovered around you and made your relationship out to be so.. domestic. he’d narrow his eyes when he caught you talking on the phone to your friends about your latest hook-up, lecturing you on the use of safe sex and how college boys were no good for you until you were red in the face with embarrassment, or he’d offer for the both of you to hang out together after classes ended for you every other day, draping a blanket over your figures and scooching in close to you up until you could feel his body heat radiating off of him. your dad and his new wife thought nothing of it despite your mind spinning, cooing over how well you two got along and relishing in the fact that their children were such good siblings already.

oh, if only they were aware of the twisted fantasies swirling in jongseong’s mind.

because from the minute jay saw you, he knew he had to have you. your pretty face, your soft-spoken voice, and of course, your fucking body. he felt like he was about to lose his damn mind when he first saw you walk around the house in nothing but skimpy shorts and that stupid pink top that left nothing up to the imagination. to an extent, it almost felt like you were teasing him on purpose, especially when he’d find you seated on the couch with your exposed thighs and the subtle dip of your cleavage peeking through the measly clothes that practically coaxed him to sport a hard-on right then and there. it’d be the dead of night when he’d finally find some relief after a day of watching you parade around the kitchen, wondering what it would feel like to grip your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pull your nose flush to his pelvis with him nestled deep inside your throat. and it was only when jongseong came all over his hand and sheets for the nth time after fantasising about you that he realised he needed to do something about this, whether that went against his moral compass or not.

it started with light touches. 

jay would grasp your shoulder to move past you when you were in the way, barely mumbling an ‘excuse me’ to alert you of his presence so you wouldn’t practically jump out of your skin when he did so. his hand would linger in yours for a second too long when he tried not losing you in crowds, gently commanding you to stay close to him in that stern tone of his that made your panties stick to you. it was common etiquette, you thought, he was just doing his job as a brother would normally do for his sister, but the only thing in jongseong’s mind was to make you let down your guard, let it down so much that he could swoop in at the perfect time to take advantage of it. he knew it was wrong, so sinister and dark to want to fuck his own stepsister to the point the only way he could get it up was to the thought of you, but jay didn’t care about any of that at this point, far too fucked out in his own head to think of having eyes for anyone but you.

and as expected, all throughout this, you didn’t suspect a thing. how could you? jay was so perfect, so well-mannered and so attentive. he listened to you rant about anything trivial in your life and drove you around when you wanted to meet up with your girls. he’d wake up late at night if you had a bad dream, consoling you even through the sight of your tears making him worked up, and rub your back softly when you needed to be taken care of. he’d let you sneak back in the house after you’d told your dad you were going out to the library to study, making up excuses for you when your lies fell short. he had your back, and in turn, you had his, so you would’ve never thought of him as anything but a gentleman and big brother.

until everything he did grew into more. 

until having an arm behind your carseat while looking into the rearview mirror turned into placing his hand on your thigh, inches away from the seam of your skirt. until sitting next to him while watching a movie with a shared blanket turned into him nuzzling against you under the covered fabric. until having dinner with both your parents present at the dinner table turned into his foot grazing against yours ever so slightly.

until your honey-like voice calling out for him to help you get the glass on the top cabinet turned into full blown moans of you getting eaten out on the living room couch, echoing throughout the empty house because of-fucking-course, your parents were out for the night on a dinner date.

you weren’t even sure how it happened. one minute, you were struggling to reach on your tippy toes, your mouth instinctively moving to utter jay’s name because he was the only one beside you at home who could help out, but the next, he was pressing up against you to the point of grinding himself into your ass, causing you both to inhale sharply. you vaguely recall turning around, ready to ask what your stepbrother was doing when you’d caught sight of his darkened eyes, practically eyeing you like a piece of meat. and by the time anything even registered in your mind, his lips were already on yours, and his hand was dragging you over to the couch in record time.

“j-jay, we shouldn’t be doing this.” you stuttered out, your voice meek and quiet as you tried not to roll your eyes back at the sight of him slurping up your juices. he didn’t respond, instead opting to move his mouth up to focus on your clit, sucking it into the hot cavern and rolling his tongue against it to the point it had you seeing stars. you knew it was wrong, going against so many moral standpoints and rules, but god did it feel so good. you quickly came to understand that the jay who was going down on you currently was nothing like the jay who engages with you in your day to day life. that jay is gentle, well-meaning and answers all your questions despite how dumb they may seem. but this jay? he’s fucking filthy, messy to the point you can tell your juices are dribbling down his chin.

“fuck, you taste so good.” he gasps out when he finally decides to pull away. “thought about this so much when jerking off.” your eyes widen at his crude admittance, and you know you really should be disgusted at it, but something about the idea of jay being alone in the darkness of his room, hand wrapped around himself while saying your name under his breath only makes you wet, even more so than you already are. at the back of your mind, something screams at you to stop, but you’ve already gotten a taste of what your stepbrother can provide you, and you’d be damned if you didn’t stick around to find out more about it. 

“this is wrong.” you quietly admit anyways, even if it’s not what you want to say. but jay just hums, leaning down to hover above your figure as his arms cage you in underneath him, doing very little to help the fact of how much smaller you feel below him. his lips ghost the shell of your ear as you shiver at the proximity between you two, and he gently nips at it, leaving you biting your tongue to hold back the noises you long yearn to let out. “i know it is, baby, but doesn’t it feel so fucking good?” jay questions with a low chuckle, pulling away to cock his head to the side. you curse internally at the way the nickname sounds coming from him, a dust of light pink spreading across your cheeks because fuck, how can someone be so alluring at all times?

“don’t you want to feel even better, princess?” jay’s voice draws you out, and you hold back a moan at the way he grinds his clothed bulge against your bare opening, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s slowly convincing you over to the dark side. “don’t you want your big brother to spread this pussy open and fuck it ‘till you’re crying from how good it feels?” you almost nod, trying to resist the urge to buck your hips up to catch the sensation of his lower region against you once more. instead, you choose to turn your face away from his striking gaze staring you down, but jay just grips your jaw and turns you to face him once more, the action only making your insides swirl with delight.

“still, what if your mom and my dad find out?” you mumble, and jay just grins wickedly. he swoops in, dipping his head down to capture your lips in a searing kiss that makes you giddy with joy, sneaking his tongue past the opening of your mouth to lick into it. when he pulls back, there’s a thin line of spit connection you both, prompting you to squirm at the sight to which jay’s chest rumbles with laughter. “you’re so fucking cute, y’know that? been dreaming of having your pretty body underneath me since i met you.” he admits lowly, your wide eyes only spurring him on further. “wanna know what i think?” you slowly nod, unsure of where this is going. jay’s voice drops an octave lower as he leans in close and whispers—

“i think you’re a dirty, little slut who deserves to get fucked by her big brother.”

you can’t help the whimper that escapes you at his words this time, and that’s all the confirmation jay needs to sit up and tear off his shirt, bringing to life all the fantasies you’ve had about his body this entire time. you can’t stop yourself from reaching out a hand to touch him, nails grazing across the ridges of his toned stomach and the dip of his v-line that’s hiding the very thing you’ve been craving under his sweatpants. meanwhile, jay just watches you with lust swirling in his orbs, a small smirk playing at his swollen lips as he takes in the picture of your innocent little face ogling his figure. “you like what you see, don’t you, pretty?” he murmurs, biting his lip at the way you nod in shame. “don’t worry.” jay grunts, standing momentarily to loop his fingers inside the edges of his pants. “you’ll get what you’re craving real soon.” he winks before he’s yanking the only thing separating you both down, exposing himself in all his glory to your awaiting eyes at last. 

“goddamnit, it’s pretty.” you think to yourself when your eyes finally settle on your stepbrother’s dick. the tip is an angry shade of red, dribbling with a few beads of precum that your face falls at when jay swipes them away with his thumb as he wraps his large hand around himself. your disappointment is short-lived, however, because he’s back on top of you soon, holding the very same thumb up to your awaiting mouth to taste, to which you eagerly wrap your lips around, the salty flavour of him invading your senses. “good girl.” jongseong commends as you suckle at the tip of his finger, the praise going straight to your core. he pulls his hand away from you after a short while, that same wet thumb snaking its way down to find your clit and pressing against it, which does nothing but rip a noise of satisfaction from you. jay continues to rub at your engorged nub, his gaze fixated on the sight of your pussy as if he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“shit. i can’t wait any more.” he growls after another second, retracting his hand to wrap it around himself instead, pumping once or twice before he’s pressing the head against your awaiting entrance. you watch with bated breath as he rubs against your folds, slicking up with your oozing juices until your patience starts wearing thin. “jay,” you huff after a minute, legs kicking up in frustration as your stepbrother glances at you teasingly. “what do you want, angel? use your big girl words and tell me.” he smiles, almost innocent to the point you even forget the compromising position you’re both in.

“want.. want you.” you admit shyly, averting your eyes to a forgotten corner in the room as jay tsk’s. “look at me when you speak, whore.” he spits out, his entire demeanour changing in an instant. it only makes you leak even more, and you swallow thickly, eyes pleading. “please fuck me, please. wan’ you to do what you said, spreading me open and using me until i cry, please, please, please. jjongie, daddy, please, i—“

you don’t even get the chance to finish because by the time both the nickname and title leave your mouth, jay has long lost his composure, instantly pushing inside you as he attempts to bottom out his large cock. he hisses at the way your warm walls envelop him, and the only thing you can do is cry out at the way you’re being stretched out to your limit, finally having the emptiness inside you satiated with the presence of your stepbrother’s dick. “fuuuck, that’s it, look at this tiny, little hole sucking me in.” jay curses, and you flare red in embarrassment at his nasty words, ignoring the way they only make you gush around him even more. 

“i’m going to absolutely ruin you, baby.” is the only thing jay says before he’s pulling out and slamming himself back into you, leaving you to cry out as his mushroom tip instantly hits that one spot deep inside. his thrusts are erratic, filled with a fervour none of the other guys you’ve ever slept with had, and you think the way he’s fucking you now is definitely going to rectify his promise of fucking you until you’re crying, the occasion seeming to be very well on its way of happening. 

“fuck, there is no way this is the last time we’re doing this.” jay groans, the noise of skin slapping and your moans echoing throughout the living room as he continues absolutely drilling you. each drag of his cock drives into you with sheer power and raw desire to completely destroy you it seems, and you’re sure nobody is ever going to top it. “gonna use you everywhere, every time i please. you want that too, don’t you? tell me you do, princess. tell me and daddy will fuck you like he means it every single time.” he blurts out. the only way you can respond is through incoherently mumbling and the nodding of your head, far too dazed out already at the way your stepbrother is pounding into you, which only draws a breathy laugh from jay. “seems i’ve fucked you dumb already, huh? cock that good? so good it’s got my baby all dumb?” he taunts. you only whine at his words, drool spilling out from the side of your lips which jay wipes off with a chuckle.

“i’m already close, god.” he sighs, his movements unrelenting and balls tightening with the way they slap against your ass. “want me to cum inside you? for daddy to breed this pussy full? maybe i should do it and make you walk around with my seed lodged deep in your messy cunt.” jay hisses, his hand snaking it ways to your neck as he continues talking. “bet you’d like that ‘cause you’re a filthy fucking bitch. letting your stepbrother fuck your tight cunt as he pleases.” slender fingers wrap around the skin and tighten their grip slightly to restrict your airflow, and that’s all it takes to abruptly push you over the edge, leaving you dropping your mouth open in a silent scream as you cum. jay continues fucking you through your high, making out your small mewls amongst the lewd sounds of his cock shoving into your hole. 

“good girl, good fucking girl. did so well for me, came so much all for daddy. you’re so, so good to me, princess. fuck, i love you.” jay blabbers as he lets go of your neck, too lost in chasing his own peak to even realise what he’s just admitted. you don’t catch it fully either in your haze of overstimulation that he continues to fuck you through, but some unconscious part of you mutters it back as best as you can somehow. jay’s heart swells at the way you take him, so small and pliant for him to just use for his own good, and he leans in to smash his lips against yours, drinking in your loud sounds as his movements start to falter with his upcoming release washing over him. 

“just a bit more, pretty, just a bit. such a good fucking girl for daddy, letting him use your body, fuck. i’m gonna cum deep inside you, angel. gonna reward you with my cum. you’d like that, wouldn’t you? like me to creampie this precious hole?” jay stammers out, the coil in his stomach close to snapping. he’s not sure how much longer he can keep up his exterior, sweat dripping down his forehead and closed eyes as his tired hips continue ramming his cock into you. he feels you wrap your arms around his neck, cracking his orbs open to find your fucked out face mumbling for his cum, your legs wrapping against his waist to keep him locked into you. 

“cum in me, daddy, please cum in me. wan’ your cum, i’ll take it like a good girl. please, daddy.” you babble, and that’s all it takes to send jay over the edge too, loud groans leaving his mouth as he shoots thick ropes of white inside your walls, painting them with his release. he cums for what feels like forever, holding your body close to his as his cock throbs inside your spasming cunt that’s still greedily sucking him in, urging him to fill you up. he finally stops after seemingly a good minute, panting against your neck where he’s buried his face into as he lets the post-orgasm bliss wash over himself.

“fuck,” jay heaves a breath once he’s finally recovered, making sure to use his softening cock to keep you plugged up in fear his cum will drip down and stain the couch, much less make your scandalous activities known to both your parents. he knows he’s going to have to face the reality of everything soon, but for now, he chooses to ignore it, propping himself up with an arm as he takes a look at your tired face that’s still so beautiful even after he basically fucked you within an inch of your life.

“you okay?” he asks softly after a while, prompting you to open your eyes and look up at him. there’s so much love and adoration in them that it makes jay feel all gooey inside, and when you nod with a small smile on your lips, he can’t help but lean back in and kiss you, desperately wishing this won’t be the last time he feels your mouth on his. “you think we made a mess?” you wonder out loud with a giggle once he’s pulled away, and jay just laughs breathlessly at you, brushing a strand of loose hair out of your face to take a proper look. “i’ll clean it up if so, don’t worry, baby.” he reassures in a quiet voice, leaving you to hum in agreement as a response.

“jay.” 

“hm?”

“..what now?” 

jay inhales when you bring forth the question he doesn’t have an answer to, looking down at you to find your worried expression staring back at him. he coos when you jut out your bottom lip, brushing a thumb against your cheek smoothly as he sighs. “don’t worry about that now, princess. just sleep.” he murmurs. 

he can tell you’re not entirely satisfied with his admission, and that you want to say something more, but even if you do, you choose not to, instead opting to follow his advice and shutting your eyes by letting the fatigue from what you’d just been through take over your body. jongseong watches as you slowly close off your thoughts and mind, gently resting his body weight on top of you in favour of pulling you closer. he tries to avoid thinking of the inevitable that’ll come to wake him up, but he’ll deal with that later, choosing to bask in this moment with you for as long as he can before he has to face reality. instead, he presses a small kiss to your cheek, nuzzling it with his nose before closing his own eyes. he eventually drifts off to dreamland, where his thoughts will still be filled with your face.

. . . 

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for. 

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries? 

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex? 

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit. 

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time? 

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate. 

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan. 

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors. 

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent. 

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner. 

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad. 

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief. 

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend? 

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it. 

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest. 

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice. 

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not? 

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes. 

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit. 

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body. 

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy. 

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you. 

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing. 

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun. 

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks. 

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic? 

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off. 

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut. 

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath. 

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed. 

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box. 

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick. 

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia. 

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits. 

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies. 

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire. 

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out. 

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness. 

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said. 

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said. 

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?” 

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips. 

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes. 

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said. 

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser? 

It was impossible. Hopeless.  

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn? 

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release? 

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said. 

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body. 

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro. 

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again. 

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question. 

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said. 

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man. 

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute. 

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. 

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted. 

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell. 

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them. 

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands. 

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal. 

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it? 

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent. 

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas. 

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside. 

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with. 

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face. 

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring. 

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered. 

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

Taglist: You guys, ya'll gon make me cry with this taglist! Thank you!

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[knottedhearts]

Argument: M.S

Summary: You and Matt are arguing because he's being awfully loud, and you're on your period.

The evening had started off fine. You’d both been sitting in the living room, enjoying a quiet night in. But that peace quickly shattered as Matt’s loud voice carried through the room like a sledgehammer. He’d been talking non-stop about some random topic, laughing at his own jokes and rambling without noticing how overwhelming it was. You were curled up on the couch, trying to get comfortable despite the aching cramps that came with your period. You wanted nothing more than to curl up and zone out to a movie or even just close your eyes for a few minutes of silence.

But Matt’s energy was impossible to ignore. His laughter echoed off the walls, and his voice cut through the air with each sentence. It didn’t matter how much you tried to focus on the TV screen or ignore the noise—it felt like his presence was all-consuming, drowning you in sound.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, your lower back aching, your abdomen throbbing. Every movement made the cramps feel worse, and the constant noise made it harder to focus on anything but the pain.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned to him, your voice tight with frustration. "Matt, can you keep it down?"

Matt didn’t seem to hear you at first, his energy undeterred by your quiet request. He was too caught up in his own story, too wrapped up in whatever had him so animated. "No, seriously, man, I’m telling you," he laughed loudly, his voice rising as he explained some ridiculous anecdote.

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your cool. "Matt," you said again, this time louder, but with an edge to it. "I’m not feeling good. I’m on my period, and I have cramps. Can you just… lower your voice a little?"

Matt paused mid-sentence, finally catching your tone, but he didn’t seem to understand the seriousness of it. He shrugged, not noticing how you were holding your stomach, trying to soothe the pain. "What’s the big deal? I’m just talking."

You stared at him, the irritation bubbling up like a volcano. "The big deal, Matt, is that I’m literally cramping in pain, and you’re yelling like you’re hosting a damn podcast! Can you show a little consideration?"

He frowned, clearly taken aback. "It’s not like I’m yelling at you. I’m just talking loud because that’s how I talk, alright? You’re the one overreacting."

You could feel the frustration rising, the way the tension in your body was making everything worse. It was hard enough dealing with your physical pain, but now Matt was being dismissive of your need for quiet.

"Overreacting?" you scoffed, shaking your head. "Matt, I’m literally sitting here in pain, trying to get through this, and all you can do is talk at full volume like it’s a damn comedy show. It’s not about how you talk—it's about you being completely unaware of how you're affecting everyone else in the room!"

Matt’s expression turned defensive, his eyes narrowing. "You seriously want me to apologize for how I talk?" His tone was rising now, getting sharp. "I’m not gonna start whispering just because you’re uncomfortable. That’s not my fault."

You felt your jaw tighten, your hands balling into fists. "It’s not about whispering, Matt! It’s about being mindful of the people around you! You never think about how your loud, obnoxious voice affects others. It’s like you don’t even care!"

Matt didn’t back down. "I care! I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m just being me, alright?"

"Being you?" You could feel your patience snapping, the frustration boiling over. "Being you isn’t the problem, Matt. The problem is that you can’t be bothered to understand that people need quiet sometimes, and right now, I need some damn quiet!"

The words hit him harder than you expected. He took a step back, his eyes flashing with irritation. "You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t know you’re having a rough time? But that doesn’t mean I have to change everything about me just to suit you!"

You stood up then, pacing for a moment, the cramps flaring up as you moved, but the anger took over. "I’m not asking you to change yourself, Matt, I’m asking you to be aware of other people’s needs for once. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yeah, it’s too much!" Matt shot back, his voice louder than ever. "I’m not gonna sit here and apologize for talking! Just because you’re dealing with something doesn’t mean I have to tiptoe around you like you’re fragile!"

You felt the tension in the room growing thicker, your chest tightening with frustration. "I’m not fragile, Matt," you said, your voice wavering with a mix of anger and exhaustion. "I just need some goddamn peace. Can you give me that?"

But Matt wasn’t backing down. His voice was cold now, defensive, as though he couldn’t understand why this was such a big deal. "You think I’m just gonna stop being myself because you’re having a bad day? That’s not how it works."

The words felt like a slap, and you finally snapped. "You know what, Matt? Maybe you should just leave me the hell alone!" You threw your hands up in frustration, the weight of the argument crashing down on you.

Matt’s face reddened with anger, his hands clenched into fists. "Fine! You want me to leave you alone? Maybe you should just deal with it yourself, then!"

His words stung, and before you could even react, you spun on your heel and started walking away. "Where are you going?" Matt called after you, but you didn’t stop, walking straight toward the door.

You grabbed your jacket, throwing it on as you walked out of the room, trying to push away the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. "I need space," you muttered under your breath. You didn’t even know where you were going at first, just wanting to escape, to get away from the noise and the tension.

"Wait," Matt said, his voice softer now, but you didn’t turn around. "I didn’t mean it like that," he called after you, but you kept walking, your heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t want to hear apologies right then, not after everything that had been said. You just needed a moment alone, away from the noise, away from the confrontation. You didn’t know when or how the two of you would work through this, but right now, all you could focus on was finding some peace.

You didn't know how long you'd need, but you were sure of one thing—until Matt could truly understand the importance of being considerate, the fighting, the noise, and the misunderstandings weren’t going to stop.

[hesztia16]

My main problem with how the writers do the whole “no-kill rule” is that they don’t actually know how to write it in a way that doesn’t make it sound a bit ridiculous and honestly a little petty. They try to make it a moral argument, but make the villains so that it’s morally worse to let them live. There are so many different ways they could make Batman have his “no-kill rule” and still let the Joker die or keep him alive for reasons that actually make sense. And they really should decide already how they see his “no-kill rule”. Is he ok with letting people die even if he could have done something to prevent it? He did that many times. He has also killed many times before, or at the very least wanted to kill.

Pick one DC!

Also, I would like to point out that many, many people in this fandom seem to forget that killing is not an easy thing to do. Some of you are acting as if it’s perfectly inconsequential, even if it’s a monster like the Joker.

Because it’s not. It’s hard and it should be. I would personally not trust anyone to protect me or my loved ones, if they don’t so much as blink at the idea of taking a life. There’s a reason we call people who commit murder for fun, or even without emotion, psychopaths. It can break even the most mentally stable person who was more than justified in what they did.

“Oh, but that was a monster! They deserved to die!” Yeah, but the victims didn’t deserve the burden of taking a life!

I also saw a lot of people talking about therapy and I would like to ask those people what they think therapy is. Because it’s not some miraculous cure for something that could be against your whole personality on a fundamental level.

I hate the way Jason confronted Bruce for so many reasons. For one it’s a bit hypocritical. But mostly it’s because of how fucked up it actually was. And I haven’t seen people talk about it. Trying to force someone to commit murder? With the threat of his son whom he loved very much dying? AGAIN??? His trauma response isn’t valid because what? That’s not what YOU want???

discourse about batman's no-kill rule is so funny. imagine if a dude was like "i personally will not commit any murders and if any of my kids do i will be unhappy" and everyone booed him

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ LOVE HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT 𖤐. — yang jungwon.

pairing: idol! jungwon x fem! reader. content: idol au, childhood friends to lovers, reader is female, reader is not an idol here, reader got stood up (not by jungwon), confession, fluff. wc: 1.7k

FROM HYE: childhood friends to lovers troupe will always hit idc!!! idk why this became kinda long though, whoops... ALSO NO DOUBT AND DAYDREAM IS SO GOOD IM ASCENDING

This cannot be happening. 

You sighed for the unknown time, leaning back in your seat as you tapped your phone. The screen lit up upon your brief contact but as always, there was no new notification from your boyfriend. Nearly an hour had passed and you were sure your current state was gathering unwanted pitiful glances thrown your way. You knew what they were thinking. In their eyes, they saw a dressed-up young adult, excited for her date with her boyfriend, only to get stood up and had been hopelessly waiting there, like a complete fool. 

You finished the drink and decided to leave, having waited long enough. You stepped out of the cafe, the door gently closing behind you as you pulled out your phone to call the first person you thought of. It only took two rings before the intended receiver picked up. 

“Hello? (Name), aren’t you supposed to be on a date with Sungjin?” Jungwon asked, concern evident in his voice. His questions put a smile on your face, probably at the fact that he knows your schedule for the day, despite how he was in the midst of practice when you heard music coming from his background on the other line. 

Your prolonged silence was starting to scare the idol, who had stepped out of the practice room after signaling to his members that he was on a call. Jungwon frowns when his ears register the poorly stifled sounds of you sobbing. Hearing you breaking down is similar to getting shot in the heart. 

“(Name), what’s wrong? You know you can talk to me,” he continued in a soft and assuring tone. 

“I… I got stood up. I waited there for an hour and Sungjin didn’t turned up, making me look like a fucking idiot,” you replied through your tears, letting out a bitter chuckle. 

Jungwon's grip on his phone tightened as he listened to you, his jaw clenching when he realized the pain in your voice. The news hit him like a blow: once again, you have been left standing alone, waiting for someone who clearly did not deserve you. His eyes darkened, a storm of anger brewing in them.

“Wait,” he interrupted, his voice low but seething. “He… stood you up? Again?”

You let out a sigh on the other end, trying to laugh it off, but Jungwon could hear the hurt behind it. That was all it took. He took the stairs instead of the lift, stepping out of the company. His sudden disappearance will surely cause his manager to be worried and how he had forgotten his mask would make the situation even worse. But none of that matters when it comes to you. 

“Where are you?” he demanded, his tone softening just a bit when he spoke to you. But there was an undeniable edge to his words, a mix of frustration and protectiveness that seeped through.

"Jungwon, you don’t have to—"

“Just tell me,” he insisted, his voice firm but reassuring. “I need to know where you are. I’m coming to you.”

“...I’m at the park we played at when we were kids,” you replied, knowing your childhood friend is very persistent when the times required him to be. 

Somehow, your feet had led you to the place where you had created countless memories with Jungwon. You took a seat on one of the nearest benches, watching as people of all ages minded their business. Some were having fun with their children or partners. There were children running around the playground area, screaming at the top of their lungs as they chased one another. The sight made your heart soften, as you remembered how you and Jungwon were just like them; having the time of your lives before the harsh reality of life combined with responsibilities had taken over you. 

“(Name)!” 

You turned at the shout of your name, eyes widening in pure disbelief at the sight of Jungwon rushing towards you without a care in the world. What rendered you speechless was how he had forgotten to hide his identity, resulting in the public stopping to openly gape at him. Some had even pulled out their phones to record him, ready to post it on the Internet. Flustered, you stood up, grabbed his hand and dragged him to your home. 

When the both of you are in the privacy of your home, you turned and smacked him on his head. 

“Ow! What was that for!?” He yelped, rubbing the spot with his hand. 

“You idiot! Why did you run out in the midst of practice, and without a hat or a mask too!? What’s going to happen if your manager hears you ditch practice!” You scolded him, resembling a mother scolding her child. 

“Alright, I’m sorry! The thought might have slipped my mind when I heard you were crying,” he admits with a sheepish grin on his face, lowering his hand. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Look, it’s fine. You didn’t have to come all the way here. I’m sure Sungjin’s probably busy with work and he had forgotten to text me.” 

Jungwon gave you an unreadable look. “You’re always making excuses for him.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he tried to rein in his emotions. 

“Tell me, has he done anything good for you in this relationship? Has he ever gone out of his way to make you feel loved, or even just… appreciated?”

You were silent, and he took this as a chance to continue. 

“But what about you? You deserve someone who’d show up without a second thought, someone who’d want to be with you, not leave you hanging like this,” Jungwon continued. 

You opened and closed your mouth. “I—” 

He exhaled sharply. “You don’t get it, do you?” He said, his voice softer but laced with pure honesty that made your heart race. “I’ve been here, right by your side, through all of it. I’ve watched you get your heart broken over and over… and every time, I keep hoping you’ll see what’s right in front of you.” 

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. 

“I can’t stand seeing you hurt anymore,” he whispered, his eyes glistening as he held your gaze. “Because I love you. And I would never leave you waiting, not even for a second.”

“Jungwon, I…” You struggled to find the words, feeling a mix of shock and confusion. “You’ve… always been there. I just—”

“You didn’t know,” he finished softly, looking down for a moment, a faint sadness in his eyes. “I know. I never wanted to push you or complicate things. I just wanted you to be happy.” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice lowering. 

“But seeing you go through this again, seeing someone else treat you like you’re disposable, when I know you’re anything but… I can’t keep quiet anymore.”

Your chest tightened, a wave of emotions you had not expected crashing over you. All those times he had offered a shoulder to cry on, the countless moments had picked you up when you were at your lowest—had they all been laced with feelings you’d missed? Slowly, you reached out, placing your hand over his. His fingers were tense beneath yours, but at your touch, he glanced up, searching your face with an expression that was both hopeful and terrified.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He looked at you, his eyes raw with vulnerability. “Because I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to risk our friendship over something I could never take back.” His hand turned under yours, holding it gently as he continued. “But now… I can’t pretend anymore. You deserve someone who’s there, through every high and low, someone who sees you for who you are.”

The words touched something deep within you, warming your heart in a way you hadn’t expected. As you looked into his eyes, the realization hit you like a flood—Jungwon had been that someone all along.

With a breath, you leaned closer, feeling a sense of clarity for the first time. “Maybe I’ve been blind,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But now… I see you.”

A spark of hope flickered in his eyes, and without another word, he closed the distance, his forehead resting gently against yours. You saw how his eyes flickered to your lips for a brief moment. He was about to lean in when the moment was rudely interrupted by your phone ringing, causing you to pull away. Your face felt when you recognized the number. You were about to reject the call when Jungwon snatched the device out of your hand, accepted the call and put it on speaker mode. 

“What are you doing!?” You hissed, but he merely shushed you. 

“Hello, (Name)? Oh my god, I’m so sorry I missed out on our date. Are you still there? If you want, I’m free now and we can have dinner together if you want,” Sungjin’s frantic voice echoed throughout your apartment. 

“Sungjin, is it? Sorry but your relationship with her is officially over. I’ll greatly appreciate it if you could leave her alone,” Jungwon nonchalantly replied, his thumb drawing circles on your knuckles. 

“...Who is this? And what’s your relationship with my girlfriend?” Sungjin’s voice turned cold but Jungwon was unfazed, turning to face you with a wide grin on his face. 

“Me? I’m her new boyfriend and now if you could excuse us, we have a date to tend to, goodbye and see you never.” 

“Wait—” 

And just like that, Jungwon ended the call. He had even blocked his number, preventing your now ex from calling you anymore. You, on the other hand, burst out laughing. Jungwon puffed his cheeks. 

“What’s so funny?” He pouts. 

“N-Nothing, I didn’t expect the leader of ENHYPEN to be this bold, but since when we’re going on a date and since when you’re my boyfriend? I think you have skipped a few steps,” you teased him once you had calmed down. 

Jungwon’s eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Then (Name), would you do me the honors of being my girlfriend?” 

Chuckling, you moved closer to press a chaste kiss on his lips. “Of course, Jungwon. I’d be more than happy to do so.” 

He made a noise of happiness before engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug, to which you returned the gesture. “You have no idea how happy I am right now.” 

“And what’s the reason?” You inquired when he pulled away to admire your face. 

Jungwon’s features softened as he cups your cheeks. “It’s because I finally got the prettiest girl and I can finally call her mine.” 

[dragon-in-a-fez]

trans people can absolutely be terfs but it comes out in the weirdest, most convoluted ways and it can tie your brain in knots trying to recognise what's going on. like my ex absolutely believed penis=abuser and vagina=victim, but went through so many extra steps to get there it took me years to figure out that was what it boiled down to. when I tried to talk to them about a time when my consent had been violated in a sexual situation between us, they didn't say "you're a man and I'm a woman so it doesn't count", they said "when you claim I've violated your consent you are invalidating my experience as a person who experiences misogyny, because you don't have lived experience of your right to consent being structurally threatened, and that makes it harmful to women and femmes for you to use language that places your feelings about your safety and bodily autonomy on the same level as mine", which means the same thing but is objectively worse in every possible way

[stellardeer]

I feel like a lot of people in various reblog chains of this post have kinda lost the plot, so I'm reblogging this version to bring the emphasis back on the AI "detectors".

Whether something like Grammarly is considered AI or not is a little irrelevant, but most people consider using a spelling/grammar checker to not "count" as AI (despite the fact that you may be able to write out a bunch of nonsense and have Grammarly correct it over and over until it passes as a sentence)

And what a teacher will generally use an AI detector for is to check if the student wrote the paper or prompted an AI to give them a paper. As far as I know, Grammarly can't finish your entire document for you based on prompts (but I haven't used it so feel free to correct me) so I feel like a lot of the notes trying to argue whether it counts as AI or whether auto correct is useless now are just getting away from the point this point was supposed to be making:

You can't trust an AI detection software to accurately predict whether something was AI generated.

And part of the reason for that is that AI-detection software could ALSO be considered a form of AI. It is limited both by the dataset being fed to it to determine whether something is or isn't AI, and by any biases of the human who programmed it. If the programmer writes a program that says "look for anything that isn't perfect English and flag it as AI", they are showing that they don't trust anything written in broken English. I'm not sure why it might flag a word like "devoid", but if the AI detector is looking for patterns amongst known AI samples and the word "devoid" comes up a lot, it might just assume that any text using the word "devoid" has a higher chance of being AI generated.

Let's go back to the Both Of These Are Bad part.

It shouldn't need explaining why AI detectors falsely flagging ESL writers' works as AI is just bad and just contributing to systemic racism, so let's talk about the ways in which it can be harmful to native English speakers.

As stated above, it's interesting that an AI detector might flag words that seem "complex", while much of mainstream writing is trending towards simplification, for better or for worse. It could mean that since a lot of non-AI writing is so simplistic, anything that deviates from that is considered abnormal. Or it could, again, just be a programmed bias of the author of the program. I think this is more the point that thebibliosphere might have been trying to make, not that Grammarly specifically is evil AI that's making everyone write bad, but that a larger cultural shift to more simplistic language is happening and when things like Grammarly tell you to simplify your phrases or an AI detector tells you that your essay was AI generated because you used a big word, it's encouraging this simplification at a much faster rate than if human editors and teachers were directing their writers/students to do so.

Grammar software is perfectly optional for professionals, of course, but if a student is going to fail a class because their essay can't pass an AI detector, well, they can't really opt out of that. They have to change their wording to something that might not be as vibrant as what they originally wrote, or risk failing and potentially worse action depending on a school's plagiarism policies. It's essentially going to train kids to write in specific ways to get around it, and they might not understand why their paper was flagged or what AI even is yet, they're just going to assume that their writing was wrong and needs to be fixed. And let's not assume that only the kids writing their own essays are doing this, either. If kids can write a whole paper using AI and then change a couple of words so that it passes the detector, they're going to do that too!

Again, the point here is that the AI detectors are not infallible, often make racist assumptions, and cannot be the only method used to check whether something was AI generated.

I don't really have a good conclusion because I don't have the answer to this problem, because it goes beyond students in a classroom and you won't always get a document history to check. I just felt like this post was losing it's direction and I needed to clarify it for my own sanity.

[yerrmar]

❧THROUGH THE CRACKS☙

warning: angst, swearing, talks of violence, lowkey sexual tension, she/her usage for reader.

summary: you hate Luke Castellan and he hates you, but when you see him in the woods crying your gentle nature slips through… just a bit.

Luke hissed in pain leaning against a tree, he squeezed his eyes shut which only made the pain in his face worse. His new scar throbbed as the stitches begged to burst, and his head was pounding like it had never before. He had run out of his cabin so he didn’t disturb his siblings and the other sleeping campers in there with his whining, so he was currently sobbing from pain past curfew and hoping that the harpies wouldn’t hear him.

It wasn’t like he’d be able to sleep anyway tonight, he didn’t want to face the nightmares waiting for him when he shut his eyes, he was grateful for the pain he was suffering from at that moment too because every time he shut his eyes shooting pains shot across his face.

He reached up to touch the cause of his misery feeling the rough fabric of the stitches and his bumpy skin that had been deeply sliced, it only made him sob louder. The feeling of pain, failure, and hunger mixed together, he hadn’t eaten for a while and he didn’t think he’d be able to stomach a meal, he’d just be picturing what he looked like in a mirror and it would all come back up instantly.

He’d been avoiding seeing people lately too, specifically you. Luke could already imagine the jokes you’d make and the look of disgust that would be plastered on your face, it made his stomach turn. You both made harsh comments at one another, no stone was left unturned when you two were being rude to one another, but he hoped you’d at least leave this situation alone when you finally saw him face to face.

You knew what had happened, word got around quickly at camp and you even felt a little bit bad for Luke, till the feeling of pity wore away and you started to get frustrated that he was ignoring you. You enjoyed picking a fight with the boy, he felt like the only one that could match you in a fight or argument.

That night you couldn’t sleep either, not for any specific reason you couldn’t seem to fall asleep so you took a walk in the woods, like you usually did when you felt restless. You expected to get caught by Chiron or Mr D catching you outside past curfew, but you didn’t care because you knew there wasn’t much they could do other than slap you on the wrist and ask you not to do it again.

What you didn’t expect was to hear soft sobs coming from behind a tree, and you definitely didn’t expect to see the noise coming from a teary-eyed Luke Castellan whose tear-stained cheeks turned bright pink when he locked eyes with you.

He groaned embarrassed and annoyed that he’d been caught, even more annoyed that it was you that had found him breaking down. Luke was waiting for a laugh to come out of your mouth or for a witty comment about how weak he is.

But you didn’t open your mouth at all, you were just in shock. Luke Castellan the camp’s golden boy who hasn’t stopped fighting since the day he was born, probably one of the toughest people you know (though you’d never admit it) was crying.

“I’m waiting.” He spat, sniffing and wiping his face preparing to be verbally abused by you.

You noticed how tired his eyes looked, he was paler than usual too, and it made your stomach drop. “For what?” you frown.

“For you to make fun of me, what else?” Luke didn’t look at you in fear of what your expression would be, disgust, joy or even worse pity.

“You think that low of me, Castellan.” You scoff crossing your arms, you then look around you for the possible chance of another camper popping out from behind a tree and catching the both of you. And when you realised that wasn’t going to happen you slowly sat down next to him.

Luke shivered, you weren’t the most comforting presence. You both sat in an awkward silence for a while, before you broke the ice with a stupid question. “Um- why… why are you crying?” You mentally curse yourself because you already know the answer to that but you couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“What do you think?” Luke snapped, he wasn’t in the mood for your games and he definitely was too mentally drained to play into them. He hissed again, his scar mocked him properly like how you were.

You frown again, catching a glimpse of the scar on his face, it looked swollen and incredibly painful. It reminded you of the time Chimera stuck its claws into the side of your thigh and every step you took made it feel like you were stepping onto millions of knives. The only thing that soothed it was this weird cooling cream the Apollo cabin made for you. And you were pretty sure you had some left in your cabin.

“I have something that will help calm that down.” You hum softly it not only surprised you but Luke too, why were you being so nice? Was it something to do with him being so broken that you just felt like you had to? Yeah, it had to be because of that.

“Really? You want to help… me?” Luke raised his brow hissing in pain completely forgetting his scar was there.

You rolled your eyes and got up off the floor crossing your arms, “You gonna accept my help or what, Castellan?” you stood over him but not in your usual intimidating way, actually, nothing about how you were acting right now was like how you usually acted and it was creeping him out.

He thought for a moment trying to ignore the possibility that this actually might be a plan to murder him and decide to place his trust in you it’s not like he had any other choice anyway, he was in pain and would do anything to get rid of it. He got up off the floor and followed behind you with his head down so that if he was caught they wouldn’t be able to see his red and puffy eyes.

When you got to your cabin you opened the door carefully and quietly so nobody would wake up, and dragged Luke over to your bed. He cautiously sat down looking around the quiet and dark room feeling extremely out of place sitting on your bed.

You open your bedside drawer wincing every time it made a noise and swiftly took out the ointment. Luke scrunched up his face when you opened the tub and a strong scent filled his nose and made him hold back a gag. “Smells like you.” You smirk slightly walking over to him and gathering some of the cream with your fingers.

Luke would’ve fought back but the words were unable to come out when he realised you were going to put the cream on him. You didn’t specify at all when you said that you were going to help him, you didn’t mention that you were going to be touching him, touching a specific spot that was extremely painful to be exact.

He backed away slightly from instinct and you huffed, “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m trying to show you how to use it, dummy.” You hadn’t really been planning on putting it on his face either, you just got carried away but you didn’t want him to know you made a mistake. You never make mistakes.

Hesitantly, he leans back in and you slowly move your fingers to his scar gently spreading the cream around and soothingly rubbing it in. It was cold but soothingly, he couldn’t smell it anymore once it was on his face and he also slowly started to not be able to feel the strong shooting pains across his face.

You were being so gentle and so soft, Luke had never seen you like this or act this way with any and if you ever did he never expected it would be him you were doing it too.

You were focusing so hard on not hurting him, and Luke noticed, you cautiously softened your pace when you got near spots that were even more tender than the others and made sure you put more of the cooling cream on those spots.

Luke didn’t know where to look, you were filling his view and everywhere he seemed to look felt inappropriate to do. At one point he felt his eyes lingering on your plump pink lips that always seemed to be stuck in a pout, he felt himself start to think about what they’d feel like and internally screamed when he realised what he was doing and tried to avert his eyes behind you.

“Stop moving.” You hissed quietly getting annoyed at his head moving around so much, that you didn’t wait for a reply and held his face still with your other hand not noticing how he shuddered at the contact.

“Why do you hate me so much.” Luke suddenly blurted out, not even knowing what he was saying till he said it. He was curious though, there wasn’t a day you weren’t mean to him, even the first day you both met you were so nasty and you didn’t even know his name. “I don’t even remember doing anything wrong, you’ve just always been such a… bitch.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing “You're not the only one, so don’t feel too triggered.”

“Wow, good to know i’m not special.” Luke sarcastically gasped acting hurt, but when he realised you weren’t bothered one tiny bit he sighed and went back to his question. “Still, why?”

“Why what?” Your tone was sharp and harsh but your fingers stayed so gentle.

“Why are you so mean?” Luke asked hoping to get a breakthrough, seems though you were acting like a completely different person today maybe he could get some truth and vulnerability out of you.

Silence filled the room once again, not because you didn’t answer but because you genuinely didn’t know the reason. You just shrugged and continued to work, but Luke wasn’t satisfied with your answer. “Angel, be real for once. You owe it to me for seeing me… you know-”

“Cry?” You slightly grin and Luke groans the look of embarrassment on his face again, it makes you frown you didn’t mean to make fun of him. So you let out a loud quiet sigh and suck up every thought that was screaming at you to stay quiet. “I don’t know, I guess I’m like… scared.”

Luke raised his brow, surprised that he got you to open up even if it was just a tiny bit. “Scared? Of what?” You being scared was something Luke thought that could never be possible, you were the most fearless person he knew.

“Getting close to someone i think… trust doesn’t come easy for me.” You try not to look at his eyes to see if you could tell what he was thinking, but the temptation was driving you crazy. He probably thought you were so stupid and weak for thinking that, that being the reason you mean to so many people is pathetic.

But he didn’t, Luke thought the opposite. He’d never seen you be so honest and open, and he loved it, in some weird way he enjoyed seeing you be so soft.

“I get it.” Luke hummed softly.

You were taken aback by this, he agreed with you? “You do.”

Luke nodded because he did understand the person he was supposed to trust most in this world, his dad, was a complete asshole who sent his child on a dangerous, impossible quest that had already been done.

You bit your lip to stop you from trying to smile at that, you were probably going to hate yourself in the morning for this because Luke would definitely use it in the future against you and embarrass you in front of all your siblings who look up to you.

His eyes darted to your lips, you were driving him crazy right now and he hated it, he hated that you didn’t even realise it too. He finally stopped looking around and just settled his eyes on your face, softly smiling at how focused you were on his own face too. The pale and radiant glow that the moon shone into your cabin lit your face up, making you look so angelic which was fitting for the current situation.

Luke smirked, “Never thought you’d be helping me, and I’m on your bed. What has possessed you tonight, angel.��� he teased. The Luke that was crying in the woods had disappeared and the cocky, arrogant Luke you absolutely despised was back.

“Don’t call me that.” You snap, your nostrils flaring as you grit your teeth. But your actions weren’t acting up with your expression and tone because you continued to treat him like he was made of glass.

“Never thought our faces would be this close either.” You felt his hot breath on your face and the feeling of your noses just barely touching, you hadn’t noticed how close you seemed to be moving to him and you also didn’t notice how his eyes were piercing into yours.

It made you shiver, why did it make you shiver? And why did your stomach flip when he let his gaze drop back down to your lips and then back up to your eyes? You hated this, you hated every second you spent with his eyes on you, looking at you like you weren’t you, like you weren’t his enemy. Yet you also didn’t feel like moving anytime soon, it was like you were too magnets just begging to be even closer than you already are.

You’d stopped touching his wound at this point, your body had frozen all together the hold his gaze had on you was frightening. Your heart felt like it was doing flips and you just wanted to bang against your chest till it stopped beating.

Luke didn’t seem to mind how much his mind was currently racing with thoughts of you and nothing but you, he so badly just wanted to place his hands on your waist, your hips just anywhere he could, anywhere you’d let him.

You were supposed to hate each other yet in this moment hate was nowhere to be found, the air was thick with something entirely different and it scared you both but it felt so intriguing.

Unconsciously the hand that was on his scar slowly started to move down accidentally brushing his lips in the process, the action drove Luke even crazier because he wanted to do the exact same to you. But it made you snap out of whatever trance you were in and you backed away from him.

“All done.” You blurted out ready for whatever that moment was to be over and done with for Luke Castellan to be off your bed and out of your cabin, and for him to stop looking at you like you're a gift from the gods.

“Uh- yeah, cool.” Luke shot up off the bed, praying that you couldn't see how hot his face was right now. He scratched the back of his neck that awkward feeling creeping back up on him, “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, Castellan. I mean it, don’t ever or I’ll kill you.” You warn him, and he knows you meant it. You handed him the tub with the ointment and told him the instructions for putting it on when and how too, and after that, he rushed out your cabin leaving you flustered and so very confused.

[artbyblastweave]

Also ran into a prose superhero work where, to set the stage for further post-modern equivocating, the back-cover pitch raised the ol' "makes-you-think" question of whether working as a henchman for a supervillain is really all that morally worse than working for an oil company or big tech. And this tripped me up because like. Yeah. Genuinely very good odds that it is? Like obviously not all supervillains are created equal, I mean you have a pretty strong case if you're talking about Captain Cold or the The Shocker or any other "working class" rogue. But if you're talking about the supervillains bigtime enough to have an actual staff, then yeah, many of those people are in fact credibly positioning themselves to cause more human suffering than, uh, twitter. And this is ignoring all the supervillains that flat out are Oil guys or Tech guys within the fiction, there's never actually been a clean delineation there, but let's not get into that just now