#and the fact that this has happened not once but twice

[yarnabee]

THE DOCTOR HEADCANNON — BEING HIS PLAYTHING.

harley sawyer ( the doctor ) x reader

tags/warnings: sfw (15+), light gore, torture/impact, power imbalance, degradation, abusive behaviour, posessive behaviour, kidnapping i suppose

sawyer is a HUGE jerk to everyone, including to his own little precious plaything, you. of course, such a cold, dense body made out of metal wouldn't make sense if it had a heart, wouldn't it?

besides.. your timid reactions to his sick, little experiments were what piqued his interest in the first place. what a lovely sight it is to see a flesh roaming around his prison like a helpess, pathetic rat who lost its way home. whether you writhe, yelp, whine, sob, or scream.. it's all melody to his ears.

he loves purposefully letting you escape from his lair, making you think that there's still hope to escape his hellish prison. just as you thought you were free of his grasp, he'll pin you, his beloved trophy, down—his mechanical figure hovering over you, eyes daunting as it pierces towards your cowardly ones, squeezing your neck tightly with his iron first, making sure that you knew there's no use fighting someone much stronger than you are. oh, how he loves watching the glint of hope fading from your pupils—dulling them with fear instead. he'd purposefully taunt you, mocking you with his laugh as it echoes through the hallways, "you really thought you could escape me, hmm? what an interesting thing you are, little rat."

oh, how he loves turning every single thing into a game that he knew you'd lose from the very beginning. it's amusing to see how you'd react time to time, whether you try to fight back or whimper out of fear, he feasts on it nonetheless. he'll purposefully make you play hide and seek with him, taunt you with his creaking footsteps, then having his way with you once he got his fingers wrapped tightly around you—dragging you into his lair once again as your fights and cries means nothing to him. "don't try to fight, little rat. i know you're at least smart enough to understand why."

don't get him wrong, though. just because he's able to leave cuts and bruises all over your delicate skin doesn't mean any of those filthy creatures roaming outside has the right to leave a scratch on you, not even a single one. oh, how sawyer wouldn't even think twice to rip appart the limbs off those past experiments who still roams in the area, who dares to touch you without any permission. you're his plaything, and only his. no one else.

the doctor wants you to DEPEND on him, just like how yarnaby depends on him and obeys him like a God. he wants your pathetic self to see him as YOUR lifeline, as he purposefully brings the necessities you need such as food and medicines, his mechanical joints placing them gently next to you without saying anything. afterall, he needs his little lab rat on good condition to play with, no?

at times where he's not running any 'experiments' and 'games' on you, he always kept you inside of his lab—no contact is allowed without his permission. he'd occassionally let yarnaby roam around and get used up to your presence, but he won't let you or it get too attached to each other.

he barely speaks to you, his answers are either mockery or straight degradation. you never really ask him anything about his motives too, he never liked it when you were curious. "say, little rat, i'd be amused if you hadn't learn what happens to curious little rats who gets too nosy."

a little fun fact; the doctor can easily destroy you if he wanted to. he always lets you know through his grips—how he's controlling it steadilly, letting you know that if he puts just the littlest more effort into squeezing you, you'd have your bones crushed within seconds—and he makes sure that you always remember that at all times.

"now, little rat, go on and amuse me. let's see what else i can get out off you."

[idliketobeatree]

Here is one of the best friends he's made in what seems like forever; she's so open and sweet, beautiful and brilliant. It was inevitable, he thinks, that Niko Sasaki would effortlessly endear herself to Charles like a lost younger sister.

(And that is another story entirely, but not one for Edwin to tell.)

He finds it contradistinctive, Niko Sasaki becoming a new source and the easiest target of Charles' spontaneous, affectionate smiles — different than watching him stumble around Crystal. It's well-nigh surprising just how secure Edwin feels, observing their budding friendship, the phantom echo of it spreading around his chest like a slow warmth from a hearth. He harbours no jealousy or hurt at the frequency with which their more private conversations take place. He does not mind the way Niko wraps her hand around Charles' arm as they walk, not one bit, when his best friend's sole attention is focused on her excited chatter. He can thoroughly relate, after all.

As a matter of fact, Edwin suspects that the only thing he'll have to worry about is stifling an inelegant snort when they're all descending a hill in the middle of a legwork-heavy case and Charles picks Niko up for an impromptu piggyback ride.

"No no no no, put me down!", her voice carries over their heads, but Niko's shrieking protest dies in her throat just as quickly as it came to life, turning into an appreciative whistle at the view. In front of them, Crystal turns on her heel and raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"You're that desperate to be the last at home?"

"Please, we'll be there faster than you lot. Right, Niko?" Charles, ever the multitasker, uses his shrug to adjust the grip on Niko's swaying legs. "Edwin?"

He dares to look in their direction, dreading... precisely double the amount of puppy eyes sent his way. His lips twitch in a helpless smile.

"I must agree. The Charles Express is quite a commendable machine. I would not underestimate it, Crystal."

Charles barks out a laugh. Whatever expression Niko must've had on her face breaks through Crystal's composure; she, too, cracks up, a spring in her step as she turns to walk forward again.

"Can barely feel her, can't I? Lighter than my backpack," Charles says, matter-of-factly.

"It's not a race."

"It could be a race."

"I'm not going to race you down the hill in these platforms, be serious—"

"That doesn't sound like a definite no," Niko pipes in.

"Take them off, then," offers Charles.

Edwin glances up at the orange sun set against the milky autumn sky, to his left; the brightest thing on the horizon. He hears her gasps of delight at Charles' cheeky step through the trunk in their way. Something inside him has been shifting and smoothing out for quite a while. Edwin doesn't know how long it will last or what the destination will be. All he knows is that the slope hits his feet once or twice at most.

One afternoon she invites them to watch Scooby Doo together. It's the first time they've gathered as a trio, and Edwin immediately understands why this hasn't happened before when Niko unlocks the door to her room. The bed they usually end up on is narrow to say the least, why hadn't he noticed that before, but it seems too late to make a flimsy excuse and eloign himself from the picture. They were long overdue.

Charles, who looks about ready to turn into an orb of post-case tension, has no qualms about using the threshold for a shimmering quick wardrobe change. He appears right at home, comfortable, downright domestic, in socks, trousers and a polo shirt, sliding his suspenders down and trailing after Niko who heads for the coat hanger.

What Edwin doesn't expect, apart from the rather tight fit for three people - or rather two ghost boys and one living girl - is Niko giving him a knowing look over Charles' head as he unceremoniously flops down on the bed. His groan, which prompts Niko to pat him sympathetically on said head, makes Edwin snap his open mouth shut, suddenly flustered.

He waits politely, pulling down his knitted vest and admiring the decorative sequins sewn onto a flowery cushion, deliberately not looking at the long line of Charles sprawled on the neatly tucked in duvet. He half-listens to Niko as she chatters on, something about needing to show them the more modern rendition of their Mystery Inc. detectives, grabbing her laptop from the desk and sitting down in the very middle, hip-checking Charles' side. Charles sluggishly lifts himself and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up, shoulders halfway up the headboard, neck supported by a plush pillow, hands folded across his chest and long, long legs crossed at the ankles. He must have done this several times now, Edwin's lungs remind him before tightening into knots. The mattress barely dips when he gingerly sits down and settles, too. His back remains straight, and he is barely brushing her arm when she announces out of the blue, "I forgot my snacks. Give me a moment," climbing off the bed and leaving them in — on Edwin's side — suddenly charged, tense silence.

It feels different, of course it does, and Edwin feels guilty that his carefully tucked away thoughts are knocking on the doors of his consciousness when they're in Niko's room, for God's sake. Edwin tries to subtly move away from the overwhelmingly horizontal line of Charles' body. Right now, sitting cross-legged, Edwin's knees are barely touching him, and he bumps his knee against Charles' arm twice before stilling. He doesn't want to hunch down; never again. He stays put.

The sensation of Charles' bony elbow is like the flash of a sharp smile. The room fills with a low hum, something musical and... campy that Niko must have shown Charles on one of those afternoons. With his eyes closed, Edwin compartmentalises the points of sharp heat.

Much, much later, Charles jogs up to the beach where Niko and Edwin are watching the starfish. "What're you doing?", he asks curiously, just when Edwin finishes talking about their lack of a centralised brain.

He hears the shift in Charles' posture more than his opening to say something mouth, and a second of hesitation before it closes again.

He wonders if Charles has noticed their colours.

Niko sends Charles a lingering smile. Her eyes crinkle with mirth. "Luckily, love requires no logic", she says cryptically. They don't notice, crouching down as they are, but his head tilts synonymously with Niko's and Edwin's.

When he dares to peek at Niko, he finds her eyes locked with Charles', with an expression that Edwin knows she must have learned recently, but is not sure when exactly. It says something like, go on. Be brave.

He swallows and clenches his fingers around the red, red sea glass in his coat pocket.

[lu-is-not-ok]

hi there! i’ve been motivated by previous asks, so i would really like to hear your thoughts on hong lu’s relationship with yi sang, as it is currently and how it may progress with the story… they have very interesting parallels to me and i wish i could see their relationship explored somewhere other than my own head lol

also, (if you would allow me two questions) do you have any particular thoughts about hong lu’s particulars (bachelor and sheltered)? i find the sinners’ particulars to be really interesting too but i never see them discussed anymore. thanks for your time & have a good day <3

When it comes to Hong Lu and Yi Sang, their relationship is much more straightforward but also much more genuinely positive.

The two don't really interact with each other in any notable manner until Canto 4, which is also where their dynamic Truly gets established. Canto 4's Dungeon is where they both end up connecting, as Yi Sang recognises Hong Lu as someone who heavily resembles Young Ji from the League of Nine, while Hong Lu himself appears to relate to and understand some of Yi Sang's struggles.

This all comes to a head when Hong Lu is the one to recognise the emotional core of what was happening and gives Dante the advice they need to actually reach out to Yi Sang at his lowest.

From this Canto onward, Hong Lu appears to consistently check up on Yi Sang during moments that remind the latter of his past with the League. Hong Lu shows that he not only holds concern for Yi Sang's emotional well-being, but also wants to make sure he doesn't bottle up his thoughts the way he learned he did in his past.

Likewise in Canto 7 Yi Sang is shown to be returning the favor to Hong Lu so to speak, though he's shown to struggle a bit more with processing how Hong Lu responds in comparison.

Outside of these moments, Hong Lu and Yi Sang are shown to generally have a cordial and amicable rapport, both showing curiosity towards each other when they share their respective knowledge and likewise jumping off of each other's observations to add their own. While Hong Lu does tease Yi Sang once or twice, it doesn't read nearly as mean-spirited as some of the shit he pulled with people like Heathcliff and Rodya.

Their relationship is perhaps one of the few on the bus that I can genuinely say is an entirely positive one for both of them. They both clearly care for each other and enjoy speaking with one another, even if they might struggle to understand one another at points. No ifs or buts, they're just straight up honestly decent friends.

It really makes me wonder how Yi Sang is going to take it once Hong Lu's lies are revealed... Compared to a lot of the relationships Hong Lu has with the other Sinners, his bond with Yi Sang seems the most genuine. Will Yi Sang be able to recognise that and will he decide to still stand by Hong Lu side?

Now. As for your second question.

I don't have much to say on Hong Lu's particulars beyond mentioning that their translation is. Interesting to say the least.

According to someone who speaks Korean, the term that got translated to "Bachelor" would more accurately be translated to "Young Master", aka it doesn't really have anything to do with marital status in its original language.

Similarly, the original wording for the "Sheltered" particular is more so an allusion to Hong Lu having a different sense of reality to what is considered normal. It's an interesting specificity that the English translation added that from my understanding wasn't there in the original text.

I don't have much else to add beyond the fact that people are too quick to trust the Manager Instructions as being the ultimate truth on what the Sinners are like. Their description of Ishmael as someone whose "patience runs deep" is proven incorrect in the fucking Prologue where her impatience is directly called out. This shit isn't a trustworthy source of info.

[bahja-blix]

One Helluva Shit Show! 🤡👇🏽💩

I'm sorry Vivziepop but... I hope you just cancel Helluva Boss 😂

Your show is the Literal definition of an Actual shit show 💩! Nobody wants it anymore like they used to back then. It's never going to be as popular as it used to be!

The specials held up for a little bit at 29M views

Those two Stolitz episodes were consistent but with a drop of 13M views which got us at 16M views

Then EP 11 rolled in and got the worst of it with a 6M view drop that was sitting at 10M views and recently went up to 11M views

Then Stolitz once again rolled in town and the views surprisingly went up at 3M+ increase that got us 14M views but still dripped

And lastly, The whole crew showed up and for the Grand Finale and it got 12M views... A 2M dip for the shows ratings

You've TANKED this show into Oblivion, Down straight into the toilet 📉🚽! The Ratings show, the Views show, and the Units of merch you Still haven't sold that occasionally hit the CLEARANCE RACK titled "Last Chance" that nobody wanted it in the first place, Also show!

The fewer units of merch you make, mainly because you can't produce as much as you used to because the show and it's products don't sell anymore!

Hell, not even people of Your political side wants it! Democrats DON'T Want this! Us LGBT folk Don't want this okay!? NOBODY Wants Your Shit Shows Viv 😂!

It happened in movies and in comics back then where people of your side try to pander to other Democrats and they never show up or help sell their shit because the audience you thought was on your side doesn't want this either mainly because there was never usually an audience to begin with.

Wanna know why Barbie and Oppenheimer were successful Viv? Because they DID something Right!

I don't want this as a Bisexual who's been in the LGBT community for more than a decade and This begs the question of the fact that:

We constantly ask you Vivziepop, who the HELL this shows even supposed to be for and You Yourself can't even answer that! You can't represent jack shit outta Anything or Anyone!

You can't represent, White, Brown, or Black communities, you can't represent the LGBT comm because you think that stereotyping the hell out of everything is necessary, you can't represent the disabled community. You know who represents ALL of that including me? JAPAN! know what else? Anime, Manga, and South Park!

You really sat here and opened your mouth somewhere on the Internet claiming to be a Creative Genius that and I quote "Took inspiration from South Park" really? ARE YOU SURE? Well then, Where's the fun satire and jokes that embrace that? Where's the charm that South Park has? Where the Hell is it?

Did you shove it up your ass? Like how you did shoving fucking Stolitz down everybody's throats because you think that shitty ass ships gonna save the show you wasted Millions of dollars on?

And turn around and claimed to want to make MORE of your crap nobody wants? You seriously think you can handle a THIRD SHOW? Like for Fuck sakes Loona, Can't even Save this show! That undeveloped weasel shit you made who I DID love at one point and Was my favorite until You fucked her All up and wasted large amounts of money on merch and made her into wasted space of screentime can't save this show because the only thing that Will (Scuse me) Might is STOLITZ!!!

The few extra views (As you can see in my screenshot above) certainly prove that! I can't believe that's what people want. A level lower than the depths of Hell itself...

And yet you Also sat here probably on Bluesky most likely of all platforms where you ran and hid because I called you out last time on X and you hid by locking your account down because you got scared over receiving criticism all around you yet again!

Probably because I'm an Actual diverse person and politically balanced in Every direction which is why people think TWICE before coming at me. Despite me being smaller than you, you knew not to fuck with me! But you'll go after other critics... wtf...

You my dear friend Vivziepop, are Weak in Spirit! You can't take the heat from other Democrats or Anyone because You Yourself think everyone who even lightly critiques you are All bigots when You and people of your ilk are the ones who have been creating actual bigotry for Years by Normalizing the fact that your shit shows are synonymous with incompetence. And That is on You!

Here we are as past fans who Used to look up to you Laughing at Your Ass because shit like this is Actually funny to watch!

Four seasons??? Like who the flying Fuck has the budget to pay for that cluster fuck of a catastrophe? Ain't no way you're going to deliver this shit in an age like this especially with the shift in politics! But that darn ol Vivziepop sure do gotta plan hidden up her sleeve and in that big ol head of hers now do ya Vivziepop?

Your brain must be filled with SEWAGE to look at this Fuckness and think that it's still okay! Look, Viv, at the end of the day, a polished turd, Is STILL a Turd!

I'll finish off by taking a look at Gooseworx! Obviously Goose and her amazing indie team is doing something Right! This show BLEW your ass and your shit shows away with one swipe of the pilots sword! 🗡️

While the Halloween Episode did Dip it's still very popular and is still noticeably gaining views faster than Helluva Boss. Notice how the McDonald's AU EP for Spudsys with Gangle's story gained an increase of 7M Views which got us At from 54M views to 61M views and STILL counting because I check Everyday on Gooseworx and Vivziepop's channels to see if anything moves and so far Gooseworx is moving but not that darn ol Vivziepop!

IN CONCLUSION

When it comes to Vivziepop, Let's just Mooove away from All this horse shit, stop allowing her to shove her brain diarrhea down everyone's throats and normalizing said sludge heaps. Let Vivs horrendous garbage heaps of shit just die straight into the depths of Hell where it belongs!

I'm Bajah-Blix and I'll see you All in the next one!

[f1cflcfic]

Just Because I Called You (Carlos Sainz)

Well, sometimes the muse outruns your earlier plans. I wasn't going to write a Carlos fic, but here we are :) This one is fully written and only has three parts, hope to update every 5 days!

pairing: carlos sainz jr x fem!reader

summary: y/n knows there's a reason for his contact details to be saved under 'do not interact', but one call does not mean you miss him.

genre: 1.6k words, written au, brief 18+ content, angst

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons

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Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just the sheer exhaustion that’s keeping you from finding your house keys after a night out with your friends.

You curse out loud, digging your hand back into your purse, even though you know it’ll be another futile attempt.

It’s not there.

Dread settles in, as you consider your options. You’d been the last one in the Uber, so all your friends have undoubtedly already crashed out. You could book a hotel, but that seems very excessive, expensive, and also just incredibly inopportune. Everything you need, your contact solution, your glasses, your pyjamas – it’s all just on the other side of the door.

With a sigh, you lean your clammy forehead against the front door.

“Fuck,” you whisper, as realisation sets in. You’re going to need a spare key. And it just so happens there’s only two other people who might have one, of which one is currently on holiday in Thailand.

Which leaves you with the worst option of all. With a sigh, you grab your phone and scroll through your contacts. “x do not interact x ”

“Needs must,” you mutter to yourself, then press the green call button. It’s well past midnight, and you feel bad about calling – but you also know that if anyone’s going to answer, it’s him.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before it comes to life with a little crackle.

“Hello?” You close your eyes almost on instinct, as his rough voice washes over you. It doesn’t hurt as much as it once did, but the ache still lingers.

“I know it’s late, and I know we’re not supposed to talk, but I’m drunk and dumb, and I can’t find my key,” you rush out all at once.

There’s faint rustling on the other end of the line, but then he comes back. “I got it. Just eh – wait? I’ll be there in 10.”

For seven minutes, you pace up and down the hallway in your apartment building – desperately convincing yourself of the fact that this won’t end badly.

You’re broken up. Have been broken up for a month. It’s the sole reason why your friends took you out, to celebrate that it’d been a month of going no contact with your ex.

Because you deserved better. You deserved someone who’d say “I love you” back, who’d buy you flowers, who’d take you out on dates that weren’t just sponsor events, and holidays that were just the two of you.

You deserve to be someone’s priority. So you’d told him it was over, and it had somehow made you even more mad that he’d just accepted it.

“Hi,” a voice says softly, and you immediately feel tears burn behind your eyes.

“Hi Carlos,” you reply meekly, waiting and watching as he approaches slowly. He’s wearing soft grey sweatpants, and a hoodie you once bought him in your favourite colour.

It’s uncomfortable and weird, the way in which neither of you really knows how to greet each other beyond that. Initiating any type of bodily contact seems like a bad decision, not when you know it's never going to satisfy the itch. It'd only make you crave his touch more, in ways you can't have it. Not anymore.

He awkwardly lifts his hand and shows you the spare key you’d once given him. The one he hadn’t given back yet. Your stomach lurches as you catch sight of the tiny sparkly chilli keychain dangling in the air.

“Shall I?” He asks, motioning at the door that you’d unconsciously been blocking with your body.

“Right, sorry,” you mutter, and quickly take a step back to give him some room.

Belatedly, you realise you should’ve just taken the key from him altogether right then and there.

But he's here now.

So instead, you thank him for coming out to you at 3AM in the morning. “Do you want to come in? Have something to drink before you leave again?”

You regret it the moment the words come out your mouth, as you can see Carlos visibly flinch. “I didn’t mean – no, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you did, though. And you’d be right. I was pretty good at leaving, wasn’t I?” He rubs his face with his hand, your eyes following the movement.

It drops back down, then pushes the door open a little further. Your eyes trail up his arm, lingering briefly on his neck. It’s lost some of its thickness, signalling the off-season. He’s handsome either way, but it just makes you hurt over lost time and moments together.

Your need to catalogue all the ways in which his appearance has changed is distracting, and you’ve inched closer to him – closer than strictly necessary, before you realise.

You shuffle past him, carefully knocking into his arm just so. You kick off your heels, and hang your bag on the coatrack.

You look back over your shoulder, then point at the basket neatly situated on the side table in your hallway. “Look. Keys are right there.”

“Cariño,” he warns, but against what, you’re not entirely sure.

He should probably leave, you think. He could have left. If he’d wanted to.

“You could just drop those keys off there as well,” you add, coaxing him to make a choice.

To finally step foot inside your apartment for the first time in 6 weeks. Or to never see it again.

He exhales, dark brown eyes zeroing in on yours as he makes his way in. He doesn’t drop the keys in the basket, but instead closes the door behind him, then takes off his shoes. Clearly he remembers how much you hate dirty shoes inside. “Don’t you think tonight proves it’s probably good if I held onto these?”

“I think it proves I need someone to have spare keys. It doesn’t need to be you,” you counter, then turn around and walk to the kitchen. He follows wordlessly, gaze never straying from you as you pour the two of you a glass of wine.

“Where are you staying, anyways? Ten minutes isn’t far off,” you ask, softly this time.

“Alex’ place,” he explains. “Our – the apartment flooded.” He’s quiet for a second, then takes the glass of wine as you hand it to him. “This keychain is a chilli. It’s mine.”

You study him across the top of your wine glass, follow the way he takes a sip and lets the red wine slide down his throat. It makes your cheeks flush, although you’re fairly certain you can hide behind the alcohol you’d already consumed earlier this evening.

“Mi favorito,” Carlos murmurs appreciatively. You know he’s talking about the wine, but for a millisecond, you deliberately let yourself misunderstand. Let yourself forget and fantasise.

Silence wraps around the two of you as you offer him a piece of leftover tiramisu that you pull from the fridge. He grabs the spoon from you, and takes a bite. It shouldn’t look as sinful as it does. But it’s Carlos, and it’s you. Habits die hard.

Sure, maybe it is the alcohol, maybe it is your exhaustion, you reason with yourself. Or maybe it’s the charged air that surrounds you two – even now you’re no longer together.

“Why’d you answer when I called?” You blurt out, the alcohol making you a little bolder than you’d normally be.

His hand stills from where it had been swirling the glass. He looks up at you again, and you feel your knees go weak. There’s a devastating vulnerability in those eyes, one that’s hard to ignore. “Tu sabes. Do you wish I hadn’t answered?”

You set your wineglass down again, now empty, then lean over the countertop. Close enough to count his eyelashes, and the tiny freckles he’s acquired from being out in the sun with his family. It hurts not having seen them develop in real time.

“I wish a lot of things, Carlos.”

His eyes rove your face, then linger on your lips for a second longer. “Me, too.”

Your gaze drops, too. And even though your heart is smashed to smithereens in your chest, your memories are telling you not to do it, and you know your friends will crucify you before picking up the pieces - it’s the lust and love-addled part of your brain that handles purely on emotion that wins out.

On reflex, you’ll justify later, you find yourself kissing Carlos in your kitchen at 3AM in the morning.

On reflex, you don’t even register how your own fingers roam around his body, and peel off the hoodie you’d gotten him.

On reflex, he hauls you into your bedroom, and teases you with his tongue while his lashes flutter against the apex of your thighs.

It’s not on reflex, when he asks if he needs to use a condom. It breaks the lust-fuelled haze, and instead it’s got you on the brink of crying in the blink of an eye. But you’re so close now, can almost taste the way in which this is going to both ruin and complete you at the same time.

You know this is exactly why you shouldn’t have called him, but it’s also exactly why you’re not going to stop this now. Even when you know you should.

So instead, you let the anger course through your body, scratching his back with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. “You tell me,” you pant in his neck, before sucking a bruise into his skin. You can feel his jaw tick, but he refrains from grabbing a condom nonetheless.

It shouldn’t make you feel the things it does.

Then again, Carlos shouldn’t be in your bed, buried balls deep inside of you, making you come three times in a row either.

Not when you’d been doing so well at the no contact rule.

You guess, then, that you deserve the feeling of hot shame and embarrassment rushing over you the next morning. It’s your punishment for being foolish, as you realise you shouldn’t have been surprised at the fact that he’s no longer next to you.

The only evidence he was ever there, is the stupid fucking hoodie left on your bedroom floor, and the sticky feeling between your legs.  

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Let me know what you think <3 Likes, comments, reblogs, asks are all appreciated.

[ezroyler]

Remembering the time I set out to write a Stydia-inspired enemies-to-lovers romance and I got so caught up in writing the friendship part that I never even got to the romance

[deadqueernoldor]

Thinking thoughts about those from Cuivienen and how they later treated the Valar, especially after Cuivienen was destroyed.

I imagine a foundation of sorrow and a layer of betrayal and pettiness. They had promised safety. And how did it turn out? Kin of Tata and Tatie their first leaders, slain in Valinor by the Dark Hunter from which the Valar promised protection in Valinor.

And then, the War of Wrath comes and with it the destruction of Cuivienen.

If any of those were re-embodied in Aman, I wonder if they make it a point to always turn their back to Valar and Maiar. I wonder if they only speak in the tongue they had first devised all those millennia ago and spoke in Cuivienen before time and different kindreds changed the tongue, not Sindarin or Quenya from the Great Journey's time or later. I wonder if they sing songs in their ancient tongue, songs about the beauty and unsullied health of Cuivienen every time any of the Ainur are near.

I wonder if the Valar feel any shame when those who they once looked upon in wonder and love gaze back at them with indifference or disgust.

[phagodyke]

the masculine urge to take a saucepan off thr draining board and bash myself repeatedly over the head with it until I pass out and no longer have to experience feeling Bad 😍

[icewindandboringhorror]

Very generic “”gothy” character in a children’s cartoon” type look just out of curiosity, seeing if I had enough stuff to put together a full outfit from a box of old clothes lol. I didn’t have an actual main shirt though, so it’s just a plain tank top with cat shape cut out of paper and safety pinned onto the front 

[binnie]

you guys.... i'm going down a spiral and I need advice

[glacierbash]

I am beaming my mh rise character into your brain. Observe her.

[afton-family-askblog]

Hello gentlemen

Oh hey- didn't that one die or something? ....nah I'm sure it's fine. Hello child whos name I remember! -William

[teagoblin]

.

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

Migu/eli :/

[kareoflyon]

interesting things happening over at dawnchasers

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.