#and then blame me for it and make it even worse

[succubusvalentine]

Part two of Simon Riley with a user who kidnaps herself. CW: Cunnilingus, Somnophilia, PiV, they're both a bit crazy, brief mention of blood (in a ring) part one here if you missed it!

Simon was currently stood over his bed. Staring at you. Under his covers.

You smelled so good too. Simon didn't want to get in bed and disrupt the scent of you with his own. He'd never forgive himself.

It was strange. Simon thought that if you found out he was stalking you, you would scream, call the cops, anything but this.

Maybe you were as crazy as he was. A thought that both terrified and excited Simon. Although the excitement definitely weighed out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon merely watched you as days went by. He watched you eat, watch tv, sleep, bathe. And it didn't creep you out in the slightest.

You knew there was always an adjustment period when two people moved in together. So you let him watch you. He was like a wary cat. It was rather cute.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You can get in bed, you know" you hum tiredly one night. Opening your eyes and looking up at the behemoth of a man that would have terrified anyone else if they saw him watching them sleep.

"Don't want to make the bed smell like me when it smells like you"

"If you cuddle me you'd be close enough to smell me really good"

Simon stared. Brows furrowing in thought. Before he gives in.

Simon awkwardly slid into the bed next to you, tensing slightly when you grabbed his arms and wrapped them around your waist.

But as soon as Simon seemed to understand that he was touching you and you wanted him to keep touching you, he grabbed the backs of your thighs, pulling you flush against him with your legs around his thick waist so he could bury his face into your chest.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After that, Simon could barely keep his hands off you. As soon he got home from base, he would find you somewhere in his home and wrap his arms around you. Refusing to let go for at least ten minutes.

He also gave you the best head you'd ever received. Definitely a bonus.

Every guy you'd been with before Simon, treated the act like a chore. Lazily licking you until raising their head and asking if you'd finished yet.

Simon though? He does it for his own pleasure.

Simon will find you wherever you're lazing about the house. Drop to his knees. And go to town.

Sucking on your clit until your legs shook, moving his head down to lick the wet slick coming from your hole. The first time he shoved his tongue in your hole to taste more of you? You nearly screamed as you came unexpectedly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

And the way Simon fucks? You could barely think a coherent thought afterwards.

Sure, the first time you two fucked Simon came almost as soon as he thrust into you. But you couldn't blame him. He was fucking the woman he'd been stalking for over a year. He was bound to get overwhelmed.

Now though, Simon could fuck you for multiple rounds. There'd been times you had to call out of work because you either couldn't walk, or your body was so exhausted afterwards.

And after telling Simon it was okay to fuck you while you were asleep? He was even worse. The amount of times you woke up to Simon fucking into you while cuddling you and drooling into your shoulder was immense. But you loved it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon's favourite part of you being his sweet little stalker, was that sometimes he would tell you he's going out. And then he would see you in the corner of his eye.

But Simon's favouritest part of his favourite part, was when he would go out with his team, and they'd point it out. Unfortunately it only happened a few times. The team getting used to seeing you watching Simon from afar. But whenever Simon noticed you, he got the stupidest smile on his face. Knowing he was definitely going to marry you. Propose to you with a ring where the gemstone was made of his own blood.

"tha' lass been followin' us bar tae bar all nigh'" Soap muttered. The rest of the team being concerned.

"Yeah" Simon grinned dumbly "she's the best ain't she?"

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Simon was just over the moon that you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. And you moving into his home unannounced had to be the most romantic thing Simon had ever experienced in his life. You were perfect for him.

⛧°. ⋆𓌹♰𓌺⋆. °⛧

Tag list ~ @thefutureastronaut @illyanam1011 @likewhyareyousoobsessedwith-blog @hbaasaad @idknowwhattdowhitmylife @maybe-a-bi-witch @thatpersonnamedrook @miss-chanandler-bong @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @baduzzxy @skeletonsucker @drewsuncrustables @milanriol @aceywaycy @jooba @morallygrayboys @logansblackgf @dreamland08 @nicolebarnes @spacecola7 @teapartydreams @callsignao3 @garejuremuzum @laduenadelswing @xxkay15xx @simonsslut @princessbitchybucket @unclearblur @emily-roberts @nightreverie @huehuehuehuehehe @stayblinkarmyatinymoafearnot @wandabillywrites @mcira @klttn @ditzydoefx @vmaxis @keldeleine @persephone-kore-law @adrislibrary @arcvenes @thicksexxualtension @ltrileys @tbhiddlestan83 @lia-36 @happyficlibrary @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @hellshire-harlot @saturnspector @foo1ishs3renity @fishsinsareacknowledged @werebear-roams @cutedumbbunny @masterclassofescapism @lovelylocs @lady-of-death @fwoarmachine

guys I was even super nice and tagged a few reblogs that seemed super into this + made me giggle when reading. So so sorry if some of the tags didn't work/if I forgot someone. Feel free to scream at me in the comments if I did <3

just wanted to credit @feline-flame-fatale for the second last paragraph of this. Their comment was honestly perfect for this. Thank them in the comments RIGHT NOW.

[goldfades]

HOTTEST COUPLE IN THE ROOM ───JB⁹

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2.5k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | requested! -> "Joe x Dallas cowboy cheerleader reader"

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | reader is kinda perceived as bitchy, and not a cookie-cutter dcc. lots of a banter, leads to relationship.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | my new fav thing EVER

The bass shakes the floor beneath your heels, the scent of top-shelf liquor and expensive cologne thick in the air. The postgame party is exactly what you expected—too many people, too much noise, and a lingering sense of competition that doesn’t quite fade even after the game’s final whistle. Cowboys and Bengals players mix like oil and water, good-natured jabs tossed between sips of whiskey, the occasional laugh laced with something sharper.

You don’t want to be here.

But when the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders make an appearance, it’s not optional. It’s PR. It’s “team camaraderie.” It’s smiling through gritted teeth while some dude in a suit with more money than personality tells you how impressive it is that you can do a perfect high kick in full glam.

You adjust the hem of your dress, shifting against the leather couch tucked in the VIP section. It’s not that you’re bad at playing the part. You just don’t fit the mold the way you’re supposed to. The other girls—prim, polished, always camera-ready—glide through the room like they were born for this. You, on the other hand, are already toeing the line of “too much.” Too opinionated, too unpredictable, too unwilling to be anything other than exactly who you are.

And yet, you’re still here. Because when you dance, they shut up about the rest.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” a voice drawls beside you, cutting through the music.

Your gaze shifts, locking onto the last person you expected to seek you out tonight. Joe Burrow.

His suit jacket is slung over his arm, the sleeves of his crisp white button-down rolled up just enough to give him that effortlessly put-together look. He’s got that half-smirk that’s made him a social media obsession, and yet there’s something else in his expression—curiosity, maybe. Amusement.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t think you knew who I was.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” His eyes flicker, something sharp and knowing in them. “Hard to miss the cheerleader who doesn’t play by the rules.”

You tilt your head, feigning offense. “I play by the rules.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. You don’t. You just make it look like you do.”

And there it is. The first crack in the game, the unspoken understanding settling between you like a drawn line in the sand.

It should be nothing.

But somehow, it doesn’t feel like nothing.

You lean back against the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other toying with the rim of the drink you don’t actually want. The ice clinks softly as you swirl it, eyes flicking back to Joe, unimpressed but not entirely disinterested.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Joe Burrow knows my reputation. I guess I can retire now.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that barely shakes his shoulders. “Just saying, you don’t blend in.”

You lift a brow. “Neither do you.”

His smirk deepens, just a little. “Difference is, I’m supposed to stand out.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you’re worse than I thought.”

Joe blinks, feigning offense. “Worse?”

“Yeah.” You tilt your head, taking him in. “I figured you’d at least let me get a word in before pulling the ‘I’m Joe Burrow’ card.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The smirk on his face falters just a fraction, like he’s recalculating his approach. He came over here thinking he’d charm you with minimal effort, just like he probably does with every other girl in this room. You can’t blame him. You’re used to guys like him—ones who assume that a few smooth lines and a good jawline will be enough to win you over. It’s exhausting, really.

Joe, to his credit, seems to pick up on it quickly. He shifts his stance, dropping the easy arrogance just a notch, watching you like he’s trying to figure out a new play mid-game.

“So, you don’t like football players,” he guesses.

“I never said that.”

“You don’t seem impressed.”

“I’m just not easily impressed.”

Joe clicks his tongue, shaking his head like he’s been personally challenged. “Tough crowd.”

You let out a short laugh, finally taking a sip of your drink. The warmth spreads through you, smoothing the edges of your already sharp tongue. “Look, I get it. You’re Joe Cool, media darling, golden boy, future Hall of Famer, blah, blah, blah. But none of that tells me who you actually are.”

Joe’s quiet for a beat, like he wasn’t expecting you to cut through the bullshit so quickly. Most people don’t.

He studies you. “You wanna know who I am?”

“I wanna know if you can hold a conversation that doesn’t involve your highlight reel.”

Joe grins, shaking his head like you’re more trouble than he bargained for—but not the kind he wants to walk away from.

“Alright,” he says, leaning in slightly. “Let’s make it fair. Since you’re so uninterested in my career, how about I ask about yours?”

You narrow your eyes. “Go for it.”

He tilts his head. “You always wanted to be a cheerleader?”

You pause for a fraction of a second. It’s not a bad question, but it’s not the usual small talk either. It’s got an edge to it, like he’s actually curious.

“No,” you admit. “I wanted to be an astronaut.”

Joe snorts. “Serious?”

“As a heart attack.” You smirk. “But apparently, NASA frowns upon people who talk back to their instructors.”

Joe laughs now, really laughs, and it does something to his face—makes it lighter, less perfectly put-together. It’s a nice look on him.

“So, you settled for the next most intense program?” he asks.

“Something like that.” You glance around the room, at the Cowboys players, the other cheerleaders, the high-profile guests all schmoozing and clinking glasses. “DCC is its own version of NASA. Just with more hairspray and stricter calorie counts.”

Joe hums, considering that. “And yet, you don’t seem the type to take orders.”

You shrug. “I don’t. But I’m really, really good at what I do.”

His gaze lingers for half a second too long. “Yeah,” he says, low and thoughtful. “I bet you are.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes your breath catch for just a second—not because you’re flustered, but because it feels like he actually sees you, past the sequins and forced smiles and PR obligations.

You tap your nails against your glass, breaking whatever was starting to settle between you. “Well, congrats,” you say, all light and teasing again. “You managed to hold a conversation without bringing up your own stats.”

Joe grins, lazy and triumphant. “And?”

You take a slow sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. “You’re not completely insufferable.”

Joe laughs, leaning back into the couch. “I’ll take it.”

The first date wasn’t supposed to happen.

At least, not in your mind.

But Joe had this way of slipping through the cracks of your carefully built walls, catching you off guard in a way that wasn’t annoying, but intriguing. So, when he had looked at you across that crowded party and said, “One drink. No football talk,” you had rolled your eyes, but ultimately, you had agreed.

One drink turned into three. A post-midnight drive through downtown. A completely ridiculous bet over who could name more obscure 90s songs (you won, obviously). And then, somehow, a second date.

And that was the real surprise.

Because by then, you figured you had him pegged. Star quarterback, smooth operator, probably used to women falling over themselves to impress him. But the Joe you saw away from the cameras, when it was just the two of you in a dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bar or sprawled out on his couch, eating takeout straight from the boxes, was different. He was easy in a way that felt familiar, like a song you hadn’t heard in years but still knew all the words to.

And he got you.

Most guys would tense up when you made some sarcastic comment, unsure if they should be amused or offended. Joe just smirked and shot one right back, quick and sharp like one of his passes. The banter was effortless, the chemistry undeniable, but it never felt forced.

It felt like you’d known him forever.

Which was dangerous.

Because you weren’t supposed to like him this much.

But a few months flew by before you could think too hard about it.

One minute, you were rolling your eyes at him in a Dallas bar. The next, you were sneaking glances at your phone in the middle of DCC rehearsals, trying not to smile at whatever nonsense he had just texted you.

Then came the flights.

You found yourself booking tickets to Cincinnati more often than you’d ever expected, trading in your Texas sunsets for the sharp chill of Ohio air, showing up in his city like you belonged there. And the crazy part? It never felt inconvenient. You had never been the type to rearrange your schedule for a guy, but with Joe, it was different. He made the effort too—catching flights to see you between games, showing up unannounced just to grab dinner, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It should’ve been overwhelming, but it wasn’t.

Because nothing about Joe was ever boring.

You’d expected the excitement in the beginning—the flirty back-and-forth, the teasing, the lingering looks that stretched longer than they should. But what you hadn’t expected was the way he made everything feel lighter. How he made you laugh when you were dead on your feet after an exhausting game day. How he somehow always knew when you needed to talk and when you just needed to sit in comfortable silence.

And yeah, the tension was there. Always.

You weren’t blind, and Joe sure as hell wasn’t either. There were moments—when his hand lingered on your lower back a second too long, when you caught him watching you with that unreadable expression, when he pulled you into a hug that felt like it meant something more.

But neither of you pushed it. Not yet.

For now, it was enough to just exist in whatever this was.

And, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t in any rush to define it.

The New York City skyline stretched high above the venue, lights twinkling like they were in on the secret that tonight was something different.

Joe didn’t hide you.

He hadn’t from the start, really, but there was a difference between showing up for each other in private and standing next to him now, his hand resting low on your back, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress like he wanted everyone to see exactly where you belonged.

And you?

You looked good enough to ruin a man’s career.

Your dress was the kind that turned heads—sleek, with just enough edge to remind people that you weren’t the typical quarterback’s girlfriend. Joe wasn’t intimidated by it, wasn’t the type to shrink when his girl demanded attention. No, if anything, he was thriving on it. Walking into the party with you on his arm, chin high, like he knew for a fact that you were the hottest couple in the room.

And you were.

It didn’t matter that the place was full of some of the most famous athletes in the league, that models and influencers and A-listers milled around with expensive drinks in hand—no one looked as good as the two of you together.

Joe left you only once, leaning down to murmur, “Gonna get us a drink, don’t go too far.”

You weren’t worried about being left alone. You’d been in these rooms before, could handle yourself just fine.

But apparently, someone didn’t get the memo.

The moment Joe was out of earshot, a presence settled beside you—too close, too confident.

“Damn, haven’t seen you in a minute.”

You already knew you were going to hate him before you even looked.

And sure enough, when you turned, there he was. A Cowboys player, one you’d interacted with just enough to know he was exactly the type you had no patience for. Cocky in a way that wasn’t charming, self-important in a way that made your skin itch.

You barely had time to open your mouth before he bulldozed on.

“So, what, you finally got tired of playing in the kiddie pool and upgraded?” He grinned, not even waiting for you to respond. “Figured it was only a matter of time. The whole ‘untouchable cheerleader’ thing was getting old.”

You smiled. Smirked, really. Because this? This was amusing.

He thought you were flustered. Thought you were scrambling for a way out.

Like you hadn’t been shutting down men like him since the first time you ever put on that DCC uniform.

“Oh, yeah,” you said, voice smooth as silk. “Joe’s an upgrade, alright.” You tilted your head, eyes dragging over him in an exaggerated once-over. “But considering what I was working with before, it really didn’t take much.”

His smile flickered, but he was too stubborn to let it go. “C’mon, you don’t have to pretend with me. I know you, remember? Back when you were just another Dallas girl trying to play hard to get?”

You actually laughed at that.

Not a fake, polite one. A real one. Because this was just sad.

“Wow,” you mused. “I’ve gotta give it to you, you commit to the bit. Most guys would’ve tapped out by now, but you? You’re still going. That’s dedication.”

His jaw tensed just slightly. “I’m just saying, no need to act all high and mighty. We both know you used to—”

“Used to what?”

Your voice was still sweet, still playful, but the underlying steel was there. And when you took a slow sip of your drink, watching him over the rim, it was clear you were letting him dig his own grave.

Before he could figure out how to claw his way out, a shadow loomed beside you.

Joe.

But not in the swooping, Oh no! My girl is in distress! way.

No, he was calm. Casual. Like he had all the time in the world. His presence alone was enough to shift the energy in the conversation, but you didn’t even acknowledge him yet. You wanted to see just how long it would take for the guy in front of you to realize he’d lost.

Turns out, not long.

Joe didn’t say anything, just leaned slightly against the bar, watching with mild interest. But the weight of his presence alone did something to your uninvited guest—made him shift uncomfortably, made his easy confidence crack just a little.

And that? That was satisfying.

“I was just catching up with your girl,” the Cowboy muttered, backtracking so fast you almost wanted to laugh.

Joe didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” He glanced at you, finally acknowledging you with a knowing smirk. “You having fun?”

You took another sip, grinning. “Oh, loads.”

The guy beside you tensed. “I was just—”

“Leaving?” you supplied helpfully.

His mouth opened. Closed. Then, without another word, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Joe chuckled, finally handing you the drink he had left to get. “You were having way too much fun with that.”

You shrugged, taking a sip. “Can you blame me?”

He shook his head, draping an arm lazily around your waist, pulling you in just slightly. “Guess not.”

And the night went on.

Just you and Joe. The hottest couple in the room.

[caughtthedarkness93]

There are two things I've been pointing out a lot lately.

The first is that yes, things are bad and Trump's term is four years, but midterm elections are in two. If Trump gets saddled with an unfriendly congress, which I'm pretty confident he will, considering he's blaming airplane crashes on DEI and putting every government worker's job in limbo, his life is going to become a lot harder. So yeah, we have to survive four years of this fascist chucklefuck assuming he doesn't choke in a Big Mac somewhere in there, but in two years, we have a good chance to kneecap his ass and maybe even impeach him and make it stick this time.

The second is that he's an idiot. Many of his executive orders display little understanding of the actual systems he's working with or the issues he's trying to legislate, and executive orders legally cannot override acts of congress, SCOTUS decisions, or the Constitution. If he tries, they'll get slammed into court. Many of the things he's tried to legislate come from one of those places and therefore cannot be decided via executive order. So that means they'll get stuck in court and then Trump will have to waste his time litigating them rather than trying to implement them.

So yeah. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, but it's not gonna be as bad as it looks. It's gonna suck, don't get me wrong, but our fascists are stupid, easily enraged, easy to trick, and don't know what they're doing. Trump himself is even less coherent this time than the first time and has no clear successor whom voters like nearly as much. Every single one who seems like they could be one has been rejected by voters. I've long believed that the American right is doomed to have some kind of reckoning when Trump goes away, and one way or another, that won't be long. He will do a lot of damage. I'm particularly worried about RFK Jr. in the HHS department. But that damage can and will be reduced and this isn't forever.

Donald Trump wants you overwhelmed. He wants you scared and panicking. Being overwhelmed and panicking stops you from stopping him. He wants learned helplessness. He doesn't actually care about all this shit, he's just a vain old man who likes it when people pay attention to him and cheer his name. The antidote to fear is knowledge, and I've seen so many people who are doing so much work to make Trump's bullshit harder who actually do understand these systems and can navigate them much more effectively.

All is not lost. Love your people. Do what you can to help and protect them.

And don't disappear. Someday this sadness will end. I want as many of us to be there as possible when it does.

Food for thought

[lady-of-endless]

"Same room, same keys" (Seong Gi-hun x reader, season 2)

Summary: It was always the same room, the same number, the same keys. His heart was guarded but it longed for you.

Author's Note: Blame this on The Weeknd's new album and my wish to get that writer's block out of my system. Angsty.

(Squid Game masterlist here)

Pink Motel, street Banghak-dong 110-271, Dobong-gu, Seoul.

The motel was old and cheap but modified inside. A simple facade. All of the rooms were full of weapons, money, maps, and targets for practice. Those hostile chambers made that empty motel as guarded as his heart, except for two rooms that were kept unchanged. His and yours.

You were a regular, the only one. After all, who would even choose to spend a night in a worn-out place? That was you, on multiple occasions even. Every time you were working until late hours, you chose to stop there. The motel was closer than your home and you didn't want to roam around the streets late at night alone.

That explanation and your stubbornness at the door were enough for Gi-hun to make an exception one night, letting you in. Since then, you have come back again and again. You were a minor setback for his search for the games, and he hated thinking about you that way. Gi-hun had to be careful every time you would come, locking all the other rooms up and postponing the meetings with his so-called hired team of spies. Gi-hun tried to say no to you but the word always got stuck in his throat when your eyes met his in the small lobby. He didn't know why you were always coming back, and you didn't know either.

He always looked the same to you. The eyes of an empty man, hard frown, hollow cheeks, stubble, the smell of cigarettes on his clothes, and an undeniable loneliness surrounding him. It wasn't hard to notice. Maybe that's why he always opened the door for you. Most of the time, before heading to the room he gave you, you would talk to him, even sharing a cigarette. Gi-hun wasn't very talkative, but when he was listening to you, his mind seemed to mute the chaos and terror the games left behind imprinted on his consciousness. That silence felt unreal; the thought of you was comfortable, his nightmares less frequent.

But when things seem too good and too innocent, doubt arises, and when trust issues are involved, that cautiousness is even worse. Gi-hun was never getting closer. You could've been sent by the Frontman himself, who would know? He understood how cruel life could be so he wouldn't be surprised if the calmness of your presence would be an illusion.

Gi-hun always gave you the keys to the same room, always the same number. You never asked why even if you found it a bit odd. Maybe it was just a coincidence, as you forced yourself to think. But that wasn't the only odd thing. More than that, he never asked you to pay. You never got any sense of danger from him, he was always polite but reserved. You hoped it wasn't wishful thinking, but you couldn't get rid of your doubt.

Tonight, after gathering the courage, you stood in the dark lobby of his motel and watched him, your rehearsed words on the tip of your tongue. You had to look away from Gi-hun who was sitting on a couch and smoking, to focus on your intention. A marked calendar on a wall catches your attention.

"You never asked me to pay..." You finally spoke after a while, gazing back at him, waiting for a reaction that would solve the mystery. "And you never let me pay."

Gi-hun sighed with a small frown, smoke floating from his lips. A part of him was expecting you to get cautious but the other didn't wish for it to happen and break the fragile and apparent serenity of your presence in his life so soon. He didn't want to hear about money especially not from you. His thoughts drifted to the stacks of dirty money that he hated and kept locked in a room. Any coin or bill was a bitter reminder of the games and the lost lives.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth, put it out in the ashtray, and looked at you.

"You're always coming here tired from work, I don't want to charge you for just some hours of sleep." He explained, his tone telling you that there should be no need to delve any further into the subject.

Gi-hun looked at your face, taking in the details like he did whenever you two would talk at night

He recalled every moment. You always had a way of reaching the man he used to be. He thought about how if you appeared in his life three years ago, he wouldn't even have felt the need to join the games, no matter his financial status. He would've greeted you with open arms and a foolish heart. And now? It was so complicated for him to let anyone inside.

His heart was guarded but it longed for you so much.

"Why not?" You insisted, stepping forward, almost in front of him. Gi-hun tensed. He got up slowly and looked down at you. "And it's always the same room." You added, looking up at him.

You had that look in your eyes again, the one that made him feel like nothing else existed around them, the one that was able to make him forget for a moment about his desperate and unhealthy search and make his heart flutter.

But his own doubts didn't let him have more than that temporary bliss.

"Why are you always coming back?" He asked in return, catching you off guard. It was your turn to hesitate so he went on. "You come here at night, book a room, talk to me for a while, and then leave in the morning." Gi-hun explained, his voice low and gruff, almost not blinking from the eye contact.

It was his turn to express his dilemma. He often thought about how his broken trust and lost innocence made him more mature but also more cautious and less receptive to things that made him happy, like you.

Gi-hun would only admit to himself that your presence would make him feel again and that every night, he was wondering if you'd stop by or not.

As he was watching your face illuminated by the pale neon glow of the sign from outside the building, he silently urged you to respond by tilting his head to the side to be closer to your face. The smell of your perfume and his full ashtray lingering in the air around him.

"Answer me." His voice became a firm whisper as your foreheads almost touched. He desperately needed to know that his worst assumptions about your intentions were wrong and just exaggerations. Gi-hun tried figuring it out on his own so many times. In the night when you weren't there, he'd sometimes replay the recordings from the surveillance cameras from when you came and study your mannerisms, your smile, your words. His heart couldn't take it if the smile from the recordings was just a deception.

You hesitated, knowing exactly why but keeping the attachment a secret still. However, you didn't want to lie to him so you settled for the thing that you noticed about him from the start and made you come back every time.

"Because..." You started in a whisper. "You look so lonely."

His eyes widened slightly at your response, he wasn't expecting you to say something like that. Loneliness wasn't something foreign to him, but hearing it out loud was something else.

Were you trying to fix his loneliness? Was that it?

Gi-hun let out a small scoff, but there was no malice in it. He averted his gaze away from you for a moment, before looking back at you again with a hint of vulnerability.

"It doesn't bother me anymore." He lied, his tone a bit defensive. "I'm always alone."

It was something that he knew for a while, clear as day since when he won the games and again when he recently called his daughter and wasn't able to say a word to her. He realized how he was left with no one.

Until you showed up, at the worst time in his life but being exactly what he needed, greeting him with a smile and a polite 'Excuse me, is there any room available? '.

He took in your face, your expression, and for a moment his heart ached. Yes, he was lonely; it was real, painful, but you were there...so close to him, so patient, waiting for him to let her inside his heart, not just that motel. Gi-hun was quiet for a moment, his gaze still on your face before he spoke again, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Is it that obvious?" He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair and he looked at you, the dark circles under his eyes visible under the dim lights of the motel lobby.

You couldn't hold back anymore and extended your hand to touch his face.

The moment your hand touched his face, Gi-hun almost flinched, feeling the slight warmth of your palm against his skin. He was not used to such intimate touch, not for a long time at least, but he didn't move away. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the gentle touch of your hand against his cheek, his dark eyelashes fluttering. Encouraged by his response, you cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch instinctively but hesitantly, frowning. His broken trust tried to suppress the longing he felt for so long and now it was all in vain.

As your hand remained on his cheek, he knew it was his turn to be honest too. Gi-hun was considering telling you about his past, his purpose, and the plans that he had been secretly working on. He opened his mouth to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue, but something held him back still. He was afraid.

He reached up and covered your hand with his own, gently holding it against his face.

"I need to tell you something, but please, stay one more night...with me."

[wheeboo]

paging dr. heartthrob | lee chan {TEASER}

SYNOPSIS. You can’t afford to be burnt out, especially during a crucial era of your life: being in medical school. Enter your best friend—a boy with a tough-looking exterior, a skateboard that’s seen better days, and a heart softer than his beat-up converse—Lee Chan, with his backpack full of snacks, and an uncanny ability to show up exactly when you need him most. He may not be a doctor, nor exactly your therapist, but he certainly is a heartthrob, and your heart can’t help but always page him. PAIRING. skater boy!lee chan x med student!reader (ft. lowkey stoner!vernon, med student!jeonghan, med student!joshua, soonyoung) GENRE. fluff, childhood best friends to lovers, angst, suggestive, hurt/comfort, college au WARNINGS (FOR THE TEASER). swearing, vaping and mention of weed, just silly banter between two "best friends" <3 WARNINGS (FOR FULL FIC). swearing, food and drinking mentions, suggestive, drug use (weed & vaping), so much fucking mutual pining!!!, reader is quite literally me so self-indulgent maybe?, reader is an overthinking anxious burnt-out mess :((, chan has a mullet, piercings, and tattoos yes (re: cough attacca dino cough), chan is a self-critical perfectionist oof, vague descriptions of minor injuries, mental health topics, medical terminology language, a scene of a panic attack WORD COUNT (FOR THE TEASER). 1.3k WORD COUNT (FOR FULL FIC). approx 20-25k

notes: hello, my little flowers! this is my teaser for the @camandemstudios "the lonely heart's cafe" collab <3. I'VE BEEN BLESSED TO FINALLY WRITE FOR LEE CHAN‼️if you would like to be tagged when this fic comes out, please send an ask or comment down below! sign up for the taglist for the entire collab here! please send all your love to the other authors who are participating in this as well !!

“You’re late,” he calls out, kicking the skateboard up into his hands and jogging over to meet you.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Blame my neuro attending. That man has the stamina of a marathon runner and the patience of a saint. Could rival Derek Shepherd, to be honest. I think I aged ten years today.” You set your bag down on the floor next to a nearby bench. “You didn’t wait long, did you?”

“Nah, not that long. You actually came before Vernon𑁋he left his vape here,” Chan says while fishing the vape out of his pocket and taking a shameless hit from it, a cloud of vapour floating into the air when he exhales, before offering it to you with a teasing grin. “Want a hit?”

You scrunch your nose, shaking your head with a laugh. “Offering me, a med student, that shit is crazy. My lungs are precious thank you, unlike you and Vernon.”

“Tell that to those bozos.” He points to the noisy teenagers at the other side of the park, before sitting right next to you on the bench. “Can’t even roll over there without getting smacked in the face with weed.”

Your smile falters just slightly as you watch him lean back, his face tilting towards the darkening sky. The dim light of the streetlamps catches on the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the relaxed purse of his lips, and highlights the dragon tattoo that snakes up his arm. He looks... peaceful. Content. Like the world isn’t asking too much from him tonight, like there’s no weight of expectations pressing on his shoulders, unlike you.

“I messed up today during clinicals,” You randomly confess, making Chan turn toward you. “There was this patient today… a girl. Seventeen years old, has a tumour that’s basically about to split her brain in half. I kept arguing with my attending about treatments, and I was so sure I was right𑁋that we could do something more about it𑁋but in the end, I just... made it worse. I felt like such an idiot, because… because there wasn’t anything we could do. She only has one chance with surgery, and she took it, despite her low chances of surviving.”

Chan listens to you, his eyes gentle and thoughtful, understanding but not pitying. It’s the same way he used to listen when you were venting back in high school, always patient, never rushing you to fix yourself or your emotions.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, but his tone is nothing like a scold. “You care. That’s the difference. Not everyone would have fought that hard for her, even if you didn’t win. You’ve got a heart the size of the ocean, dude, you know?” 

You smile faintly, chest tightening a little to his words. “The mother-fucking ocean?”

Chan grins at your lightheartedness, nudging you with his elbow. “Yeah, the mother-fucking ocean. You’re stubborn as hell, but you’ve got that heart. And that’s what makes you good at what you do. It’s what makes you you.”

You look down almost in guilt from his words, watching as you unconsciously play with your fingers in your lap. You don’t know why, but it hits harder than usual tonight, and for the briefest moment, you feel the rush of everything you’ve been holding back𑁋the exhaustion, the frustration, the feeling that you’ve been carrying more than your fair share of weight these days. They almost threaten to burst out of you, but right now, they don’t. Not yet at least.

“You’re gonna be a good doctor, you know?” Chan continues. “I don’t even have to be a doctor to know that. You just… you get it. You’re going to go out there and do great things. Maybe even better things than me.”

You almost want to laugh at that, almost want to tell Chan just how much shit he’s done that is far greater than what you could ever dream of. You’re not sure if he realises it himself𑁋how great he is, how much you admire him, love him𑁋but you think you could spend more than a lifetime telling him just that if you could. 

You feel your heart do that familiar flip again, but this time, you let it pass. Maybe you’ve been avoiding these feelings for too long, but the truth is, they’ve been there for as long as you can remember. You can’t exactly pinpoint the moment these feelings shifted from friendship to something more𑁋maybe it was when he helped you get through the first few years of high school, or when he held your hand during a school dance, not in some romantic gesture but because you were scared of your anxiety acting up𑁋but it’s always been there. He’s always been there. 

“I… Thank you, Chan,” You say softly. Then you tilt your head back, looking at the same sky he is, feeling the heaviness in your chest ease just a little. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that? But you’re also... you’re really great yourself. Like, better-than-I-deserve great.”

Chan just chuckles at that. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head slightly to look at you. “That’s probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, and I’ve heard a lot of dumb shit from you.”

“Wow, okay. Forget all that I said then,” You retort back playfully, shaking your head and crossing your arms together. “You’re the worst person alive, actually.”

When you’re busy gazing up at the sky above, Chan turns to you. His eyes flit over you, taking in the way your eyelashes slowly bat together from tiredness, how your lips are slightly curled up in relaxation, how your features glow from the singular street lamp illuminating the skate park. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and glances away, his thoughts racing faster than he can keep up with.

“You meant it though, right?” he asks.

“What?” You question, turning towards him. 

“About me being great or whatever.” You can tell he’s trying to brush off the hesitation, but you sense the uncertainty in his voice. ��You meant it?”

Out of all times, you wonder why he’s questioning it right now at almost midnight in the middle of the skate park. You’ve told him countless times how great he is, always hyping him up for skate competitions and giving him comfort on the times he’s down himself. Why… is he suddenly asking if you meant it?

“Well, I… Of course, I meant it,” You respond, catching his eye. “Why wouldn’t I?”

For a few moments, there’s just silence, comfortable, a pinch of awkward𑁋a word you can pretty much never associate with your interactions together𑁋yet heavy. The way Chan’s features soften on his face from your words seem more important than the stars blinking up in the sky right now. 

Then all it takes is a tiny giggle from him, and you can’t help but groan.

“Oh no,” You grumble pesteringly, shooting him an exasperated glance, but your tone is light, teasing. “I fueled your ego now, didn’t I?” 

“Yep. I can walk around like I’m the best thing since sliced bread,” Chan jokes, puffing out his chest with pride. “My greatness has been confirmed by a certified medical professional.”

“Whatever, big head,” You sneer back playfully. 

Chan stretches out a bit more on the bench, his legs extending and his arms behind his head. You can tell he’s getting more comfortable too, probably ready to call it a night, just like you, and you can’t help but let yourself soften a little.

Without thinking, you shift your body and lean your head down and gently rest it in Chan’s lap. His body stiffens for a moment as if he wasn’t expecting it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets you settle, and after a beat, his hand comes to gently rest in your hair, and something tugs at your heartstrings from the feeling. Your eyes slowly flutter to a close.

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[luvst4rc0r3]

LITTLE DARK BUT jinx x reader following the pregnancy but reader miscarries (maybe the zaun conditions or just overall stress idk) but yeah

OMG, I actually love this request. It was interesting to make.

"I don't want to be here anymore"

Jinx x Pregnant!Reader

WARNINGS: MISCARRIAGE!!!!!! If you do not like that then please leave.

WC: 2106

NOTE: set in Arcane Season 2, Episode 3. This is kinda a follow up from my post "Two pink lines"

Jinx had never been good at sitting still.

She was always moving, always fidgeting—hands twitching, foot tapping, mind racing. The quiet got too loud otherwise, and she didn’t like what it had to say.

But now?

Now, she wished the world would stop moving.

She wished you would stop moving.

Your hands rested on your belly, rubbing circles into the stretched fabric of your shirt, as if you were already comforting the tiny life inside you. Jinx’s fingers twitched, her chest tightening as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

Not the baby. Not you.

Not the way you looked at her like she wasn’t broken, like she wasn’t dangerous.

Like she was something worth loving.

You turned to her then, smiling so soft, so easy, like you weren’t carrying something that could change everything. “Jinx, baby, you’re staring again.”

Jinx blinked, realizing she had been, and forced a smirk. “Can ya blame me?” She flopped onto her side, propping her chin on her hand. “You’re all glow-y and shit. Kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, you’re gonna have to get used to it.” You gestured to your belly. “It’s only gonna get bigger.”

Jinx’s stomach did something weird then—something she couldn’t name, something that made her fingers tingle and her heart race.

She reached out, hesitating for half a second before laying her hand over yours.

“I like ya like this,” she murmured, voice quieter than she meant it to be. “Like… ours.”

You covered her hand with both of yours, holding tight. “We are.”

Jinx swallowed hard, something like panic rising in her throat. She covered it with a laugh, sharp and teasing. “‘Course, now I gotta make sure you don’t go gettin’ yourself in trouble. Wouldn’t want ya droppin’ my kid in some sketchy alleyway, yeah?”

“Oh, so now it’s your kid?”

Jinx grinned. “Yeah, and it’s already cooler than any kid.”

You snorted. “Jinx—”

“No, listen, it’s got me as a mom. That’s an automatic win.”

Your laughter was the best sound in the world, and Jinx clung to it like a lifeline. She didn’t tell you how scared she was.

How the idea of loving something this much terrified her.

How she wasn’t sure she could survive losing it.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx knew something was wrong the second the air shifted.

Her grip on your hand tightened, sharp eyes flicking up toward the vents lining the alley. She didn’t like being out here—too many people, too many ways for things to go sideways—but you had begged. Just a quick trip, you had said.

And Jinx?

She couldn’t say no to you.

She never could.

But now—

Now the air was wrong.

Then you coughed.

Jinx’s head snapped to you, eyes wide as you hunched over, gripping your stomach.

And then—

Then you collapsed.

“No—no, no, no, NO!”

Jinx was on her knees before she even realized she had moved, hands grabbing at you, gripping, shaking—too limp, too pale, too quiet—

The air smelled wrong. Thick. Chemical.

Jinx’s blood ran cold.

She knew this smell.

Shimmer.

No—no, not Shimmer. Something worse.

Something new.

Her heart pounded as she looked up, and she saw it.

Green gas, curling from the vents, creeping along the streets. People were dropping like flies, bodies hitting the pavement, gasping, choking, some not moving at all.

Jinx barely heard the orders being shouted.

The Enforcers.

She saw the uniforms. The guns. The masks.

And in front of them—

A familiar figure.

Vi.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

Vi did this?

Something sharp and white-hot exploded in her chest, mixing with panic, with fury, with something so deeply broken she couldn’t name it.

Vi—her sister—the one who had promised to keep her safe many years ago, the one who had left—

She had done this.

Jinx barely had time to process it.

Because you?

You weren’t moving.

She snapped back to you, hands shaking as she grabbed your face, tilting it toward her. “Baby—hey, hey, stay with me, okay? Look at me, c’mon, please—”

Your eyelids fluttered. Your mouth opened, but no words came.

Then your body seized.

Jinx’s breath caught.

Her world cracked.

“No—”

She scooped you up, legs already running, ignoring the Enforcers, ignoring the gunfire—she didn’t have time for this, she didn’t have time—

She had to get you out.

Had to get you safe.

She didn’t care that she was bleeding. Didn’t care that she could hear Vi shouting something behind her.

Didn’t care that the green smoke was still in her lungs.

She ran.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx had never known silence could be so loud.

The room was spinning, her chest heaving, her fingers numb.

You lay in the bed beside her, so still, so pale, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

She had done everything she could—cleaned you up, wiped the sweat from your forehead, whispered frantic reassurances into your skin.

But nothing changed the fact that when you finally spoke, your voice was broken.

“Jinx…”

She was on you in an instant, hands gripping yours, her face so open, so raw with desperation. “I’m here—I’m right here, baby—”

Your fingers curled weakly around hers.

The world outside didn’t matter. The pain, the fear, the horror of what had happened—it all blurred into nothing as she kept you pressed against her, her fingers tangled in your hair, her lips whispering shaky reassurances against your skin.

She didn’t know how to fix this.

Didn’t know how to take away the fear in your eyes, the tremble in your hands, the way you kept pressing against your belly like you were waiting for something—anything—to tell you everything was okay.

But then—

You inhaled sharply.

Jinx’s grip on you tightened. “Baby?”

Your eyes widened. Your fingers twitched.

And then—

A kick.

Barely there. Faint. Soft.

But real.

Your breath caught in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes, but this time.

This time, they weren’t from fear.

Jinx sucked in a shaky breath, her hands flying to your belly, pressing down gently, waiting, praying—

And then it happened again.

A flutter.

A sign of life.

Jinx let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, her forehead pressing against yours, her entire body shaking.

You let out a choked little giggle, covering your mouth, tears slipping down your cheeks. “They’re okay,” you whispered. “Oh my God, Jinx, they’re okay.”

Jinx could barely breathe past the lump in her throat.

She didn’t know how.

Didn’t know how to process the sheer relief, the overwhelming love, the way she had never felt more terrified and more alive all at once.

So she just kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Like she was still trying to convince herself you were real.

When she pulled away, her voice was hoarse, her eyes burning.

“You scared the shit outta me.”

You sniffled, laughing weakly. “I scared myself.”

Jinx let out a breathy chuckle, her forehead knocking against yours. “Yeah, well… don’t do it again.”

You wrapped your arms around her, burying yourself into her warmth, into her safety.

And for the first time since the gas—

Since the panic, the pain, the unknown

It felt like maybe, just maybe—

Everything would be okay

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx had never been good at feeling safe.

Not really.

But when you were around—when your fingers brushed through her hair, when your lips pressed against her forehead, when your hands cradled the small swell of your stomach—it felt close enough.

She could almost pretend that nothing bad would happen.

That you’d both get to be happy.

That your baby—her baby—would get to have the life neither of you had.

She let herself believe it.

Let herself dream of it.

Let herself think—just for a second—that she wasn’t cursed.

That she wasn’t meant to lose everything she loved.

ׄ   𓂂    ઇ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ ♡ ⠀⠀⠀ ׅ  ⠀⠀⠀ઉ⠀⠀𓂂   ׄ  

Jinx woke up to silence.

Not the kind that meant safety. Not the kind that came after a long day, curled up beside you, tracing patterns on your skin.

The kind that made her stomach twist.

The kind that meant something was wrong.

She reached for you—only to find the bed cold.

Her breath caught.

Then she heard it.

A sound so quiet, so broken, that it made her heart stop.

A gasp.

A choked sob.

Coming from the bathroom.

Jinx was on her feet before she even realized she was moving.

The door was locked.

“Baby?” Her voice was tight, shaking, already knowing—already knowing.

No response.

Another sob.

Jinx’s chest squeezed.

“Hey, c’mon—open up,” she tried again, knocking harder. “You’re scarin’ me.”

Still, nothing.

Just more crying.

Then—

A whimper.

So soft, so weak.

Jinx’s stomach dropped.

She kicked the door open.

And what she saw—

The world stopped.

You were on the floor, crumpled, half-clothed, knees pulled to your chest.

Your hands—covered in blood.

The floor—covered in blood.

So much of it.

So much.

Jinx’s breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs, her whole body locking up—

Then you looked at her.

And it broke her.

Your lips trembled. Your chin wobbled.

And then, barely above a whisper, voice cracking—

“Why is there so much blood?”

Jinx couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

You were shaking, staring down at yourself, hands smeared with red, fingers twitching like you were trying to understand—like you were still waiting to feel something move inside you.

Jinx fell to her knees.

“Baby—”

Your breath hitched.

Your body jerked forward, arms wrapping around yourself, fingers digging into your skin like you could hold yourself together if you just tried hard enough.

Then, the realization hit.

Jinx saw it happen.

The exact second your entire world broke.

Your whole body tensed.

Your lips parted.

Your eyes filled with tears.

Then—

A sob.

Loud. Choking.

You gasped, hands shaking violently as you reached down, pressing against your stomach—searching, begging, desperate to feel something.

But there was nothing.

Nothing.

And that was when you screamed.

Jinx felt something in her shatter.

You clawed at your belly, fingers curling into the blood-stained fabric of your shirt, pulling, gripping, gasping—like if you just held tight enough, you could keep what was already gone.

“No—no, no, no, no—”

Jinx grabbed you.

Held you.

Tried to make herself real.

Tried to keep you from slipping away.

But you thrashed against her, sobbing so violently that you couldn’t breathe.

“It’s gone,” you choked.

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. “Baby, please—”

“It’s gone,” you sobbed harder, chest heaving, fists pounding against her.

She took it.

Took every hit, every cry, every shattered plea, because she deserved it.

Because it was her fault.

Because she should have stopped you from going out.

Because she should have noticed something was wrong.

Because she should have protected you.

Because she should have saved them.

Because the baby—your baby, her baby— was now gone

Your body collapsed against hers, trembling, arms wrapping around her so tight, like you were trying to crawl inside her, disappear inside her, be anywhere but here.

Jinx rocked you, held you, kissed your temple, muttering, pleading, whispering how sorry she was.

But sorry wasn’t enough.

Sorry wouldn’t bring them back.

Sorry wouldn’t stop the way you sobbed into her shirt, fingers gripping her so hard it hurt.

Sorry wouldn’t stop the way your voice broke when you whimpered,

"I don't want to be here anymore"

Jinx froze.

Her grip on you tightened, breath shuddering, heart slamming against her ribs.

“No,” she whispered, voice barely holding together.

You buried your face in her chest, crying so softly now, so defeated, like something inside you had finally given up.

Jinx pressed her lips to your forehead, eyes burning.

“No, baby,” she choked, voice cracking. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

But you just curled deeper into her arms, breath ragged, body wrecked with grief.

Jinx held you like she could keep you here.

Like she could stop you from slipping away.

Like she could pretend that when you finally stopped crying, when you finally fell into an exhausted, hollow sleep, that everything would go back to the way it was.

But it wouldn’t.

It never would.

Jinx knew that now.

Because the worst part?

The part she couldn’t say out loud?

She didn’t know if she had lost just the baby.

Or if she was losing you too.

not my usual content

I want food

[sakura-onesan]

small remider yakity-sax (s 8, ep 18) exists.

as a rd fan i recognize many pranks she did over time became worse. (regardless, maybe not convince and give panic to your friend as that level as the rainbow cookie episode.) In that episode pinkie gets a yak instrument to play. and her playing disrupts EVERYONE. even the backround ponies. they run away from it. to the mane 6 least to worst: twi none. rarity gets distracted at work and the dress isnt how she wanted, yes she could make another, but she did waste time and materials also she could get hurt by the machine, like other episodes. rainbow dash + wonderbolts + plus the audience. show gets interrupted, followed by dangerous fast fighers outside formation, posible accidents with themselves and audience (luckily none happen). also the audience, they spend they hard earned money to see a show only to get it ruined by a third party. aj and fluttershy are about the same level, but im gonna place flutters first since it included innocent animals. aj: pinkie's playing was so against nature, apples self exploted. important note that the orchard is entire aj family's lifelihood. they did not plat to make applesauce like that. so only they get a say on what happens to their apples. (wasted produce, wasted money, also that sauce was in the trees so not safe to eat) fluttershy: many many animals JUST made to sleep. shes in her own house, late at night, didnt get asked first, and pinkie just plays. animals get woken up and she stays up calming them. the next day shes sooo tired.

Now. the entire episode get played around friends tell another shes bad at what she loves. Actually mentions the episode when twi didnt tell celestia she was bad at acting. excuse me?? celestia's bad acting didnt interrupt or harm or placed risk on ANYONE'S DAY. then when pinkies told the truth the episode makes pinkie go so sad she turns grey (like when on discord influence, chaos magis in pinkie theory), either way everything goes out of their way to tell us the rest of the mane six are in the wrong for telling pinkie to stop.

please even had the yak prince rutherford tell us + the mane six that "there's no wrong way to play the instrument and thats the point of it". please.

so pinkie plays again, screw the consequences or HER OWN actions.

thats why mare do well episode is not good either. we can both agree rd's a boaster. the biggest loudest greatest boaster. maybe she should stop a little. yes please. she was boasting that she was town's hero. yes. rd you should do heroic things because theyre good not to boast about them later. but cmon. the mane six went overboard.

or the first gilda episode. gilda was rude. gilda stole that apple. she was unecessary rude to fluttershy. also. gilda was in a strange town, she was an outsider. around the same season we see how they treat zecora, and they got more in common with zecora than with gilda (which inconsistency found! why give gilda the benefit of the doubt but not to zecora???). much later we realize how shitty griffon town is. unfriendly. unkind. little to no family. shes on defence. not with rd since they're already friends. plus, lets be real pinkie pie was so noisy, wanted to be around all the time. rd should have interviened before. but how wrong is gilda for wanting alone time with someone she trusts!? both gilda some wrong and some right can be true at the same time.

but honestly it happened to every character. like twi with the cruise episode or the movie (cmon no one was helpful, pinkie stop were incognito, rd yes animation pretty but incognitooo)

conclusion: every character was written to be only exagerrated versions of one thing overtime, some episodes we condone something but in others not, not everypony is innocent, and i blame the writing

is it just me or did this happen a lot

(this doesn't have anything to do with punkitt but this doodle style is inspired by her horsecomix so @punkitt-is-here hi)

[moonmaiden1996]

How would Law and Sanji deal with embarrasing sex-fails (like cumming before entering or loud farting)? 😄

Okay...I did not expect to love writing this one but OMG I DID!!! I am seriously thinking about writing more.

Trafalgar D. Water Law – The "Pretend It Didn't Happen" Approach

Law prides himself on being calm, composed, and in control. But if something embarrassing happens during sex? Oh, this man will mentally leave his own body.

He’s deep in the moment, pupils blown, voice low and raspy—he’s got you right where he wants you. And then?

Boom. Over before he even enters. Just a sticky puddle taunting him

Absolute silent panic. This is worse than death.

He freezes, processing what just happened. He doesn’t even blink. For a good five seconds, you might think he straight-up died. And then? He acts like it didn’t happen.

"Tch… That was just a test run." 😤 "Give me five minutes."

Cue him rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling, regretting everything. He’s already running medical calculations in his head to figure out the fastest way to recover.

Does he make a self-deprecating joke? Nope. Does he acknowledge it? Absolutely not. Instead, he just stares at you like he’s daring you to say something.

Good luck holding in your laughter.

Imagine: You’re tangled up, things are getting heated, bodies pressed real close—and then…

PPPPPPFFFFTTT 💨

Law’s soul leaves his body instantly.

He stops. Just stops. Entirely still. Not even breathing.

"…That was your fault." He blames you immediately. Doesn’t matter if it was clearly him—he is the Surgeon of Death, and he will gaslight his way out of this.

If you laugh? Oh, he’s furious. Face in his hands, ears red, muttering "Why does this shit happen to me?" under his breath. He will refuse eye contact for the rest of the night.

If you try to comfort him? He’ll grumble something about digestion, bodily functions, and muscle contractions to make it sound scientific. Still embarrassed, but now nerdy about it.

Conclusion: Law cannot handle sex-fails. If one happens, he needs time to recover and possibly die inside a little. His overdramatic but quiet drama.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sanji – The "Dramatic Overreaction" Approach

Sanji is a man of passion, charm, and romance—but if something embarrassing happens in the bedroom? This man will lose his damn mind.

You’ve got Sanji all worked up—whispering dirty things in his ear, pressing against him, teasing. He’s already panting, body shaking with anticipation, and just as he’s about to enter— Game over.

This man CRIES. 😭💀

Drops face-first into your chest and just wails into your skin like he’s been personally betrayed by the universe. "Mon Amor… this is a DISASTER!!" 😩 "I didn’t even… I couldn’t even—!!"

He clutches his chest like he’s been mortally wounded. Kicks his legs under the sheets. He physically collapses. This man is full-body trembling like he’s in the middle of a Shakespearean tragedy. "I have failed you as a man." 😔💔

You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, but Sanji is NOT joking. He will refuse to look at you for at least an hour, lying face-down on the bed, absolutely devastated. The drama is unmatched.

The room is thick with passion—your hands are tangled in his hair, his lips are leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, and then— PPFFFTT— 💨 … Silence.

Sanji stops moving IMMEDIATELY.

Eyes wide as hell. Face instantly tomato-red.

And then?

This man straight-up tries to exit the room.

"Excusez-moi—I must leave, I must go, I—" He is already reaching for his pants like he’s about to abandon the situation entirely.

If you laugh? He DIES. Falls backward onto the bed, hand over his heart, groaning like he’s been mortally wounded.

"You must NEVER speak of this!!" 😫 "I can never show my face again!"

If you try to comfort him? He just dramatically throws himself into your arms like, "Why are you even still with me??"

The ONLY way to snap him out of it? Kiss him and tell him it was cute. Then suddenly he’s perking up, kissing your neck, pretending it never happened.

But he WILL remember. Forever.

Scenario: Sanji Going Down on You, But He Cums Early

You’re lying back, head resting on the pillow, legs parted just enough to let Sanji work his magic. His hands are gently caressing your thighs, lips trailing kisses along your inner leg. He’s absolutely obsessed with making you feel good, his entire focus on you. He starts slow—teasing, tasting, and gradually building up the tension between you two. You’re moaning softly, eyes fluttering shut, completely lost in the moment, when—

BAM.

It happens. He cums too soon.

Sanji pulls away immediately, face bright red, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, completely mortified. He doesn’t even know how to respond. The room is silent for a good few seconds.

And then? He curls up into a ball of despair on the bed, covering his face with his hands like he’s just committed an unforgivable crime. "Mon dieu…!" he exclaims dramatically, his voice muffled through his hands. "How could I be so weak?? I—I'm so sorry! I ruined everything!"

He refuses to make eye contact, shaking his head as if the entire universe has conspired against him. If you try to comfort him, all he can do is mutter "I failed you again…" in a small, broken voice. The embarrassment is palpable, and he is convinced that you’re utterly disappointed.

But here’s the kicker—after the initial meltdown, when you hold him and whisper sweet things, he’s so needy for reassurance. His face is buried in your chest, and he murmurs, "I promise I'll make it up to you, I swear, please… let me try again."

And yes, he will try again. But first? He needs some time to recover. He’ll casually ask you if you want him to "start over" or take a break—his pride slightly bruised, but still determined to do whatever it takes to please you. He will definitely be between your legs making it up to you till he’s ready to demonstrate how much of a man he is. He'll definitely keep thinking about it, though. For the next month at least. Every time he gets close, he'll remember that one moment, and his dramatic overreaction will likely strike again. But don’t worry, eventually, he will get back into it with renewed passion and an even more intense focus—just make sure you’re prepared for the possibility of another emotional breakdown at any second!

Conclusion: Sanji falls apart if something goes wrong. He’ll cry, dramatically apologize, and refuse to look at you. But with a little reassurance, he’ll bounce back, though he’ll never forget it. All heart, but full of drama. Very much the definition of the loud, dramatic type

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST

[ouliarts]

Darkest Dungeon 2 spoilers for Abomination Backstory and Hunger of the beast clan update

Just a little character analysis The Abomination and how I feel about his new lore. It's a little long because I have thoughts about the sad science man

I’m probably in the minority with this but I actually really like the Abomination backstory in DD2. Like I genuinely like what it means for the character. I get the appeal of the idea that he was an alchemist who was experimenting with making a curse and accidentally cursed himself. I even had a similar headcanon about it before the dlc. But there's something about his story in dd2 that really hits me.

In the first game there was a bit of mystery around Bigby. he felt like the one hero that probably holds himself with the least amount of care. All the other heroes wear armor, have proper weapons, nice clothes that are well maintained. Bigby doesn’t have that. He wears teared pants, no shirt, no shoes, a single cloth that he isn’t even properly wearing, man is constantly gripping it. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his brand. This is not a man who sees himself as worth taking care of. Is it because of guilt? Well he probably deserves it right? Maybe he brought it upon himself, maybe he was messing with things he didn’t understand and now this is his punishment?

And then we get the lore drop that the circumstance that led him to be like this wasn’t even his own fault. It was a horrible accident (that probably could have been avoided if he wasn’t being dumb and going to a well known dangerous moor, with no protection, at night, alone with no guide. I love you Bigby but that was not a pro gamer move). He was mauled, he didn’t want to die. Managing to save himself with a serum that ended up just sealing his fate. Then he was taken in and tortured by the church for who knows how long for reasons he didn’t understand (I don’t think he even killed anyone; they just mentioned a mutilated cow).

And then when he finally transforms he's horrified. Could you imagine his feelings? He was tortured, branded and right after that his body transformed into something horrifying before his own eyes. He has no control over it, no say to what happens. And then he wakes up, alone, surrounded by dead bodies he made. Because they were right. They should have been afraid of him. How could he ever trust himself again? When he caused all of this. 

Bro is suicidal as heck man, even his in game dialogue has him constantly thinking he should die. This man does not think he is worth anything anymore.

I would also like to point out that his beast form doesn’t look right. It doesn’t look like a regular rotclaw at least (I think we all can agree it was probably a rotclaw that jumped him, they literally have an attack that mauls you with blight damage)

Like comparing the two side by side. One arm is bigger than the other, he barely has any fur, his legs are different being clawed instead of hooves, his teeth are sharper and he's a lot smaller compared to one (that last could just be cause of gameplay reason, maybe he's suppose to be the same size but he has to fit in the line up somehow)

I like to think it's because he made that imperfect antidote. I think he was legit supposed to either die from the poison that night but he managed to save himself with the mess of a serum he managed to scrounge together. Only that serum was not at all perfect because he used all the wrong things and he couldn’t remember the recipe so he ended up just making the mutation worse. Sealing his fate. Why else would Red Hook purposely make him an Alchemist and not just a regular guy that got mauled.

So in a way he is responsible for why he is the way he is but like, can you really blame him for trying to save himself? Bro forgot the recipe for the antivenom cause he was panicking and just rawdogged it. And now he probably wishes he just let the poison kill him.

But that's a personal headcanon thing not really important to this. 

And then that one line in the last shrine. 

“Goodbye to the man that wished to chart the stars” This line really shows you how little he thinks about himself now. He just wanted to be a study some plants, chart the stars, learn about the world. But he doesn’t deserve that anymore. He doesn't deserve to be comfortable, or treated well. The man he once was is gone, no more. He's not a man anymore, he can never go back.

He made one dumb mistake And now he lives with it for the rest of his life. He hates himself for it. Blames himself, literally puts the chains back on because he cannot trust himself ever again. Because of one dumb mistake he made. He seeks redemption for things that were completely out of his control. His story is a tragedy, because he never had a choice in it. 

Anyway what I mean to say is, I really like this sopping wet cat of a nerd, with so much self loathing, that made one really dumb mistake and is being punished way too severely by the world for it. Quite literally the GOAT of all time

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY SECOND; side a — for you - rita ora (ft. liam payne | s. reid x reader

w; nothing!!! besides it being a tad bit short. an; i had no idea what to write for this </3 i apologize 😔😔😔

mixtape here!

Valentine’s day — an excuse to wear something pretty, or to go out, or to simply just exchange and receive gifts before slipping into come cozy clothes and watching some cheesy comedy while eating pizza and eating yourself into a cookie coma. 

Though, yours is looking a bit…lonely. Even if you had dressed up, bought a new outfit and makeup, and did your hair, you’re at home. 

Waiting for Spencer. He had yet to call you to let you know if he was going to be late — so, at this moment, it feels as if he’d just dipped altogether. 

Although a better part of your mind knows that he would never — could never — forget about your plans, some distant part of your mind sets up that doubt and it starts to slowly bubble until you're in tears. 

It was late now — midnight — and you’re just now wiping off the makeup you’d taken your time with, and slip out of the new outfit you’d bought, to only slip into some pajamas and step into your kitchen to pour you a glass of white wine and grab the box of chocolates you’d gotten for both Spencer and yourself to share. 

Pressing play for ‘How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days’, you sit back and pull the covers over your legs as you take the first bite of chocolate just as your door quickly swings open. 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer startles you, causing you to look over at him. He’s flushed, one of his cheeks is a bit more red than the other, yet still flushed. You look away then, remaining silent. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t forget, I just couldn’t make it,”

You think that makes you feel a bit worse than what he intended. You hear the door shut and the locks click before he walks over quickly, kneeling in front of you. 

“Try to understand, please. I was…I was dealing with Mom,” This catches your attention, your eyes drifting away from the television and landing on the man in front of you instead with heavy, tired eyes. “I couldn’t leave her in that kind of panicked state and I couldn’t get to my phone right away. I wanted to call you so bad, but—”

Moving the chocolates away from your lap, your hands immediately cup his face. “Hey, it’s okay,” You shake your head. You’d never truly stay mad at Spencer for long, and this time, you knew you really couldn’t blame him. “Breathe. I promise it’s okay.” You feel his head nod a bit in your grasp, his eyes slowly closing as he presses his own hand on top of your left one. 

You watch with a bit of worry, feeling your heart skip a beat when his lips press into your palm, lingering there. Your thumb brushes over his cheekbone softly before leaning close and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

He pulls away slowly, yet staying close, allowing his nose to brush against yours as his eyes slowly open and looks into yours. You can see the beginning of when he starts to tear up, your heart clenching. 

“I’ll make up for it. I promise.” 

“Spence,” You shake your head, a small smile forming on your lips to reassure him. “I won’t lie and say that I wasn’t upset about it—”

“Because I would be able to tell.” He quickly adds. 

Your smile grows a bit as you nod. “Because you’d be able to tell,” You add. “But, I knew that there had to be something wrong for you not to call or anything. I also knew that you’d explain everything to me, even though you could just…not explain anything to me.” 

“But that’s what I’m supposed to do.” 

“Believe it or not, some guys don’t feel the need to explain why they never called or showed up. But you’re not some guy,” You tilt your head slightly. “You’re…you,” 

Before, that statement would feel Spencer with a sense of dread. He would never know if someone meant that in a good or bad way. But now, when you say it, he knows it’s something good. 

“You’re Spencer Reid. The kindest guy to ever exist,” You lean in close and feel his face heat between your palms, a smile spreading over your lips as they slightly brush his own. “And I’m the luckiest.” 

Sealing your lips against his finally, he lets out a small hum of content, eyes closing as his hand slips to your wrist instead. It’s a soft, sweet kiss that as him following after you when you pull away. 

“I love you.” You whisper. 

His eyes open and he looks at you. “I love you. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” You shake your head. 

“Okay. Sor—” Cutting his apology off with another kiss, you feel as his lips grow into a small smile against yours, his hands now moving to cup your face. Pulling away, he stares at you before pushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Want me to stay?” 

“Would you?” 

“Of course,” He nods. Instead of squatting in front of you, he places himself next to you. He pulls you close, his fingers wrapped gently around your bicep. 

A small sigh leaves your lips when your head lays against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat in his chest and the moment he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, allowing them to linger there as his fingers drag up and down slowly along the side of your neck. 

“Spencer,” You whisper. He lets out a small noise to let you know he’s listening. “I hope you know you never have to explain anything you don’t want to,” His fingers stop their path. 

“Not until you’re ready, that is. You help a lot of people in a lot of ways — more than you know,” You nod. “That’s when I knew.” 

It remains silent, all besides the television playing slowly in the background. 

“Knew what?” Spencer finally whispers. 

“That I was in love with you.” 

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @dearestjune — @sstar-ggirl

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, and feedback are welcomed and greatly appreciated!

[all-pacas]

I finished nobody’s fault & chase and I couldn’t understand why chase wouldn’t forgive house. Like obviously he’s traumatised and couldn’t walk but it feels like I’m just missing sth crucial. Chase did reason it with his doubts…but I don’t know if he honestly believed them. Any thoughts?

In a lot of very interesting ways, Nobody's Fault/Chase reads to me like a pretty direct continuation of Teamwork. Of S6. Cameron leaves the show talking about how House is poison, how he ruins people and ruined Chase specifically: House is reckless, House makes people act like him, House has ruined Chase's life. And… it's unfair, but it's not entirely wrong. Chase has become a worse person over the years. He has become a lonelier and more bitter person.

Nobody's Fault makes it fairly clear that legally, the stabbing was not House's fault. Chase fucked up, Adams fucked up, everyone made mistakes. House wasn't really even involved, but at the same time, none of it would have happened if not for House. This is Cameron's "poison" speech come back around: House spends years encouraging recklessness and results and defiance, and eventually it's going to backfire and hurt someone. House never told Chase to murder Dibala, but House taught Chase to act and not care about laws or consequences.

HOUSE: She blames me for Dibala's murder, not you. CHASE: You were barely involved in that case. She knows that. HOUSE: But I created the big, bad, evil climate that allowed it to happen. (teamwork)

CAMERON: You did kill Dibala. By playing God and teaching us to do the same. HOUSE: I taught you to think for yourselves. (teamwork)

COFIELD: You brazenly defied your boss. Now that happened either because Dr. House has established that that's okay in his world, or his prank war distracted you, or House makes medicine a game, and you just wanted to beat him. Whatever the reason, it boils down to the fact that you may never walk again because House created an atmosphere that promotes recklessness. (nobody's fault)

This is actually kind of a theme. We even see shades of it in The Mistake, in House Training, in Wilson urging 13 to work for House because she alone is immune to his influence, in Masters and Cameron leaving entirely: House changes people. Not for the better.

So, does Chase truly blame House for what happened? No. At the end of the day, Chase's loyalty to House did win out, and he defends him pretty strongly to Cofield; in fact, he's also able to point out that House was, despite his appearance, wildly concerned and worried and Chase knew it (let's not forget, Chase has always been very good at reading House). He seems to blame himself (using the same "I would do it again" language as he used in Teamwork). But that doesn't mean he isn't angry at House.

Chase is very similar to Forever, Foreman's reaction to his own near death experience. Foreman almost died, and is putting on an act of being a new person to try and give meaning to the event. Chase does sort of the same thing — except he comes to the opposite conclusion. He almost died, and it seems to have made him realize how completely miserable he is. House isn't to blame for the stabbing. He kind of is for that.

That's kind of a theme with Chase in S8 in particular. He takes a year off and is bored and waiting for House. In a later episode, he wonders why he's still working for House: he's in year seven of a three year fellowship. Foreman is the Dean of Medicine; Cameron is running an ER in Chicago. Chase is exactly where he started. His entire life is working for House. And he kind of hates it. Not House, but… his life, you know? He picked House over his marriage. He picked his fellowship over his very successful surgical career. What has he gotten for it? Divorced, lonely, bitter… stabbed. He's thrown his morals away. He killed a man in cold blood. Is he happy? Probably not.

Chase is unhappy, he feels (somewhat fairly) that his life is not what he wanted, and like Foreman years earlier, he's trying to make changes. He wants out of House's orbit. He's reflecting on what he wants, and his arguments against Moira joining her convent are… pretty telling: She's missing out on getting married. Having kids. Having a successful career. He tells her later he was married once, that he wants a relationship with her. We know these things are true; only two years ago Chase was absolutely convinced he had it with Cameron. But at the same time, he's grasping at straws. He wants to escape, to start over. He blames House for how his life turned out.

CHASE: I need to get away from House and everything that reminds me of him. ADAMS: By breaking the rules, not caring what anyone else thinks. You're gonna get away from him by turning into him? (chase)

CHASE: This has nothing to do with the truth. You don't like that I'm reassessing my life, that I want to change it, that I can. HOUSE: Anyone can screw up a life. I never said that wasn't possible. CHASE: You're incapable of human connection, so you want everyone to be like you. (chase)

And the thing is, Cameron must be rolling in her grave right now, because. This is what she was saying. House ruins people, he poisons them: he has influenced Chase and not for the better. Chase now, finally, agrees. He isn't happy with his life, and he's blaming House the same way Cameron did. He's angry with House and can't forgive House, not because Chase really blames him for the stabbing, but because he's in his words reassessing, he wants to change, he sees House (correctly, mind you) as the symptom of all these changes: it's not fair to blame House — House wasn't sitting and doing this intentionally — but it's inarguable that a decade with House has done this. (And I love how Nobody's Fault underlines just that point. Chase has been here the longest. He has known House the longest.)

But House is right, too. Chase wanting to change is sincere, but it's also a reaction. He is unhappy, but jumping straight to I will live happily ever after with this random lady isn't a solution. And implicitly, Chase agrees: the fact that Chase has spent half the season with very short hair and stubble, then these episodes limping, is not an accident. Nor is the fact that at the end of Chase and going forward, Chase is clean shaven, back to his usual hairstyle, and no longer limping.

I also think their argument at the end of Chase was. Important. House telling him it's okay, even if not in those words. That he isn't an idiot, that he didn't make a mistake or do something wrong (when Chase from his language and unhappiness over the past few years doesn't seem to agree). They've long since left the days where Chase was slavishly seeking House's approval, but that doesn't mean it didn't mean something to finally get it. I think House telling him you didn't do anything wrong was what Chase really needed: not just the words, but hearing it from House, in a moment where Chase is feeling lost and wanting to change and wanting to blame House (for being miserable, for not connecting to others, for being lonely and alone like Chase fears himself)? That mattered.

And we see going forward that Chase actually does change. He becomes close to Park, he stops sleeping around, he leaves PPTH on his own terms, finally (even if it doesn't exactly stick for long). Cameron was right all along that House changed Chase for the worse… but House and Chase seem to realize that doesn't have to stay that way, and that Chase can still change and be happier going forward.

[diazsdimples]

Buck is going to throw up. Probably. The panic attack is barely being kept in place as he flings himself from the driver’s seat of the jeep and races up the stairs of the Diaz house.

“Maddie!” he yells, kicking his shoes to the side and throwing off his jacket. Usually he’d knock but today, it’s an emergency. His brain isn’t working, not even considering the fact that he might be waking up his 3-month-old nephew as he powers through the house calling his sister’s name. “Maddie, are you home?”

“In here!” his sister’s voice echoes down the hall, originating from the kitchen. He finds her making lunch, the baby strapped to her chest in a muslin wrap, like a little joey in his mother’s pouch.

God, she’s glowing like this. She’d had a rough start, postpartum depression rearing its head in the first few weeks, but she’s seeing a therapist, and Eddie’s managed to negotiate some time off work. She still has bad days, but on the whole, she seems happier. Lighter.

Her brow furrows as she takes in his dishevelled appearance, and her hand comes up to cup the back of the baby’s head.

“Evan? What’s going on?”

Buck does a quick scan of their surroundings – they seem to be alone in the kitchen at least, but he needs to know if they’re alone in the house. He can’t do this if there’s a chance someone will walk in and interrupt.

“I-Is Eddie home?”

“No, he’s out getting Benjamin some new diapers. Why?”

“Good, I just – you can’t tell him what I’m about to tell you. You promise?”

Maddie’s brow furrows and she rounds the kitchen island, taking Buck’s arm and leading him into the lounge. She unwraps Benjamin and carefully places him in his bassinet before turning and giving Buck her full attention.

“Are you in trouble?”

God, isn’t that the question?

“No! I mean, yes? Maybe? Probably. Eddie’s going to kill me, at least.” Buck scrubs a rough hand over his face, hoping the slight sting will clear his head a little.

“I feel like a bit of context wouldn’t go amiss here,” Maddie comments with a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed across her chest. She looks decidedly unimpressed, and honestly, Buck can’t blame her. He’d be a bit annoyed if she burst into his house, announced something was wrong, and then proceeded to be extremely cryptic about it all.

“Adriana’s pregnant,” he blurts out before his courage wanes, and holy fuck, it’s one thing to know and a whole other thing to admit out loud.

Maddie’s expression pulls into one of confusion, and Buck can practically see the cogs turning in her head as she tries to connect the dots.

“Adriana’s…. pregnant?” she repeats slowly, and he nods. He feels like he’s swallowed a ball of lead, and there’s sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, prickling his skin. “And what does that, uh, what does that have to do with you?”

Right. This part, admittedly, will be worse to reveal. This is where the disowning and being thrown bodily from the home of his sister and his best friend will come in. Buck is regretting a lot of choices right about now.

“A-Adriana and I, we’ve – uh – we’ve been, um, sleeping together, kind of.”

Maddie’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline, and Buck slouches a little further into the couch, making himself small.

“Kind of?” Maddie echoes, incredulous. “How do you ‘kind of’ sleep with someone. Did you trip and fall into her vagina?”

“Jesus, okay it’s not kind of, we are sleeping together. And now she’s pregnant and – fucking hell Maddie, I’m so screwed. I’ve fucked up.”

His sister looks less than impressed, and that makes Buck’s stomach roil. He feels sick, so so sick that he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“And I presume that’s why you don’t want me to tell Eddie this?”

“He’ll kill me, Mads! Please, you can’t tell him. He doesn’t even know that –”

“That you fucked his sister?” Maddie cuts in.

“Hey, don’t say it like that!” Buck says, affronted. “He fucked my sister too, by the way. First!”

“He’s my husband! That’s different!”

“He wasn’t when you started!”

Maddie holds up her hands in surrender, glancing nervously at Benjamin as he stirs in his crib. His little face screws up and he lets out a tiny whine that burrows deep into Buck’s chest, igniting a dormant protective instinct that only flares up when he’s around helpless creatures.

“Give me a second.” Maddie crosses the room and lifts her son into her arms, pressing a kiss to the soft hair on his head. He squirms in her arms, shifting and stretching before eventually settling back down. With a fond smile, Maddie makes her way back to the couch and holds the baby out for Buck to take, which he willingly does.

[ganondoodle]

i keep feeling the need to apologize for being so negative all the time, the truth is i am not satisfyed at all with anything i draw or write anymore, it feels bland and uninteresting like its lost anything that used to make it not so, i dont know how to change that, and the few people telling me otherwise are likely tired of it (i do not blame anyone even for a second)

'draw for yourself' really doesnt work for me, i cant not draw, despite trying that too, bc then theres nothing left to do, but i mainly draw bc i need to connect with people, show people stuff and see if they like it, see if i can bring something new to the table, it makes me feel less alone and like theres actual merit to what i do, like all these brainworms arent worthless, i havent actually lost my mind, .. not healthy but its how i have been hanging on for the last few years of my life

and i see im slowly losing everything on all ends, the stuff i post used to be what kept me afloat mentally while life is shit, but its all going downhill, and it has been for a while, im not blaming others for it, i know the problem is on my end, i just dont know how to solve it, its on me to make something interesting that compells people, not that they own anything to me, obviously, but i feel i lost everything that used to make things interesting, my brainworms have gotten old and boring, the slow speed and amateurish way i present stuff likely contributing to it to no small part

i hate disappointing or letting others down, i constantly feel like i am not delivering anything worthwhile, making promises i cant uphold to compensate, setting higher standards and expectations to myself to compensate, i need to be better, somehow, at some point i have to get better at it- theres also the guilt i feel for not being able to do anything for the people that keep being nice regardless, i need to do extra good for them! i have to make it up to them! make it worthwhile for them at least bc if anyone deserves it it is them!

its a self perpetuating downwards spiral, ironically enough, i know talking negatively all the time is annoying and is only making it all even worse, its alienating even more people, understandibly so, but my eternal problem is not being able to shut up, i cant pretend to be happy, sure, but i cant even shut up about it, so here i am being annoying about it once again

im running out of time on all ends of my life happy 28 birthday to me, how did i even make it this far

[fallendev0tionvn]

I love all of these fun little asks!

Stutter anon here again~

I can definitely imagine an emotional MC during the time of tension with Clive and friend group and being completely unable to speak because every time they do, it comes out as a terrible stuttery mess

“I j-j-ju-JUST CANT B-Be-Be-BELIEVE YOU-“

I know for me that an old habit was lightly hitting myself in the thigh to kind of push the word out so my heart goes out to poor lovable Clive not being able to try and calm the MC down as the scene is painfully driven…

(Feel free to ignore! I was just fascinated by the implications of the arguments)

quick sketch with the WRONG brush but...(then they ask me why traditional is better fml)

Silas being the piece of shit he is, he'd only make the situation worse. Clive had promised himself he wouldn't intervene, wouldn't give you any more reasons to believe the lies they told you. But if he caught even the slightest flicker of annoyance on that creature's face?

Fuck the promise and his efforts.

Silas wouldn't even get the chance to make one of his usual comments before Clive shuts him up. The only problem? now he's the bad guy, the one getting suspended and the one everyone blames. But honestly? I pray someone steps in before it's too late- Clive could and will kill him with his bare hands if he lost control (lost it completely). He's let SO much slide, that would be his breaking point.

ALSO ANON OMG, I HOPE you have decent people around you cause if I ever caught anyone rushing someone who's clearly trying their best to speak? clive is me, i'm clive- except I wouldn't be throwing punches, I'd be directly pulling out medieval torture methods😾.

[vicetrevni]

If you believe *anything* seen on r/FakeDisorderCringe, just block me.

I am going through that horrible sub again, and the ignorance makes me want to tear my hair out in frustration. Just people thinking they 'know better' than those who were diagnosed with these disabilities/disorders, denying self-diagnosis entirely, and (yet again) solely blaming TikTok for the 'disorder epidemic'. Nothing about it has changed - if anything, it's gotten *worse*.

If we lived in a world where healthcare and getting a diagnosis was safe/accessible to everyone, then this sub would have a valid point in existing. And I get it, there might be *some* cases where a person is 'faking'. But these asshats have no right to just take screenshots of a video/post, then post it on the subreddit saying this person is doing 'ragebait' for attention. Because there is no way to 100% tell what that person is actually going through, unless you can magically go into their head/body directly (even then they have no right to speak for another individual or their disabilites/disorders).

It's like they expect the disabled to be *silent*. And the moment we speak up, suddenly they latch on like parasites to suck the life out of us until we give up entirely. It's disgusting. And every time I see these kinds of posts, just going after any disabled person on the internet for talking about their issues and invalidating them every step of the way, I want to *scream* so loud and punch a wall.

If you suspect someone 'faking', then fine. Get them help. But if you are just going to stand there with a Surprised Pikachu Face the entire time, you are not a person I want to be around *ever*. We are not going to 'grow out of' our issues, you are the ones who need to grow up and get on with your lives because you are causing him to those who are genuinely going through these things. It's not worth it to be 'correct', just leave us alone because we have enough to deal with outside of your ignorance getting in the way.

Again, if you believe r/FakeDisorderCringe is a 'reliable source' to find 'fakers', get the hell off my page and block me. Because if I find out on my own, I'm gonna block you myself. And I'm gonna be *pissed*.

[edgy-ella]

So I can’t speak for the Heroes stuff (I spent $20 on Heroes in 2017, got nothing out of it, then uninstalled the app and refused to touch a gacha game ever again), but as the number 1 Fates apologist I’ll throw my hat into the ring on this.

To preface my positions on each game/character:

Fates is probably my most played game of all time. Since I’ve played it across three different 3DSes and two different laptops (via Citra), it’s hard to get the exact numbers, but believe me when I say it’s definitely over 1000 hours, probably closer to 3000 if I’m being honest

Three Houses is my most played Switch game of all time at 1000+ hours

I main Byleth in Ultimate (along with Sonic lol), but use Corrin as a secondary

I don’t have any pictures of it anymore but when I was like 16(?) I dressed up as Corrin for Halloween lol

And yeah, I think Corrin is a little overhated. BUT, comparing them to Byleth specifically, I get why people are a little more brutal, and it’s not just because Three Houses is the “better” game.

First of all, smash fans absolutely did not welcome Byleth on arrival. Hell, I was in the middle of playing Three Houses when they got announced and even I was pissed that they got in instead of characters like Dante or Rayman, characters I wasn’t even all that invested in in the first place (both now and in 2019, the only character I really want in smash is another Sonic rep). To this day I think Byleth’s moveset would make more sense on Anna, FE’s pseudo-mascot, than it does on Byleth. Smash players only started to warm up to the Ashen Demon after they started performing really well in tournaments.

Granted, a lot of the Byleth hate came from timing. Some internet commentators like Schaffrilas will want you to believe that it’s actually somehow Corrin’s fault that Byleth got so much hate on release, but really, Nintendo has no one but themselves to blame. Byleth had the monumental task of being the finale for the game’s first batch of DLC in a DLC pack otherwise full of third-party fighters. An expectation was set, and Byleth broke away from it for what most fans consider a lesser product. Compare that to Corrin, another blatant advertisement character. Not only was Smash 4’s DLC more focused on first party rep (Mewtwo, Roy, Lucas), but Corrin was announced alongside Bayonetta. Therefore, they went mostly under the radar. Probably helps that Smash 4 Bayonetta is one of the most broken characters in smash history.

But we’re not here to talk about smash bros fans. We’re here to talk about fire emblem fans.

Like I said, I agree that the hate for Corrin and Fates as a whole is blown waaaay out of proportion by most FE fans. Fates has some of the most memorable levels and involved mechanics in the entire series without ever detracting from the main strategy gameplay (unlike Three Houses, where most of your playtime will be spent at the monastery). Units are customizable without sacrificing individuality. The route split feels meaningful, with very few shared maps across all three routes. It’s challenging, but fair. Can we please stop saying that this is the worse FE game when Shadow Dragon is right there.

What about Corrin specifically, though? Well…

Really I think the Corrin hate when compared to Byleth boils down to a few key factors:

Fates’ marketing. Fates’ marketing put a lot of emphasis on its narrative and how Your Choices Matter™. However, in the game itself, there’s only two choices the player can really make: the route split (predetermined for most players by which version of the game they bought), and killing/sparing Shura in Conquest. There are level by level side objectives, but these rarely if ever impact the narrative. So when the story goes somewhere you don’t want it to go in a game that told you that Your Choices Matter™, you get frustrated, and therefore you end up blaming the player avatar for not acting as you would in that scenario. Three Houses similarly lacks a lot of serious player driven choices, but the game’s story was marketed more on the intrigue of crests and the Three Houses™ themselves than on idea of seriously influencing the story at every turn.

Fates’ writing. This is a dead horse at this point but it is a serious knock against Corrin. It also goes hand in hand with the previous point. Personally I don’t really care in a game where I can just skip all the cutscenes, but there really are a lot of overly contrived plot points in Fates that tends to bring the whole experience down for others. Sadly, Corrin and Azura end up being the biggest victims of these contrivances by virtue of being protagonists. Rewatch that cutscene after Conquest chapter 15 and tell me this game isn’t even the slightest bit bullshit. Takumi’s legitimate grievances with Corrin are all forgiven at the end of Conquest. In Revelation everyone ends up blindly trusting Corrin enough to literally jump off a cliff for them. The list goes on and on. Ultimately I think Azura gets hit with this the worst, but I see why people pin these on Corrin as well. Byleth on the other hand, doesn’t get moments like these because they’re not the active force in the game’s story. The house leaders are.

Byleth is not the only lord in Three Houses. Unless you do Silver Snow, Byleth will always have Edelgard, Dimitri, or Claude to round them out. Dimitri and Claude are beloved by fans for their distinct personalities and interesting motives, and say what you will about Edelgard, but at least she’s not a “dialogue choice generator” like Byleth is.

Reverse classism. Basically a fancier way of me saying “people think Byleth is cooler than Corrin.” Corrin grew up in a big fucking castle with a squad of retainers at their beck and call and loving adopted siblings that would visit whenever they were lonely. Corrin has the Chris Thorndyke problem—it’s hard to feel bad for them being “isolated” when they live with a bunch of servants that act like found family members. Byleth, on the other hand, is a mercenary living with their badass war hero father, both of whom have essentially been on the run from the church for decades. So purely from a backstory perspective, Byleth seems more grizzled and “real” while Corrin comes off more like a spoiled rich kid, even if that’s not what they actually are.

Presentation of their powers. Why can Byleth time travel? Why does god live in their head? Why can Byleth use the sword of the creator? They have god’s heart inside their chest and the sword of the creator is made out of her spine. How is this information revealed to the player? A slow burn over the first half of the game, with further details elaborated on in specific routes. Why can Corrin turn into a dragon? Why can Corrin use the yato? Corrin’s real dad is a water dragon. How is this information revealed to the player? In the library hidden behind a cipher and some paid DLC you need to buy on top of all three routes. Part of the reason people call Corrin a Mary Sue is because the origin of their powers is barely, if ever, presented in the main plot.

Silent protagonist vs. speaking protagonist. This one’s a bit more divisive. A lot of people prefer and/or have an easier time relating to silent protagonists in gaming because they rarely do or say anything that the player themselves wouldn’t do, so they can place themselves in their shoes better. This often leads to the protagonist coming off as an observer, or someone being led through the story rather than an active participant in it, which is definitely the case with Byleth. Comparatively, Corrin talks and Corrin acts. But some of Corrin’s actions are very, very dumb. Now, I don’t think this works with Byleth because they have too much lore for me to project myself on them like they’re a Pokémon protagonist and too generic/“samey” dialogue choices for me to truly role play as them like a Persona protagonist. I think for the role Byleth serves in the game’s story, they’d be a much better character if they just talked like normal. But it’s a disconnect some players face, so it’s worth bringing up.

That being said I think as far as being an actual character is concerned I like Corrin way more. Don’t get me wrong, they do some interesting stuff with Byleth, but it’s all undermined by the fact that they don’t talk. I struggle to get attached to them when they can’t meaningfully contribute to a conversation. For all Corrin’s faults, at least they can interact with others. Byleth feels like they exist more as a prop for the other characters. Which is fine, but it’s not ideal.

Also female Byleth is totally the canon option because if you play as male Byleth you’re basically forced to marry either a Corrinsexual like Flora or one of the child characters (otherwise you miss out on someone’s kid). Her being gooner bait for the foot fetish weirdos is just an unfortunate consequence of that lol

It's 5am where I am so I'm no doubt gonna regret posting meaningless whining about my favs compared to other characters when I wake up but rn who tf cares

I'm still incensed under the surface about how Byleth gets a better reception than Corrin, and how Corrin specifically is represented in a grand scheme of the FE franchise, mostly with Heroes.

"Corrin gets positions and authority when he doesn't deserve it!" then silence for Byleth when he gets a teaching position, and later either the archbishop spot or outright becomes king of an entire continent.

"Corrin's dragon powers aren't used in the plot enough!" Byleth's powers are only ever plot device fodder, are mechanically indistinct from other FE protag powers before and after him, and have terrible ludonarrative applications.

"Too many people worship Corrin!" About 70% of the cast's morality when defecting from their home (and sometimes partaking in harming it) is dictated by Byleth having enough tea parties with them, after being enrolled in a job he wasn't qualified for

"Corrin's character and personality is bad" Byleth doesn't even have one, he's just a dialogoue choice generator

"Corrin is the worst FE rep in Smash, had the worst trailer, and is representative of FE having imbalanced representation" FE has a clone/Echo fighter problem and consolidating Roy, Lucina and Chrom into Marth as alt skins a la Bowser Jr. would auto fix that controversy given the Smash community's "if I don't see it, it doesn't exist" approach to character slots; there is no universe where a trailer showcasing one of the worst villains in 3H-and the FE series as a whole-is better than even the cringiest lines in Corrin's trailer; there is more unique properties and applications just in Corrin's side special than there is in Byleth's entire kit, which was really a mish-mash of different Smash archetypes, inlcuding ones other FE characters covered. Not to mention the fucking PNG Sothis Final Smash with the embarassing lip flaps, jesus.

Every problem that Corrin is accused of having, Byleth does it worse. Every problem that Byleth gets jabbed with, eventually gets redirected back to Corrin for "starting it."

And it's seen as justified, because why? Well, 3H is a "better" game of course! After all, it's the best selling one! If it sold that much and was so well received that means it must have done everything exponentially better than Fates did! (ignore the fact that Fates was the best selling game in the series before 3H please). Why wouldn't Byleth simply be objectively, immutably better than Corrin in every metric going by this logic?

And, like always, CYL is gonna reaffirm this again for everyone. Cuz why wouldn't Byleth get so many votes last year despite him getting a great Christmas alt just the month before? He deserves it after the female version already won after all! And why wouldn't he win this year when he's guaranteed an Emblem alt in the future, and most likely to be on one of Valentine's, Children, or Wedding banners?

It made sense for the Robins to win one after the other cuz they're cool and awesome and not weak and annoying, so it makes sense for Byleth too!

Why would Corrin get this "it's his turn treatment" when he's not a good character and the female version only won because everyone knows she's just dumb fetish bait 🤪🤪🤪/s

It's just... so infuriatingly transparent. Even Male Alear isn't hit with this quite as hard tbh, because at worst he had half the votes Female Alear did, whereas M!Corrin at best had barely over a third of F!Corrin. And that only fuels my perspective on how M!Corrin, for all his alts, always feels like his presence is treated compulsory and obligated, and F!Corrin is always sold with "she's hot, who cares" in mind.

FE fans made it clear that Corrin's character was hated, so the solution became to sell the Fem one for horny whales, and have the Male one just slightly behind in numbers to keep up the illusion of fairness (while always making him inferior in gameplay).

All that just for Byleth, a non-character, to get every excuse and love from a fandom that hated Corrin for the same issues he has. Crazy.