#and yet STILL unfuckable

[moonyinpisces]

i can see it now. every single interaction aziraphale and crowley have in s3 is going to be drenched in enough sexual tension to supply water to guantanamo bay. i don’t have faith in neil but i do have faith in michael’s ability to act as the sick horny main character and david’s ability to act as the love interest who is painfully aware he’s the love interest

[oatflatwhite]

frankly. the fact my body decided to give me a curved spine and tilted pelvis AND endometriosis thus making it incredibly difficult to live pain free in my lower back is. rude.

[andromedasummer]

you know what i would love to be an option in bg3? making your own party member. like Icewind Dale style. choose their class, voice, appearance and travel with them. obvs i understand why they didnt, but it wouldve been so fun to have the option to make your own member, esp if they could be incorporated into your backstory. a sibling, parent, spouse, adventuring buddy, best friend.

[arolesbianism]

Hm. I am getting the distinct feeling that either revanced broke or some apps are doing smth real shitty

[tielesiti-eftu]

Some time ago, the town I lived in was cursed by its mayor.

It was a curse of confusion; the town itself now seemed alien to us, and everywhere we went provided familiar things in unfamiliar forms and places.

Nobody was really sure why exactly he did this. Doesn't he want the best for us? The mayor gave no reply when asked by countless townsfolk why this curse had to be placed.

Then a talented enchanter began producing magical pendants not long after, promising it would negate the curse's effects for as long as you wore it.

Those of us who were able took the offer immediately, of course. We would have been fools not to in the face of an unavoidable change with little benefit to us.

The town had been in decline for a long time already; this new curse was just one more thing to worry about. It was normal at that point to expect the mayor and his team to beguile the townsfolk in some new way.

The pendants, for what they were worth, performed almost flawlessly. They needed maintenance from the enchanter every now and again, but that was a small price to pay for familiarity.

For some time, things were peaceful again. Those with the pendants lived life as they always had, though people who could not or would not take one were still unhappy.

The enchanter began adding more protections to the pendants over time as well, aimed at undoing other harms that the mayor had inflicted on the town in the past; things all but forgotten by many townsfolk, but loathed by those around to remember them.

Then some time later, the mayor began to exile and humiliate valued townsfolk en masse. He targeted those of us who decided to be more than we were born with, and offered no alternative.

The townsfolk were enraged. How could he do this to us? Even the curses before were manageable, but now he was actively affecting people's lives!

The enchanter took notice of this. As the pattern of exiles continued, she decided to close up shop and join the exiled ones of her own will, warning everyone using her pendants that they may one day stop working without her, and that she would likely not return to repair them again.

It has been barely half a month, and I can already feel the pendant beginning to turn into yet another curse. It prevents me from moving throughout the town normally, sometimes warping me forward or back by a large distance without my volition.

I know this is the least of what it may do to me, but it still provides the old benefit of familiarity that it used to, at least for now. I would still rather have this than what the mayor has done.

I know that this will not last. I know that eventually, I will be forced to choose between this new double-edged blade and the hostility of what the rest of the townsfolk experience daily.

I know that, if it does come to that, I will likely consider leaving town completely, just as the enchanter had done before me, and just as the exiled ones had bee forced to do.

Part of me wants to follow them, but part of me knows I have too much history with this town to ever truly consider it a possibility. What the town has become may disgust me, but the idea of moving my whole life somewhere completely new without it is somehow worse.

I have managed to keep track of those who were made to leave, and those who chose to leave on their own. They seem happy where they are now, or at least to prefer it to here.

The news has just come in. The mayor has begun to take the things the townsfolk has created and teach a new curse how to replicate it with its own dark magic. And I thought this town was safe from such things...

I know the mayor will do something else one day, maybe soon, maybe in a year. Maybe that will be the time I finally follow in their footsteps.

I wish I could rid myself of this pointless sentimentality for the past.

[femvaylin]

Not even I, your resident pathetic fictional man fucker,

[candycryptids]

💀 Augh

[evilkitten3]

i don't know what's going on in bnha but why haven't they kissed yet

Wait is mha actually doing togachako??

no but what else am i supposed to call this

[toocabaret]

I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.

the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.

i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.

BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?

[clangpan]

Hey. Hi. Hello, I fixed Dashboard Unfucker

A few things still aren't working, but it was surprisingly easy to make it "functional" again! (The code is an absolute nightmare)

Now since this is only a very hacky first draft, I didn't bother to fix the layout yet, but you can use this in tandem for the time being for a pretty seamless transition (and I might also use this to base any future update since it might make it easier to work on it if the graphical and functional parts are separate)

I don't have much time to work on it consistently, so if there are others willing to help, you can always do Pull Requests or report Issues

[tossawary]

I'm not sure when exactly Mobei-Jun clued in 100% to his feelings for Shang Qinghua. You can write lots of different fun fics placing Mobei-Jun's "oh" realization in different places in SVSSS. I do think it took him a minimum of 5+ years, but that still gives us 20+ years of possibility because Moshang are truly incredible like that.

When Mobei-Jun fully realized his feelings is not important at the moment, however! Not the subject of interest here! Because I'm currently thinking about a possible stage before that, in which Mobei-Jun trusted Shang Qinghua more than anyone else in the world but hadn't yet allowed himself to think of such a ridiculous person as a romantic prospect. The stage when, due to pride and/or prejudice, Mobei-Jun still has Shang Qinghua in the "unfuckable" AND "unmarriageable" zones, but also still intends for his human servant to be by his side for the rest of his life.

Because, like, the stage before the long-brewing bubble of realization pops or the egg cracks or whatever can be the strangest of headspaces, where a person is juggling multiple conflicting ideas and still insisting to themselves that the ideas don't conflict. (See: Shen Yuan through all of SVSSS.) And I think Mobei-Jun deserves to suffer the embarrassment of looking back at his younger self's original life plans and finding them painfully obviously ridiculous.

Like, I think there was at least a solid month (but possibly even several years) where a younger Mobei-Jun's plans for the future looked something like this:

Become king. (Bring Shang Qinghua to ascension ritual.)

Kill or neutralize my uncle. (Ask Shang Qinghua for ideas.)

Conquer Demon and Human Realms. (Shang Qinghua should no longer waste so much time on his pathetic cultivation sect.)

Get married. (Doesn't really matter who it is. Have Shang Qinghua pick someone decent out.)

Have children to gain heirs. (Have Shang Qinghua raise them.)

???

Success. (Shang Qinghua is there.)

[tuiccim]

Wrecked (Part 1)

Pairing: Alpha Frank Castle x Omega Reader, Alpha Billy Russo x Omega Reader

Trigger Warnings: Discussion of infertility, attempted physical assault

Summary: When Frank Castle found his way to your small town bar, you thought you had finally found your Alpha despite being a "wrecked omega" but when his best friend, Billy Russo, blows through town, your world tilts on its axis. You thought you found your happy ending but was it just more wreckage for your life?

A/N: Thank you to my beta reader, @whisperlullaby

Wrecked Masterlist

You were peeling potatoes when you heard the rumble of Frank’s truck as it pulled up to the cabin. Was it strange you still felt nervous when he came home after all these months? Maybe because you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You weren’t an Omega that any “normal” Alpha would want, and you know that your relationship with Frank was born more out of solace and comfort than anything else. Still, you loved him and he seemed to love you. So, you smiled when you heard his gravelly voice call, “Hey babe.”

“Hey. I’m in the kitchen,” you reply. 

“Whatcha cookin’?” Frank asks as he sets his lunch box in its spot. 

“Just boring old meatloaf and mashed potatoes,” you smile at him over your shoulder. 

“Mmm, does that mean I get a meatloaf sandwich in my lunch tomorrow?” Frank sidles up behind you and rests his hands on your hips.

“If you like.”

“I like,” he confirms as he squeezes your hips suggestively. “Do I have time to shower?”

“You have about 30 minutes before it’s ready,” you confirm as you rinse the peeled potatoes. 

“Great,” he retreats to your bedroom and you immediately miss his warmth.

You had found each other by accident. He had come to your small town by chance. Many people passed through on their way to bigger towns but he decided to stay. He wandered into your bar, drank alone, talked but didn’t flirt as you tended to him, and ended up breaking up a fight between two alphas quite adeptly. You had been impressed and a little enticed until you noticed the claiming mark on his neck. Fully expecting him to disappear into the night, you were surprised when he showed up again the next night. And the one after that. You had joked that you should hire him as a bouncer and he had laughed but then asked if anyone in town was hiring. Referring him to the two places you knew were looking, you poured him a congratulatory drink when he told you he had landed a spot. You remember back to that time…

Close to the end of the night, you were cutting off a young alpha who took offense. You were used to handling drunks and thought you had defused the situation when he walked away from the bar. A few of his friends ribbed him and the group left just as you announced last call. You shut down, counted out, and sent the rest of your staff home. As the daughter of a prominent alpha and known as a rejected and broken omega, you felt secure in the town. Perhaps that was a bit of your own arrogance. You had just made it to your car when you were slammed against it by a large body and your head was pulled to one side by the grip in your hair. 

Alcohol laden breath spoke in your ear, “You need to learn your place, ‘mega.”

“Get off of me!” You yelled, bucking against his hold. 

“Don’t worry. I don’t wanna fuck the wrecked omega. I’m just gonna give you the beating your daddy never did. Pathetic, unfuckable thing you are, I’m surprised he let you live. Shoulda- Agh!” The young alpha’s words cut off by his own scream. 

You’re pulled roughly to the ground by his grip in your hair but roll away from him quickly and scoot out of his range. He’s holding onto his side and you look up at the tire iron gripped in a strong hand. Following it up, you see Frank and breathe a sigh of relief. Frank is obviously not done yet as he lands another blow to the alpha’s stomach then one across the face.

He stops and leans over his prey, “Is that something like the beating your daddy never gave you? I ever see you here again, I’ll kill you. Understand?” 

When no answer comes, Frank raises the tire iron for another swing but the other alpha holds his hands up and wheezes, “Yes!”

“Get the fuck out of here!” Frank yells and watches as the man scrambles off into the darkness. Turning to you, he holds a hand out to help you up, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you,” you brush yourself off as you speak, trying to appear nonchalant but clearly shaken up. 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Frank grouses at you. 

“I’m fine. That’s the first time-”

“It only takes one time. You have to be more careful,” Frank interrupts. 

“I- I’m fine,” you say again. You drop your keys because your hands are shaking and pick them up only to drop them again. 

“Hey,” Frank covers your hands with his.

“I’m fine,” you whisper again, trying to hide the tears that were threatening to fall. 

“Hey, look at me,” Frank pulls you around to look at him. His face softens as he sees the unshed tears in your eyes, “You’re not fine. Let me take you home.” 

You surrender your keys to him and nod. You tell him what direction to head in and silence stretches between you until you can stand it no longer. “So, Frank, what’s your story?”

“What do you mean?” Frank hedges. 

“I mean a lone alpha wandering into town and staying isn’t very common. What brought you here? What made you stay?”

“My truck. A good bar that pours a stiff drink and a job,” Frank replies. 

“Okay, then,” you recognize when someone doesn’t want to talk about their past. 

“How long have you worked at the bar?” Frank asks. 

“I own the bar,” you retort. 

“How long have you owned the bar?”

“Since the last owner sold it to me,” you sass. 

Frank surprises you by letting a laugh rumble out of his chest and you can’t help the smile that quirks your lips. His scent is suddenly stronger in the small space of your car, not hidden by the scents of the bar. It’s enticing and warm. You feel yourself responding to it and clench your thighs. 

“Didn’t seem like that was your first fight. Army?” You guess. 

“Marines.”

“Oorah,” you glance over at him and as headlights pass you see the mating mark on his neck again. It’s faded but definitely there. “Where’s your mate?” 

Frank’s entire demeanor shifts as if a darkness had covered him entirely. He growls, “Gone.”

“I’m sorry,” you study your hands. Feeling awkward at having obviously brought up a painful subject. 

“She and both my pups were killed. Car crash,” he says quietly. 

“I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”

“Since we’re on sore subjects, why are you a ‘wrecked omega’?” Frank glances over at you. 

“Turn left just past the highway sign up ahead,” you point out the sign. “Because I can’t have children. My mate rejected me because of it.”

“Sounds like a jackass,” Frank says. 

“He was from another pack. My father wanted me to lie to him but I couldn’t and I understood when he decided to reject me. He was very kind about it but the reason got out. It’s common knowledge that I’m broken. Take the next right and then the third left.”

“Guess that makes two of us,” Frank says reflectively. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Frank shakes his head as he takes the turns. 

“Um, you’ll cross over some train tracks and then a bridge. It’ll be the next house on the right,” you explain. He nods but remains silent. You knot your fingers while trying to think of something to say. You’re relieved when you go over the bridge a few minutes later and the front porch light on your cabin shines like a beacon. “That’s it,” you point.

He parks the car, hands you the keys, and walks you to the front steps. You go up and unlock the door. Turning back, you wait for him to follow you inside. 

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow night,” Frank turns to walk away. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused. 

“I’ll just walk back,” he shrugs. 

“It’s over five miles back to town,” you say incredulously.

“I’ll be alright.”

“I’m not letting you walk back to town. Let’s go,” you tilt your head towards the house. 

“I-”

“I can’t be alone right now, please,” you say in hopes of convincing him. 

“Okay,” he says as he climbs the steps. 

You let him in and then lock the door behind you. You take your boots off, hang up your bag, and head to the kitchen as you decide you need a drink. “Would you like something?” You ask as you pour yourself a glass of wine.

“Got anything stronger?”

“I have everything stronger,” you scoff playfully. 

“Whiskey?” Frank smirks.

“Ice?”

“Nah.”

You pour him two fingers of the liquor and hand it over. Studying him over the rim of your glass, you wonder what else there was to this stranger. He was good-looking and seemed decent. You hope he is considering you just invited him into your house. 

“Got an extra pillow and blanket?” He asks. 

“What for?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You lean over the counter and give him a look, “I told you I didn’t want to be alone tonight.” 

Frank leisurely lets his eyes slide down to peak at the cleavage your position was clearly showing off and smirked, “You sure?”

“Yeah, Marine. I mean, if you think you can handle me,” you toss the words over your shoulder as you walk to your bedroom. 

“Oorah,” Frank grins as he follows you. 

The two of you fell into a routine. He came to the bar for a drink after work, stayed until last call, and you invited him back to your place. After a couple of weeks, you offered him a key saying that working all day and then staying at the bar until close each night had to be exhausting. If he wanted, he could wait for you at the cabin. If he was still awake when you got home, you fucked. If he was asleep, he usually woke you up fucking you the next morning. He was insatiable and you enjoyed it more than you cared to admit. You had never had the sole attention of an alpha for any time outside of your heat (which was a bane seeing as your body still went through it despite your inability to conceive) and the betas you had dated never seemed to stick around long. Even they didn't want the broken omega.

In the time Frank had been with you, he gave every indication of being a good man who wanted a simple life. Despite his seeming contentment, you often wondered why he stayed and when he would decide to go. He knew you could never give him kids and in the times you’d seen him with them, he seemed entirely natural. He would be an amazing father, had been an amazing father you were sure. And it ate at you. Why did he stay? Your fear wouldn’t let you ask because that may hasten his leaving you. You never discussed your relationship. You just lived it everyday and, for the most part, you were happy. 

But your heat was coming soon. It would be his second time seeing you through it and it was just another reminder of  your brokenness. You would have to bring it up. 

Setting dinner on the table, you jump when you feel a hand on your backside, “Oh! How does a man your size move so quietly?”

Frank chuckles, “Maybe cause I’m barefoot.”

You laugh with him as he wiggles his toes. Most see the quiet, stoic side of this man but you’ve been allowed to see the funny and sweet side of him. It’s what made you love him. After you’d both eaten a bit, you broach the subject on your mind. 

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

“Uh-oh. What’d I do?”

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

“Heard that before,” Frank’s brow furrows. 

“My heat is coming in the next few weeks,” you say nervously. 

“Okay…”

“Will you, um, help me through it?”

“Yeah. Why are you asking? Is there someone else you want to help you or something?”

“No! I just didn’t want to assume.”

“You didn’t want to assume that I’d take care of my Omega?” Frank asks, clearly offended. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you say in surprise. 

“I’ve called you that plenty,” Frank shrugs.

“You’ve called me ‘mega, occasionally Omega, but you’ve never called me yours. Never ‘my Omega’.”

“Never, huh?”

“No,” you whisper, looking away. Guilt and shame welled in you for even bringing it up. 

“What is it you want from me, my Omega?”

You glance up at him. His face is curious but not angry as you feared he would be, “What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to mate you?” Frank asks as he takes another bite of his dinner. 

“No!” You say a little too forcefully. Seeing Frank’s brows draw together, you babble, “I don’t expect that from you. I know I’m not what an Alpha wants, since I can’t have kids. I’m not asking you for anything. Just… just to see me through my heat.” You didn’t expect it from him. You didn’t expect any Alpha to mate you. Neither of you had even said I love you. You do love him and you think he feels something for you but you would never tell him. You wouldn’t try to force him into being stuck with you. 

“I will. You would be safer if you were mated. With the bar and everything,” Frank says as he forks another bite. 

“I know but there aren’t many Alphas or even Betas out there that would take a mate who can’t have kids,” you say a bit exasperated. 

“Then I’ll mate you,” Frank says quietly. 

Your heart swells and breaks in the same moment, “No, Frank. I know you well enough to know you want children again. I know you want to protect me but I won’t take your future from you.”

“I’m happy here with you. That’s enough for me,” Frank insists. 

“Frank-”

“I’m mating you when your heat comes,” Frank interrupts before taking the last bite of his food and getting up to put his plate in the sink, effectively cutting off the conversation. He looks back and gestures to your half eaten plate, “Finish up and I’ll do the dishes.”

“I’m done,” you hand the plate to him and stand awkwardly. You aren’t sure what to say or even what you feel. You try to think of something that will take this feeling away that you’re going to ruin his future and the feeling that you were a settlement rather than a choice. You decide to pour yourself a glass of wine. 

“You, uh, remember me telling you about my friend, Billy?” Frank asks as he sloshes water in the sink. You would never understand why he won’t use the dishwasher. One of his idiosyncrasies. 

“Russo, right? He owns a security company?” You try to remember the details of the conversation you’d had about the man. 

“Yeah, he called me today,” Frank pauses.

“...About something in particular?”

“He’s gonna pass through the area next week and wanted to stop here for a few days. Catch up,” Frank explains. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll clean up the guest room for him,” you say. 

“I can put him at the motel,” Frank hedges. 

“He doesn’t know about me?” You ask, voice hollow.

“He knows. I just don’t want you to feel obligated to put him up,” Frank grouses. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Clearing your throat, you say, “Of course, your friend can stay here. Um, is there anything I can make that he likes?”

“Just keep the good whiskey out and he’ll be happy,” Frank smiles. 

It lightens your heart and you finally feel able to take a deep breath, “That I can do.”

“Oh, and Bill’s a flirt. Don’t be surprised if he teases you.”

“Noted. You should bring him up to the bar. Cecily’s supposed to be back next week, too,” you smile as you watch Frank make a face. A long-time friend who is quite the social butterfly and ends up at your bar more often than not, had tried to rouse Frank’s interest when he first blew into town but he had ignored her attempts and played off her flirtations. She had been out of town for a while but had recently texted that she would be returning. 

“Oh, god, no. Those two would create havoc together,” Frank shakes his head. 

You laugh, feeling more relaxed, “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, Bill can be a bit of a troublemaker, too,” Frank confirms.

“Oh, I hope they are here at the same time. I could use some entertainment.”

“Your funeral,” Frank laughs as he shakes his head. 

“Do you know when next week?”

“Nope. He’s not great at specifics,” Frank shrugs. 

“Well, I’ll have the room and a bottle of whiskey at the ready,” you smile. 

Frank smiles back as he dries his hands and prowls towards you. 

“What’s that look about, Marine?” You narrow your eyes and move deftly around the couch.

Frank gives a low, gravelly laugh before rumbling out, “Oorah.” He begins to chase after you with a teasing, predatory glint in his eye. 

“Frank!” You yell as you round the couch and stay out of his reach. 

He wanted a chase and you were more than happy to oblige him. Some feral, primal part of him occasionally took hold and it was thrilling when it did. He stalked you like prey around the living room until you made a break for the back door. You fly through it with him hot on your heels. Running parallel to the creek by your cabin, you make it to the tree line and weave around the trunks. He doesn’t know the woods as well as you but he’s faster. It was only a matter of time before he’d catch up. You stop to listen for a moment but know you can’t stay still long. Hearing nothing, you decide to change directions but your mistake is discovered quickly when his arm wraps around your middle and you’re lifted off your feet momentarily. You laugh and turn in his arms to face him. He kisses you and you use the opportunity to push him while his guard is down. Something you’d never done before. He stumbles over the tree roots and you turn to run again. He catches your ankle and you go down but you manage to kick his hand away and get to your feet. You can hear him half growl, half laugh at this turn of events. You thread your way through the trees again and then skirt the edge of the creek before doubling back towards the house. You were nearly back to the tree line when your momentum was suddenly brought up short and you landed with your back against a tree. Frank’s body pinned you in place as his hands ripped open his fly. He pulls your clothing away with no patience and within seconds has your legs wrapped around him as he enters your body. 

The first thrust is pure bliss. You were thoroughly wet from the excitement of the chase and he roared as he took you. He pounded into you, railing you against that tree. You clutched at him, nails raking across his shoulders and body bowed as your orgasm built. 

“Alpha, oh fuck!” You cried out as you felt your body spasm around him. The orgasm slammed through you with the same hard persistence as his cock. A few more jerky thrusts and he was groaning his release. He holds you in place as your breathing returns to normal. 

After a moment, you murmur in his ear, “Maybe I should call you caveman instead of marine.”

Frank laughs as he gently pulls away from you, “If I was a caveman, I’d just hit you over the head with a club and drag you to the bedroom by your hair.”

“Mmm, true. Guess I’ll just stick to calling you marine,” you lean in and kiss him. 

Making your way back to the house, you look up at the first stars beginning to appear as the sun sets and make a wish. It was a stupid, silly wish that you’d made over and over again since you were a young girl. One that would never come true for a broken omega. As you looked over at the Alpha you were sharing your life with, you wondered why you still wished it. He was more than you ever believed you could have. So, why wasn’t it enough?

Part 2

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[moonshynecybin]

Any updates you’d want to share of your incredible marc 31&unfucked/airport rosquez wip? Or do you move in silence

twink for sale. never fucked. part one here, part two here ! yet again i have not reread the previous parts so these idiots might very well be talkin in circles. c'est la vie i am what i am.

Marc leans against the counter of the bar, a thick slab of slightly sticky wood covered in a mess of elbows and drinks. It’s not exactly a dive, but it’s unpretentious, laid back. Marc likes it. Likes the sound of the music and the smell of cigarette smoke.

The Ducati crew are all here, plus the Gresini people— celebrating an all-Ducati podium that saw Pecco roaring away into the distance before anyone could figure out a way to catch him, shades of Jorge Lorenzo. Marc had snapped up P3. Whatever.

He sighs. Studies the menu like he isn’t just going to order the same thing he always does.

Alex is feeling sick— staying at the hotel— and he doesn’t even know why he’s here. It's nice, but he doesn’t really know anyone. He wants to text Santi, see what the people at Honda are up to, but he balks. Someone might run a headline, and he doesn’t want to deal with that. He'll call them later, when he gets back to Spain, and link up for dinner then.

He orders his mojito and pauses, caught as a warm hand lands on his shoulder. He looks over, expecting one of his mechanics or someone from the factory team. Instead— Valentino. VR46 must’ve been invited as well. 

A grin splits his face before he can help it. 

“You still order the same drink.” Vale muses, like poking that particular bruise doesn’t even hurt him. He just— remembers Marc’s drink order like it’s nothing,

Marc ducks his head. “Shut up,”

“No, it’s just, you said– you are older now, yes? I thought maybe you would make a change?”

“Why should I? I like what I like.”

Vale flags the bartender and asks for a Negroni, curls his long hand against the glass. Marc catches his eyes on the bones of a wrist, the way it looks in the low lighting. He blinks.

He doesn't know what’s going on with him lately. 

Vale leans closer, looks around, conspiratorial. Grin white sharp in yellow light, shirt gaping at the collar to expose the long lines of his neck. He raises a finger at Marc.

“You know, Bez has a bet about you,”

“Bezzecchi?” Marc asks, pulling back into himself— he’s never called him Bez, isn’t about to start now.

Vale tilts a chin over to the corner, where Bezzecchi and Pecco seem locked in some sort of boozy, animated discussion. Marc catches snatches of words in Italian: tattoo, turbo, braking.

“What bet?” He asks, turning back to watch Vale take a sip of his drink. It’s a wonder there’s not a camera on them. Although— he thinks about that headline. Friends again. Maybe he wouldn’t mind.

“That you will not win another title,” Vale says casually, smacking his lips around the bitter of his drink. 

They’ve never been two people known for playing it safe.

Marc hums, fiddles with his bar napkin. “Oh, does he?” He doesn’t mention the bet he’s been told Uccio has. Four thousand dollars towards the same.

Vale nods. Places an elbow next to Marc on the bar and leans. Marc catches a whiff of his cologne— something spicy.

“Why should I care?” Marc shrugs, plays confused. He doesn’t— it’s Bezzecchi. He’s always been a bit weird about Marc. After Valencia last year, Marc has just written him off completely. One of Vale’s devotees too caught up in their history to think clearly for himself.

Vale laughs. “I guess you shouldn’t.”

“And what about you?” Marc prods, a little spiky. He's pretty sure he knows the answer. “What do you think? Will I win?” 

Vale tilts his head. 

“You could do it,” and Marc stares. “—if it rains.” Is the punchline that drags a smile back to him like a punch to the gut.

“Ah, I see. Master in the wet.” Marc waggles his eyebrows and Vale chuffs a laugh, scrubs a hand down his face like he’s embarrassed he finds Marc funny. 

“No no, but you’re the only one crazy enough— Brno 2019,” He reminds Marc. “Why was it raining for us and not for you?”

Marc doubles over, presses his smile into his palm. He still can’t quite believe this is happening— that Vale still knows how to twist the knife enough to make it sweet instead of making it hurt, teasing in ways that make Marc bark a laugh instead of blink away the burning feeling in his stomach. Now the joke is— how bad it got is almost funny. The ludicrousness of their falling out. His injury. Vale retiring. Leaving Honda. and Marc shouldn’t be laughing really, but Vale’s always found a way to thrive in the comedic incongruity of a situation. How the hell did we even get here? Is the question, and they both seem to find it abruptly hilarious, tension snaking ephemerally away from them as they giggle like children.

Vale regroups, catching his breath, “Bah, anyways. Pecco will be very, very strong. Hard to beat when he is giving 100%.” 

It’s probably the truth. It’s what he should say. Marc doesnt think he means it, and his smile grows.

He pretends to think. “Yes. He is. But I'm not trying to be greedy— nine is, nine would be a good number.” Continuing their theme—half a jab, half a joke—a test. Are they there yet, he's asking, can Vale take the same treatment from Marc? Daring Vale to confirm all his worst assumptions. If he’s going to pull back, get it over with. Pull him down to earth from where it feels like he’s floating away.

“Not as good as ten, no?” Vale says smoothly, and it would sound like taking the bait but his voice is still a tease, and his smile is still there, and he’s still next to Marc. Leans closer, even.

Marc doesn’t think he’s blinked in the last 45 seconds.

“No,” Marc lets every bit of his confidence into his voice. Nine times world champion is good, but Vale is right. He wants ten. “No, it’s not.”

“Ah, so that is the plan? Beat me?” Vale pulls another sip from his drink, leaning on the bar like he owns it. 

Marc shrugs, grins hugely. “Beat everyone. These guys— they are not better than you, and they are not better than me.”

“Maybe not.” Vale’s looking at him, eyes sparkling, and Marc’s melting down, like sugar dissolving into tea.

He clears his throat. Maybe the mojito is stronger than he thought. He hasn’t— they’ve never talked about it like this. He hasn’t wanted to talk about this. But he likes that it’s happening now, somehow. That it’s happening like this, like it’s the past instead of the present.

“Eh, you know, you’ve been coming to a lot of races.” 

“I have people I want to see.” Vale says, which could mean a lot of things, and “Old friends included,” which could mean less things but also isn’t necessarily any less confusing. Then he taps a finger on the edge of Marc’s drink, a non sequitur. “Can I try?”

Marc nods, feels like his brain is running a step behind his body. Watches Vale move the straw to take a sip from the rim, then think through the taste hitting his tongue.

“Do you like it?”

Vale shrugs, noncommittal, then pushes his glass towards Marc. He puts his hand on the back of Marc’s neck. 

“Here. Try mine.”

“No, no no— I have had Negronis. Too bitter.” Marc says, even as he raises the drink to his lips. There's no straw in this one, just lips against glass. He wonders if it’s the same spot Vale had been drinking from earlier.

Bitter aromatics burst in his mouth. He makes a face against the strength of it, feels Vale’s laugh through his hand on the back of his neck. He shivers a little, it’s— he doesn’t know why he's doing that.

He decides not to think about it. It could be cold in here, he hasn’t really been paying attention.

“Ah, you’re one of those with a sweet tooth?” Vale takes his drink back from the well of Marc’s hand, and their fingers zap a little static shock that makes Marc feel brave.

Marc winks. “I am guilty.”

Vale just— looks at him. And they’ve done a lot of that in their history, looked at each other, tried to ascertain the next move to make on track or the next mind game to use in a press conference— but this feels different. Marc feels different. His skin feels tight and his head feels dizzy and his heart is pounding, and through it all Vale keeps looking, and he doesn’t quite know what to say or what to do, but he knows he doesn’t want it to stop.

There's a big cry from the other side of the room, breaking his train of thought— some mechanics in a rowdy conversation of some sort, and Marc becomes hyper aware of how exposed they are right now. Anyone could see— well, he doesn’t know quite what, but he knows he doesn’t want them to see it. He shifts, darts eyes to the exit.

He wants to leave, and it could be the alcohol, but Vale’s face is pretty much the exact thing that Marc wants to see right now.

“Want to head back?” Marc asks, feeling a little reckless— it’s a flyaway, he’s pretty sure they’re all packed inside the same hotel.

Vale considers him for a minute, and as Marc waits for him to speak he wonders if the booze is catching up to him. The world feels like it’s rushing around his ears. 

“For sure.” Vale murmurs, and when he takes his hand off of Marc’s neck he can feel it slide all the way down his back.

When they get into the Uber, Marc looks at his phone and gives a little groan. Tries to shake it off. Feel more sober. Reassert some normalcy from their earlier tension. Vale and him– they haven't been friends in eight (Or nine? Marc thinks, Is it nine?) years. There’s bound to be growing pains.

“It’s so early.” He groans.

Vale nods. It is.

“I’m old.” Marc continues, reminded of their conversation in the airport. It’s true now— with Aleix going, he’ll be the veteran. How did that happen. You can’t talk to me about old, Vale had said. But he finds that he wants to.

“You are not old,” Vale echoes, with emphasis, like Marc’s insane. What does he know, he’s even older.

Marc puts a hand on his bad arm, which hurts. Slides down in the seat a little, loose with alcohol. He's such a lightweight now. He lets out a big sigh.

Vale nudges him. He's got a look on his face— that same conspiratorial one from the bar earlier, and Marc cranes his neck up.

“Marc,”

“Yeah?” God, his eyes are blue.

“Tell me— do you want to pay Bez back?”

“What?” Marc croaks, not really processing what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to talk about Bezzecchi— he can still see the skin between Vale’s shirt and his neck, can’t stop looking at it. He leans in heavily. Thinks about a world where Vale puts a hand on the inside of his thigh and leans right back.

“Yeah.” Vale flips up his hand to flash a hotel key card. probably Bezzecchi’s. He grins, waiting for Marc to get the joke, and after a moment— it clicks. Laughter explodes out of Marc’s chest. 

It's been a minute since Valentino and him were on the inside of something. In cahoots, instead of at odds, and he feels— energized. Adrenaline creeping into him like an old friend. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel old at all, and he wants to get out and do something— sweat, dance, move, fuck. Get Vale to keep smiling at him. Ruin Bezzecchi’s day. Win another race this year. Win a championship.

For once, he sure that Vale feels about the same.

He leans into Vale’s space, sees his smile widen in return. “Let’s hide all of Bezz’s socks.”

So they do.

[drdemonprince]

all the recent talk about not voting has me a bit worried, for lack of a better word.

on one hand, yes so much yes, stop throwing all your time and energy in the insatiable maw of electoral politics, 5/5, no notes.

but on the other hand, where does that time and energy go then? despite lots of talk about mutual aid it doesn't seem to progress much beyond the abstract (at least in the various leftist groups/communities/etc. in my neck of the woods). it's held up as an ideal and great big important thing, but when there's shit that needs doing, it's *crickets*.

maybe it's because so much mutual aid is care work and thus, and i very much disagree with even though i care not for the label, not real activism i guess? like, a while ago a disabled comrade had ran into housing issues because of their illness, so we rustled up some folks to help clean and unfuck their home. which, yet again, were the same (also disabled) people that always show for those things.

coming of four years and counting of pandemic, that's been a consistent pattern. at a time where mutual aid was so needed, such a vacuum left by a state that didn't and/or wanted to do shit, it still fell on the shoulders of disabled people to do all the actual work while the rest just talked about abstract shit. or, to name another thing, diy hrt initiative where it's just a bunch of poor ass trans people scrounging up money to pay for supplies for trans people who have fuck all access, while the rest debates in the abstract about a more better system or whether it's even something they need to concern themselves about.

and like, yes, not pissing away your energy pleading with assholes who don't give a fuck about you is good, but it should only be the start. it sometimes feels like the big plan is: 1) not vote, 2) ???, 3) glorious anarchism/communism/mutual-aidism. i'm not arguing that they need to have it all worked out, but with so much shit that needs doing in the here and now i get a little worried. because that's going to take real work, not talk, and they're not putting in any of it.

I mean, most people won't do (what gets viewed as) "real activism" either. They don't go to protests, smash windows, call jails to check on the status of incarcerated people, cut supply lines, or anything else. And they don't vote either.

We live in a highly individualistic, atomized society filled with people who have been conditioned into an abiding self-interested apathy, and everyone is overworked and broke as shit and juggling a bunch of disabilities while not having any experience with building genuine community and lacking most of the infrastructural and social tools to do so. The number of people who are avowed leftists is vanishingly small, and among them the people who actually walk the talk or have the education and community ties to even be able to is even smaller. Not disagreeing with your read of the situations you're dealing with here, just putting them within the broader context of many very similar problems that I see touch every single aspect of organizing today. even like the most tepid liberal get out the vote kind of organizing is plagued by this, and of course that is by design.

What gives me hope in the present moment is just how many people are completely fucking done with the prevailing system, and how many are refusing to play along with its rules. A lot of the people who aren't voting are not leftists. At least not yet. Just like many of the people who are quiet quitting and half-assing it at work or just vibing on unemployment for as long as they can are not communists. But they do know that the system is bunk and is failing them, and they are refusing to be compliant within it any longer. I believe that a lot of people's better natures do get inspired during a moment of collapse. I also think there is a profound rot at the heart of settler-colonial states that fills them with people who do not recognize themselves as having any responsibility to others. That's all the more reason for such an empire to fall.

I think you're right to worry for the future, though I don't think the reason to be worried is as simple as people not people caring about disabled folks, or any other group. I always wonder who the mythical abled people are who are abnegating their duty in such an understanding of the world. I sure haven't met any of them. I only meet people who are also disabled and don't realize it.

[wonsunism]

ENHYPEN IMAGINES

CONTEXT: Enhypen members (except for Ni_ki) reacting to public teasing (including anything outside the house)

!warnings: smut

SWIMMING POOL

heeseung could barely hold himself back when you were looking so scrumptious in that two-piece swimming suit. your curves were standing out, and his cock was, well, standing up. he swam towards you, touching your waist and pulling you closer to him. it didn't take more than 2 seconds for you to feel how hard he was, as you lifted your head to make eye contact with him. his eyes were saying everything straight. he wanted you so badly. heeseung pushed you, softly, agaisnt the border of the pool.

"you look so beautiful, you know? too beautiful for me to let you go home unfucked"

heeseung pushed himself slowly, rubbing his body against yours. his dick was getting harder and harder while grinding on you. regardless of all the people around you, he didn't stop. he was feeling too good.

BUS

unluckily, the bus you were taking home was so cramped you barely found a seat. jay held your hand the whole time, until you finally noticed an empty seat all the way in the back. jay sat down, pulling you down on his lap. he hugged you from behind, keeping you warm. however, you didn't feel quite comfortable so you moved an inch, and that was all it took for jay's eyes to widen. wrong move. as you were sitting down, you felt how jay was getting hard, making you swallow hard. not that you wouldn't like it, but you were worried.

"jay?" you whispered.

"don't say a word"

jay grabbed your thighs with his palms and pushed you down harder, biting his lips and opening his legs slowly. he kept moving you up and down his cock, his hot breath hiting you neck.

FRIENDS' PARTY

sitting down on the couch, you and jake were cuddling into each other, waiting for your friends to come back from the kitchen. you stood up, though, to close one of the pointless lights turned on, yet accidently dropped your phone on the floor. how clumsy. you bent down, forgetting maybe for a second about your mini skirt and the fact that your boyfriend was right behind you. as you were picking up your phone, you felt jake's hand softly touching your exposed ass, going down your outer thigh and pulling you back next to him.

"you think you can save yourself from this so easily?"

your boyfriend grabbed your right hand, guiding it to the bulge formed in his pants and pressing it down on it. jake threw his head back, biting his lower lip. the way he wished you could just suck him off right that second. cursed party.

CHANGING ROOM

sunghoon was not the strongest soldier when it came to clothes shopping, but he was still trying his best to make you happy. as for now, holding at least 15 tops while following you to the changing cabin. he came inside with you, as this one had no shelves to put down the clothes. he kept holding them, watching you taking off your t-shirt. fuck. the way sunghoon felt couldn't be put into words. your tits looked so hot in that black push-up bra you were wearing. your t-shirt got stuck because of your hair claw, yet instead of helping you, he kept staring at your chest, obsessively.

"sunghoon, help me" you whined in frustration.

your boyfriend dropped all the tops on the floor and pushed you against the wall. he helped you take off your shirt, but that was not all. he started massaging your tits through the material of your bra as he raised one knee up, teasing your pussy.

FOREST

you and sunoo were going on a walk in nature, though you were "lucky" enough to fall in a mud puddle, getting your brand-new skirt all ruined. sunoo helped you get up, kissing your forehead.

"are you okay, my love?"

sunoo took off his trench, putting it on around your shoulders. you felt bad, worrying you might get it dirty too with your skirt. his trench was long enough to cover up most of your lower side. thus, you took the skirt off, giving it to your boyfriend to hold. you planned to button up, but you plans were ruined by sunoo approaching you closer, his hand going down your pussy. you haven't noticed earlier, but you were wearing his favourite panties, the cute pink ones he loved so much. he teased you, pulling them up, making you cross your legs. maybe falling in that puddle was a happy accident after all.

PARKING GARAGE

jungwon was driving home, while you, passenger princess, were scrolling down on tiktok. arrived as you were, your boyfriend parked the car inside the garage, turning the engine off and leaving the car. gentleman as he is, he walked around the vehicle, opening your door and holding your hand while you got off. but in that exact second, something came up in jungwon's mind, an image of you playing in one of these marketing ads for car cleaning, with hot drenched girls rubbing the car's windows while barely wearing anything. as random as it was, jungwon couldn't stop thinking about it, laying you down on the car's hood, leaning closer to you.

"you know you make my mind so dirty"

jungwon started making out with your neck, thinking about the scenario in his head, rubbing himself against you. he was so hard already, making you wet instantly. fuck, the garage door was still open, though.

reblog if you'd like to 🫶🏻

__________________________________

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mission Report

Warnings: power imbalance, blood, and some untagged dark elements.

Summary: James is unhappy about the last mission.

Note: please leave some feedback and reblog. It's just a short drabble but I do enjoy chatting it up with y'all. Love yas.

James Conrad is a complicated man, but so easy to read. When he's unhappy, everyone knows it. His silence isn't unusual but it's different, and that tick in his cheek is assurance of pending consequence.  

"Dismissed." He declares. The first word he's spoken in the last hour.  

You don't blame him. There's holes in his shirt where bullets glanced by him. Friendly fire in the frantic scene of defense.  

Gaston doesn't look at his boss, the man he almost ended with his own misfire, and the others are deathly quiet as they back away from the table and shuffle out. You follow but not quick enough. Conrad calls you back.  

You stop in the doorway and glance over your shoulder. You just want to be alone in your cot. You're no less culpable than the rest for the chaos.  

Conrad found you huddled behind a tree.  

"Where's your sidearm?" He asked as he wrenched you up by your elbow. 

Sure, you know how to aim and fire, but you're a medic, not a mercenary. Your pistol was lost in the mud along with your courage. 

"Sir," you face him. 

"Close the door," he orders you. 

You obey. You push until the mechanism catches. He leans forward and winces, a small his escaping through his teeth. He reaches over his head and tugs at the back of his collar. He strips away his tattered shirt and throws it on the metal table. 

He doesn't need to give his next command. You have a job so you do it. You rest your hand on the kit that rests against your hip. You lift the thick strap over your head as you approach the table. 

You put the kit down and unzip it. He's silent. Still. He pushes back the chair, anglong towards you. Along with the small nicks of bullet grazes are black streaks of gun powder. 

You take a sterilizing wipe and bend to clean away the dry blood and dirt. He doesn't even flinch. His inaction, his silence, is throttling. 

You clear your throat as you unwrap an adhesive bandage. The large patch is big enough to cover the breadth of one side of his rib cage. He won't need stitches thankfully.  

As you press it into place, he sighs.  

"You panicked," he says. 

You're too ashamed to look him in the face. 

"Panic gets people killed." 

You weren't the only one, yet you're the only one he kept behind. 

"Yes, sir." You utter. 

"A squeamish medic, what use is that to me?" He says. 

"Not much," you resign and you stand straight, keeping your chin down. "Sorry, sir." 

"Sorry won't unfuck what just happened," he growls. 

You're quiet as you think. You nod. "Should I pack up?" 

"I didn't say so," he tuts and crosses his arms, leaning back on the metal chair as his chest bulges. 

You’re confused, scared even. The anger roils off of him. 

“What use are you to me dead?” He asks pointedly. 

You shrug. He huffs again. 

“Look at me,” he insists. 

Your eyes flick up and meet his, steely and blue. He slowly unfolds his arms and sits up. You watch him, uncertain, and he reaches to flutter his fingers against yours. 

“You are much to pretty to be bleeding in the muck,” he drawls. “From here are on out, you are suspended from field duties.” 

His long fingers trace yours more firmly and he encases your hand in his. You twitch, paralysed by his unexpected gesture. He raises your hand as he leans forward. He nuzzles between your knuckles as your eyes round. What is he doing? 

“I’ve use of you elsewhere.” He presses his lips against the back of your hand, heat spattering across your flesh. 

“Sir.” 

“Say ‘yes, Captain’ and go warm my cot,” he grits as he lets you go. “I will find you once I’ve finished my cognac.” 

“Yes...Captain,” your voice piques sharply as you drag your soles back stiffly. You blink and turn away from him, staggering in the haze of disbelief. James Conrad is truly a complicated man. Much more than you could ever predict.