#because it hits different when he does it

[jksarchives]

volume 3

[ 35/35 ]

ᯓᡣ𐭩

❖ proposal — by @hansolmates

Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. | 20.1k [f, a]

❖ magic stick — by @badbtssmut

Jungkook is kinda sad because he has never been with a girl who could take him balls deep because of his size, reader doesn't believe him and she wants to see, but he tells her that he can't atm bc he's not hard. She is wearing this kinda halter top style with no bra so she looses the top and shows her tits to him and let's him touch them. After he's hard he shows her his dick and she says she's willing to try to take it all and she rides him into the sunset. | ? [s]

❖ crazy — by @girlygguk

you know it sounds twisted. that most people would see hyungwon as the perfect boyfriend. healthy, balanced, all the things that relationships should be. that’s when you realized... you weren't like most people. but that's okay. because neither is jungkook. | 15.5k [s, f, a]

❖ we are all dreamers — by @yoonia

Jeon Jungkook is a cocky bastard. Not only does he have the pride and insolence twice the size of his head, but he also has an anger that could open up the door to hell on itself. As he continues to refuse to believe on the soulmate system, he keeps on unknowingly hurting you, punishing you for what the universe has thrown at him in the past. Would he change his ways as he finally meets you? Or would you run away, giving him the exit that he had seemed to desire so greatly? | 16.5k [a, s]

❖ comfort inn ending — by @joonbird

“It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to- that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.” | series [a, s]

❖ angel’s trumpet — by @hansolmates

one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. | series [ a, f, s]

❖ the habits of a broken heart — by @softykooky

jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak. | 26.3k [a, f]

❖ animal — by @cutaepatootie

series [a, s]

❖ a fallen bookmark on a thursday afternoon — by @cutaepatootie

He came to you like the air comes into the train station after the fast arriving of the machine. It comes fast and unexpected, making you hoist your head to look at the long vehicle and the people inside. It is so fast you can't even distinguish the different wagons. As the train comes to a stop, the wind that it creates plays with your hair, leaving you breathless. That's how Jeon Jungkook came into your life. | 19k [a, f, s]

❖ scattered stars — by @taegularities

It’s easy to despise Jungkook when your contradicting magic doesn’t allow you to touch each other without fatal consequences - but what if your eternal enemy turns out to be your soulmate with whom you, unfortunately, do fall in love? | 17.9k [f, a, s]

❖ welcome to the heartbreak show — by @numinousher

you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him? | 28k [a, f]

❖ mutt — by @letsbangts

when you realize you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. | 6k [s, a]

❖ answer your phone — by @letsbangts

when the consequences of his actions come calling. — 12.8k [a, s]

❖ the love prognosis — by @awrkive

for as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time. | series [f, a, s]

❖ lie with you — by @girlygguk

in which jungkook doesn't realize what he has until he just about loses it. | 8.4k [a, f]

❖ out of gas? — by @97kuu

It was a setup between Taejoon and Jungkook to get him to hook up with you in the car. However, his guilty heart and physical desire revealed that he wanted more than what he was willing to confess that night.. | 3k [s]

❖ ordinary things — by @lovieku

after a lost match, jeongguk’s only source of comfort is you. | 6.9k [a, f]

❖ cosmic balance — by @explicit-tae

Every universal realm has a positive and negative - good or bad. Jungkook manages to cross the portal from his dystopian world to your utopian one and decides that he'd do anything to stay with you. | 8.7k [a, s, f]

❖ seven storms — by @wintaerbaer

As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option. | 9k [a, s, f]

❖ first class— by @girlygguk

in which you are just another spoiled, bitchy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby who has everyone at Yonsei University eating from the palm of your hand. and jeon jungkook, your spoiled, fuck-boy, annoyingly gorgeous trust-fund baby best friend, is always first in line to take a bite. | 25k [a, f, s]

❖ when she loved me — by @jungkookstatts

How does one live when life is bound to end? | 11.2k [a, s]

❖ staged for the season — by @voyter

Going back home for the holidays meant facing his ex — the one he still couldn’t let go of. determined to win her back and spark a little jealousy, he brought you along… as his fake girlfriend. — 18.3k [f, s, a]

❖ guilty as sin — by @gldrushh

You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying. — 17.3k [a, s]

❖ mature — by @jiminrings

The good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed. — 8k [f, a]

❖ 6 AM — by @neimaami

Jungkook wakes you up at 6AM for more than just morning cuddles. — 4k [s]

❖ year 22 — @rkived

‘‘I knew you’d be standing in my front porch light, and I knew you’d come back to me.’‘ — 11.5k [a, f, s]

❖ tangled webs — @ughseoks

Soulmates are tricky thing. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their destinies intertwined with their missing piece. Signs come in dreams for those fortunate souls; short bursts that are barely memorable when the sun rises. As for you? Flashes of red and blue are your only indicators to the identity of your other half. — 14.1k [a, f]

❖ fighting hearts — @kooktrash

Never living a life of luxury, Jungkook does what he has to do to make ends-meet. right now that means fighting in underground clubs, getting beat black and blue until he wins. he knows there’s a better life out there for him but he never let himself think about it. until you came along and suddenly a weight is being lifted off his shoulders letting you through his guarded walls. you’re everything he needed and you make him want to fight for more. — 15k [a, s, f]

❖ a thousand reasons why — @taegularities

After leaving to work towards his dream rather than the bonds that shackle him to home, you didn't expect to see Jungkook again years later at your best friend's wedding. And even less, for love to rekindle at second glance. — 43.1k [a, f, s]

❖ can’t be without you — @ahundredtimesover

One night you’re gushing over rom-coms and Jungkook’s cooking; a few nights later you’re tending to his beat-up face. But while it’s his stubbornness that’s saved you countless times before, it’s that same quality that constantly puts him in danger. OR your best friend just can’t let go of underground fighting and so, drama ensues. — 30.4K [f, a, s]

❖ tangled thoughts — @hongcherry

It wasn’t easy to leave your boyfriend of two years, but the constant lies made you question your relationship. You tried to move on, but you were somehow constantly tangled in his web. After being captured by an unknown, yet familiar, enemy, Jungkook wondered if he was doing the right thing by keeping his secret identity from you. Was it too late to come clean? — 10.5k [a, f]

❖ warning signs — by @hongcherry

Spider-Man is a beacon of hope for most residents in Seoul; although, it causes you to feel a little useless to society. With determination to be a change in the world like your masked boyfriend, you find yourself involved in a secluded organization meant to eradicate underground gangs. However, you’re deeper than you expected—leaving Jungkook trying to discover who this ‘new you’ is alone. — series [a, f]

❖ kiss me better — by @jaykaysthicthighs

Jungkook said some really mean things to you when you started coming home so late. when he realizes how horrible he was, he tried making it up to you. — 4k [a, f]

❖ disney+ & blast — by @1kook

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. — 13k [f, a, s]

❖ blackjack — by @kpopfanfictrash

Bangtan is one of the most vicious mafias on the west coast. Only six members are known by name though, with a mysterious seventh member dubbed only as ‘the shadow.’ When you become indebted to the worst of the worst – how, exactly can you find a way out? — series [s, a, f]

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[kedreeva]

Except it's NOT. It's still not any different at the core. You're talking about exactly the thing the trolley problem is ABOUT. The trolley problem isn't about the morality of the people on the tracks. It doesn't matter if the person strapped to the tracks is a murder or a newborn baby, the trolley problem question still applies. It's designed to discuss those differences in situations as well! you're supposed to discuss variations of exactly this nature, while seeking discussion of morality!

The question is, is actively killing a human being morally bad, or isn't it? The trolley problem absolutely addresses changes in context. Does the morality of the act change if you just don't KNOW that he's a murderer and think he's innocent? Does it change if you are only TOLD he's a murderer when he's really not? Say it with me: Your willingness to take a life isn't dependent on the victim, it's dependent on your morals. And that's what "context" is attempting to find out. Is actively killing one person morally worse than passively letting more than one person die when you, personally, could have prevented it?

Knowing the one person on the track is a murderer doesn't alter the morality of you making the choice to take a life. It just makes the choice easier for you to make because it aligns with your morality- that there are some people who deserve to be killed, and those people are okay to kill. Which is kind of a not great ideology to hold, for a lot of reasons, but I digress.

It's important to understand that the trolley problem isn't ONE problem. It's not ONE specific scenario. It's not JUST "one innocent person strapped to a track vs 5 innocent people strapped to the other track." It's "can you kill someone for their organs if it will save more lives than you take?" it's "can you kill the mother for the sake of the embryo?" it's "do we program the self driving car to stay on its path if swerving means hitting more people than the one person in the path?" it's "can the military take out one leader dude and prevent a war?" and so much more.

So no, it's not any different. You just think it is, because you've accepted that "murderer/sadist" is an okay class of people to kill, and so don't find there to be a moral quandary anymore. But I assure you, there still is, and it's the same one, it's just wearing a different hat today.

And if you STILL don't believe me, go read the wikipedia entry. It literally lists this scenario (killing a villain - literally "the guy tying people to the tracks even - to save innocents) as one of the variations.

[kxsagi]

got this idea cuz I was comparing sae and Rin to my friends who don't watch bllk loll

reader who's around the itoshi brothers a lot and accidentally mixes up their names at times and sometimes when she isn't looking at them or she's talking to them from another room she'll even mix up their voices 😭

lowk my dad does this w me and my siblings LMFAO

“𝐰𝐡𝐨’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢?”

a/n: i want to make out with sae

(art credits go to Jhong_Dai on X)

it’s not even your fault. really. they’re both monotone. they both sigh like the world annoys them. they both say your name like you just crashed their car. and sometimes, just sometimes, you’re not looking and they sound exactly the same. 

“rin, pass me the charger?” 

“i’m sae.” 

“… okay, but are you gonna pass it or not?” 

you don’t even flinch anymore. you just accept the wrong name like it’s your god-given right to be mildly incorrect 60% of the time. and it pisses off a particular itoshi. 

rin scowls. “do you not hear the difference?” 

“well yeah, i do now. you sound more like you're ready to fight someone, and sae sounds like he just woke up from a nap he didn't want to take.” 

“that’s literally just being awake.” 

but when you're not in the same room, that’s when things get dicey. 

once, you told sae from the kitchen, “rin, can you check the oven?” 

and sae, older brother sae, peeked inside and said, “yeah, it’s done.” 

and you thanked him like that was normal. it wasn’t until rin came home later that night and asked what you baked that it hit you. you stared at him. “wait… that wasn’t you earlier?” 

rin blinked. “i haven’t been home all day.” 

“… oh.” 

“… did you confuse us again.” 

“… maybe.” 

“… again?” 

you don’t even try to defend yourself anymore. “look, you guys have the same DNA or whatever, maybe my brain just can’t distinguish premium itoshi stock.” 

rin looks like he’s about to walk into traffic. sae, from the couch, just smirks without looking up from his phone. 

“it’s okay,” he says, “you’re not the first one to be confused. rin used to think he was me, too.” 

“i didn’t.” 

“you wore my uniform with my name tag for a week in middle school.” 

“it was black. they’re all black.” 

“you thought you were me.” 

sometimes you think you’re just being dramatic. but then they both walk into the room in black shirts, with the same resting judgmental face, the same little flick of hair falling across their forehead, and you have to mentally roll the dice. 

“sae?” 

“wrong.” 

“rin?” 

“still wrong.” 

“what? ... okay, but one of you has to answer.” 

"you could just turn around and look." 

“no. this is a test now.” 

the worst is when they use it against you. like today. one of them called from the hallway: “hey, can you come here for a sec?” 

you shout back, “who’s ‘you’?” 

“me.” 

“who’s me?!” 

“your favorite itoshi.” 

you freeze. because honestly? that doesn’t help at all. they both say that with the same exact sarcasm. 

rin walks in first, holding a water bottle. “did you come when i called or when sae called?” 

“wait, so you called me?” 

sae trails in a second later. “i didn’t say anything.” 

“then why did i hear–” 

they both smirk. they planned this. they planned this to gaslight you and it worked. 

“i hate you both,” you mumble. 

rin tosses you the bottle. “love you too.” 

sae ruffles your hair as he walks by. “learn our voices before you embarrass yourself in public.” 

you grumble something under your breath, and rin hears it. 

“what was that?” 

“… nothing, sae.” 

rin stares at you. “i will throw this bottle.” 

you grin. “do it, sae.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[shadesofhogwarts]

(1) Poly!marauders where reader is madly in love w her three best friends

Word count: 1529

It started with Sirius showing up outside your flat with a bag of crisps and his bike helmet tucked under one arm.

You opened the door in the hoodie you’d been wearing for three days and blinked at him like he wasn’t supposed to be real.

“You look like you’ve been drafted,” he said by way of greeting. “Remus said you haven’t left your flat in five days. James cried.”

“I didn’t cry,” James said from somewhere behind him, a little out of breath. “I got misty. It’s different

And then came Remus, holding out a takeaway coffee like an offering, one eyebrow raised. “You’re coming with us. No arguing. Pack a bag.”

You didn't ask where. You didn’t care. You were so tired of the books and the constant deadlines and the silence of your flat– the kind of silence that filled your head until it echoed.

So you packed.

The Airbnb is tucked somewhere along a lake two hours out of London. It smells like wood and rain, and when you open the door, you’re hit with the cold realization that there’s only one bed.

James notices first. He stops in the doorway and laughs.

“Cozy.”

But now you’re standing in the doorway of the tiny cabin, blinking at the single queen bed like it personally betrayed you.

“I call edge,” you say faintly, like the physical distance will protect you from the ache of being near them but never close enough.

“Which one?” James grins, tossing his duffle onto the bed without shame. “There are three.”

You don’t answer. Just rub your temples and pretend the flush in your cheeks is from the hike up.

You think about backing out. About claiming you forgot something urgent, maybe a group project, a funeral. But Sirius wraps an arm around your shoulders like he knows exactly what you’re thinking and says, “Don’t be boring, love. We’ll pile in like sardines.”

Remus shoots him a look over your head. “She doesn’t have to if she’s not comfortable.”

You want to tell him the truth– that comfort isn’t the issue. It’s that you don’t think you’ll survive being this close to them for this long.

Instead, you smile. “It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

James frowns, offended. “You absolutely will not.”

That night, you all end up outside on the little wooden deck, a blanket shared across laps and legs brushing like it’s nothing. You sip on hot chocolate that’s mostly whipped cream and stare out at the water, your chest too full.

Remus is next to you, always a little more restrained than the others. His knuckles graze your thigh. His voice is soft. “You’ve been carrying too much.”

You don’t reply. You don’t trust yourself to.

James is sprawled across Sirius’ lap on a beanbag someone dragged out from inside. He’s half-asleep, murmuring nonsense. Sirius runs a hand through his curls, gentle.

You watch them and ache.

It’s not fair, the way they fit together. It’s not fair that you’re just a satellite to their orbit, always a little outside.

The bed is soft. The room is cold. You slip in at the edge again, turned toward the wall.

“You okay?” Remus’ voice, low and close.

You nod.

There’s a shuffle, a creak. Then a weight behind you– his arm draping over your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he does it all the time.

He smells like cedar and old books.

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe.

Then comes James, wedging himself in behind Remus. He tosses a leg over all of you and mutters, “Warmth. Finally.”

Sirius is last. He slides in front of you, face-to-face. His hand finds your hip, grounding. “Alright, darling?”

You nod again, because you’re afraid if you speak, something inside you will spill.

Morning comes soft and grey. The lake is fogged over. There’s a storm in the distance and you’re half-buried under three grown men.

Remus has an arm around your waist. James’ foot is under your calf. Sirius has his hand in your hair.

You stare at the ceiling and wonder what it would be like if you told them. If you said, I love you. All of you. And I hate pretending I don’t.

But then Sirius stirs. His eyes open, heavy-lidded. “Mornin’, angel.”

Angel.

It’s just a nickname. Just Sirius being Sirius. But it slices through you like a hot knife.

You nod. Smile. Get up before your heart gives you away.

You spend the afternoon playing cards. James wins by cheating. Sirius insists on foot rubs as payment for losing. Remus reads with his head in your lap, absently tracing shapes on your knee.

You think you might combust.

Later, you make pasta and James almost burns the cabin down. There’s laughter, easy and warm, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend this is yours. That this could be yours.

That night, you hesitate before crawling into bed. Sirius notices. “Something wrong, dove?”

“No,” you lie. “Just tired.”

But they’re all looking at you. Remus, quiet and sharp. James, gentle-eyed. Sirius, unreadable for once.

“You’ve been quiet,” Remus says.

You shrug. “It’s nothing.”

“Hey,” James says softly. “It’s us. You can tell us anything.”

And for a second, you almost do. Almost.

Instead, you shake your head. “Just tired. Uni’s been... a lot.”

They don’t push. They just let you settle between them like always.

You think they’ve all fallen asleep when you whisper it.

“I’m in love with you.”

It’s so quiet you’re not sure if you said it aloud.

But then: “We know,” Sirius says into your hair, like it hurts him to admit it.

Your breath catches. You twist to look at him, but he won’t meet your eyes.

James stirs. “We were waiting for you to be ready.”

You blink.

“What?” Remus, eyes open now too, takes your hand. “You’re our girl. If you want to be.”

Your mouth is dry.

Your heart, traitorous and loud, beats like it’s trying to climb out of your chest.

“You… knew?”

Sirius nods, barely. “We’ve always known. You think we wouldn’t notice our girl tearing herself apart keeping something like that in?”

You can’t speak. You’re still stuck on our girl. The way he says it like it’s something sacred.

“I thought…” You stop. Try again. “I thought it would ruin everything.”

James props himself up on one elbow. His curls are mussed and there’s a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. “You really think we’d let you go that easy?”

Remus’ thumb rubs soft over the back of your hand. “We didn’t want to push. You looked so tired. Like you were fighting yourself every second.”

You blink fast. “I was.”

He nods, his voice a whisper. “We know.”

Sirius finally looks at you. His eyes are soft in a way you don’t often see — no teasing, no bravado. Just raw, open affection.

“You were always going to be ours. We just didn’t want to break you getting there.”

James leans forward, brushing his nose along your temple like he can’t help but touch you. “But you said it. You said it now. So tell us again.”

You glance at him, startled. “What?”

“Tell us,” he says, a little breathless. “Please.”

You swallow. Your throat feels too tight. “I’m in love with you.”

Sirius exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

Remus presses his forehead to your shoulder.

James smiles, wide and boyish and almost tearful. “Thank fuck.”

You laugh. It breaks out of you bright and shaky, like something cracked open in your chest. You feel weightless. You feel whole.

Sirius tugs you closer, tucks you into the crook of his neck. “You’re not getting rid of us now.”

Remus hums. “Was never an option.”

James shifts so he can wrap himself around you from behind, one arm slung over your waist, his lips pressing against your spine. “You’re stuck with us. For good.”

You think maybe this is what peace feels like– not quiet, but full. A warmth blooming behind your ribs.

You press your face into Sirius’ collarbone and close your eyes.

“Good,” you whisper.

And you mean it.

[hvnsinureyes]

one random bf hc you have for your fav pookies go!

warnings | mainly fluff, implied sex in anthony’s part but nothing descriptive.

author’s note | added paige bc i love her that’s my bbg!! these hcs r probably rlly random but idc <3 if i forgot someone tho sorry i’m sleepy :(

paige bueckers |

loves to leave her stuff around your place. it’s not that she’s worried that you’re bringing other ppl around and wants to scare them away, but she lovess the thought of her being around even when she’s really not. whenever she’s on away games, she knows you won’t forget about her because her toothbrush is on the counter of your sink, her fav hoodie on ur bed, uconn merch scattered around your apartment, that damn ipad charging somewhere!! and don’t get her started with those polaroids. she’ll take 50 of pictures and play hide n seek with them. you found one in your fridge once. trust and believe she’s going nowhere. you like it that way anyways.

wemby |

i saw a pic on pinterest talking abt him being an npc and lowkey, i can imagine him hitting this 🧍🏽‍♂️pose like a npc all the time. you could literally be in the bathroom, calmly doing ur makeup and he comes in, standing straight while staring down at you. no words spoken, just watching. considering he’s 7’3, it’s a bit more scary because this random french guy is basically looming over you without saying a word?? when really, he’s admiring you and thinking, “wow my gf is so pretty 🥰 i love her so much!”

luka doncic |

luka still gets shy and blushes a lot around you— you could be married to him for 10 years straight and somehow, his face still flushes bright red when you tease him, call him handsome or some random petname, hold his hand, kiss him, etc. or when ever you appear, he gets all smiley, all 32 and gums showing mind you…if you call him out on it, he’ll brush it off and act like it’s nothing. it’s not. he’s really whipped btw.

jared mccain |

lowkey a secret therapist?? he is so in tune w/ ur emotions and feelings that it confuses you sometimes. you’ll be unaware you’re acting different— maybe you place a bottle of water down harder than usual and jared’s like, “mhm, yeah, you’re having a bad day aren’t you?” how does he always know?? that’s a secret he’ll never tell *wink wink*, but anyways, he gives the best advice. he’ll sit you down, bring a bunch of blankets, snacks, hugs, and hits you with that “so what happened today? how did that make you feel? should we try some breathing exercises?” if you’re looking for comfort or want to rant instead, he’s prepared for that as well. now if you want him to be mad with you? say less cuz he’s ready to cuss somebody out too!

steph curry |

great photographer, but gives superr facebook mom vibes. if you’re on vacation and you ask him to snap a pic of you, he’s making sure he gets a good background set up, makes you do 50 different poses, and says “just like that sweetie! remember to smile! now look off into the distance! justtt like that, yep!” you can complain all you want, but steph will make sure this camera captures your all ur beauty! btw he also posts it everywhere. seriously, even in a gc with his friends, he’ll show u off all proud like, “that’s my girl y’all!! always looking good!!”

jimmy butler |

thinks he's the funniest person on earth (he is but don't tell him that bc his ego will inflate too much.) dies laughing after he says something like, "that's what she said" or a random deez nuts joke. it's never that funny but the way jimmy reacts after saying it makes it funnier than it really is. jimmy gets so proud of himself the second he makes you laugh— genuinely starts considering becoming a stand up comedian... sure, babe!

nikola jokic |

the most helpful person ever, but acts like he doesn’t want to help if that makes sense?? you’ll ask him to bring you a cup of water and he’s like, "okay... 😐" but will bring back a full cup with the right amount of ice and a slice of lemon. if you offer to do it yourself instead, he is so quick to say no!! deep down, he loves helping you in whatever way he can. so absolutely not, don’t even think about lifting a single finger. never tries to make you feel bad about it, he's just a lil sassy.

anthony edwards |

always wants a kiss!! he will literally hold you at gunpoint (not literally lmfao) until you give him one. it’s that serious. you could be late for an appointment, damn near rushing out the door, and he’ll stop you saying, “damn i can’t get no kiss goodbye? c’mere ma,” then kisses you like it’s his last day on earth. do not give in!! next thing you know, you’re making out and he’s about to carry you back to bed. go ahead and reschedule, because you’re gonna be late. even if he says, “just 5 minutes, i promise.”

austin reaves |

austin does not play about his playlists!! he has one for when he’s feeling sad, feeling good, warmup playlist, car playlist, and the one he shares with you. honestly, he’s probably more of a rock, country, and rap guy. if you have completely different taste in music than him, at first he would tolerate listening to it. now? it doesn’t matter if it’s kpop, charli xcx, or taylor swift— he’s singing along with you! can he actually sing? absolutely not, but with his country accent, it’s the cutest thing ever. as long as you ignore his voice cracks.

jj redick |

i saw a vid about how he’s a huge lego nerd and i cannot stop thinking about it!! i’m sure y’all would have lego date nights— dinner with a glass of wine while you build ridiculously intricate lego sets together. sometimes, you’ll even have competitions to see who can finish a set first (somehow he wins every time??). i feel like he’s one of those really talented people who can make anything out of random legos, so he’ll probably build a bouquet of flowers or your favorite character. a little wonky looking maybe, but it means so much because it’s from him. i know in my heart y’all have tiny lego versions of yourselves. he’ll make it into a keychain, you have jj’s and jj has yours, so that you guys are always together even when you’re apart.

[onlyancunin]

I think we're talking about the same thing perhaps, but from different angles then.

Armchair diagnosis refer to someone with no degree nor qualifications attempting to "diagnose", a.k.a. say they see somebody display behaviors commonly understood as part of a certain condition, in my understanding.

And this itself is not a problem, in my opinion, it's what happens after. They say that just by doing so we're throwing the people behind the diagnosis - either diagnosed by a proper professional or just assumed-diagnosed for the purpose of giving their therapy/pharmacology a direction - under the bus.

Which implies: somebody thinks Trump is NPD -> all people with NPD are like Trump. But it can happen only if there's an understanding that NPD equals being an asshole.

So my point is that saying all "armchair diagnosis" is bad because some people don't get the nuance of the diagnosis being just a part of someone, not the whole picture & explanation, is a blanket statement.

So - I don't think it's the "diagnosing" that's the problem, it's the stigmatizing of the certain conditions. Because then we also come to situation when people start thinking "he's an asshole, therefore he must be NPD".

Maybe it's too deep of looking at the thing? But I've both been accused for being "albeist" by pointing out somebody displays certain potentially diagnoseable behaviors (even if I didn't use this as an excuse) AND been vilified and have my own diagnosises thrown in my face in an attempt to invalidate my opinions or feelings. And this is all the same root problem the way I see it, which is seeing cluster B personality disorders and/or mental illnesses as invalidating, people-breaking and dangerous.

I think there's space for understanding where someone is coming from without it being an excuse, which is another thing I see happening often. An explanation is not an excuse, again, it's just a map on how to navigate certain situations.

And in case of Trump... There's even more to that. Once I've learned of his father complex he has, with his father being a successful businessman and Donald growing up in his shadow, and desperately grasping at grand projects to "prove himself" - his behavior starts making even more sense. Not because its justified, but because it can be explained. He, to this day, keeps on repeating how he does things Biden would not. He strives for acceptance of billionaires, like his father, to heal his own wound. Do I think his behavior is damaging? Absolutely. Do I think his behavior is justified? ABSOLUTELY NOT. But it is interesting to me to observe where it comes from, also for the purpose of knowing how to prevent this happening in the future.

I'd say it's part of an even bigger picture, with the male loneliness also entering the stage.

So does that maybe make it more clean?

I understand OP wants to do the "just because someobe has this mental illness doesn't mean others with the same diagnosises are like them", but people attempting to understand even the worst people in history are not the issue, and this is what their post seems to suggest.

It's the stigmatizing and flattening what the mental disorders/illnesses actually are, which works both ways. Just covering someone's mouth is fighting the symptoms, which is also important, but There's more to that.

And by the way thank you for stating rhat you're not here to attack me, and please know I'm not here to attack you either. I want to insert more perspective into this, because I've seen the "armchair diagnosis" term used as a stick to beat up everyone, no matter the context. I remember you, I know your blog and I enjoy your presence on my dash and I hope we can continue with being friendly to one another.

Which brings up another thing - do we cater to people unable to distinguish between the diagnosis and the person?

I feel like I'm about to get hit with the "its not that complicated" argument - and I can see why. But it's also not that simple and I've experienced the effects of it being oversimplified.

So no, I don't think spotting patterns of behaviors or even bringing it up is bad. But leaving it at that can be harmful, and at the very least unproductive.

And I think I said my peace with that, iI'm not here to upset anybody. I just want us to see the real root of the problem. And approach it with more empathy, than going black and white on an issue. Which again I don't mean it as my take is superior... Just explaining my reasons for chiming in.

It’s weird that we keep trying to armchair diagnose asshole behaviour with mental health labels and in doing so throw people with mental health conditions under the asshole bus when we could just call a guy an asshole and leave it at that

It just seems far more straightforward, you know

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

naming rights

madney/bucktommy, post 8x15, 1k ao3 link TBA, i got this out in an hour or so and need it to sit for a day before i edit

inspired by all the naming-kids-after-the-dead posting (and this post by @beanarie in particular, for one specific line). as someone named after a dead grandparent myself i think some of y’all are overestimating how heavily it weighs on the soul, but i acknowledge that this shit hits different in fiction.

.

The odd mood doesn’t really register for Buck at first. And even then, once he notices the tension in Maddie’s shoulders, how Chimney’s a beat late to cracking a joke Buck doesn’t get, he credits the mood to Tommy’s presence. This is, after all, the first time he’s brought Tommy to the Buckley-Han household since they agreed to start again, to take this seriously. It annoys him a little, but it’s not like he doesn’t get it. Maddie and Chimney saw him at his lowest, missing Tommy. If they want to hold a bit of a grudge, that’s their business.

And then Chimney blurts out, “Buck, if you want dibs, just say the word.”

Buck blinks, looking down at the plate of cheddar herb biscuits he’s been hovering over. There are five left. It’s not exactly a dibs-worthy scenario. “What?”

Maddie sets a hand on Chimney’s shoulder, letting out a strained little laugh at the defeated look on his face. “We were… talking about names, last week,” she says, “and it occurred to us that there might be a name you would like to… reserve. For future use.”

It hits like a punch to the solar plexus, heart-stopping, the way reminders of Bobby always do. Buck makes himself breathe slow and even, and then the implications of the offer are a follow-up punch to the gut. He gasps, helpless. “Wha—Chim, he died for y—” Chimney winces, and Buck wants to smack himself. Stupid, thoughtless—like he needs that reminder! “W-what I mean is, I can’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m asking if you want me to anyway.” Chim shrugs, a sad little smile on his face. “Not to brag, but I’ve lost a lot of loved ones in my time, Buck. Plenty of people I could memorialize in a name.” He leans into Maddie’s side, looking fondly at her. “Then again, Jee-Yun’s already named for my mom. Maybe it’s time we honor someone Maddie lost.”

It takes Buck a second. Daniel. Oh, jeez.

For a moment, he thinks about it.

But just for a moment.

Buck shakes his head. “Mom and Dad—”

“—can deal with it,” Maddie insists.

Buck smiles—he’d love to see her say that to their faces—but doubles down. “Do you really want to risk it, though? Another kid they can’t help but treat differently?” He sure doesn’t want to have to see that. Even though they’d be able to tell his nephew why Grandma wants to run away and cry when she says his name, he knows from experience how little difference having an explanation makes.

Maddie winces, and he knows she gets it.

“No,” Buck says, firmer now, “if you guys want to name your kid after Bobby, you should do it. You have my blessing, or whatever.”

The tension drops out of the room so abruptly Buck feels stupid for failing to notice it sooner. Maddie smiles, relieved, and Chimney says a solemn, quiet word of thanks, and he feels like such a heel for considering any other answer for even a second.

“Besides,” Buck jokes, fiddling with a biscuit, “it’s not like I even—I-I mean, who knows if I’ll… if I’ll ever.” He stops, the unfairness of it all strangling his voice, making his heart stall out in his chest.

Because even if he does, someday. Whoever, however, it doesn’t matter—a name is the most substantial thing he can give them of Bobby. And that’s nothing, it’s just a word, a pair of sounds. Two syllables. Compared to everything he should be able to give—!

Tommy gently extracting the crushed biscuit from Buck’s hand snaps him back to reality. “Hey,” he says, just as gently, wrapping his hands around Buck’s.

“Hey. Sorry about—” Buck cuts himself off at the familiar look this gets him. He sighs. “I have nothing to apologize for, I know.”

“Good,” Tommy says. He glances between Maddie and Chimney, stricken, and Buck, surprised by his grief yet again. “Not that anyone asked, but my two cents? I don’t see why anyone needs to declare dibs here.” He squeezes Buck’s hand, a move Buck has come to recognize as a sign of an incoming anecdote that means more to Tommy than he’ll let on.

Buck gives Tommy his full attention.

Tommy averts his eyes.

“Like, my cousin’s wife? Her family is huge, but you can tell which is the firstborn kid in each household because they all have basically the same name. Marianne, Marion, Marvin (middle name Andrew), Marybeth (middle name Ann)… all after their shared grandma, who died twenty years before any of them were born.” Tommy shrugs. “Sure, it gets a little confusing when they’re all in the same place and you’re trying to get one’s attention, but… I don’t know, I think it’s kind of beautiful? That woman was so loved, you can see her impact on a whole generation.”

He meets Buck’s eyes at last, and it’s almost unbearable how earnest Tommy looks as he asks, “Why shouldn’t Bobby get as many namesakes as he has people who love him?”

Buck blinks. Looks at Maddie and Chimney, who barely share half a glance before they’re nodding at him.

Buck smiles, kisses Tommy, wipes tears from the corners of both their eyes with his free hand, and turns back to Maddie and Chimney. “So what were you thinking, Robert Daniel?”

Maddie shakes her head. “I thought about it, but I don’t want Jee-Yun feeling like the odd one out. So I went looking, and there are a couple Korean names that start with Bo…”

As she goes on, listing names and their pros and cons, her husband watching with hearts in his eyes, Buck leans closer to Tommy. “So what name are you considering, then?” he murmurs. “You have something already picked out that goes nicely with Robert?”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Maddie, doesn’t let go of either of Tommy’s hands. They’re taking this seriously, now, or at least that’s what they said. If Tommy meant it, if he means it, he can answer this question without flinching.

All the same, Buck’s readied himself for a neutral-at-best reaction.

He’s entirely unprepared for Tommy to immediately respond, “Nah. It’s kinda old-fashioned, but I’ve always liked the name Roberta.” And he hums, a little off-key, the first line of a song that Buck’s heard a dozen times or more, in the background of quiet, comfortable dinners at Tommy’s place.

Buck grins, his heart starting to race.

[chuellas]

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you grow up as next door neighbors. He and your twin brother become far closer than you and Chuuya do, but he’s still fond of you and looks out for you.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you all go to the same school and somehow he always ends up in the same class as you. Once in first year of high school some girls tried to bully you not knowing about your guard dog. You tried to keep it from him but it didn’t take long for him to catch on and beat the girls’ boyfriends up in retaliation.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you and Chuuya are constantly being asked if you’re a couple and your brother and Chuuya always obnoxiously gag at the mention. You agree until one particularly long summer between first and second year of high school while your family is away on a month long vacation Chuuya decides to go through puberty and when you get back he’s lost his baby face and his body is far more toned and athletically built than it had been before, come to find out he had taken up mixed martial arts. So, you play along with the gagging and joking that you would rather die than ever date Chuuya but really you’ve started to see him differently.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you and him decide to stay close to home and attend college at YNU while your brother ended up at Tokyo Tech. Your small crush on Chuuya by the end of your Sophomore year in college has turned into a full blown infatuation. The only problem? You’re pretty sure Chuuya does not feel the same way, if the way he ends up with a different person in his bed almost every weekend has anything to say about it. You grit your teeth every time your friends bring it up. You try to get over him by getting under someone but you only manage that a handful of times before Chuuya finds out and starts scaring them all away by claiming how none of them are good enough for you.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where he is hopelessly in love with you but doesn’t dare ruin the friendship/bond between the two of you by telling you his feelings because he simply cannot lose you. He thinks he’ll be fine with sitting in the sidelines while you live out your life until your Junior year of college.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you finally think you’ve moved on from your infatuation with the ginger and start dating this really popular guy in your program. Unbeknownst to you, Chuuya is losing sleep and maybe his mind over it. Your friendship takes a hit and you can’t figure out why Chuuya has be acting differently and borderline avoiding you.

Childhood friends with Chuuya where you have to intervene when he starts beating your ex-boyfriend to an almost bloody pulp after a less than amicable break up. You take Chuuya to your off campus apartment and patch him up. Reprimanding him until he leans in, adrenaline still coursing through him and kisses you. You freeze but just as he’s about to pull away and apologize you lean in and deepen the kiss. Chuuya pulls you in and one thing leads to another and you both end up waking up the next morning naked in bed clinging to each other after finally confessing your feelings for one another.

Bonus: Childhood friends with Chuuya where your twin brother has had enough of the tension and literally runs away from the two of you to get some peace. Your brother rejoices when he hears the news that the tow of you have finally gotten together.

[arinzu]

BLLK IMAGINES

How would these characters reach differently if you were their first love vs first love.

DETAILS/ P1/P2 (COMING SOON)

featuring. Isagi, Rin, Bachira, Nagi and reo. GN! READER

Trope`s. FIRST LOVE VS FIRST LOVE.

I need people to see this because it's so good i swear!!!

ISAGI YOICHI

FIRST love He met you while he was in a competition in your school. It was intense round between your team and theirs, eventually Isagi's team triumph with a score of 3-2. Impress by your ability. So when you asked for his number. he didn't say no. You both were blunt, not one for games but rather one for challenges. He talk with you late into the night about football. But he did notice some things about you like, the way you speak so passionately about the sport. So when you asked him out on a date, he didn't refuse, slowly that date turned into a relationship. His heart didn't flutter like the way the movies describe it suppose to be. In reality the 'i love you' shared between you and him felt emotionless, not a feeling- but a task. He did valued the relationship like bringing you flowers, but that flowers weren't your favourite. Talking like lovebirds, but it was more chit chatting like birds. So when the time came you pulled him close into a hug and asked to break up, he didn't fight back, didn't try to resolve, or fight. It was just a chapter closed.

...

First LOVE It wasn't always like this, he watch you play your guitar after school. Your fingers gliding through the strings as you hummed a melody, you look so peaceful. He felt something in his chest whenever you spoke to him, whether it was about school or sports. The way you chit chat to him if you saw him, made his heart flutter. Unlike the first, he was there, trying his best to speak up and listen to you talk. He didn't need to hide his chatter when he's with you. He just let it all out, he felt comfortable with you. it was a slow process, long chats late into the night. Joking around in class. At first he didn't even know that he had fallen for you— once he realise this, he tried to rationalise this feeling. Suddenly it hits him like a brick at 11 pm at night, he finally admits he fell for you. He thinks about you every night before he goes to sleep. He blushes when he talks to you. He really does like you. You were like a song, a lyric, a melody, everything inside one person, that he can't get rid of.

ITOSHI RIN

FIRST Love He met you during a training camp arranged between your schools. At first, you clashed— his bluntness, his cold stare, the way he treated everyone like they were in his way. But somehow, something about your calm persistence, started to pull his attention. Eventually, Rin asked you out. No grand gestures. Just a quiet and firm gesture. He didn’t even look up when he said it. And so, you became his first relationship. It wasn’t a fairy tale. He wasn’t the type to say sweet things or hold your hand in public. But he tried in his own way— walking you home, waiting for your messages even when he didn’t reply right away, staying up to watch your matches. You had moments. Quiet ones. Like watching the rain fall together, or him lending you his hoodie without a word when you were cold. But something was missing. While he was your first relationship, you realized… you weren’t in love. Breaking up with Rin wasn’t dramatic. He just nodded, eyes lowered, and accepted, because he knew you both were not meant to be. If you didn't take the initiative he'll take it himself.

...

First LOVE He doesn't fall easily, he didn't need distractions. That's why he built a strong and tall wall around him. He had a goal, and that goal was beating his brother. Then you showed up — loud in the quietest way. You didn’t demand attention, but somehow… his never left you. It started small, like passing notes or talking after class. Soon it escalated to making fun of his grade in math, to him offering his snacks since you were gonna steal it like it was natural anyways. He let you have it He saw things about you that you didn't even know. How you stare outside the window when you thought the teacher wasn't looking. How your voice got softer when you talk about something you liked. It was so engrave to his thoughts that he particularly memorise you, he knew you before you did. He understand this whatever this— was, it wasn't a crush nor a phase, or someone he cared for. You were it. You were his first love. First one to enter his world after Sae.

BACHIRA MEGURU

FIRST Love The simple and calm person to his energetic and golden retriever persona. You called him cute, and he blush. He held your hand. Everyone said you both were a match made in heaven. But the monster inside of him told him that he was playing someone else's role in your story. He didn't want to believe it. Late night calls, matching bio's and cheesy 'i miss you' at 2 am. He never told you about his monster, he didn't let you see his imperfections. Years of bullying taught him that it was better to hide himself. So he smiled the biggest, talk the loudest, the version of himself that people liked. Until that all faded... you grabbed him pulling him into a warm embrace. You knew that wasn't the real him, so you let him go. You'll support him not as a lover but a friend. And you were right. Because he liked you... but never loved you. He trusted you... but not enough. You were his first relationship. But you weren’t his first love.

...

First LOVE You match everything inside him, you laughed at his jokes and gave your own. Too much, too loud, too messy, but that didn't stop you to be who you were. When he was annoying you called him out, but you never saw him as broken. You understand him like a painting, colour and the brush stroke to the tinniest details. You let him be him, defending, arguing and fighting, He liked that spark. You were like him but also having your own monster. The monster inside him enjoyed your monster, that voice told him that you were special, and he knew it wasn't just a crush. He asked him mom about what to do, and the answer was to tell you. If he messed it up then it's on him, on the other hand if you accept then he might actually pass out. When the time come he'll do it, you made him feel seen and heard. You were his voice and never tried to leave, you weren't just a chapter but a whole book. You were his first love. Not because you made his heart race. But because you made it feel safe to stop running.

NAGI SEISHIRO

FIRST Love Relationships was a hassle, dating was something he was dragged to. You asked and he said okay. It was okay, at first- the occasional conversations, texts with hearts, posting pictures, but once you expected him to reply after a few minutes or expected him to care more it became a hassle He didn't hate it. He frankly didn't feel anything. Holding hands didn’t make his chest warm. Your kisses didn’t linger. When you smiled, he smiled back because it was expected— not because he meant it. When you asked if he was there, he didn't know how to reply, he was there, just not emotionally. That was the reason you two broke up He didn't feel hurt. You were like an unwanted app he uninstalled.

...

First LOVE You didn't force him to be present, but you sure did made yourself present. And that what led him to notice you. He really looked, it wasn't like the nagi who scores goals or naps between practice — the Nagi who gets bored with everything, the Nagi who sometimes wonders if he’s meant to feel more but doesn’t know how. You didn’t try to change him. You just... sat with him. And somehow, that silence with you felt louder than any conversation he'd had before. One day, you leaned your head on his shoulder, no words, no expectations— and he felt his whole chest ache in this slow, soft way. Like something inside me finally woke up. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to sleep through it.

MIKAGE REO

FIRST Love It started like most things in his life— polished, intentional, planned. You was smart, pretty, came from a good family. You both had chemistry, looked great together, and people said we were couple goals. he thought, Yeah, this makes sense. It felt like a win. Another thing to check off the list. You guys went on nice dates. Took cute photos. Held hands like it meant something. People envied us— which he thought mattered at the time. But… Something was missing. he'd smile, but not feel it. he'd talk, but filter everything. he felt like he was performing— like he was the Reo everyone expected. The one who wanted to win the world cup. He think you liked the version of him where he showed off — not the one who sat up at night wondering if he was ever enough without the money, the charm, the name. So when it ended, it didn’t hurt.

...

First LOVE You didn’t try to impress him. You didn’t care that he was a Mikage. You didn’t look at him like a trophy— you looked at him like an individual. You challenged him. Called him out when he was being arrogant. Saw through the mask— and didn’t flinch. And when you smiled at him, it wasn’t because of what he had, or what he could do. It was just… him. And suddenly, he didn’t want anything else. Not a title. Not applause. Not even the spotlight. Just you— sitting beside him, laughing at something stupid, looking at him like he was enough. When you speak something inside him broke. He knew this feeling all too well. Love. He won't tell anyone, but he'll try his best to capture your heart like you captured his. He didn't just wanna win you over, he wanted you. He'll be someone so great that even without being a Mikage, you will still smile at him like this You were more valuable then anything he own.

OMG FINALLY IT'S DONEEEE, I FEEL SO HAPPY. What did y'all think about bachira? was it too ooc??? please somone give me more characters to do this with!!! i loved and cried making this. Talking about making it 3:30 am rn.

[qivrae]

say it like you mean it - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: fighting with spence ugh then you get breeded

The sound of the front door clicking shut sent a bolt of tension through your spine. You didn’t turn around right away—just stood by the kitchen sink, eyes fixed on the glass in your hand, watching the condensation trail down like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Anything to keep from looking at him.

Spencer’s keys hit the bowl by the door with a familiar clink. His bag landed on the counter a second later. And then silence. Heavy, expectant silence.

“You’re late,” you finally said, voice neutral. He exhaled. “I called.” You nodded once. “Yeah.” Still, you didn’t face him.

“I didn’t pick up because I was in the shower,” you added after a beat. “Figured if something happened to you, someone would’ve left a voicemail.”That made him pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was cautious but not soft. Tired, maybe. Defensive.

You turned then. Leaned back against the sink and looked at him for the first time that night. His hair was a mess, his tie halfway undone. His knuckles were raw. Your stomach turned. “It means,” you said slowly, “that I’m tired of playing this game where I pretend I’m not scared out of my fucking mind every time you walk out that door.”Spencer blinked. That he wasn’t expecting. “It was a raid,” he said like that explained everything. “There were risks, yes. But it was controlled. I had a vest on—”

“Oh, great,” you snapped. “A vest. That makes all the difference when some guy with a shotgun doesn’t give a shit where he aims.” He stepped closer, just one careful step. “You knew what I did when we got together.”

“Yeah. And I knew what war was when I read about it, but it’s a little different when you’re watching someone you love walk into it every goddamn day.” The words came out too fast, too raw. Spencer’s expression shifted like the ground beneath his feet tilted and he was struggling to stay upright. He swallowed. “I don’t want you to worry,” he said quietly. “Well, I do,” you said. “I can’t not.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now like the movement could help him make sense of it. “I don’t understand what you want from me. You think I want to be in danger? That I enjoy it?”

“No! I think you forget what it does to the people who have to sit at home and wait.” You moved toward him then, voice rising. “You come home late, bruised and bleeding and you downplay it. You act like it’s nothing. But you don’t see the way I flinch when you limp through the door. You don’t hear me crying in the shower after you fall asleep.” He stopped walking. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “Well, now you do.”

There was silence. The kind that burns in your throat and behind your eyes. And then softer, you whispered, “I don’t want to lose you.” Spencer’s head dropped. His hands clenched at his sides. You watched him breathe, slow and uneven.

“I’m sorry,” he said and for once, it didn’t sound automatic. It wasn’t a bandaid. It was an apology that cracked him open. “I didn’t realize you felt like this.” You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I try not to. Most of the time, I try really hard not to feel anything at all, because it’s easier than feeling like this.”

When you looked back up at him, his eyes were already on you. Soft, guilty, wrecked. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t care,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re the one thing I think about when things get bad. The only thing that keeps me from falling apart out there.”

The air shifted. Warmer. Closer. You didn’t move away when he touched your face, just leaned into it, heart pounding so loud it drowned everything else out. “I don’t want to lose you either,” he whispered.

Your breath caught when his thumb brushed your cheek, eyes locked with yours like he wasn’t sure whether to kiss you or keep confessing. You didn’t give him the choice. You leaned forward, grabbed his face and kissed him like it would keep him here. Keep him alive. Keep him yours. And he kissed you back just as hard, just as fast, like he needed to feel everything you were saying without saying it. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t sweet. It was a collision.

He groaned into your mouth, both hands sliding down your sides like he had to touch you to believe this was real. His fingers gripped your hips tight enough to bruise, grounding himself in the weight of you. You reached for his belt with shaking hands, fumbling with the buckle while he bit down softly on your bottom lip, kissed you again and again and again like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

When you finally got his belt undone, he exhaled sharply, like even that was too much. Like the relief of being wanted was overwhelming. “Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, “you’re still wearing the hoodie.” You laughed against him, breathless. “You bought it for me.”

“I know,” he said dragging his hands under the hem, bunching it up around your ribs so he could touch bare skin. “That’s the problem. You wearing my clothes when you feel like you’re losing me? That’s mean.” You didn’t answer. You just kissed him again, tugged at the waistband of his pants. You were desperate to feel more. To feel all of him.

He lifted you onto the kitchen counter without warning, the edge digging into your thighs but you didn’t care. All you could feel was the heat of his body, the growing hardness pressing into your hip and the sound of his breathing getting heavier with every second. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, your neck, biting the underside just hard enough to make your stomach tighten. You were so wet you could feel it and when his fingers slid under the band of your underwear and dipped between your legs, he groaned. His forehead falling against your shoulder. “God, baby,” he said. “You’re soaked.”

“Then do something about it.” He didn’t tease. Didn’t build up to it. Two fingers slid into you slowly, curling with that same pinpoint precision you always forgot about until he was inside you again. You gasped and grabbed at his shirt, nearly coming apart right there.“You’re always like this for me,” he murmured, lips dragging over your throat. “Even when we’re fighting. Even when you’re mad. Like your body knows.” You whimpered and he chuckled—low, rough, still hurt under all the lust.

“Yeah. That’s right.” You wrapped your legs around his waist, dragging him closer and he let out a breathless laugh, pulling his fingers out so he could shove his pants low enough to free himself. You tried to pull your underwear off completely but he grabbed your wrists, stopping you. “Leave them on,” he muttered. “Wanna fuck you with them still on. Pushed to the side. Want you messy for me.”

You moaned softly as he lined himself up, sliding inside with one smooth but unrelenting thrust. Your breath hitched, hands scrambling for anything to hold on to. He felt so deep, so full, you couldn’t think. “God, Spencer—”

“You feel that?” he rasped. “That stretch? That fullness? That’s mine.” He didn’t move for a moment. Just stayed buried inside you, gripping your waist like he was grounding himself in the feel of your body. “I almost lost this,” he whispered. “I thought I was losing you. You know what that did to me?”

Your throat tightened. “I love you,” you said, quiet and raw. He groaned and pulled out just enough to slam back in, making you cry out. “I know,” he hissed. “I know, baby.” Your fingers tangled in his curls, tugging until he gasped. His laugh was wild, right against your skin. Then he started to move. Hard and fast, a rhythm fueled by every fear and every feeling he didn’t know how to say out loud. The slap of skin, the wet sounds between you and the harsh breaths—you couldn’t hear anything else. Couldn’t think of anything else. He reached down and grabbed the backs of your thighs, lifting your hips slightly to hit even deeper and you nearly sobbed. “Shit—Spence—”

“That’s it,” he panted. “That’s my girl. So good for me.”

“Yours,” you whimpered. “Say it again.” And you did. You did until you couldn’t anymore, until you couldn’t think about anything but him. He kissed you, open-mouthed and messy. His thrusts getting faster, rougher, his voice breaking around the words, “I love you.” he pants, “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to make you feel like this. Yeah?” you could barely respond, “Yes—yes—Spence, please—”

“You’re making such a mess on my cock, baby. You like it when I fuck you like this huh?” You were barely breathing. Your moans were punched out of you with every snap of his hips.“Gonna come,” you choked. “Yeah?” he said, grinning now. “Do it. Come for me. Come on my cock like you were made for it.” Your whole body clenched, legs locking around his waist as your orgasm hit, crashing through you like a wave. He didn’t stop. Rode it out, held you tight, eyes locked on yours as he fucked you through it.

The way your body locked up, thighs trembling around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders like you were trying to stay tethered to the earth. Your mouth opened in a silent moan at first, head falling back and Spencer watched, completely entranced as it bloomed across your face.

“Fuck,” he groaned, arms tightening around you, “fuck, baby. You look so pretty when you come.” Your walls clenched down around him, fluttering and tight. You were soaking him all over again as he kept fucking into you without pause. He wasn’t letting up. Not when you were this wet, this open for him. Not when your body was already responding again, too sensitive to handle the pace but still twitching like it wanted more. “Spence—” you whimpered, voice broken and caught in your throat. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he whispered, hips rolling a bit slower now. “You will. You’re gonna take all of it. Just like that.” His hands splayed against your lower back, anchoring you in place as he thrust slow, firm strokes that made your eyes roll back. “Still so tight,” he muttered, breath hitching as he felt your muscles fluttering again. “Even after you came all over my cock, you’re still gripping me like you need it. Is that it? Huh sweetheart? You need this?” You nodded, helpless. “Yeah,” he coo’d, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “My smart girl. My good fucking girl.”

You were barely coherent. Every thrust sent sparks down your spine, each one threatening to knock you over the edge again. Your legs had gone numb, your hands scrabbling for anything to hold but Spencer was there, keeping you steady, whispering the filthiest things into your ear while he fucked you slow and deep. “Gonna make you come again,” he murmured, lips dragging along your jaw. “Just like this. Gonna stay inside you until you’re soaked and shaking. Until you can’t think of anything but how good I make you feel.”

You whimpered, legs twitching again. The overstimulation was dizzying but your body wasn’t stopping. Not even close. “Please,” you whispered. “Spencer, I need you.”

“You have me,” he said, voice sharp and certain. “You have me, baby. Always.”Your head dropped to his shoulder as another wave built up in your stomach, slow and molten. Your breath stuttered. Your body started to tremble again, and Spencer felt it. “Yeah,” he whispered. “There she is. Look at you.” He pulled back just enough to watch your face, to see the way your brows scrunched, lips parted in a cry that never fully formed. He didn’t blink. “Come for me,” he said, low and rough. “I want to feel it. Right now.” And you did.

A second orgasm tore through you, twice as intense as the first. Your whole body jerking in his arms, cunt clenching so hard around him that he nearly lost it right there. You moaned his name, a soft broken sob against his neck and he held you through it, still moving, still whispering praise against your skin. “So good f’me,” he groaned. “That’s it. You’re so good. So perfect like this—messy and mine.” He didn’t stop.

Even as you trembled, even as you gasped for breath, he kept going. Fucking you through the aftershocks, keeping you full and stuffed and close. You could feel him starting to unravel, his rhythm faltering, breath catching, jaw clenched like he was holding back everything until you were ready to fall apart with him.

You felt it in the way he gripped your hips tighter. The way his voice dropped into something ragged, something helpless. “You want me to come inside you?” he asked breathlessly, brow pressed to yours. “You want me to fill you up?” You whimpered, barely a nod, barely a sound and his eyes darkened like it was the only answer he’d ever needed.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. Not after everything—your second orgasm still rippling through your body, slick dripping down his cock, your eyes glazed and dazed and stuck on him like he was the only thing tethering you to reality. You were wrecked and trembling and still letting him fuck you deep, whispering his name with every breath like it meant something holy. And to him, it did.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice shattering as he fucked up into you harder now, sloppier, chasing the edge that had been threatening to snap since you started pulsing around him. “I’m—shit, baby, I’m gonna come—” You whined into his shoulder, nails dragging down his back and that was it. Spencer’s hips stuttered, the rhythm falling apart entirely as he buried himself as deep as he could go, forehead pressed to yours. His whole body tensed—his breath caught—and then he came, hard and hot inside you. A broken groan tearing from his throat like he’d been holding it back for weeks. “Jesus,” he choked, his hands gripping your hips to keep you right where he needed you. “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good—made to take it, I swear…”

You felt him pulse inside you, ropes of it filling you up. The warmth flooding through you in slow, overwhelming waves. Spencer kept moving through it—slow thrusts that pushed it deeper, that kept him grounded while the orgasm tore through him like a lightning strike.

“Shit,” he whispered again, like he couldn’t say anything else. His voice cracked on it. You reached up and held his face, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and he leaned into your touch like it was oxygen. He didn’t pull out, not yet. Just stayed there, still hard inside you and breathing like he’d just run for miles and finally found his way home.

“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth like a confession. “Even when we’re like this. Especially when we’re like this.” You nodded, still catching your breath. You felt ruined. You felt whole. And even though nothing was fixed yet, even though the fight still lingered somewhere in the background—you knew you’d be okay. Not just because he came back to you. But because he never really left.

[spicy30]

Oh, Angels have pink hair

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Fem!Siren!Tall!Reader

Rating: 18+

Not proofread

Warnings: Death (If I missed some pls let me know)

“Then there’s a new girl that I’ve never met before, her name is—” 

The TV buzzed on in the background as Mark sat on his bed contemplating everything. 

Never his father. 

Never his father, he didn’t want to be his father. 

So instead his mind focused on the TV which was on some random channel. Some compilation of someone.

“How old are you?” A woman’s voice sounded. The footage of the video sounded old. In this day and age, a video like this play? Was it old? 

“I’m eighteen.” The other voice sounded. It sounded sweet. Foreign accent was strong. He couldn’t place it. He’s never heard it, but it sounded nice.

“Eighteen. Okay, thank you.” The response sounded slightly bitter. Or maybe not. What does Mark know about girls? He and Amber didn’t work out yet here he is thinking about Eve when he should be thinking about Amber. 

Yeah. What does Mark know about girls?

“That was the first time the world wide sensation was ever captured on film. A month later she hit the runway, and now a year later she’s a fashion star. The top model and one of the contestants for model of the year.” The narrator’s voice sounded and finally Mark looked towards the TV. 

The interview sat in front of a desk looking at the camera. “She is considered to be one the most beautiful—très bien—women in the world. This month alone her face graces the cover of six magazines. Ladies and gentlemen please welcome to the program—” 

“Mark, I need you.” Ceci’s voice sounded over the intercom. Giving a sign he got up, turning his back to the TV. Fitting into his suit he quickly flew off, never seeing your smiling face on the TV as the interviewer greeted you.

…

“The 50s begin with an interpretation of the legendary Dior bar suit, with its structured silhouette.” That same fashion channel was on that always seemed to play whenever Mark was feeling down.

“This is the new look that cemented fashion's post-war direction.” Mark looked out the window and suddenly there was Eve. 

Shit.

He stood up opening the window allowing her inside. She smiled looking at him, then turning to the TV lifted an eyebrow.  

“Oh, okay. I can't tell you how excited I am about what's happening now, because cantering into—” The narrator’s voice sounded in the background. 

“You're watching…Vogue World?” Eve commented with a laugh and Mark shook his head. 

“No, I think that’s just the base channel. It’s just always on.” Mark scratched the back of his head going to turn off the TV. 

“Both supermodels and super horses Django and Nepo are wearing Hermes head to hoof. Oh, lucky boys.” Once again the narrator spoke as Mark was searching for the controller. 

“Woah.” Eve sounded behind him and Mark turned his head. 

“What?” Eve looked almost star struck. Her eyes widened and her mouth slightly agape.

“She’s beautiful.” Mark furrowed his brows turning to the TV. The only thing he saw was a male model and horses cantering in the background with a woman on each. Their faces were blurred out, but faintly he could see a trace of the red lips of the models though before the second face made it into frame, it cut showing a different angle.

“Who?” Mark asked, then turning around once more finding the remote. 

“Her.” Eve responded as Mark fumbled with the remote and once again the two women on the two horses were on screen, though the camera failed to show the woman on the black horse who indeed wore Hermes. What nice day it would be when he could one day afford to buy a horse and dress them in Hermes. 

Though what caught his eye was the figure the woman on top of the black horse has. It was a very nice figure. He wondered what kind of face was paired with it. Though before the angles changed his misclicked on the remote the TV turned off. 

Damn. 

Oh well.

…

 “I need you to be sure.” Mark looked towards Eve. He was sure. The most surest (if that’s even a word) he's ever been. 

“I am. I-I mean it.” Hopefully she accepts. God, the only thing ever running through his mind is her. Always her. “I’m an idiot for not realizing it sooner. If you don’t want to date me or you’re not interested. I-I can’t change that.” 

Mark knows he doesn’t look the best right now. Not with the ugly bruises, but he hopes he’s enough for her. “But if you feel half as much as I feel for you, then…let's give it a try.”

An acceptance followed afterwards. 

His hand found hers, and both stood in front of each other, the city nightlights lighting her face in such a perfect way. Everything was perfect.

Mark saw Eve lean in.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t. 

An explosion sounded and he jerked his head away from her. Dammit.

People were screaming. He looked over to her and she gave a small exasperated smile. Both flew off. He didn’t have his suit on. Eve simply made her clothes into her suit. Though soon enough Eve made his clothes into his suit. He nodded towards her then flew off to where the explosion sounded. 

Great. More Aliens.

But what do you know? A fashion show.

Women in skimpy clothes, most in underwear, but that’s not all. Most had wings. Strange. But what does he know of high fashion? He ripped through some aliens fast enough and carried people to safety. He turned to see Eve, she was outnumbered. Too many coming at her.

He furrowed his brows. He needed to save her. Though just before he jumped off a voice pierced through all the screams and shouts. Almost as if it was being whispered into his ear. He moved his head away. He looked over towards Eve who looked at him.

Her eyes were asking for help, but something pulled him away. He looked away from her and instead looked towards the crowd.

He swears his heart went still. Is he even breathing? Is he dead? When did he die? In any case it seems he’s done enough good deeds to earn him a place through the pearly gates, because he swears he’s looking at an angle right now. 

With the wings and everything. They were white, just like your lace bra and panties. Stange, he would’ve never expected angels to wear such clothing. But they’re pretty. Even prettier on the body they’re on. (He really shouldn’t be thinking of angles in such a way. He’s probably going to hell for that. Damn.)

Though as his eyes trailed, he finally saw the face. 

Your face.

It glowed. God. Has he ever seen someone as beautiful? Are all angles as beautiful as you? Heaven is real. It is real because that is the only conceivable place you can be from. You truly are a gift from god, or whatever other gods they're out there.

Then there it is again. That call for help that seems to be in his ear. Had he focused on your voice? He flinched when you screamed. Green blood splattered on your face. Mark acted quickly, grabbing you and taking you into the air with him drawing you away from the aliens who ran after you. 

You smelled heavenly. Like nothing he’s ever smelled before. You feel soft, you fit perfectly against him, you feel lovely. He stops to look at you. Your eyes are wide and your brows furrowed and mouth agape as you gasp. Even your breath smells nice. 

Shit.

Does he smell? Hopefully just like blood and nothing more. 

Then you wrap your arms around him, damn near pushing his face into your breasts. They feel good. Plush and soft. A perfect size to fill his hand and it slightly overflows. Just the way he’s seen in so many homemade films he liked to watch when he was younger. (Only a year ago.) 

Finally he looks away from your chest and to you. You’re looking at him. 

Goodness gracious your eyes are beautiful. Such a wondrous color. The make-up around them only serves to accentuate them. But there’s something else as he looks into your eyes. Something that just clicks within him. It’s something right behind his eyes. Suddenly it’s just you. 

You are perfection made human. How can you exist? Are you real? How? 

Mark’s brain can’t comprehend what he’s looking at right now. You make his head hurt. There’s a slight throb in it. (A perhaps a slight throb elsewhere.) 

“Hi.” Stupid. Who just says hi. Hi!? God he is so STUPID.

“Hi.” You laugh still holding onto him for dear life. “Thank you.” You sound so pretty too. You have an accent. It’s thick. It doesn’t sound like anything he’s ever heard. It sounds so different. Almost as if you aren’t meant to speak how he’s speaking. But how could it be so when you sound exquisite.

Then he saw his hand on your face. His brows furrowed watching as his hand acted on its own, wiping the green blood from your cheek. “Sorry.”

There was silence. If only for a little bit. Fuck, this was weird. He was weird. What he did was just weird, yet his hand still rests on your face, but your skin feels nice. Your warmth feels nice. Everything about you feels nice. 

Though the moment was ruined as he went to place you somewhere safe. Everything was going perfect (again) his face plush against your breasts, his arms wrapped around the fat of your thighs, then he was hit in the back and he lost his grip on you. You were sent into the water. 

Mark immediately reacted going after you, but an alien took him by the neck, throwing him towards a building. Though as he went flying his eyes never lost focus of where you landed. As he crashed into the building his eyes found you ascending from the water. 

You looked even better with your hair wet. 

He quickly stood up flying towards you flying through aliens to get to you. Though the same alien who threw him was there.

Mark’s only goal was getting you out of the water and somewhere safe. Who knows how heavy those wings you carry are. You could drown. Mark couldn’t let you drown. Again he was grabbed by the same alien, though Mark could only focus on you. His eyes would not leave you. His eyes could not leave you. 

You have him smiling and nodding. “Go.” Then something released him, something he didn’t even know was holding him. He looked away from you, grabbing the neck of the alien and squeezing his head off. 

More came for him. 

It was a shame. A shame Mark did not see as you dove underwater never seeming to struggle with the weight of the wings. A shame Mark did not see the bubbles coming from where you dove. A shame Mark did not see as your legs became one and bloomed scales. A shame he did not see your nails extend into claws. A shame he did not see you lurking by the surface.

A real shame he could not save the male model who was grabbed by you.

Yes it is such a shame he did not see you take the man underwater drowning him as you plunged your razor sharp teeth into the man’s neck, never stopping until you chewed through the man’s neck. 

Note: Ik this is not what y'all were expecting when I came back. BUT! I have a good excuse. I need to practice writing smut and this is just me having a fic with little to no real plot and just me practicing writing smut.

Next I Masterlist

To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑/Gen Masterlist

[veritas-scribblings]

club - @black-brothers-microfic - words: 832 [warnings: some mild sexual language; swearing; regulus black is a stripper; james potter is here for that; i don't know how to describe dancing, so i describe james's victorian-era response to dress robes and skin, hahaha]

It started as curiosity.

The perverse “curiosity killed the cat” kind of curiosity.

News that Barty Crouch Junior had opened a strip club somewhere in Soho had rapidly spread within their small community, and in true Barty Crouch Junior fashion, said strip club was apparently the newest, hottest place “to be”.

From the outside, the club is a dingy little stone-build hole that gives off the impression Barty Crouch Junior is, in fact, using the location to dismember and store dead bodies, and the line of patrons waiting outside, stretching around the corner, are merely his unwitting victims.

It takes James almost twenty minutes to reach the front of the queue. He has to practically offer to drop to his knees and blow Evan Rosier on the spot to get through the door. Because of course Baby Crouch has made Rosier his door bitch. And of course Rosier doesn’t approve of what James is wearing.

Muggle clothes? Rosier says snidely. Does Potter have no decency? No pride? Is he here alone? Where are his little lap dogs? Is he that desperate for a hook up? Is Sirius Black getting dental work done, or something?

James isn’t simple. He knows what Rosier is implying, what the long-running joke is amongst their little Slytherin trio.

Because they’re fucking nasty little hypocrites.

But he’s also not stupid enough to antagonise the person who has the final say over whether or not he is permitted entry. So instead, he stomps on his pride and answers each question through gritted teeth.

When Rosier finally does grant him entry, he does so with a sinister little grin that has James wondering whether he’s about to walk directly into a snake pit and end up strung from the ceiling by pythons, or some such.

The world inside is dark and dimly lit by a light that almost feels warm. The music vibrates against his skin, pulses through his veins. A thumpthumpthump kind of beat that and fills him up until he almost drowns in it.

James scans the crowd. The club is busy. There are clusters of people scattered around the periphery of the circular stage like little colonies. An undercurrent of semi-drunken, excited chatter hums in the air. It takes him a moment to register the person on the stage. For his brain to catch up with what his eyes are seeing and what his dick has already very explicitly processed. And when it does, well…James dies.

He’s dead.

Dead and buried.

He has to be, because…

…fucking hell, when did Regulus grow up? The last time James checked, Regulus was that awkward kid with curly, floppy hair and a book perpetually glued to his face.

The awkward kid who was scrawny, all knees and elbows and grumpy scowls, who Sirius spoke dramatically and disparagingly about. Who only Sirius could speak disparagingly about, because regardless of whatever tensions existed between the two, Sirius would always have that possessive, brotherly, Child Of The House Of Black pride about him.

And fuck James dead, if Sirius could see Regulus now.

James has never thought that dress robes would do it for him. Dress robes—at least, the kind of poncy dress robes that Regulus wears—are not something James has ever gotten the least bit excited about. They’re stiff and stuffy and have a million little clips and hooks and buckles…

…only now, James thinks, he’ll probably pass out if Regulus so much as lifts the hem of his robe to flash an ankle.

On the stage across the club, Regulus moves into the spotlight, standing with his back to the crowd. Those dress robes—black, because when has Regulus ever worn any form of colour—flow like water around him. His skin is dusted with sparkles that glitter as he moves and the light hits him at different angles.

And he moves to the music. Fuck, does he move. When did Regulus learn to move like that? With such confidence and airs of superiority. In a way that has James envisioning so vividly, every time an article of clothing hits the floor, what it would be like to be entirely wrapped in those long, endless limbs.

It feels scandalous to be seeing so much skin. Leagues and leagues of smooth, pale, flawless skin James could run his hands over. It feels as though he should gasp and faint. He practically does when the last of the dress robe hits the floor of the stage and Regulus is only wearing shorts that are short-short and skin tight and leave nothing to the imagination.

Regulus’s expression is intensely dark and absolutely filthy. He levels them with it. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing to everyone watching him.

And, fuck James dead, when Regulus hits James with that expression—with a stare that strikes James directly in his soul—every nerve in James’s body sings, alive.

I see you, Regulus’s expression says. I know you’re there.

[crushedsweets]

I personally hc that toby keeps a thermometer in his bathroom to make sure the water isn't 2 hot when he showers because of his cipa. Do you have any hcs regarding his cipa? :3

ooohh that makes sense!!! i imagined he just makes sure the water doesnt steam, and that way, it'll never be too hot LOL

i dont think i have any particularly interesting HCs regarding it, but i can give like, some info?!? i think!!? its mostly just walking through his time with it i dunno

his mom was incredibly neurotic, all things considered. he got diagnosed really young, and i imagine it was cuz he got really hurt - hit his head, bit through his lip, bleeding everywhere, and he just didnt react. he's casually walking around with blood pouring out his mouth at like age 3, and she FREAKS OUT

i think his CIPA is prob the main reason he got diagnosed so young with so many other things, because he spent so much time in the hospital and connie was so stressed about EVERY little behavior/concern.

i think he has conflicted feelings abt it. he thinks he loves it. not feeling pain makes him a total powerhouse, and it's honestly one of the qualities that got him so far as a proxy - people don't wanna fight a guy that Wont Back Down. and because being a proxy helps with like, regenerative abilities, he truly believes he wont/cant die. he thinks he's invincible. but, obviously...yk...downsides

so, in my au, the forest is quite cold. slendermans presence drops temperatures, and most forests are cooler anyway cuz trees duh, BUT that actually helps him out. it's rarely cold enough to risk frostbite besides winter, and even then, he knows to just...put on a coat. he can be forgetful without physical reminders of the cold, but i mean. snow is a physical reminder. and for the hotter seasons, his wardrobe includes a lot of wife beaters and t shirts and cargo shorts/jorts, so he's fine there. he just uses his common sense to navigate it!

HOWEVER, growing up, he had more issues. he was incredibly insecure, hence all the turtle necks and sweaters. luckily colorado is a bit cold, but he's experienced his fair share of overheating that left connie frantic. after becoming a proxy, he got a bit more muscle and wasnt so lanky, so he's not so insecure abt warm weather.

he doesnt tell people about it if he doesnt need to though. he thinks it gives him the upper hand if people dont know, plus he hated how anxious connie and lyra were about it, so he avoids worrying people. he also thinks its a huge flex to pretend he has a high pain tolerance ...which, ok, yes he does, but in a different context. i dunno. he just annoying LOL

[ohwhatagloomyshow]

Mark, Gemma, Guilt, Grief, and Love

I've seen folks talk about Mark Scout's grief and guilt towards Gemma's death and as someone who is drafting this post while literally sitting in a Master's level social work class called Grief and Loss, and who has lived with complicated grief/prolonged grief disorder (pick your poison for the name), I wanted to make a general post about grief for the fandom to enjoy and hopefully learn from! (I've also written a little about what I will talk about in this post.)

Grief: A natural consequence of love! It is the process of adapting to an enormous change in your life (Note: grief can occur over any single change in your life, at any point. It is not solely related to death!!)

Prolonged and complicated grief: This is a complex, debated diagnosis in the mental health field, because grief is unique to every individual! As a loose and general rule, most folks are able to move through their grief without complications or need for intervention generally within a 12-ish month period. However, anywhere between 7-10% of mourners may develop complicated grief! (I am going to use that term for the rest of this post).

So what is it? Complicated grief is when you can't move forward with your life after your person has died. It's when it still hits you like a freight train when you think about them. It's when you're scared to move on. It's when the pain of that loss becomes the primary way you continue relating to your person. It is a disorder of adjustment. Some important things to note: a few risk factors for developing complicated grief include substance use issues, lack of community, ambivalent feelings towards/conflict with the deceased, unexpected and/or violent death, poor coping skills used during previous traumas/losses, and ego strength. You can see where I'm going with this.

The theory of grief I'm currently studying is focused on four tasks of mourning, developed by William Worden (there's another popular contemporary theory with six tasks, but they're very, very similar to what I'm about to describe). It's important to mention that even if you do not develop complicated grief, you can still spend your entire life cycling through these tasks, as a lot of things come back up as you age and move through life! The idea of complicated grief is that a person gets stuck in one (or more!) of the tasks, so the work is finding why you're stuck and how to move forward through it.

Task 1: Accepting the reality of the loss. This is more than just logical - this is bone-deep emotional.

Task 2: Processing the pain/emotion of the loss. Mark is so clearly stuck in this task - he is nowhere near processing. He is using alcohol to distance himself from his emotions, and he has probably been doing this his entire life.

Task 3: Adjusting to the reality of the loss. Who am I without this person? Am I still a spouse, or am I single? How do I relate to the world now that am living without this person? How am I a different person for having loved (and lost) my person? How does this loss impact my understanding of the world? (This is the one that fucked me up!)

Task 4: Finding a way to live life while maintaining a relationship with the person you lost. A relationship only dies when both people in the relationship are dead. How am I keeping my person in my life while they are gone? How do I keep them with me while I move forward and grow without them? How do I manage forgiveness, for myself and the person I loved and lost?

So what does this mean about guilt? Let's talk about that! One huge thing about complicated grief (in my personal experience at the very least) is that, at a certain point, because you have not built your lost person into your daily-ish life, the way you remember someone is by missing them. Your grief - your frozen-in-time state - becomes your continuing bond. Your pain becomes PROOF that your person lived. It becomes PROOF that you loved them. This distorts itself into "if I'm not grieving, then I did not love. If I let go of my grief, I let go of them, forever."

This can inspire A LOT of guilt, particularly if you had a difficult relationship with the person you lost. We see the end of Mark and Gemma's time together heavily impacted by their inability to talk to each other about the pain of their infertility (which is, itself, a form of disenfranchised grief! It is not, in many places and spaces, a socially accepted or recognized form of grief!!).

HOWEVER, one thing I see repeated a lot, that I would like to very gently challenge here, is that Mark Scout's current relationship with Gemma is based exclusively about guilt, and not about love. And I would just soooo gently like to ask, Why? Why can Mark's journey only be about one emotion at a time? I don't think Mark feels guilty about Gemma's death very much - when asked what he feels shame about, he talks about his childhood dog! Not his wife! He knows he's not responsible for her death. I would argue that Mark's guilt - which, again, he clearly has! - is much more complicated than being just about losing Gemma. I would argue it's about how he allowed things to get. It's about how he handled or mishandled their infertility. It's about his role in the failure of - the distance in - their marriage. It's about how he's (not) managing her death!

What's especially heartbreaking to me about Mark's journey is that we do actually see him start to work through Task 2! He talks about her with Alexa! He has sex with Alexa! He drinks way less on his second, better date! (That's where my pet theory that the severance procedure actually did help with his grief comes in but that's another post). His journey completely changes when he learns - confirms - that Gemma is still alive.

And I would also like to gently push back on: Why can't Mark love both Helly and Gemma? Why must one relationship discussion involve the devaluation of the other? As I mention in the post I linked at the top, I would agree that Mark is not "in love" with Gemma, the way many widows and widowers do let go of that feeling! But why does that suddenly make his relationship with Gemma irrelevant or unimportant? It will be an incredibly complicating factor as he reintegrates and remembers a four year marriage while in love with Helly.

Okay, that last bit was an additional soapbox on my soapbox.

TLDR, Mark lives with complicated grief. It doesn't mean he no longer loves or cares for Gemma, or that his love has been replaced by guilt, or that he's lost the ability to fall in love with Gemma again. It means he has an adjustment disorder and is my blorbo.

I really hope this is a helpful and educational post. I love talking about grief and death, this show was invented just for me, Dan Erikson and Ben Stiller I am free on Saturday, I am free on Saturday Dan Erikson and Ben Stiller if you'd like to talk about grief and loss.

[abusivelittlebunny]

did Charles fight off Max for no 1 harem wife position or because Max is married to someone else he doesn't have to?

Well it depends on the au BC in the Tight Leash Loose Collar universe Max will be married to other alphas but the bond they share will forever remain eternal but it's true that Carlos' unhealthy mutual obsession with Charles will take center stage in his mind (but whether that can be considered true love is questionable on so many levels).

But in the emperor au Charles becomes empress over Max in a whole different way.

You see before Carlos takes the throne he is given three brides as is tradition: Teto and Marc are from his country, they both come from families with sworn loyalty to the throne, high ranking fathers and uncles in the military etc so Carlos has grown up together with them and knew them to be good friends as well as great wives to him, no drama whatsoever, and his father also knew they'd make his young heir comfortable when introducing him to his husband duties. But Carlos' third wife becomes his main wife instantly as his first political responsibility. And that is Max.

Max, despite still being very young, holds a great deal of power as the crown princess of the Dutch-Belgian empire and their marriage would create an unbreakable bond between their countries hence why his father makes sure Carlos knows exactly how important it is that Carlos remains decent with the omega he only meets days before their scheduled wedding. Max is a sweet pouty kitten of an omega, extremely feisty and very clearly not happy with the arranged marriage but Carlos still finds him utterly adorable and works hard to make Max trust him. Which he does very well, showing Max the sort of gentle appreciation he's been missing his entire life, and when they wed it feels like something out of genuine love.

It's actually funny how Marc and Teto tease them for being so smitten with each other as if they were just regular kids not the future ruling family lol sweet times of Max being a bratty but secretly painfully sweet omega and Carlos being the kindest funniest alpha who runs around the gardens with his omegas like they were all just childhood friends playing.

That is until the war hits.

A war in which Carlos' father successfully occupies Monaco and causes international controversy. Carlos fights on the frontline too and he spares the crown prince's life when his sword is pressed up against his throat, wanting to end the war in the most peaceful manner but his father has other plans. The declaration that the king of Monaco fell in battle spread far and wide upon Carlos' instructions who wanted to avoid the worse truth to spread which was an all out execution of the man, and he barely managed to save Lorenzo from the same fate. Carlos Sr's reputation worldwide becomes that of a dangerous and power hungry cruel tyrant and to save further war upon his head he decides to step down from the throne and bestow the crown to Carlos who may not be ready for the immense responsibility but he wants to help his father with damage control as much as he can.

Hence why he takes Princess Charles as his wife, to assure their nations he does not wish to destroy Monaco but to unify it with their empire and upon Charles' silver tongue guilt tripping the absolute soul out of him, when Carlos' coronation ceremony arrives, he has Charles by his side declared empress, the highest title in his harem.

Max's family is outraged of course, Jos has a full on tantrum in the strategy room after the ceremony. The empress title was meant to be held by Max, that was their deal upon marriage. Max understands the difficult situation Carlos is in however much it hurts to only be holding the second highest harem rank, he's seen the pain Carlos has gone through after he returned from the front caked in dried blood, all the sunshine from his eyes gone as if he was an entirely different person from the young man he used to laugh together with on the tulip fields that Carlos has gifted him to make him feel more at home. He knows Carlos has a heart of gold and he's not making this decision out of his own greed or lust but because he genuinely believes that's the only way peace is guaranteed.

But not within the harem, Max also can tell as much seeing the devious emerald glint in the beautiful bride's calculated gaze.

Max gets given the special privilege of a new deal in which he can be the ruling empress of the Dutch-Belgian empire on his own, essentially elevating him to the same level Carlos is holding making him a separate sovereign with his own government and power and that satisfies Jos well enough rather than if Max was just simply married out to be second to his husband, but Max worries because this way he will lose the duties Carlos' first rank wife holds, mainly over the harem. So in a way Max is both part of and not when it comes to Carlos' harem. Charles has responsibility over the harems management which is bound to cause nothing but trouble as soon as he takes his position and the first wave of concubines start coming in...

[rottenpumpkin13]

what if hojo died when sepiroth was like 3 and with the same happening to lucreia how do you think his life would have differed

I think that sure, on the surface, his upbringing would've looked better. Gast was softer, warmer, more outwardly human than Hojo ever was. He might've ruffled Sephiroth's hair, brought him snacks after training, praised him for reading ahead in his textbooks. He might've even told Sephiroth stories—real ones, about the Cetra, the Planet, maybe even taught him to appreciate nature instead of to dissect it. And because Gast wasn't cold or cruel, Sephiroth would've grown up with a little less resentment toward the labs, toward R&D.

But let's not romanticize it too much because Gast wasn't a saint. He still led the Jenova Project, he still extracted cells from a corpse he misidentified. He still stood by while infant experiments were conducted. He walked away eventually, yes—but he walked away, didn't save anyone.

So assuming he stays and Hojo is out of the picture, Sephiroth grows up with a man who feeds him warm food, tells him to get sleep before a mission, encourages him to enjoy the mountain air in Nibelheim, and is still the man who lied to him, who let it all happen. And when Sephiroth finds out, when he opens the right file in the mansion and reads about how his cells came from Jenova, how Gast and Hojo both signed off on it, how "Project S" began before he even had teeth, it hits ten times harder.

This wasn't a madman in a lab coat he could write off as cruel and inhuman, this was the guy who hugged him goodbye before he left for the mission and reminded him to wear an extra layer because Nibelheim is chilly.

Sephiroth doesn't lose his mind and destroy Nibelheim thinking he was unloved; he does it thinking he was loved. And then that very person turns out to be the reason he's rushing towards Jenova, because she's all he has left and the only one who won't betray him. Because she too was betrayed by the same man.