#because people will COMPLETELY dismiss the shit I say

[evilminji]

I... am haunted? By my Midi-chlorian theory?

Cause they are PROBABLY? Some sort of Symbiotic Bacteria?

Which was my theory. Cause "micro-organisms" is vague af? And doesn't exactly tell us what KIND? But it's probably not a mammal or some sort of fish? So like... helpful blood bacteria. Got it! No different then a good gut biome. Makes perfect sense!

Yeah, THIS one has? For some reason? A hyper sensitivity to fundamental forces of reality? But I mean? Monkeys with type writers, right? Something, somewhere, was bound to get it. Some organisms get better smell to survive, some get sensitive whiskers. The blood bacteria got jacked in to Reality's newsreel. Some low ranking admin privileges.

Still? Needs a HOST to survive though. Doesn't, itself, even really HAVE a brain.

Cause it's a Bacteria.

A Bacteria and... and Bacteria can be multiplied. Grown. Obviously? Midi-chlorians refuse to do so outside of a living body. Or the Sith and various other researchers, bother ethical and UNETHICAL, would have figured out how to crack Midi-chlorian development.

They ALSO? We can only assume? DO NOT mix. As in? Any Midi-chlorian's? Removed from the Original Host™ die off pretty promptly. (In time with the blood rotting or new body assimilating the fresh, donated, blood.) So you presumably, couldn't take from, say, Skywalker and give to an average farmer, and have that farmer become mildly force sensitive.

Even THOUGH? The BLOOD? Is where his Midi-chlorians are! So PRESUMABLY? So long as he and the farmer had compatible blood types? That SHOULD happen! Because Anikin his a SHIT TON of Midi-chlorian bacteria in his blood and the farmer would be receiving some of that High Production Strain.

Not saying the farmer would ever become a powerhouse. But? There should? Be a difference? Even if it was only temporarily.

Yet? It seems? Like Midi-chlorian strains? Just don't MIX. They split off, during development of a child, begin cultivation of their own unique colony, and never again! Shall the stains blend. I'd go so far? As to say? They probably ATTACK other Midi-chlorians in THEIR space.

Like part of the immune system. Disease, poison, parasites, and of course? Those filthy, FILTHY Other Midi-chlorian Colonies trying to encroach upon THEIR resources. Get! GET!

Which is where? All past attempts have FAILED. Because they? Had an END GOAL first, and they worked their way backwards. Approached it all with either preconceived notions or complete derision of the subject matter. Ignoring countless culture's collective MILLENNIUMS of knowledge on the subject. The observations. The notes. The folk remedies and early sciences.

Arrogant. Forgetting or outright dismissing. Because THEY were better. THEY were SMARTER. Surely, THEY would crack the code! Unlock the SECRETS of this MYSTICAL building block of the Force!

Achieve... POWER.

But? The thing IS? Primitive? Does not and HAS not? Ever meant stupid. It means young. New. Doctors and scientists, doing the best they could, with what they had. To help as many as they could. The Force? It was a mysterious thing. They knew the shape of it. The edges, but not it's depths. They could observe.

If they did X... Y occurred. Medicine A? Brought about B and C side effects, avoid it going forward. Use Medicine D. So forth and so on. Building upon the knowledge of the past.

But OH, THEY? Didn't have fancy modern medical technology! Didn't know the modern terms! So obviously they were superstitious idiots!

Thus, attempt after attempt. Failed. Usually with innocent people, paying the price. Because Power. Because Fame. Because they could rule the galaxy and go down in history books... if only these simple little bacteria would COOPERATE. But.... they don't. Do they?

Because you lack understanding.

You. Can Not. Remove Them. From The. HOST.

They DIE.

They can exsist in exactly ONE(1) environment. Their NATIVE environment. Where you found them? That's where they need to STAY. If you found them in a tree? The need to stay in THAT specific tree. Dirt? Well then! Dirt from THAT specific region of THAT specific PLANET. No moving! Cease! Desist!

Are the Midi-chlorians in a baby? The start up strains were donated! Congrats! THEY LIVE THERE NOW. They are now NATIVE to the BABY. Can not exsist OUTSIDE the baby! In fact, will immediately begin to die! Outside that baby!

This is WHY Sith Alchemy is so fucked up. Lots of live experimentation and forcing Midi-chlorians into statis. Body horror everywhere. No mas! It DOES NOT SPARK JOY.

Which?! That leads me to my point! The part of all this THAT FUCKING HAUNTS ME!!!

Bacteria can be multiplied if you give it the right food. Fuck, it WANTS to multiple. WANTS to go gangbusters. Just? Absolutely apeshit. Thick enough in the blood to turn it all into PASTE. It doesn't have a brain. It can't look around and think to itself "hey, maybe we should slow down, we're straining the environment".

It's bacteria. Ultimately, in the end, JUST Bacteria.

Yes, it may be the medium by which we connect to The Force... but IT itself? Has no intelligence to negotiate with. Just like the cells in your body. And JUST like the cells in your body? It can be a cancer. Could kill you, if something went wrong.

If SOMEONE, deliberately, made things go wrong.

All in the name of "Science".

Yes, once again, I consider the SI-OC, even as I consider Midi-chlorians themselves. What "feeds" such a bacteria? A healthy body, presumably. Connection to the Force? Kyber, most likely. Force powerful items. We know they "call" to those who are Sensitive. But! As we know? The part of your body that can actually FEEL that call? Is the Midi-chlorians in your blood, which then transfers the information to it's host.

It is the Midi-chlorians that want that specific Force object. In all likelihood, because it benefits them. That it benefits you? Is a lovely side effect. That is can be used for things? Neat! Good on you for figuring that out! It would still call you to collect pretty, shining, rocks, even if you couldn't use Kyber for SHIT. You would be COMPELLED.

NEED it.

It makes the Midi-chlorians inside you go Brrrrr. Mmm, yes, happy chemicals. Positive reinforcement! You should continue to do OTHER things that help the Midi-chlorians! Like meditation, eating well, and being around others! Go on! Hug that baby! Yeeeeeah, good energy makes LOTS of Midi-chlorian food! (Bad energy too. We are not picky. But that Does Not Feel Nice. So like.... why tho?)

So! Consider!

You have yourself an UNETHICAL AF scientist. The Board does NOT UNDERSTAND THEIR GENIUS etc etc. They have completely lost their shit. Unfortunately, they have money. And Slavery and desperation abound. There are ugly, UGLY pockets of darkness in this galaxy.

They? Have An Idea™! (It is a terrible, horrifying idea)

This scientist? Is going to crack the Secrets of The Midi-chlorian! Become Famous! It is a plot heard many times before, sadly. Just as sadly? SI-OC's parents, who were on their way to the temple, never make it there. Make no mistake! Good people. Upset, of course, that they will be losing their daughter. But? As all good parents do?

They made the decision they thought was best for their baby girl. A lifetime of being understood. Supported. Of stable food and safe beds. A good, quality education they would never be able to afford. Being able to help people someday. They love their daughter. Weep for losing her. But sometimes? Loving your child? Means letting them go.

Not forgotten. NEVER forgotten. But somewhere better then they could ever give her. Safe from those who would see their child in chains.

They do not make it.

But they do not go quietly. When those bastards come for their little girl. They make it cost dearly. Not dearly enough. Never, ever, enough. But one of the other passengers is able to get off the emergency beacon. So the Jedi will know. They will come.

It... it has to be... enough...

And it is.

And they do.

But it is not just a pirate attack. Not JUST slavers. No... no this is far more horrifying. Far worse indeed. The Shadow sent to rescue the child? Stumbles into a festering shitshow. The sort that takes a TEAM to unravel. The not-pirates are mercenaries, are closing in fast. He send his data in full, in one big lump as an emergency download.

Capture likely eminent. They're experimenting on Force Sensitives. Need Back Up.

Help.

The Doctor is, of course, DELIGHTED! An adult specimen AND a child! Comparisons and contrasts! They ramble on, unhinged, to the horror of the Shadow. Who's eyes are locked on the Crecheling in a cage. He knows help will come... but will it come fast enough?

No. Not really.

But what keeps HIM from falling? Is the Crecheling that needs to be taught. Ironic, in a way, that the very thing their capture demands and demands? Is what helps them escape, however temporarily, their cages. Meditate. They are told. Or else.

Surrounded by stolen artifacts of Light.

Meditate.

Meditate.

Imagine, if you will, a dialysis machine. It filters the blood, yes? Pumps it outside the body? A terrible process. Trial and error. How far is too far? At what distance, do the midi-chlorians begin to die? The doctor kills... so, SO many innocent. Not their prize specimens. Jedi are hard to get! But slaves? Easy enough.

The Shadow can not Fall, he reminds himself. Can not give in to his grief or rage. His horror, his sorrow. It... it is so hard. To remember the Light. In this dark place. But the Crechling helps. The kyber, the artifacts. When... not... Not IF! But WHEN he gets out of here? He thinks... he thinks he should retire. Being a Creche Master sounds lovely, to be honest.

Bright. Peaceful.

The doctor completes their horror machine. He can not stop them from putting on SI-OC. After all... HE is done growing. It filters the blood, you see. Nice and close to the body. Through and around Force rich materials, in medical grade tubing. Exposing the Midi-chlorians directly to the energy they feed off of. Filter in a mineral solution to use as building blocks.

It WORKS.

The midi-chlorians in SI-OC blood start multiplying far faster and too far greater concentration then ever before. Slowly but surely boosting their Force Sensitivity as they go. What a rousing success.

If it weren't slowly killing SI-OC.

Ever imagine? What would happen if someone reached over and slowly started turning up the sensitivity on your eyesight? Your hearing? Your taste, touch, the FEELING OF YOUR BONES? If every breath was sandpaper, and every thought an adrenaline rush?

Could you imagine? FEELING the galaxy BREATHE? Knowing for a fact that your body had been specially designed for a certain level of sensitivity? And you had been broken? Because someone wanted to see if you could handle HIGHER?

Power without the support structure? Burns everything down.

Just because something CAN be done? Doesn't mean it will work the way you fantasize it will. Reality is not a story book. Where Power comes in pretty little packages, to be bought or sold or stolen. Midi-chlorians were always Bacteria. And trying to fuck with your own micro-biomes for more power? Was always destined to end in death and disease.

For you. For someone else. For every innocent you dragged into it.

They scoffed at the "primitive" scholars who warned not to fuck with it, yet still treat it like its a mystical power to be seized.

The Shadows that finally track down the lab? BURN it wil a VENGEANCE. It is a place of horrors. And initiate SI-OC is very, VERY sick. They aren't even sure they can risk taking her to Coruscant. Too many people. Jedha? Probably safer. Luckily their library has something that...? MIGHT? Be able to help treat this?

SI-OC probably never stops Tasting Time™ and seeing the Pretty Colors™ but? At least she becomes? Largely functional? Probably needs a disability animal. One that's mildly force sensitive, so it knows when she's ~~drifting~~ again. Keep her from walking into traffic or off a landing platform.

The random bouts of prophecy and mind reading are a bit disconcerting, but like? Lay off! It's not SI-OC fault! Be nice! She can't help it! Don't be rude! D:< she basicly has tiny Force Nexus in HER BLOOD. So WHAT if she occasionally stops to admire a sunrise that hasn't existed for thousands of years? It's probably pretty!

The younglings? Very understanding. Adults are a bit creeped out. But like? Eh. Just EXTRA Jedi-y Jedi... they guess? (No, no not really. This one had a serious Force Incident. But like FUCK we're breaking rank to tell outsiders that sooooo..... Sure? Yeah. Let's go with that!)

Ironically? I bet? Anikin gets along great with her? They're team "WHY YES, THE FORCE IS VERY LOUD. WHY ARE WE SHOUTING? SO YOU CAN HEAR US! OVER THE FORCE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT THAT LOU-?". He got it naturally, she got it by getting fucked over. But? They can both go?

"Hey, you feel that thingy in the-?" *vague hand motion* and get a "oh YEAH! Wonder what's THAT'S about?". Does anyone else feel it? No. Is it obvious to THEM? Yes.

Will Anikin punch your lights out, if you mock his disabled friend? *boss music starts playing* R U N. Padme would help. Tag team, fuckeeeeer! *from the highbar with a steel chair*

Community is EVERYTHING. And sometimes? It's you, your secret wife, your brother-mentor-dad, the Clone army you adopted, and the perpetually Force High/Vaguely Brain Damaged jedi you call your best friend! And the droids. And your secret wife's body gaurd squad. And the younglings your friend-... actually? You know what? Your family's kinda big.

Awesome :)

@legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @spidori @hdgnj @hypewinter @leftnotright @the-witchhunter @lolottes @mayfay

[aethesfaelibrarae]

(holy shit was I not expecting anyone to like that previous Mouthwashing post—but thank you, genuinely for reading it and this one)

The Mouthwashing brain worms speak to me again—let's talk about hierarchy and caste and the implications in Mouthwashing one more time.

Say what you will about Jimothy's cowardly ass: he's not an idiot. The apathy of the crew is, at least, in part maintained by the top of the ladder: Curly and Pony Express.

Curly starts the game at the top of the ladder, able to help out a guy he perceives in a rough spot with a snap of his fingers, able to control how much sugar anyone got.. Able to control the food, the medicine, the weapons. Curly isn't the sort of person to abuse his power.

But he also isn't the type to use it.

Next up is Jaundice. His second in command, his (traitorous backstabber) right hand man. We'll get back to him.

No, who come next in this hierarchy can be debated—is Daisuke for his youth and potential or is it Swansea for his seniority? It could be both, depending upon the lens of examination. When the chips are down.. Or when they're still able to make a bet?

I'm going with Swansea, simply because of the fact that both Curly and Catastrophic Jameson's headass respect him. Neither of them really correct or step in to ask about his behavior with Daisuke, Jaundiced is more than happy to leave the room alone until it stands in his way and up until the chase sequence is largely unwilling to get into physical altercation.

Daisuke is next on the rung—an intern getting his due hazing. Young, plucky, clumsy, the aimless silver spooned baby of the crew. He wants to be liked by people in the higher rungs and he trusts in their authority. To his own detriment. But for the most part, he's neither too high for the responsibility or too low to really suffer in forced silence. He's protected.

Anya is not. As the sole woman of the crew, soft-spoken, heavily pregnant and forced to entertain her abuser's delusions of grandeur with the wreckage evidence of how far he's willing to go to get rid of her, rinse his mouth of her, all around them.. She starts the game on the bottom of the ladder—ignored, talked over, dismissed. People's—Curly and Catastrophe Jim—eyes skip over her without thinking. It's easy to dismiss her. Empathy is extended to her as an afterthought. Her death an inevitable tragedy. Because either way of framing it, without access to the ax or the gun, the ship was Jimothy's way of shutting her up for good and she knows it. In my previous post, I touched on the difference between the situations that Anya and Curly find themselves and in all honesty, it's defined by who finds themself at the bottom of the rung when Mr. J finds himself a way to the top.

And who else would it be but our resident golden boy himself, Captain Enablement—I mean, Curly. Now that he's completely disabled, useless and helpless.. He finds himself in a position even worse than Anya's. Both of them taking on the brunt of Jimmy's worldview—he's gotten way more than he bargained for from Anya and besides, she was a means to an end. At the moment of the assault, she was an object, the lower rung of the perceived ladder. It wasn't his fault, just look at her—And afterwards.. Well, this whole thing could also be framed as spite. Sneaking behind the golden boy's back and "stealing his girl" or whatever, maybe he knew that he'd be caught and wanted to see something other than Curly's gentle understanding. He wants more. And in direct opposite to Anya, Curly is the center of his world. The spindle upon which Jaundice's last steadily fraying thread of sanity spins. And what an awful place it is to be. He gets front row seats to hindsight truly becoming 20/20 vision when it's a barrel of shotgun—and you're jealous of the fact that it's not aimed at you. He suffers being consumed and thus consuming himself. Looking into why didn't Jimothy just cut up any of the others is a fascinating exercise. By the time he starts eating Curly, this is not the first time he's imagined Curly in the place of food—of nourishment. He imagines him in the place of cake—even the way that he cuts a part of Curly's leg is reminiscent of the way that Curly cuts into the cake. (yes, what the heck Curls but then again, gelatin probably feels weird to cut). Eating someone is often a taboo form of intimacy in media like Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain or Tokyo Ghoul..Listen. There's a reason why vore is popular.—it's the most violent type of intimacy.

It's the only type of intimacy Jimmy engages with on screen and yet—There's an equally fascinating intimacy in consuming yourself. And even that is ruined.. Being forced to eat your bile-covered offal again and again and again.. A memory that would scar on its own. But. With the implications of this being the one type of intimacy that Jimmy feels comfortable sharing combined with what the game says about rape culture have "good" men protect and enable their friends.. There's another angle of their friendship there.

Jimmy loves Curly as much as he hates him. He wants him to suffer. He wants him to live. He wants him dead. Who is saying I hope this hurts?

The hierarchy traps them in so many ways—and the first time we see it for what it is is with Curly. Not Jimmy. From Curly's perspective, we see him unfocused and exhausted and Anya offers him a helping ear and he can't accept it. He's the Captain. He can't be seen asking his subordinate for help. Jimmy was removed from the hierarchy in Curly's eyes. Maybe even at the same spot. Co-captains. Two peas in a pod—except one is a festering open wound and the other has his eyes tightly closed, quietly muttering he can fix it if he just gets a little bit more time.. Can't tell the difference between who's who?

Top or bottom of the hierarchy—awful and isolating for two men who claim to take responsibility. Both have some level of inferiority complex—a complex that I'd argue is the becoming the bread and butter of modern day society but is steadily starting to show the signs of where it's been baked into the perceptions of being a man—there is the fear of someone bigger, better and more capable of you.. But there's also that small quiet part that gets told men don't cry that desperately, desperately, wants to have no choice. Almost takes comfort in the idea of someone better than you.

And everyone in between their rungs gets crushed as collateral.

In a caste made by white supremacy, white able-bodied young men who meet societal standards for being in their prime are at the top. Old enough to know better, young enough to play stupid have potential. Just look at all our promising young rapists men with their whole lives ahead of them.

On a ship like the Tulpar, that hierarchy gets a necessary edge—the Captain is the most useful person aboard the ship, the most needed. The man of the proverbial house. The co-captain is like being called vice president—made only as important as the person in that role can make it. Otherwise it's a hollow consolation prize. And Jimothy can't work an honest day in his life. So it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Then would be the nurse but.. It's a feminine job, a pink collar job through and through. If Anya had been a man, the jokes would have been targeted at her masculinity but as she is a woman, the role and her usefulness to the crew are invisible necessities. The quiet labor and genius that keeps great men going. I think people underestimate how much work goes into even passing the N-CLEX to become an RN. Anya was trying to get into medical school—she studied the human body extensively and in all honesty, the way that I've read it is (especially with the context clues of her being overlooked continuously) she just wasn't important enough to help out. Medical textbooks are expensive on their own and tests can be upwards of 2,000 dollars (my sources: my mom had to take the N-CLEX 3 times when I was much younger and the financial strain was ridiculous especially if you want to get in on a study group).. And Anya clearly worked for that goal. You don't throw that kind of money at anything else but the goal—the one you could just swear would make it all worth it. Maybe if she was Doctor Anya, the crew would've treated her better.. Her usefulness cemented and people would question how such a nervous woman made it through medical school.. Maybe it would have made Jimmy worse. There's nothing hollow about being a doctor after all.

But Anya is Anya and so Swansea, the mechanic is useful. He keeps the ship going and Daisuke in line. Bitter Knowledge and the Dog Days of Youth.

Wasted Potential (double entendre) and Boundless, Wasting Potential.

Immediately useful and eager to be useful.

Then there's Post-Crash Curly. And I must stress, your usefulness is not your value as a person. But then again, where would ableism find its footing save for such a sad hierarchy? And let's call a spade a spade, once Curly loses his ability to interact with the world as he once did, his skin literally peeled open to expose the soft inner flesh to the cruelty of the world, his small bit of usefulness as a Captain gone.. Most people on the ship act accordingly. Daisuke and Swansea, their places on the ladder's rung unchanged fairly quickly become enured to Curly's cries of pain. Anya, the closest to the his newfound rung.. Continues to care for him, unable to free him as he was unable to free her. Jimmy is all too happy to grind his boot in Curly's face as many times as he can. Until he feels better.

But he won't. He can't.

The game touches on the haves vs the have-nots a lot as well as the creeping sense of human work becoming obsolete, that body horror in being made useless by your own complicity but where it absolutely shines in Jimmy and Swansea—especially Swansea's final speech—is the messaging about the never-ending demand for more, for greener pastures leaving you hollow and bitter. Curly seemed well-aware of Swansea's thought process and leaves him be but internally agrees and fears that ending if he stays in the Captaincy for too much longer.

And that's where I think Jimmy really thinks it was a win-win for him and Curly. He truly doesn't think of the pain that Curly must find himself in, worsened by the constant beatings and continual medical assault. He doesn't think about it as anything more than Curly being a nuisance. One more way that Curly just didn't trust him not to fuck up his eyes eternally trapped in the cold hate and fear as he watches Jimmy proceed to ruin the one thing he took pride in as the metaphorical man of the house: keeping the crew safe.

Jimmy thinks of himself as the son who stayed faithful, worked himself to the bone, only to receive scraps while his undeserving brother is celebrated and lauded.

Within the hierarchy, the system is only as "good" as who remains on top. And "good" people, blindly faithful and eternally forgiving, aren't ruthless enough to stay up there for long.

Jimmy's not a good person but he's not stupid. And he's very ruthless. While there may have been somewhat of a hierarchical situation before he joined the crew, it's clear from his conversations with Anya, Curly valued a more lateral role system as he felt trapped in Pony Express's all-consuming ladder over Jimmy's rigid rungs of better and worse.

But over and over, he isolated the crew to their sectors. Over and over, he demeaned Anya, insulted her and Curly. Leaned into the insults of Daisuke. Left Swansea alone for the most part.

Anya, as much as it pains me to admit this, could have worked with Swansea earlier. But would that have worked? What about Daisuke—the younger version of Curly's eternal optimistic "I've never seen the dead pixel" attitude? The isolation absolutely worked. There's no imagining a world in which it doesn't work unless you imagine the crew as better than they are.

And that's just one more tragedy we can't rinse out of mouths with mouthwash.

[dandelion-wings]

Finally from the second whumptober list: October 29 ownership/branding - any character BUT the branding/ownership has to be something they're doing to protect the other person / Brand Or Die

Thank you for lighting my brain on fire with this one, holy shit. Sorting out who I would do it with was really the hardest part, there's so much potential, especially delving into AUs, but I think this was the best canon option and of course you knew it was coming because I could not shut up. XD

---

Xiao is not surprised by the attack. He had not known its time or its place, but the fact of it had been inevitable. Morax and his yaksha generals cannot shelter him forever.

He is alone on the training field, practicing in the generals' absence. They are on the battlefield, serving Morax against his enemies. Xiao should be there too, but Morax has deemed him not yet fit--had dismissed him when he presented himself among the yaksha on the battle's eve, telling him that he must mend completely before he enters the fight in his savior's name. So all Xiao can do is train until he regains the strength he lost after his hated last master's defeat, and hope for Morax's swift approval of his efforts.

The attackers, it seems, mean to give him no chance to try and repay his debt on the field of battle. It is not only Morax whom he owes a debt to, after all. That debt is one of gratitude; the one that he owes these people is one of guilt.

It's because of both debts that he doesn't fight back. While the Millelith are on the field of battle too, some of these are Morax's people: injured soldiers or yaksha who have been held back as Xiao was, or civilians inexpertly wielding weapons or expertly wielding tools of the farmers' trade. They are under Morax's protection, and it would be unbearably shameful to harm them. The others may not be under his guardianship, may be bound to other gods, but they are people Xiao has wronged, too. From their resentment alone he knows these are the comrades and kin of the many righteous souls he was once forced to slaughter.

He does retreat, step by step, lifting his spear only to block strikes with the shaft, ducking or side-stepping others. Not all are so easily turned away. By the time he's backed up to the wall of the training grounds, he's already covered with dozens of minor wounds, cuts and bruises and gouges where borrowed blades or swinging hoes found their mark. His attackers crowd in, and there's no longer room to sidestep--not without bowling over the teary-eyed, half-grown child on his left, or the fierce-faced old woman to his right.

A one-armed yaksha right in front of him wrenches his spear from his hands with her good arm. "My whole division," she hisses, eyes glowing with fury, "every one of them."

"My father," the child says, fierce-faced through his tears, and, "My daughter," says the woman. Xiao tilts his head back as the yaksha spins the spear, feeling the weight of their massed resentment seizing at his throat. He doesn't wish to die. If he had, Morax's hand, outheld, would not have been such a blessing. But he knows that he deserves it, that Morax's act had been an unthinkable grace.

As his own spear is leveled against him, Xiao tilts his head back, baring his throat. Then there's a sudden clatter from the gates to the right, and a sudden scramble amid the outraged group, and then Bosacius is in amid them, roaring remonstrations, flinging the yaksha who'd taken his spear from him to the ground. Xiao sags against the wall, lets his head fall, and closes his eyes.

He should feel grateful for this rescue, as he had for Morax's outstretched hand. Yet the unsatisfied resentment all around him grinds against his soul like broken glass.

---

Morax stands before an assembly of allies just as furious as he is, even if none of them can shake the ground with their rage. Their alliance is a precarious one, for Celestia has made clear that only one with power of their scope can be left alive at the end of its holy war. Just as Morax has built a seal against the thought of that when he sits in peaceful moments with Guizhong, he typically walls it away when dealing with these allies.

How they cope he does not know. All of them are in agreement as to how gods should treat their mortal dependents; thus they have agreed to remain allied until circumstances leave them no other choice. Right now, though, the ire crackling between them makes him wonder if at least one is contemplating an earlier break.

"I will not *punish* my people for attempting to do what you already should have done," says that most furious god, smoke swirling about their ashen form.

(Three years from now one of their own yaksha, much-beloved, will die in a stratagem Morax devises, and they will be crushed beneath Azhdaha's power when they try to assassinate Morax in revenge. Morax will make contracts with all of their remaining yaksha who do not follow their lead, and eventually all those who survive the War and its aftermath will willingly perish in the Chasm, redeeming that ancient breach.)

"They have already suffered enough," says another, more reasonable, whose grainy skin crunches at every movement. "I am willing to forbid them from another such attempt, but punishment will only harden their resentment."

(Five years from now he will sacrifice himself to guard his people's retreat from Osial, begging Bonanus to carry his plea that Morax take on his people's care. Morax will accept that final contract, and they will become fishers and sailors, the ones whose knowledge helps build Liyue Harbor when the Guili Plains flood.)

Nails that glitter like clearwater jade flash as the third gestures wordlessly to the God of Sand, silently echoing his sentiments.

(Eleven years from now she will depart in silence and fade away, pouring herself into the waters of Lisha, willing to diminish herself to avoid Celestia's edict and in the end losing all recognizable sense of who she once was. Morax will allow her people to build a shrine to her by the waters, and long after they have forgotten he will go now and then himself to burn incense to her memory.)

The God of Ash is not content with the conciliation--and it is conciliation; Morax can see the narrowed gem-like eyes and the stiffness of restraint--of the other two. They start forward, eyes flashing like embers. "What right did you have in the first place, Morax, to spare him? It was never only your people that he slaughtered. My own territory was also on *that* god's borders, and was just as much a battlefront! Yaksha I loved killed or dismembered at his hand, whole villages of mine lost to his appetite for dreams, and you let him live without even asking us?"

"Morax is not the first to have seized an enemy's yaksha as spoils of their defeat," Guizhong says, but even her calming smile and pointed look cannot soothe the smoke swelling out and beginning to fill the room.

Morax lets the ground shudder again beneath his feet. "I made a contract with Alatus. Whatever you may think I should have done, I cannot break it now."

"No," says the God of Sand, before the smoke can begin to choke them or the floor itself crack. "But your contracts with your yaksha require them only to defend *your* people from harm. I don't think it's unreasonable to ask that in this case, you require of him another, asking that all of ours be safe as well."

The God of Shells nods, ornaments of noctilucous jade and coral chiming in her hair. "And we will witness its making."

"Very well."

By Bosacius' report, Xiao had already refused to harm their people, not only Morax's own. The request isn't only reasonable; he doesn't doubt that his newest yaksha will welcome it. He has seen the weight of guilt in Xiao's eyes already. Had he not demanded his service in repayment for sparing his life, he doubts Xiao would ever have risen from where he knelt the moment after his last master's death, offering himself up to Morax's spear.

"And I will invoke another contract," the God of Ash says, "since you value those more than you value our goodwill. The one between us dictates the punishment of those of your underlings who without provocation harm our own. It does not limit that harm to what is done in your service. I will allow my comrades to let him off lightly, as he is no longer *that* god's yaksha, but at the very least, you will make clear that he is now yours."

"How so?" asks Guizhong, her gaze sharp, as she puts a gentle hand on Morax's arm.

"By inscribing both your first contract and this second directly into his flesh. I could demand his death!" they hiss before Morax can roar his denial. "If you agree to all our terms, I will be merciful, and demand only this."

This time, the floor does crack, tiles parting in twain. Yet Morax can feel the clauses of the contract draw tight as the God of Ash invokes them, binding him more firmly than any rope. It is his will that spoke them into being; it is his power that goes with them if he breaks them from within.

"Very well," he says, and this time it is not a polite concession, but a dragon's angry growl, resonating within the smoke.

---

Morax is angry, and Xiao does not know why.

He outlines the terms of the contracts he is bound by, and has no choice but to bind Xiao by in turn, in a voice that drops now and then into a growl. So, too, does the ground shake beneath him as he does. Xiao had dropped to his knees the moment he entered Morax's presence, and so he does not stumble and lose his footing, but each little tremor makes him bow his head lower, useless as it seems to appease this rumbling rage.

However it might show around them, though, Morax restrains it enough to touch Xiao only gently, his grip firm but not at all tight. He raises Xiao's chin as if he's handling some precious object, and forces Xiao to meet his eyes. Xiao resists the urge to close them. This is Morax's will.

"Do you agree to this contract?" Morax asks.

Xiao is confused by the question, but he has been asked for an answer. "As my lord wishes," he says, lowering his gaze, since Morax's hold on him prevents him from bowing his head.

The ground shakes again, harder. His answer has not softened his god's anger either. But Morax's grip stays perfectly steady, not tightening one iota. "Then we will go and have it witnessed," he says in a voice like a mountain readying an avalanche.

---

There are no other witnesses but the other three gods and Guizhong at his side. Morax would have fought for that if he had to. Xiao could be a great general of yaksha someday, should his spirit mend from the damage done to it, and Morax would not have those he might lead witness his torment. Not even his other generals, who have taken Xiao under their wing; Guizhong had whispered that it might be better for them not to witness it either, for the sake of Xiao's pride.

Pride is not something Xiao's wounded spirit is capable of, but she isn't wrong. That will come with mending. Morax would not have him look back then and feel this shames him in front of those who wish to welcome him as their brother-in-arms.

Xiao strips to the waist without hesitation when Morax instructs him to bare his skin. He starts to drop to his knees, to bow his head. The God of Ash demands that he stand.

"I need a more stable surface," Morax says.

Turning his back to Morax, Xiao says, "I will be so for my lord."

His spine is a straight line of determination, but for all the firmness in his voice, it comes out flat. The resentment swirling around this room is strong enough that even Morax can feel it; a yaksha, far more sensitive, must feel deeply oppressed. A god's resentment is a powerful thing, and these three carry not just their own wounds but those of all their followers.

"Very well," Morax says, with the weight of the contract he's forging, and raises his hand to draw it across the small of Xiao's back.

The first stroke runs at an angle across Xiao's spine. His skin shivers under Morax's stroke. Power flows with it, out of Morax's fingertips and into his flesh, twisting and hardening it, leaving a raised thick line that isn't a burn but twists like one into a keloid scar. Unlike a scar, Morax knows it still aches with the weight of his power. Such alteration of flesh only slowly becomes bearable, and never entirely loses its feeling.

Aside from the involuntary twitch, Xiao does not move at all. He stares straight ahead. From behind Morax can't see his face. He wouldn't be surprised if it's impassive; Xiao's tendency towards stoicism has been clear since his first day in Morax's keeping.

Without raising his fingertips from Xiao's skin, he draws the next line, shorter, slanted upwards in the other direction. The keloid lines left behind are reddened, but darkening quickly to rusted brown. When they finally heal, they'll be amber. Morax has inscribed contracts in this way before. All of the previous have been upon the unwilling.

Three more lines, each shorter than the last, all connected together in one folding triangular shape. A contract such as this does not need to be inscribed in words to be binding. Not when it's Morax's power that makes it such. The stamp of Geo is all that is necessary, and will double, for the God of Ash's satisfaction, as a brand.

Morax raises his hand a few inches. "So," he says, a dragon's growl, letting the floor shake for a second while there's no risk it will make Xiao stumble and mar the pattern. "That affirms the first contract. I will begin the second."

Words, clauses, careful phrasings pile up in his mind, stones building the unyielding wall that will bar Xiao from harming the people of any allied gods. Morax sets his fingertips back against Xiao's skin.

---

The God of Ash is staring at Xiao with a hunger that is both like and unlike Xiao's previous master. *That* god had delighted in the pain Xiao caused others, sometimes demanding he drag prisoners into the court and dispose of them exactly as instructed, slowly and exactingly or swiftly and messily at turns. When the whim had struck and no prisoners were at hand, Xiao had also suffered for that delight. There is something of that in this god's burning eyes.

It isn't, though, quite the same. Xiao doesn't dare to meet that gaze, knows it would only offend further; instead he fixes his own on the far wall, looking past all three of Morax's allies. He stills himself as he had stilled himself when his previous master had looked around the court for someone to enact that suffering upon. He has never been certain how to act under torture. If he stood impassive, his past master had made it worse in order to draw out a reaction; when he let it show too early, the punishment for weakness had been just as bad. But staying expressionless when he was doling it out always seemed to bore that god faster, just a little, so that he had to inflict slightly less pain to those he killed.

Morax is the god of Geo. Xiao hopes that a stone face is what he wants.

The first line feels like a wall dropped upon the base of his spine. It's only his control of Anemo that keeps Xiao from gasping. He pulls air in and out, slow and steady, as Morax continues the pattern.

Pain is familiar. That doesn't make it any less unpleasant, but it does make it easier to bear. What hangs heavier on Xiao's shoulders is the weight of resentment in the room. That of his attackers' has been festering in his chest since that failed attack, dragging at each breath. Having their gods before him, the focus of all their angry prayers, increases that weight tenfold.

The weight of all his sins. Those angry prayers are pleas for a justice that Morax has chosen to exempt him from. Xiao knows that he deserves even more punishment than this.

But *Morax* has chosen to exempt him. And by doing so, he has taken any choice away from Xiao. All Xiao can do is the will of his new master, the one who spared him in battle, the one who gave him a name, the one who took his service in exchange. It is Morax's will that he lives. The contract Morax is inscribing upon his flesh is its testimony.

Therefore, it is Xiao's obligation to accept this weight, and refuse to let it crush him. No matter what his sins might deserve.

Each line carries equal weight to the first, driving into the small of his back with all the force that Morax can bring to bear. Such force has carved valleys and uprooted mountains, raised cities and drawn the dragon Azhdaha from the earth. Xiao breathes in and out, long and slow, gaze still pinned on the wall beyond but slowly going unfocused as all his concentration centers in on bearing it.

Morax lifts his hand. Xiao is only half-aware of the ground shaking, or what he's saying. He's intimately aware of the sigil of his new god, and agonizingly aware of the one inscribed upon his back. He knows that it's only half-finished. There will be more.

"As Rex Lapis, known as Morax, God of Contracts, I make this contract with my yaksha general Alatus, known as Xiao."

Xiao just barely manages not to start. General? He's no general. Morax doesn't even consider him yet fit for the field. But the names are true, and he can feel Morax's power leaning upon him to answer. If this is some contractual loophole that Morax is crafting, all Xiao can do is play along. If it's not... all Xiao can do is answer as Morax desires.

"I, Alatus, make this contract with my lord," he says, making himself look again at the wall. There is an uneven crack in the wood caused by the shaking of the floor; he knows it to be from that tremor just now, because it wasn't there before.

This time, the line drawn across Xiao's back doesn't feel like a wall coming down. It feels like grit ground into a wound, or raw flesh dragged across gravel. The grinding feeling of it doesn't cease when Morax's finger comes to a stop, but continues to build, growing steadily and without surcease.

"As my servant, you will respect the servants of my allies as if they were your own comrades."

"I will, my lord," Xiao says.

The second line is as grating harsh as the first, the same sensation of sharp pebbles poured into his flesh. Continuing to pour, as the first line continues to grind, the pain of it steadily rising high.

"You will protect, defend, and give shelter to the people of my allies as if they were my own people."

"I will, my lord."

As the third line gouges through his flesh, the first two seem almost to feed upon it. The pain is so intense, so grating and blunt, that Xiao could almost imagine it turning into pressure, like gravel is indeed piling up on open wounds, gouging flesh as it sinks deeper.

"You will never turn your strength upon them, or do them harm," Morax says, voice hard and rumbling dragon-loud, "except to defend yourself, and then only in defense."

The weight of the other gods' resentment redoubles, and the God of Ash hisses, something crackling in the sound, like flame being stirred by wind. "*Never*," Xiao gasps out, not sure whether he's choking on his sins or on smoke.

He welcomes the fourth line, the grating, digging agony of it, the first by now truly incomprehensible as anything but pressure if he wishes to stay conscious. The hunger in the God of Ash's eyes isn't delight at all. It's pure and eager hate.

"Should the general Alatus break this contract, his life, and his service with me, are forfeit, by my guarantee."

The last line is almost painless compared to the still-building pressure of those before. Xiao feels like he's floating, light-headed, aware of nothing but the Anemo flowing around him and the screaming agony at the small of his back. He has to consciously force air into his lungs to find breath for an answer.

"As my lord wills," he says, and the escalating pain of the new contract solidifies all at once, all five lines of it hammering into his spine with the implacable weight of stone.

Morax lifts his hand away and catches Xiao easily as he falls. Xiao catches a glimpse of the God of Ash's face before he folds over the solid bar of his lord's arm. Their satisfaction is almost glee, and yet, for the first time Xiao feels a sense of satisfaction in return. A modicum of justice has been done, within the limitations imposed by Morax's will.

Some of the weight of resentment in the room has eased. Not much, not when these gods hold all of their peoples' as well as their own. But witnessing his punishment must have been some salve. As much as being so punished had been for him. The guilt doesn't drag so heavily now.

He tries to stand again, but there's no strength in his limbs. Morax lifts him over his shoulder as easily as if he were a sash being tried on. He is careful not to touch the brand, though Xiao doesn't imagine that his touch would make it hurt any more than it already does.

"Our contract is complete," Morax says. Whether to Xiao or to the other gods, Xiao doesn't know. It must include those others, for Morax turns and strides out of the room with Xiao still over his shoulder, Guizhong a floating presence trailing along behind. Each step shakes the ground.

As they leave the gods' resentment behind entirely, Xiao's breath comes easier, and easier still. The weight of his sins still lies within him, and always well. But its weight is counterbalanced by the weight of his lord's symbol at the base of his spine. Xiao will accept that stamp without question. The pain is nothing against the guarantees that it provides.

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

I think it’s SO fucked up that my coworker told me “don’t tell people how old you are or that you just graduated because they just won’t take you seriously”

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I always smh at people who dub Jason as “whiny” “and therefore ooc” in tt 29. If you died and all everyone did was taint your legacy, and not a single person remembered you fondly or deemed you worthy of commemoration after your death, wouldn’t you be a bit upset too?

[goldentangerines]

told a massive cunt (neg) in a neighboring major (classical studies) off last week when he bothered me outside of work on a campus party and apparently this interaction has made the round and a lot of people on the history campus know about it already. i am Anxious About This

[kittyprincessofcats]

ICJ Ruling

Okay, let's get into this.

First of all, I get the frustration at the court not ordering a ceasefire. I was disappointed and frustrated at first too, since a ceasefire was the biggest and most important preliminary measure South Africa was requesting - and of course we just all want this horror to finally end for the people in Gaza. So I get the frustration and disappointment, I really do.

However, I do think this ruling is still a major win for South Africa, Palestine, and international law as a whole and here's why:

The court acknowledged that it has jurisdiction over this case and completely dismissed Israel's request to throw out the case as a whole. It will now determine at the merits stage (that will probably take years) whether Israel is actually commiting genocide.

The court acknowledged that Palestinians are a "distinct national or ethnic group and therefore deserving of protection under the genocide convention". Pull this out next time someone tells you "there's no such thing as Palestinians, they're all just Arabs".

The court acknowledged very unambiguously that "at least some" of Israel's actions being genocidal in nature is "plausible". South Africa has a case, officially. Israel is accused of genocide, in a way the ICJ deems "plausible", officially. This is huge. (And seriously, how freaking satisfying was it to hear all of those genocidal statements by Israeli politicians read out loud and used as justification for this rulling?)

The court might not have ordered a "ceasefire" in those words, but they did order Israel to "immediately end all genocidal acts" (which includes killing and injuring Palestinians) and submit proof that they actually did. How are they going to comply with this ruling without at least severly reducing or changing what they're doing in Gaza?

In fact, this wording might actually be more appropriate for a genocide (vs a war), as author and journalist Ali Abunimah notes on Twitter:

He's completely right. Israel lost today, by overwhelming majority (I mean, 15 to 2? I heard people predict the rulings would be very close, like 9 judges vs 8, but instead we got 15 to 2 (and even 16 to 1 on the humanitarian aid). Holy shit.) The court disimissed almost everything Israel's side of lawyers said, while acknowledging that South Africa's accusations are "plausible".

And this is important especially because of Mr Abunimah's second tweet there^. Because the question is, where do we go from here?

This ruling means that Israel is officially /possibly/ commiting genocide and that should have huge international consequences. The rest of the world now HAS to take these accusations seriously and stop arming and supporting Israel - and if they won't do it on their own, we, the people, have to make them. This is THE moment to rise up all around the world, especially in the countries most supportive of Israel (the US, the UK, Germany): Protest, call your representatives and demand a ceasefire and an end of arms deliveries to Israel.

We now have a legal case to back our demands: If Israel is, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" commiting genocide, then all of our governments are, according to the ICJ, "plausibly" guiltly of aiding in genocide. And we need to hold that over their heads and demand better. We need to do that right now and in huge numbers. Most politicians only care about themselves and saving their skin. We have to make them realize that they could be accused of aiding in genocide.

(As a German, I'm thinking of Germany here in particular: After South Africa's hearing, our government dismissed their case as having "no basis" - how are they going to keep saying that now that the ICJ officially thinks otherwise? Over the last months, people here have been arrested at protests for calling what's happening in Gaza a genocide. How are the police supposed to legally keep doing that now that the ICJ has officially deemed this accusation "plausible"? I used to be scared to use the word "genocide" at protests or write it on my protest signs - not anymore, have fun trying to arrest me for that when the ICJ literally has my back on this one 🖕🏻.)

So yeah - don't be defeatist about this, don't let Israel's narrative that they "won" (they didn't) take over. This might not be everything we wanted, but it's still a good result. Don't let what the court didn't say ("ceasefire"), distract you from the very important things that they did say. Let this be your motivation to get loud and active, especially if you live in any country that supports Israel. Put pressure on your governments to not be complicit in genocide, you now officially have the highest international court on your side.

[unforth]

So in light of yesterday, I'm bringing this post from April back, but I especially want to focus on the tag essays people have graciously and informatively shared.

The vast majority of the reblogs on this post have come from Chinese and Chinese diaspora people and many of them have written about their experiences in the tags.

I'm putting these out in screen caps because I really REALLY need all my fellow white people who didn't feel this was worth reblogging to see how prevalent this is. It's not about the one post from yesterday, though that was an egregious example (which, as far as I can tell, has now been deleted). This is about EVERY SINGLE DAY in these fandoms, all the little things the white-majority US-majority fandom as it is on Tumblr constantly say with zero self awareness and a "teehee well I'm not a racist so clearly what I said can't have been racist" attitude. Please, PLEASE, my fellow white people, read all these tags and see how much genuine harm is being done to other people by this casual disregard and also the flagrant disinterest that means that instead of my tags being full of white people going, "oh, I didn't realize, I'll try to do better!" they're instead full of this:

I don't know what I can say or do to get more of white Western danmei fandom to take this seriously but I guarantee I'm not going to shut up about it until I force people to listen. I actually had MORE screen caps but tumblr mobile capped me at 10. Read these outpourings of pain, of grievance, of grieving, of exhaustion, of regret, of frustration, of anger.

Listen to the voices of Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans!

Do better, white danmei fandoms.

I've debated multiple times doing something like cataloging racist microaggressions I see in the danmei tags and making a post about it. I generally see at least one a day, and I block the worst offenders. But in the end I'm a white USAdian and it's really not my place. I'm sure I don't even catch them all.

It's a real issue and I've seen a lot of anecdotal evidence that it drives Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans out of participating in Westernized Tumblr danmei fandom, and that's utterly unacceptable.

One of the most common ones I see is how people talk about the character names. For example:

[Image ID: screen cap of a text post. It reads: "This all came about when I was looking at SVSSS memes on Ao3 and went like "My friends nor coworkers would get heads or tails of what in the world these alphabet smash assortment mean let alone know that they're referencing Soecific individuals or novels." End ID]

THIS IS A MICROAGGRESSION. For fuck's sake, people, acting like the names are ridiculous, incomprehensible, outside of what "friends and colleagues" could comprehend, is RACIST AS FUCK. And I see people say stuff like this constantly.

"But I only meant I was struggling--" THEN WHY DID YOU ASSUME OTHER PEOPLE WOULD STRUGGLE THE SAME WAY? STILL RACIST

"But I could say that about the abbreviations in any--" BUT YOU SAID IT ABOUT THIS FANDOM SPECIFICALLY AND CONTEXT FUCKING MATTERS AND IN THIS CONTEXT IT'S RACIST.

"But it was on my personal blo--" LOOK IF YOU WANT TO BE RACIST ON YOUR PERSONAL BLOG I CAN'T STOP YOU BUT IF YOU TAG ORIGINAL POSTS INTO MAIN FANDOM TAGS THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE WILL SEE YOU AND KNOW YOU ARE RACIST.

The person who posted the above, when I said it was a microaggression, demanded to know how. So, for them and everyone else in this fucking fandoms, I present what any of them could have learned by googling the term. The definition of microaggression:

(Source)

[Image ID: a dictionary entry for the term "microaggression." It reads: "noun. A comment or action that subtle and often unconsciously or unintentionally expresses a prejudiced attitude toward a member if a marginalized group (such as a racial minority)." End ID]

What that screen cap says about names is literally the textbook definition of a microaggression.

Chinese names are just names. The way Chinese sounds is just the way a language sounds. Cultivation is inherently based in Eastern culture and cannot be completely divorced from that context even for a cute AU. I'm so tired of seeing posts saying things like "MXTX just stole the plot of (insert Western myth/folktale/fable here)". Do yall realize how fucking racist you're being? Do yall realize how fucking racist even I've probably been by accident because I'm also a dumb white USAdian?

I've been holding this post in for like a year, but the person who posted that screen cap, who doubled-down by posting a non-apology to all the MXTX main tags, and who acted like I'd said something insane when I told them it was a microaggression...they're apparently my last fucking straw.

DO BETTER, WHITE WESTERN DANMEI FANDOM. We all need to learn and listen and knock it the fuck off already. Me included.

Please, please listen when people say "check yourself." Seeing this stuff everyday is exhausting even for ME and I'm not even in the marginalized group. Chinese people (including diaspora) who stay in the fandom here despite the constant deluge are strong as fuck and they do not deserve this and, as a white person, I'm so so sorry white people are like this.

[nanaslutt]

so i just read like… ALL your gojo stuff.

now imagine… gojo not being able to hold back and wanting to breed you after you both try those aphrodisiac chocolates… ahem…

i am absolutely terrified of getting pregnant yet have the words most insufferable breeding kink, we exist

Contains: fem reader, aphrodisiacs, masturbation, no prep, spanking, rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, SOOO much dirty talk, praise, so much cum.., whiped!gojo, established relationship

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

Gojo was talking soooo much shit when you sent him a link to some aphrodisiac chocolates you saw online. He would not stop dismissing that they didn’t actually work; saying none of that shit that advertised any kind of enhancement in sexual arousal ever did.

So of course you had to order the chocolates and really test it for yourselves, making a challenge out of it.

If the chocolates truly had an effect, gojo would do whatever you wanted, and if they didn’t? vice versa. Gojo was game, of course; because he didn’t think anything would happen.

“Bleh- they taste like shit too,” Satoru grimaced, chasing the horrible flavor with a strawberry soda.

“That’s probably because there’s something in them satoru…like the aphrodisiac…,” you shook you head, swallowing the bitter chocolate.

“Orrrr; crazy thought; it’s just some cheap chocolate marketed as aphrodisiacs to make a ton of money off of people like us.” he drawled, throwing his hands up in the air and waving them around when he spoke.

“I really thought you out of all people would find this kind of thing fun satoru.” you said, trying to push his buttons a bit.

“We’ll of course, chocolate and sex? I’m all over that,” he said making you laugh, “but me and suguru tried something like this for fun back in our student days, it was some kind of pill though,” his face twisted in discomfort as he spoke, “just ended up making us super sick tho, yaga got pissed, heh” he laughed, remembering the memory.

“Knowing you two it was probably some cheap boner pill you got in a sketchy bag at the convenience store.. so that might explain it.” you snorted,

He rubbed his big hand over the back of his neck, “yeah, there was like 5 other pills in the bag with it now that I think about it..” he said quietly, making you hunch over in a laugh.

The two of you went about your evening like normal, watching some comedy movie that was on and cuddling together on the sofa. When it ended you went off to change into something more comfortable as you started off to finished the laundry.

You haven’t felt anything extremely out of the ordinary yet; remembering that the package said it might take long for women to feel the affects; but gojo on the other hand was feeling mildly uncomfortable.

His face and neck were feeling warm, throughout the entire movie his big hand was placed on your upper thigh, like always. What was unusual though, was how his skin tingled when he placed it on yours, palms sweating more than usual; he just chalked it up to all the junk he had been eating throughout the day, probably upsetting his body.

When you moved back into the kitchen and started on the dishes the two of you had created in the sink, Gojo couldn’t help but hyper focus on the fat off your ass peeking out of your night shorts.

The way you moved your hips as some r&b music played quietly from the tv. He watched your muscles and tendons move together when you twisted your body around, watching your ankles cross; one behind the other; getting comfortable from where you stood.

Satoru was feeling hot all over now, a large hand coming down to grope himself over his pants when you bent over to put the dishes into the washer, poking out your clothed mound towards him, the fabric of your shorts squeezing your curves just right.

His jaw dropped slightly, breathing heavier as he got off on watching you do such a mundane task like the dishes.

You inserted the pod into the dishwasher, completely oblivious to satoru’s shenanigans as you stood up straight. You noticed when washing your hands that you were starting to feel a warmth washing over your body, and a sort of warm coil tightening in your tummy.

The lightbulb went off in your head when you realized it was probably the work of the chocolates. You quickly shut off the water, towel is hand as you whipped your head behind you to tell gojo what was happening to you; and to inform him that you were going to win this challenge.

Your motions were stopped short as you bumped straight into gojos chest, “Oh! Didn’t realize you were-“ Your words getting cut off when gojo grabbed the bottom of your face, bringing your lips to his, and kissing you hungrily.

Gojo used his other had to slide his arm around your body, pressing you hard into him, letting you feel his erection against your tummy.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your words that tried to excape, “Sa-mm- Satoru-“ you got out between kisses. Gojo shoved his knee between your legs, putting delicious pressure on your cunt as he kissed you like it was his last day on earth.

You had to grip his hair and pull his face off of you to speak, this didn’t really phase him as he targeted your neck instead, biting and sucking on the skin there, “Fuck- s-satoru slow down-“ you moaned when he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot.

“Cant, need you-“ he spoke in between his rushed love bites on your neck, moving his big hands to hold your hips as he made you rock your cunt back and forth along this thigh.

Your head was spinning a mild a minute, still trying to wrap your head around the current situation. You expected this to happen; being on the side of ‘pro aphrodisiacs and all; you just didn’t expect it to happen so soon, and for it to have such a strong effect on someone like Satoru.

“S-shit- those chocolates have you m-more worked up than me,” you tried to laugh, voice cut short by a moan when his knee nudged your clit at a particularly mouthwatering angle.

“Need to be inside you,” he ignored you, groaning against your pulse point, hot breath tickling your neck when he spoke.

Gojo was breathing so heavily, his cock feeling like it was about to rip a hole in his pants at how hard he was. “Take em off, now-“ he whimpered, referring to your bottoms as he started pulling them down your legs, panties following suit.

You helped him, gripping his hair and keeping his lips pressed against your neck while you kicked off your shorts off from around your ankles . His hands dropped down to remove his own sweats, too impatient to fully take them off as he pulled them down just enough for his cock to spring out, jerking himself off with one hand rapidly between you; hand holding your hip with his other.

“Let me put it in, please, need to be inside you now-“ he groaned, finally pulling back from your neck; and he looked absolutely wrecked.

This whole situation was giving you whiplash, but you felt bad for him. Satoru’s hands were shaking, face flushed completely crimson, and he was sweating and panting like he just ran a marathon.

He continued stroking his cock, eyes flirting between your pussy and your pretty lips while he waited for them to move, voicing your consent.

His cock was dripping so much pre it looked like he already came. Hard cock still dripping steadily onto his hand and fingers, making his strokes emit loud ‘plp’ sounds into the air.

“Yes, please, give it to me toru,” you spoke, making him let out a moan of satisfaction. You wrapped your arms around his neck when he lifted you suddenly, burring your hands in his hair and face in his neck as he slid his dick into you with zero prep, all at once.

You were greatful the aphrodisiac was in affect, making you so much wetter than normal, and in turn, making the stretch a whole less painful then it would’ve been without it.

You whined at how his massive clock split you in half effortlessly, “Sorry baby- m’ sorry-“ he apologized with a groan against your bruised neck; whatever consciousness he still had left being aware that that might’ve hurt you.

“Shit it’s o-okay toru, just give it to me- fuck-“ You tipped your head back, jaw dropping and releasing a loud whine, giving him more access to mark up your neck while he fucked into you like a mad man; legs dangling over his arms as he held you in his strong grasp, hoisting you up and down on his cock like you weighed nothing to him.

“Holy fuckkk” he whined, vibrations going through your skin, “Need to fill you up, need to fuck you full of my cum s-shit-“ Gojo was working himself up with his words, already on the brink of his orgasm only a couple thrusts in.

He was truly using you like a cocksleve as he fucked into you at an inhumane pace, heavy balls slapping against your ass, strings of your combined wetness connecting to your ass each time he thrusted inside.

He sucked harder against your skin as he felt his first high rapidly approach him. His eyes repeatedly rolling back in his skull at the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy around him.

“Shitshitshit- gonna c-cum, need you to take it all f’me” his deep voice reverberated through you, all you could do is cry and moan our strings of his name and “yesyesyes” while he fucked his first load of the night into you.

“T-take it f-fucking take it yessss” Gojo felt like he was on cloud nine, he had never felt anything like this before. Of course he loved cumming inside you when you had sex but this was different. Every neuron in his brain was telling him to fuck load after load into you; to get you pregnant.

Gojo didn’t actually want kids right now, and you were on the pill so the possibility of him actually knocking you up was low- but not if his aphrodisiac brain had anything to say about it; he would make sure to fucking try.

Ignoring the overstimulation he felt as he humped his cum into you with heavy thrusts, quickly picking up his speed again when he finished spurting the warm ropes of cum into you, making you squeal at his quick recovery.

“Pussy feels so fucking good, so fucking wet sh-itttt” he groaned, dick twitching and abs clenching as he fucked himself through the aftershocks of his orgasm, sending him straight twords another one.

“T-toru o-oh my god-“ you wimpered, body flopping around limply at the intense pleasure. His cock was drilling straight into your sweet spot and making you dizzy. You tried not to pass out as he manhandled your body, gripping you roughly and marking up your skin everywhere his insatiable lips could reach.

“Gonna knock you up baby- g-gunna give you my babies- get you fucking pregnant, yeah? you want that?” you cut off his filthy mouth by using the grip you had on his head to press his mouth against yours.

“Yesyesyes, give me your babies toru- gonna make you a daddy-“ he groaned into your mouth at your mutual need for him to fill you up.

Gojo felt drunk hearing the nickname bounce around inside his head. Gojo never thought he had a daddy kink, but in this scenario? The nickname had him feeling like he was about to come again already.

By this point, the aphrodisiac was affecting you just as much as it was him, everywhere his body touched yours felt like your skin was on fire. You tried not to lose your sanity as he was pushing your towards your first orgasm without so much as even grazing your clit.

He set you down on the ground and in one swift movement spun you around so you were facing the counter. Satoru used his massive had to grab hold of his cock, slipping it back into your drenched walls.

You both groaned in unison at the sensation. Gojo gave you both a couple seconds to relish in the feeling, pressing his balls hard against your ass before he picked up his same ruthless pace as before.

“Good fucking girl- gonna look so fucking pretty with ur belly all round with my baby shiiit” he groaned when he felt your cunt clench around him at the idea.

He brought his massive palm down feeling your cunt squeeze him, leaving a heavy spank against your ass and gripping the fat between his fingers.

“Pussy tryna fuckin’ milk me down here” he laughed, biting his lip when he watched your hand come down to rub your clit in quick circles, “Yeaahhh fucking touch your pussy for me baby, make urself cum all over my dick while i fill you up.” he instructed, clenching his jaw.

“Shit- g-give it to me daddy- cum inside me-” you mindlessly babbled, there you go again with that fucking nickname that had his balls tightening.

You feet the coil wind itself up quicker than normal at your enhanced sexual arousal from the chocolate and the now added stimulation of touching your neglected clit.

“Come with me baby, gotta feel you cum around me- please” he begged, leaving another loud slap against your ass before pulling you back on his dick roughly by your hips.

“S -shit it’s coming it’s coming i’m- fuckfuck- ngghhh” your warned, voice cutting out as you started to come around his girth while he fucked you through it.

“yeeeeeess baby- fuuuuck- milk my fucking cock fuck-“ he watched intently as your little hole clenched around him, his first load spurting out around his cock with the pressure of your orgasm, making the white ring around the base of his dick get even messier.

“I’m coming again baby- take it for me- need you to take it all, gotta make sure it t-takes” he whined, getting you pregnant still on the forfront of his brain.

Your legs would’ve collapsed on the floor if he wasn’t holding up a majority of your weight by your hips. Your nails slid against the marble as his cock rammed against your cervix, making you dizzy, broken moans getting forced out of your mouth at the feeling of getting repeatedly impaled on his cock.

You tried to gain a little bit of brainpower back to help gojo through his orgasm just like he did for you, “y-e-sss toru’ cum inside me please- i’ll take it all- be a good girl for you-“ your voice squeaked out, words getting louder at the end with how rough his thrusts were,

He leaned over your back, pressing his sweaty chest onto you while he wrapped you in a tight bear hug, not ceasing his ruthless hips, “Need you t-to kiss me baby- go-nna be instense” he whimpered against your shoulder, waiting for you to turn your head twords him to give him access to your mouth.

When you did he wasted no time in pressing his lips to yours. The two of you swallowed each others moans as his pitch got higher and higher; his tight grip was sure to leave dark bruises on your body as he held onto you for dear life at his impending orgasm.

When the coil finally snapped, he shook violently against you, hips stilling against your ass, pressing his hips as deep as he could into you while hot ropes of cum filled you up even more than his last load, making more cum spill out around him at how full you already were.

His breath was hitching into your mouth, lips doing their best to kiss you back as his jaw kept falling open as the waves of his high washed over him.

He whined and dropped his head against your shoulder when he started to come down. Gojo panted heavily against your skin, twitching in the aftershocks of his high.

“D-don’t move please” he requested, fucking his softening cock into you a couple more times to make sure his cum was as deep inside you as it could go.

“Fuck toru- feel so full right now..” you wined into the marble, wincing in overstimulation at his final few weak thrusts.

After a couple seconds he finally pulled out his cock, gulping hard as he watched his cum start to dribble out of you; making you whine at the slightly uncomfortable feeling.

He used a couple fingers to spread your pussy lips; admiring his work for a second before he used to fingers to scoop his cum back up, stuffing his thick digits back inside of you, “Gotta get that plug of yours to keep it all in,” he said, biting his lip at how soft you felt around his fingers.

“Or you could let me cockwarm you,” you giggled, turning your head back to look at him while he looked enthralled with your cunt.

“God I love you, smartest fucking girl I know.” he praised.

You fell into a fit of giggles when he scooped you up in his arms, peppering kisses onto your face while he headed twords your shared bedroom.

You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist while he walked, keeping them snug even when he dropped the two of you on the mattress together. Gojo’s large frame laying on top of you as he reached his hand down between you to slide his semi-hard cock back into your oversensitive walls, making you hiss at the feeling, “Sorry baby- almost in,” he promised, kissing your cheeks while he fully bottomed out.

He rolled his eyes at how warm and soft you felt around his dick, sucking soft hickeys into the crook of your neck while you pet his damp hair.

“I’ll clean you up in a second my love, promise, you just feel too good right now.” he let out a short laugh against you.

“‘S okay toru, makes me feel good too.” you tipped your head forward and pressed kisses onto the top of his scalp.

“We gotta be careful with those chocolates,” he laughed, “Might acctually knock you up one day if we keep eatin those,”

“That doesn’t sound half bad,” you confessed, squeezing your legs harder around his hips.

“Dangerous words to say right now pretty girl,” he warned, smirking into your skin,

“Oh right, guess you won the bet,” he remembered, “Whacha want ur big strong boyfriend to do for you?” he asked teasingly,

“Cum inside me again, right now,” you requested after a beat, emphasizing your need by squeezing your pussy walls around him, making him inhale a sharp breath between his teeth.

“Fuck… you serious?” he smirked, lifting his head to look at you.

“Don’t keep me waiting, give me my prize toru,” you pouted your bottom lip at him, making his brain short circuit as he felt his cock twitch back to life.

You ended up taking a plan B the next morning… just in case…

[the-delta-quadrant]

most trans people who people like to call "non transitioning" actually do transition, but people don't want to acknowledge that not all transition is medical

changing your hair is transition

deciding to shave or grow your body hair is transition

doing something different with make up is transition

changing your new wardrobe is transition

changing your name is transition

changing your pronouns is transition

coming out to people is transition

even just accepting your own transness without telling anyone else is transition, as it changes how you see yourself

it's almost impossible to be trans and truly non transitioning, even if that transition might be non medical, non visible or entirely self contained

all kinds of transition are valid.

there are also things that aren't necessarily associated with transition that an individual may consider to be part of their transition, like working out to make their body look different, getting piercings and tattoos and so much more

there are so many ways of transitioning besides surgery and hormones

"non transitioning nonbinary/trans person" is just code for "i don't consider your transition to be real because it doesn't fully fit into what cis people expect"

"some parents would rather have a non transitioning trans child than one who does" like yeah no shit. a non transitioning trans child is a trans child who doesn't come out, doesn't change anything about themself. not their name, not their pronouns, not their hair or wardrobe. a non transitioning trans child is a trans child who never talks about being trans so their parents can pass them off as cis. a non transitioning trans child is a trans child that is in the closet. of course a lot of parents would rather have a trans child who stays in the closet so they don't have to deal with their transness. but you all mean "non transitioning" as in "not medically transitioning" and that's not true either. trans people get kicked out of their house for doing as little as changing their pronouns. and if you say you're doing literally anything as part of your transition/because you're trans, people will absolutely give you shit for it, while a cis person can do the same thing and it's no biggie. social transition is not accepted at all.

there are some weird trans people out there who will completely dismiss people's life saving transition steps as "non transitioning" because they don't fit cis ideas of transness, it's disgusting

when i say "transition" i'm always including medical transition and social transition, as well as anything else an individual may consider part of their transition that doesn't necessarily fit into the two boxes

also can we stop acting like social transition isn't also constantly under attack

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[gloomwitchwrites]

You send him a text "Thanks for the flowers, babe" attached with a photo of a bouquet as a prank. Obvs, he gets jealous/possessive.

Anon, I love this. I cackled the first time I read it, and I've been wanting to get to it for a while. There are so many requests (and I will get to them all), but with my health being shit, I'm trying to select from the pool where I'm not overworking my brain or stressing myself out trying to come up with something. This prompt came very naturally to me.

These are all spicy. Period. I didn't hold back with this one. Maybe I'm ovulating or some shit but I literally couldn't write anything but smut for this prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, spanking, oral sex (female & male receiving), face fucking, restraints, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, jealousy, possessive behavior, orgasm control

Word Count: 4.4k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it, attention stuck on Price who stands in front of a large map of Europe.

There are pictures—some have a red “X” through them while a couple others have black question marks. The mission isn’t done, but that isn’t surprising. This has taken months to complete. It’s been slow, and entirely too complicated for Simon’s liking.

His phone buzzes again, the vibration pulling his attention away.

When the third buzz comes in, his agitation turns to worry. Simon never allows messages to come through at work unless it’s from very specific people. To have three come through in less than two minutes stirs something in his gut.

Price starts talking again but Simon’s brain is melting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. Keeping it next to his thigh, Simon awakens the screen.

Your name is there and 3 new messages.

Simon glances up, but no one is looking at him. Silently, he unlocks the phone and clicks over to his messages, tapping on your name.

At first, Simon doesn’t understand. His brain short-circuits, and then unbridled jealousy comes roaring forward.

The first message is a photo of a beautiful bouquet sitting on the kitchen island. It’s fucking large, taking up most of the space. The flowers are different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. It looks like spring.

Beneath the picture are two texts.

Thanks for the flowers!!

I love you!

But Simon did not get you flowers. He didn’t order these, and he certainly didn’t have them delivered to the flat.

Fuck. What the actual fuck.

Someone else did this.

Simon’s first thought is that Johnny did it to prank him. But Johnny has been a bit subdued today, and his attention isn’t on Simon at all.

No. It’s likely not him.

Simon locks his phone and stews. He can’t just leave this meeting. It’s important, but he’s going to get to the fucking bottom of it.

By the time Price dismisses them, Simon is already out the door, charging toward his locker to grab his stuff. It usually takes him a half hour to arrive home, but today he does it in twenty. When Simon bursts through the front door, he’s ready to toss those flowers right off the balcony.

But then he sees your face—how happy you are—and Simon melts. You throw yourself into his arms, and Simon instinctually responds, embracing you tightly. He presses his face into your hair and inhales.

“Missed you,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I didn’t get you any flowers.

Simon smiles because it’s all he can manage. That jealousy from earlier starts to curl back up, twisting around in his ribcage.

“Did you like the note?”

You frown. “What note?”

The way you ask is…odd. It’s far too innocent in the presentation. Simon knows your cues and this seems forced to him. But the sender didn’t leave a message. That doesn’t give Simon much to go on if he’s going to track down who sent them.

“Maybe they forgot,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “Show them to me.”

With a bright smile, you take his hand, guiding him into the kitchen. They’re much more stunning in person and Simon momentarily freezes. Did he forget your birthday? An anniversary? An important event?

Simon recalls nothing for today’s date.

The jealousy rises again but he clamps down on it. Anyone could have sent this, especially a friend of yours or a family member. Doesn’t mean there is someone out there with predatory intentions. And for all Simon knows, you’re having a laugh, riling me up. You’ve done it before.

“They’re lovely,” observes Simon. “Better than the picture.”

Your grin is gorgeous, a thing Simon wants to bottle up. You open your mouth to answer him but the dryer goes off. “Hold on,” you call over your shoulder as you dash away. “Let me change over the loads.”

When you disappear, Simon goes for the bouquet. He quickly checks through every flower and between the stems, even sticks his fingers in the dirt. Simon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but he’s grasping for anything.

The only thing of note is the business card which Simon quickly plucks from its holder and tucks into his pocket. Simon steps away from the bouquet when you appear again.

Jealousy is stewing, showing its fangs, curling tighter around Simon’s ribs.

When you reach for him, Simon sweeps you off your feet, planting you on the kitchen island. You giggle, but Simon cuts it off, drawing you to the edge to seize your lips in a fierce kiss.

That jealous viper between his bones tells him to possess you.

Simon’s hands drop to your waist and then your hips. He settles himself between your legs, hands moving down to your bare thighs.

You’re flushed with embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him, giggling his name as you fist his shirt.

“I���ve been thinking about you all day,” rasps Simon.

Your lips part and Simon slides his tongue inside. You moan, suck on his tongue, and release him. Simon’s grip on your thighs tightens.

“All day?” you ask softly.

Moving his hands to beneath your thighs, Simon tugs you into his arms and carries you over to the dining room table, but doesn’t place you on top of it. He brings you to your feet, and then his fingers curl around the shorts that are little more than underwear.

“Take these off.”

“Simon—”

“Do it,” he growls, releasing them and bringing his hand back to his side.

Slowly, you do as he says. You bring them up so that Simon can see them before tossing them to the side. That viper in him hisses, the venom leaking into his system.

Simon slides his hand between your thighs. You lean back against the table, hands resting on the edge as you part your legs. What his fingers find only makes him groan.

Withdrawing, Simon licks his fingers clean. “Turn around. Bend over the table. Show me what I want.” With a smirk on your lips, you face the table, and bend forward, going up on your toes.

Fuck the flowers and whoever sent them. You’re his.

Simon unbuckles the front of his belt, undoes the zipper of his pants, and frees his aching cock. He needs to be inside you, to hear you say his name, to feel you come around him. He needs to possess because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

Guiding with his hand, Simon rubs the head of his cock through your slickness. You’re already so wet for him—so fucking needy, and he’ll devour it all. Give you exactly what you want while taking something for him.

As he starts to slide in, you whimper. Reaching back, your hand grabs your ass, opening yourself a bit wider for him.

Bloody hell.

Simon doesn’t want to go slow. Using his grip on your hip, he slides all the way in, making you take him to the hilt with one forward thrust of his hips.

Your gasp is choked, and then Simon is lost, pounding into you as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you. It’s only your tightness, your breathy moans of pleasure, and the desperate why you say his name. It wraps around him, satiates the viper, calms the rising jealousy until it’s only you Simon can focus on.

Through the haze, Simon finds your clit, plays with it, slows his thrusts until your orgasm arrives, squeezing him so tight he almost finishes right then and there. But once that wave crests and crashes, Simon is back at it. Planting both hands on the table on either side of your waist, Simon stutters out, his lower back tensing, everything draw up.

Simon’s orgasm is an unraveling. All the tension melts as he finishes, and even then, he continues to thrust, pushing his cum deeper inside you. His chest heaves, body shuddering as he draws back a bit. Your breathing is just as labored.

Easing out of your body, Simon admires the bloom of cum at your entrance. He presses it back inside before helping you unbend from the table. Turning you around to face him, Simon claims your mouth in a deep kiss, his grasping the back of your head.

You form to him, and Simon’s hunger flares.

“To bed,” he says, drawing you away with a tug on your hair.

“To sleep?” you ask, smirking.

Maybe you did all this. Planned it all from the beginning.

Naughty girl.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He releases you, and then smacks your ass for good measure. Squeaking, you scurry away toward the bedroom. Simon stands there for a moment, composing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws the business card. There is an address and a phone number.

Glancing over his shoulder at the bouquet, Simon comes to a decision. Stalking toward his duffle, Simon secures the business card in a side pocket. He’ll deal with this at work.

Right now, you’re getting undressed.

And Simon is much more interested in that.

Flowers can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You send the final text and lock your phone, leaving it on the coffee table.

It’s just a little prank. A tease.

Kyle is always a gentleman even when he makes your toes curl and pulls unseemly sounds from between your lips. But riling him up can be just as fun. Kyle isn’t one to be jealous or even possessive of you. He’s certainly protective, and his presence always makes you feel safe, but you’re aching for something else right now.

The flowers weren’t all that expensive. And they are pretty.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again.

When you check the screen, you see two new texts from Kyle. You stare at it, and set it back down. You’re going to let him stew and question. If anything, Kyle might think the flowers innocent.

Tapping your fingers against your knee, impatience stirring in your belly, you stare out the patio door. You need to distract yourself, but the urge to look is too strong. Snatching the phone back up, you glance at the messages.

That’s sweet, love.

But I didn’t get you flowers.

Honesty. This man is terrible at lying or hiding his feelings.

You tap out a reply.

Of course you did! Loved the note you left with it!

Kyle’s reply is instant.

Note?

You nearly cackle at the ceiling and when you hit send.

I want you tonight. You know you can have me whenever lol. No need to send flowers about it.

Within seconds of you hitting send, you phone starts to vibrate. Yelping, you nearly drop the thing. Kyle’s name and a photo of him at the beach pop up on your screen. You stare at it, allowing it to go to voicemail. He calls again immediately.

You launch off the couch, pacing as the phone falls back into voicemail. It’s a bit thrilling knowing that Kyle is likely worked up on the other end.

Answer the phone, comes Kyle’s next text, and then, I’m coming home.

Oh shit.

You are all nervous excitement waiting for him. And when he does come barreling through the door, you’re a bit shocked at the sight of him.

Slowly, he shuts the front door, striding into the kitchen where the bouquet is. He stares at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on you.

“Kyle,” you say brightly, walking toward him.

He holds up a finger and walks past you. You hear the opening and shutting of doors, of drawers being opened, and items moving around. Kyle returns, hands on his hips, concern on his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I didn’t send you those flowers.”

“Didn’t you?” you reply, innocently, moving toward them.

Kyle shoots forward and begins digging through the stems. “Where is that bloody card?” he mutters.

There is no card. No note. You made it all up.

“Kyle,” you say, but he ignores you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he says, ripping opening the plastic to see inside.

“Kyle,” you repeat, adding a bit of volume behind your voice.

Again, he ignores you, scattering the flowers across the countertop.

“When I find the fucking wanker that—”

“Kyle!”

He turns, eyes a bit wild. Kyle looks ridiculous, and you suddenly feel terrible. You reach for him, placing both hands on either side of his face. “There’s no note.”

Kyle blinks like he didn’t hear you correctly. “What?”

“There’s no note,” you repeat. “I bought the flo—”

Kyle groans loudly and places his entire hand over your face, muffling the last few words. “Bloody hell, baby girl.” He lightly pushes off, dropping his hand, and stepping back.

You grin sheepishly as Kyle crosses his arms over his chest.

“What was the goal?” he asks, leaning forward a bit.

You shrug your shoulders. “To rile you up?”

Kyle laughs, short and clipped. “Rile me up?”

“Yes,” you say slowly.

He leans in a bit more, a smirk on his face. “And what do you think was going to happen once you riled me up?”

You know that Kyle already knows the answer to this question. But he’s indulging you. As he always does.

“I didn’t think that far,” you reply, but it’s far from the truth.

You wanted to rile him up so that he’d come home and fuck you like a man possessed.

Kyle bites down on his bottom lip and you track the movement. “No, love. You did.” He straightens. “And I know what you want.”

Kyle steps into your space, his head dipping as if to kiss you but pausing just before. “You need a good throat fucking. I need an apology. And then I can give you what you want.”

“Kyle,” you breathe.

“On your knees, love. Present your mouth.”

You obediently drop to your knees, and part your lips.

“Wider,” he almost growls.

You do so just as Kyle reaches down and undoes the front of his belt. He doesn’t even look. Doesn’t flinch. The belt is gone and the front of his pants are open by the time Kyle grabs your face and brings you close.

“Tongue out.”

You do so, and Kyle taps the head of his cock against it before sliding it back and forth over your tongue. His hold shifts, falling to the nape of your neck.

“Take it like a good girl. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle draws you forward, forcing you to take all of him. Holding you in place for a few seconds, Kyle only eases you back once your gag reflex kicks in. Kyle adjusts his stance, and your hands grasp the sides of his thighs.

Kyle’s hand on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand tangles in your hair. Keeping you in place, he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. All you can do is cling to him, to hold on as he grunts above you.

There isn’t any anger there, just a stern brow and a need for control. It’s delicious. Entirely mouth-watering. Your core warms, a slickness blooming, indicating just how much this turns you on.

To bring Kyle toward his end, you make little sounds in your throat. It makes him stutter. It makes him moan. Beneath his pants, you feel the muscles in his legs tighten. And then he’s forcing you down his length, throating him entirely as he comes down your throat.

Breathing through you nose is the only thing holding you together. And when he slides you off, you cough, wiping at your lips.

Kyle’s hand caresses your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. He arches a single eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Reaching out, Kyle draws you up to your feet, bringing you close. His smile is soft, and when he comes in for a kiss, it is consuming.

“Now that you’ve riled me up,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Kyle pulls away, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

“Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed. And bend over. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle drops his hand.

“That’s my good girl.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s ears are ringing.

“You better be bloody joking,” he growls at his phone.

On the screen is a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Flowers that you’re thanking him for. Flowers that he didn’t send.

And the card? Bloody fucking hell. That card is going in the shredder. Johnny will tear it apart with his own teeth if he has to. Some fucker had the bright idea to send you flowers like he’s the one you’re dating.

No. Fuck that.

Johnny might be the demolitions expert, but he knows Ghost could dig around for him if he asked. Scratch that. Johnny is asking right fucking now.

“Hey, Lt!” Johnny jogs over to Ghost and turns his phone around. “Can you trace who sent these flowers?”

Ghost’s expression behind the balaclava remains flat. “It’s a fucking photo, Johnny.”

Cursing under his breath, Johnny forwards the image to Ghost. Ghost checks his phone, enlarging the image.

He grunts. “Should be easy.” Ghost glances up from the screen. “Why?”

“Someone making a move on my woman,” replies Johnny, holding back a growl.

“Done,” says Ghost. “Give me a couple hours.”

It doesn’t take Ghost long, and Johnny has to laugh out loud.

“You fucking naughty thing,” mutters Johnny as he unlocks the door to your flat.

When he enters, you’re nearly on your toes, eager for him. It’s cute, but you need to learn first. Sure, the prank is harmless, but you were wanting a rise out of him.

Punishment is needed.

“Johnny,” you say brightly, coming around the counter to greet him.

As you arms reach for him, Johnny removes his belt. Your gaze drops, but he is faster than you. Johnny has the belt around your wrists and secured before you can even protest.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Thought I wouldn’t find out?” Johnny tuts. He yanks you forward, bringing the two of you almost face-to-face. “Bought those flowers yourself.”

Johnny tugs on the belt again. You stumble into him and he spins you around. With another quick tug, Johnny has the belt looped onto one of the coat hooks embedded in the wall.

Reaching down, Johnny palms your ass, his lips pressed to your ear. “Got me all jealous at work. Had Ghost stalking the flower shop and everything.” He squeezes, and then smacks your ass. Hard.

You whimper. “Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, love.” He kisses your throat. Your skin is soft and he inhales, savoring your scent. You’re freshly showered, and the smell of your shampoo invades his nostrils.

It doesn’t take much to rid you of your underwear. It’s just you in an old shirt and your bare ass on full display. Johnny slides his hands between you clenched thighs.

“Spread them.”

You do so obediently and a primal part of him simmers with pleasure. Johnny slowly drops to his knees behind you. He savors the view, taking his time to enjoy the sight before him. Even from here, Johnny can see how slick you are. How wanton.

He’s going to devour you. Make you beg. Deny you what it is you most want until you’re a fucking mess for him. That’s punishment enough.

Johnny tests by running one finger over your pussy. It comes back glossy. He pops it into his mouth, groaning at your taste.

“Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” asks Johnny, running his finger over you again.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

That’s a start.

Johnny leans in, the tip of his tongue playing with your entrance. He traces it with his tongue before slipping inside, slowly fucking you with it. It’s not enough, but Johnny knows this. He needs to suck on your clit and give you his fingers to make you come.

But even then, you’ll have to wait.

You’ll have to beg.

Johnny trails upward, swirling his tongue, finding your clit. He teases it. Flicks it back and forth in a steady stroke. You’re already growing wetter. You’re already moaning above him. Too bad you don’t know what’s coming.

Johnny slides one finger inside of you, pumping twice before inserting a second. You’re tight around him. He can feel the stretch.

He works you slowly, lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy as he teases your clit with his tongue. Above him, your moans come unbroken and loud. It’s sweet. He loves the sound. But Johnny knows your tells, and when your muscles begin to clench and unclench quickly, he ceases all movement.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, glancing down.

Johnny chuckles. “You have to earn it love.”

“Johnny, please,” you beg.

“What’s that, love? Didn’t hear you?”

“Please,” you say, drawing it out.

“Please what?” he prompts.

“I want to come,” you murmur.

Johnny smirks and starts fucking you with his fingers again, but doesn’t put his mouth back on your clit. It’s not enough for you. You’re squirming. Wiggling. Needing more.

“You pull another stunt like this again, love, and this,” Johnny smacks your ass with a sharp thwack, “will be red.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please. Just—please.”

Johnny teases your clit with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Beg some more.”

You do. All sorts of obscene things fall from your lips. When tears form in the corner of your eyes, Johnny finally gives you relief.

He fucks your gorgeous pussy with his fingers. He tastes and teases until you’re crying out, clamping around him as you come undone.

Johnny withdraws. Straightens.

You’re still hanging on the hook.

He frees you from it, but does not remove the belt from around your wrists. Johnny presses you against him with a flat palm upon your stomach.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

Johnny kisses your throat. “To bed.”

You frown, holding up your bound hands. “But the belt.”

“Stays on,” he says, fisting the tangling leather. “Until I’m done with you.”

John Price

John isn’t one for texting.

You’ll send him a barrage of texts only for him to call you hours later asking what you were texting him about.

Which is why you didn’t think this plan would work.

But then it did, and now you’re bent over John’s lap, bare ass in the air.

John told you that he was working late to catch up on paperwork. Whenever that happens, he always gives you a call to check-in and hear your voice. It’s routine at this point. A comfort. Most of the time, he just wants you on the other side, to have you talk about the day or whatever you want while he’s working. John will usually remain silent, listening, basking in your voice.

You planned it perfectly, knowing that he’d check his phone before giving you a call. You sent the photo of the flowers. A beautiful display really. And they were on sale. You also sent him a picture of the makeshift “note” that you made for it. All it said was “thinking of you” with no name. All of that was follow up by a “thank you” and promises to please him later.

John was calm when he called you—almost eerily so. When you thanked him from the flowers, he didn’t reply. He simply pushed past it. The thing is, John saved all of that energy up for when he came home.

Your ass stings. John rubs the spot he just smacked before squeezing.

“Now, love. Tell me the truth.” He says it so sweetly, like it’s such a simple thing.

And you don’t know how much longer you’ll last under this barrage.

“You bought them for me,” you whimper, keeping up the façade.

John shakes his head. “We both know that’s not true.” He squeezes your ass again, the sting burning slightly when he let’s go.

“I’d guess you’re seeing someone else but that would be lie. Wouldn’t it?”

He punctuates this statement by slipping his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your pussy, parting your slickness. John dips one finger inside and then another, only to retreat and grab your ass cheek with the same hand.

“I know just how to make you wet, love. You have no one else to run to.”

“I told you—Fuck! John!” You jolt in his lap as his palm comes down on your already throbbing cheek.

“Be honest, love. Or you’ll get a few more.”

You swallow down your pride. You wanted him riled up, but you weren’t expecting this. Not for John to come home, strip you down, and bend you over his lap.

“I bought them,” you grumble.

John’s hand eases. “You what?”

“I bought them,” you snap.

“I knew you did.”

Before you have the chance to form a retort, John guides you up and into his lap. He grabs the front of your throat, bringing you close to him. He does not kiss you. He simply hovers.

“You’re going to straddle my lap and bounce on my cock until I fill you up. You understand?”

You nod, and Price let’s go of your throat.

“Get to it,” he purrs.

John is fully clothed, and you’re wearing nothing at all. You undo the clasp of his belt, pull the zipper, and he flexes his hips enough that you can work his pants down a bit. When his hard length is free to you, you straddle him, lining yourself up.

He remains impassive as you start to sink down. The stretch is perfect—as it always is, and you groan as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. Gripping his shoulders, you roll up and back down, rocking when you can to give your legs a break.

John still stays quiet but his gaze is assessing. Slowly, his hand comes around your neck again, and this time he squeezes slightly. It’s not to hurt. It’s to dominate and possess.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you murmur, sinking down on him.

“Say it again,” repeats John.

“I belong to you,” you gasp, coming up and then back down.

“Again,” and this time there’s a growl in his tone.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right,” he says, crashing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is a claiming, one that shoots through your body and consumes your limbs and control. You shudder, pussy clenching, and then John is fucking up into you, his hands on your hips.

You’re no longer in control. It’s just John, and his need to possess.

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[hxltic]

You thought he was innocent. You thought that—by Megumi’s nonchalance, his lack of ability to hold eye contact, and his honest dismissal of your presence as a whole while you spoke to his best friend Itadori when you first met—was a sign of shyness, especially considering he tries to ignore conversations he doesn’t find himself necessary to participate in.

When you did include him in the conversation, he glances up from the screen of his phone, then to his pink haired companion, then back to you. He nods at whatever you said with an almost imperceptible curl of his lips, remembering how Itadori told him to smile so he doesn’t come off as rude to new people.

Since then you became friends by proximity. When Itadori was doing anything worth making fun of, you’d find each others gaze, silently agreeing on how much of a dumbass he was sometimes, and literally this interaction over and over called for you two to become closer. When he did speak, there was a softness to his voice. His words weren’t harsh, and spoken gently, as if he were to deem you as not listening anymore, he’d stop speaking completely and return to whatever he was doing. That doesn’t happen of course.

Needless to say, he was deceiving. Those beautiful green eyes underneath strands of his long hair that was growing out by the day are completely, and utterly, deceiving.

Because now, as you do get farther and farther away from just kissing, his movements become fervent and laced with hunger. You were previously sitting criss-cross on top of the bed comforter. Now you’re falling backwards, a low-eyed Megumi stripping himself of the short-sleeved white tee he wore.

“Is this okay?” He’d confirm earnestly, voice still floating into the air as before despite the drop in tone. When you solidify yourself with a tug on the hair at his nape and the desperate roll of your hips, he relocates his focus down to your neck, leaving feather-light kisses that send fire all over.

And then you get past the teasing part, finally, and you decide to pamper him a bit. You’re laying on your stomach between his legs as he is sitting upright. He allows you to remove him from his boxer briefs.

The second you hold his length between your fingers, pleasuring him with a few experimental strokes and attaching your plush lips to his throbbing tip, his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Oh god,” he groans, basking in the feeling of the suction. You can conclude it’s his first time.

You hum back, “Mhmm,” just to provide a response.

It’s all great until the hands that clench the sheets come up to your hair and gather it into a makeshift ponytail. Megumi is always so sweet, no matter what. It’s then you realize he’s intently watching what you’re doing, not your own eyes, and there’s a curious, devious, emotion lurking behind them.

Suddenly there’s a force to the back of your head and your nose almost reaches his pelvis. Done so quick, it was as if he wanted to see what would happen, just once. His eyes shot open as he popped back into reality to check on you nervously.

“Shit sorry— I’m sorry.”

Staring up at him, blinking blankly, his nerves skyrocket at your next words but you wish to see that cold in his eyes again. Give him complete freedom to try out what he wants to, what you can tell he’s thought about more than once. You clear your throat and instruct him to do it again.

“Are you sure? I can—”

“—I want this to feel good for you. You can be rough with me.”

With him being the socially awkward one, you wear the pants in the relationship. So when he sees that determination in your eyes, he knows there’s nothing to stop it. He nods. “Just tap if you want me to stop.”

Back down you go. Like all the nervousness was just a fluke, he shoves your head down in a chase for the warmth of your throat. It pulsates around his shaft once you begin to gag, which tips his head back once more, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as his hips buck up.

He becomes more comfortable the more you seem to be actually okay with what he’s doing, and as he gets closer with every gluck and splutter, he begins speaking into the air. He can’t help it.

“Oh fuck, I love how your throat feels. Can you go even deeper? All the way?”

On cue, you choke with your nose in trimmed, dark hair, your nails digging red crescents into the skin of his thighs along with lines that will burn later. Spit dribbles past your lips and down to his balls. The boy you thought you knew would despise the feeling, and honestly the entire messy sight in itself, but I guess that’s something new you learned.

“Take it,” he looks down at you with his brows furrowed angrily, and it dawns on you this was a whole different man. Your panties run damp. He slurs, “Take it all and hold it.”

A headache forms with how fast he rolls your head up and down and the tight grip he has, then it stops for a moment as you regulate your breathing through your nose at the base before he tugs you right back up, allowing you to finally breathe. He grabs you firmly by the cheeks for a kiss. Even if his dick was in the farthest back part of your throat.

Suddenly you’re rising with his lips, and his fingers are hooking under your thighs to drag you closer to him and onto your back, just how you were before you decided to spoil him. His cock is still wet and throbbing and leaking precum, on the verge of exploding, but he leaves it untouched.

He’s tugging your shorts and panties off at the same time. At first he stares pensively, basking in all the skin he’s seeing and what he’s going to do with it. He’s quick in the way he rolls your knees up and to your sides. It’s only natural for his fingers to knead the plush of your thighs while he bends down to your center, kissing and biting around where you want him most.

“Tell me how,” he asks, his long eyelashes fluttering up to you.

Your response is “How what?” You have already completely forgotten about his lack of experience.

“How to make it good for you.”

His marks on your body do not falter; the number only increases with the amount of time that passes. “W-Well there’s a specific spot in the center that feels really good. You just kinda mess with that? I guess?” He watches your face redden and your eyes dart away as the broken sentences spill from your mouth.

“So…”

His hand releases your thigh and two of his fingers slowly slide up into your wetness, splitting your lips apart, showcasing the bud to him. He knew female anatomy, that wasn’t the hard part—it was just whatever comes after that.

He comes forward and his tongue leaves his mouth, licking a solid stripe atop your clit, looking you dead in the eyes when yours return to his so he can gauge your reaction. The pink muscle flicks up over it a few times, eliciting a gasp and a whine at the sight from you.

When you don’t respond, he does it again, this time taking you into his mouth, just to release it, and take it back in. If your legs start to move he presses them back down, leaving your thighs caged by his palms and your hips shuddering. There’s a satisfying grunt when you tug his hair, unknowingly pulling it out of his face too.

Since then he twists his face in your pussy, slurping and holding your lips open for himself when he sees fit, just to make it easier for what he’s about to do next. Moans of his own leave his mouth. It’s sloppy and wet and hot.

He drops both hands from your legs—trusting you to hold them open yourself—and relocates one hand to wrap around your throat and the other to sink two fingers inside of you. He may have started with one, but you both tacitly agreed you were past that. In the meantime, he never stops licking, forcing your eyes shut and your body to wriggle.

“Mmmmn.”

He curls his long fingers up out of half intention and half curiosity of what the inside feels like. It’s soft, padded, and warm. When your back arches at the movement, he does it once more until it’s continuous and he isn’t licking you anymore. Instead, he presses force to your throat while coming up to connect his forehead to yours.

You blink up at him leisurely, quickly finding his eyes. Yours shift around his face with those cute brows upturned.

“Do you like it when I do that?” He speaks, his voice velvety smooth.

You nod.

“Pussy is so wet and warm. Will it be that tight when I go in?”

It was kind of a genuine question, but not really. You nod again.

“I love this look on you. You gonna come on my dick like a whore when you get the chance?” His voice rumbles through your core. He knows, because you instantly tighten around his fingers.

It was then he completely concluded you actually liked when he was mean or rough with you; you just didn’t want to push it because you didn’t think it was in his nature, and he didn’t want to push it because he didn’t think it was in yours. “I’m close,” you force out.

“Yeah?” He nibbles on your ear lobe.

You nod, trying to pretend that word alone didn’t make you even wetter.

His thumb circles your clit while the ones curling inside speed up on your g-spot, all on the same hand, shaking your lower half up and down, and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The lewd squelches are music to his ears.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop—” your voice raises a pitch, and the ravenette tries his best to move during your orgasm, but your walls clenching him with a vice grip don’t allow him much. He watches in amazement when your eyes squeeze shut and your breathing becomes insanely irregular before him.

There’s slick, milky white covering his fingers by the time he does remove them, and he doesn’t think twice to shove them into his mouth.

You were watching him do it tiredly, but you hadn’t expected that to happen. You shot up onto your palms. “Megumi!”

He looks back at you. “What?”

He was already nose deep anyway.

©️hxltic

[thebibliosphere]

I just read a post quoting Steven Moffat saying Sherlock couldn’t be asexual because there’d be “no fun in that”. I was wondering why Somerton’s “only the boring gays survived AIDS” sounded familiar. I remember how you talked about Moffat on the Ayesphere and was curious if you had any thoughts on this? The idea that people need to be ‘exciting’ always left a bad taste in my mouth.

From what limited interaction I’ve had with the man -- which included him making inappropriate comments about my underage bridesmaids who just happened to be wearing TARDIS blue dresses -- I think Moffat is a mediocre writer who draws almost exclusively from his own experiences, which are far more limited and not so nearly clever and worldly as he thinks.

He also completely misunderstands and mischaracterizes the characters of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson as pertains to the original source material, so anything he says about Sherlock Holmes needing to fuck to be exciting can be dismissed not only with a grain of salt but chucked full heartedly out the window.

You can create “exciting” stories that aren’t about fucking. To claim otherwise is to show your hand, not only in terms of your lack of skill as a writer but also in terms of your own emotional depth.

Yes, sex is essential for some people. It is a driving factor of their existence. It's a fairly large part of mine. But if you cannot grasp the need as a storyteller to examine the emotional and psychological aspects of sexuality beyond “person pretty, want smash” and belittle other people for wanting to explore other types of intimacy or exploration, you’re just a bit shit, both as a writer and a person.

There is more to life and human intimacy than sex. And I say that as the walking, talking stereotype of the greedy polyam bisexual kinkster constantly being driven to distraction by pretty people.

Like, c’mon, ace Sherlock Holmes using sex like trapping someone under a glass to get a better look at them is practically canon in Moffat’s own interpretation of him. He’s just so mad that the character could be read as anything other than heterosexual and meanly-clever like him to realize it.

[dreeaams]

If you are struggling with manifestation and how it truly works, go watch this video. This is a GAME CHANGER!

She puts emphasis on this, what ever you truly believe to be true is completely true no matter what (that is with every single thoughts ever).

Here are many commus example:

Subliminals truly works if you believe that it works and vice versa

Tarot card reading truly work and can even take power over you if you believe it can take power over. But if you believe that it doesn’t do shit then it doesn’t do shit.

If you don’t have it you’ll have better! Babe please. This is not fucking true if you want this SP then believe that no matter fucking what, you have him. Please acknowledge that whenever you say things like that it becomes true.

She is also saying that your emotion (energy in motion) is a manifestation, NOT THE CAUSE OF A MANIFESTATION. This one really opened my eyes so when you feel a certain type of way, I say to myself this feeling/ emotion is a manifestation from a thought that I was thinking in the past, so you can dismiss because I chose to believe something that I want to believe. And POUFFF that negative feeling gets the fuck away.

Your inner dialogue same things as your thoughts are the ONE AND ONLY REASON WHY YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE.

LET ME REPEAT YOUR THOUGHTS, YOU INNER DIALOGUES ARE THE ONE AND ONLY REASON WHY YOU ARE WHERE YOU ARE!!!!!

Stop listening to others that are not telling you this main belief please.

Anyways love each one of you take care beautiful princesses🎀

[happypolicecherry]

Alhaitham

Alhaitham is the type to think his s/o is overreacting while arguing with them. He's convinced that he's right and would just be humouring you by wasting his precious time on this useless banter.

He had already won before you could lay your case, so why do you keep insisting that he's wrong? Like, why are you overreacting by fussing over a small matter when Alhaitham had already voiced out his reasons? There's no way you're even slightly right.

Alhaitham already connected the points and drew them solved right to the finest detail. He'd just rest his back leaning on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Stupid turquoise eyes staring directly at you, watching you as you lose your shit in front of him

One crucial point that Alhaitham always forget is, people, grow frustrated when having to explain their point repeatedly to a person who's often said; not up for a debate because they're right. Alhaitham is exactly that kind of person.

So you can only imagine the slight shift of surprise in his expression when he hear your voice crack. Although it was brief because you stopped talking as soon as it happened, it didn't go amiss with Alhaitham. He only began to feel something tug his heart when you looked away from his direction with your head tilted downward, and your fingers lightly touching your eyes.

For once, Alhaitham is taken aback, and his stance begins to waver. Tossing his pride aside, he fast-paced to where you are standing. Although not panic strikened, he dislike being the cause of your tears.

Diluc Ragnvindr

As for Diluc, he'd listen to what you have to say until it involves things he disagrees with such as mending with Kaeya, taking a week off from doing his darknight hero gigs and also letting you help him.

Don’t get him wrong, you are important to him. But some things that you want to happen just does not align or sit well with him, he just genuinely will never be able to find himself compromising for it, so he would rather be straight with you.

"I don't think that's for you to decide." He would start being sharp tongued when you keep pressing on matters he dislikes speaking of. A bad habit of his but he'll never admit it. He would try his best not to dismiss you completely and wants to ensure you, what you are feeling is important to him.

Tragically for Diluc, his main problem is the fact that he forgets he has to be vocal about it. And not just stood there while staring into your soul with his eyebrows furrowed, the idea of you not understanding his thoughts completely leaving his mind.

So, when your voice starts wavering from confident to doubtful, Diluc realised something was wrong. His body would automatically release all the tension he was holding in, his expression softened slightly as he discards his own ego and reaches out for your wrist. His warm hand fills you with comfort almost immediately as he gently pulls you closer to him.

He does not want to see you upset nor does he wants to lie to you, so he chooses to put this argument to rest because it will just disturb you further if you keep trying to change things that his mind is set on. We all know how stubborn Diluc can be once his goal is set. Fortunately, even fire can’t stay bright and roaring forever if you keep trying to extinguish it.