#but my brain hasn't let me eat much of anything all day because it's not 'the right food'

[underwhelmingalchemist]

Starting pride month with the pharmacy denying me my testosterone prescription until mid-June and my doctor saying she can't do anything about it because it's a controlled substance 🙃✌️

[soonyoungs]

OH MY GOD HI!!! PLEASE THINK ABOUT THIS WITH ME BECAUSE I'M GOING CRAZY: https://x.com/kinulta/status/1758079004891119867?t=gqoiVpFsS-sWDhu2m910jw&s=19

this is SO woozi... he hasn't touched you properly for exactly 2 weeks and you are so so needy... so on a normal day at the studio you go to check it out if he is eating, he simply decides to take a break. he sits with you on the couch, talks a little, until kisses automatically appear. at first, small kisses with smiles on both sides, but everything goes wrong when he puts you on his lap. the pink mouth attacking yours and you can't hold back, letting out a soft moan between the contact. you want him SO MUCH, but you don't force him to do anything or demand anything from him, because you know how busy he is. HOWEVER, he surprises you when he takes out his own cell phone and starts recording a video. you find it strange, but then you understand the real function. he asks you to sit on the floor, so that the camera captures his pretty face well ☝🏻 and his only demand is that you stay quiet. nothing else. like a good girl you obey. you're still so turned on and you only realize how much when he has his fingers in you and his hand over your mouth, working to really keep you still. the little body that hasn't felt this for so many days is overloaded and that's why you cum faster than normal, letting a squeaky, sly noise leave your lips when the orgasm comes... and you think he'll probably finish and go back to work, but once again he surprises you by continuing to play with your sensitive clit and your intimacy, It's SO MUCH, your legs are shaking nonstop and you you can hear the wet noises throughout the studio. you know it’s too much but you still leave him there because you know he probably needed it more than you did and only after the fourth orgasm does he stop, you're exhausted and he hasn't used anything other than his fingers. your mind is blank and you desperately need a hug... he kisses your forehead and fixes your hair, saying that you are a good girl and obeyed him just as he asked. so he stops the recording and whether he'll fuck you afterwards or not... it's up to you, love

please please please please PLEASE

ఇ woozi and gn!reader (mentions of a clit and vagninal insertion!)

ఇ warnings: smut! not proofread! implied squirting maybe? as usual i do not know how to end things so abrupt ending :(

ఇ wc: 2,052

ఇ notes: baby you basically wrote this yourself!! i hope this is okay and im so sorry it’s taken me forever to get it out! ♡︎

weeks. it had been weeks since you last properly saw him, let alone touched him. it was becoming a problem, a very difficult and needy problem. however you had come to the conclusion that you can’t be too upset with him, as your job has kept you away from home just as much as his.

it wasn’t until you had a day off that you had reached your breaking point. you had to see him, today. sitting on your couch all day just waiting for the hours to tick by so you could catch a glimpse of your lover. it was around 7:00 pm when you had given in to your curiosities and decided to go see him yourself. 

throwing on a hoodie you grab your essentials and order a taxi. anxiety and anticipation rumble in your tummy, almost bubbling over, along the way. questions bouncing all over your brain. has he been eating? does he rest properly? as you continue thinking the worst your taxi pulls up beside an all too familiar building. you jump out, tip the driver and make your way upstairs, muscle memory taking over.

once you get to where you need to be you hesitantly knock on the door before opening it, briefly exposing his studio to the outside world. “hello,” you call out, softly, only to make your presence known “is anyone here?”

you can hear the sound of keys clacking as you move farther into the room. once you’ve made it far enough in you shyly clear your throat, trying to get his attention, again. this time he reacts to you, jumping slightly before turning his neck to see how has interrupted his brainstorming. “oh,” he exclaims “babe, what are you doing here?” he’s not able to hide his excitement as his smile grows wide on his face.

he moves over to you and embraces you tightly. “is this mine,” he asks tugging at the hem of the hoodie you’re wearing. you laugh and nod, mumbling something about how it smells like him and whatnot. the sound of your laugh gets his heart racing and has the tips of his ears burning red at record speed. he’s missed you, that much you can clearly tell.

you lean in to his touch, nuzzling your head into his neck, leaving small pecks. “missed you. missed you a lot, ji” you sigh, finally letting your body relax against his. he hums as he rubs your back. after standing in the middle of his studio for a solid five minutes, muttering “missed you”’s and “i love you”’s to one another, woozi takes your hand and leads you to the couch he has, off to the side, for late nights. 

once he’s sat on the cushions he pulls you down, onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you in place. he’s rocking you back and forth as you both catch up on the activities and work that’s kept you from each other. “it sucks,” you pout “hate that you’re so good at what you do. it keeps you away from home too much”. he knows you only mildly mean it, knows you’re just being needy and pouty so he lets it go.

you sigh and lean back in to him as he begins to rub soothing circles on your hips, before tapping his fingers to create a beat in his mind. you turn your head into his neck and leave small kisses there, trying to divert his attention away from work and back to you. “ji,” you voice comes out breathy, needy “missed you,” you say it again, batting your eyelashes at him, hoping he catches on this time. he laughs at your failed attempt at nonchalance before adjusting the both of you, so he can plant kisses on your face, your nose, your eyes, your ears, your neck, anywhere he’s able to reach.

woozi lifts your chin and leans in to give you a soft kiss on your lips. you sigh into the kiss, reaching up to run your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, gently massaging his scalp. after a few minutes of soft kisses and taking small breathers, woozi leans in to give you a deep, longing, kiss. catching you off guard, you let out a small moan and let your hips lift off of his lap a little, signaling that your neediness is almost to the point of uncontrollable. woozi smiles into the kiss and deepens it even further. “be good for me,” he nips at your bottom lip “okay, baby?”

you nod frantically, waiting for instruction. woozi moves you to his side, placing you on the couch directly. you begin to pout before realizing woozi has gotten up and placed his phone on the counter in front of you, making sure it’s able to capture the couch and anything that might happen there. he looks at you, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. you nod before opening your mouth “yes, it’s okay, want it”. you weren’t quite sure what it was, but you’re hoping to find out soon.

woozi makes his way back to the couch, and you. sitting himself back in the spot he had vacated earlier, he motions for you to place yourself back on his lap. you quickly do as instructed. as you take your seat, you can feel the beginning of his excitement starting to grow. once nestled back in his lap you begin to move your hips slowly, looking back to see his reaction. woozi has his head tilted back, neck pressed against the head rest of the couch. he slowly lifts his head, bringing his hands to your hips to halt your movements. “said you’d be good, remember,” he questions, cocking an eyebrow. you let out a small “yes” before facing forward. “good baby,” he mutters, leaning forward to kiss your neck “now, i need you to be so quiet, okay”.  he’s bringing his hands down to the hem of the hoodie you’re wearing and dragging his fingers up the length of your thigh, all the way to your panties. your breath catches in your throat, it’s been weeks without his touch and the gentle way he’s handling you now is driving you insane. the slow pace that he’s going causes your frustrated hips to push up, wanting to force him into applying pressure, but he’s not ready for that yet.

removing his hand from your panties, woozi moves to remove your hoodie, leaving you only in your undies. the cool air in the studio creates chills all over your skin and you arch your back at the feeling. woozi puts his hand back where it had originally been, against your core. he can feel the heat through the thin fabric of you panties. “needy, huh” he asks, knowing damn well he was just as needy as you. “yes, ji” you confirm “i’m so needy for you. i’ve missed you so much, it’s been hell without you there to take care of me.”

woozi nods in agreement, it’s been hell for him without you too, but now’s not the time to discuss that. he pushes the center of your panties to the side, sliding his fingers through your warm slick. you sigh and throw your head back against his shoulder, reaching down to steady yourself against his wrist. “feel good,” he questions, lips pressed against the side of your head in a small kiss. you nod, letting out a whiny “uh-huh”. he continues to softly get his finger wet, teasing you along the way.

once he’s deemed his fingers wet enough he inserts two at once, scissoring them in order to give you a good stretch. you bite your lip, remembering your vow of silence. your breaths come out in heavy puffs as you try not to moan. he continues to stretch you for just a bit longer before he’s inserting another finger and moving at a slightly faster pace. his fingers hit deep inside you and do wonders to fill you to the brim. your chest is heaving at your nearing climax. woozi knows you’re close by the small squeaking noises you’re making. he moves his fingers faster, adjusting his wrist so his fingers hit the deepest part inside of you, knowing it drives you mad. your back is arching off of his chest as he catapults you into your orgasm. “so good baby,” he’s whispering “so hot, want you to cum just like this. cum all over my fingers baby,” and at his command you do such. your eyes roll back and your mouth is open in a silent scream as woozi continues to move his fingers inside of you, helping you to ride out your high. 

your body is so exhausted the it slumps against woozi, sliding down on to the ground in front of the couch. realizing he isn’t finished with you, woozi leans forward spreading your knees baring them to his phone, who’s camera is still recording. you bend your neck to look up at him. he leans down, giving you a kiss before reaching down to slide your panties off of you completely. once he’s removed the garment he places a finger against your core, teasing your clit. you groan and toss your head back, resting against his knee. “quiet baby,” he warns, placing his free hand over your mouth. the fingers on his other hand begin rubbing harsher circles against you. he continues alternating between gentle and harsh touches before he inserts them again. it doesn’t take much for you to be launched into your second and third consecutive orgasms. 

he removes his hand from your core and places his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. his other hand has moved from you mouth to your head, petting you softly as you pant. woozi removes his fingers from his mouth and holds your chin so he can make eye contact with you. “one more baby, okay,” he asks gently, knowing it’s been a while since you’ve been intimate with one another. you lazily nod your head and lean your cheek against his thigh, turning every once and a while to leave a kiss or love bite.

woozi reaches down again, this time without restraint. he knows that if it’s going to be the last time you cum tonight he will make it the best. he’s moving his fingers at lightning speed, eliciting loud groans and whines from you. as he previously did before, he reaches his other hand up to your mouth, only this time pushing his two middle fingers in your mouth and down your throat. the fingers on your clit continue moving faster and harder throwing you to the brink of orgasm in seconds. your back is arched to a point that worries woozi, but he doesn’t dare stop. the wet, squelching sounds that are coming from you would normally embarrass you, but you feel like you’re experiencing everything out of body at the moment. tears and drool are running down your face as your pleasure reaches an almost fever pitch. woozi finally feels he needs to show you some mercy and pinches your clit in between his rubs.

your eyes cross one last time, as you are thrashing against woozi’s body. your thighs are shaking so violently you are certain you won’t be able to use them for days. a heat forms in your gut as you approach your climax and when it hits you see white, tossing your head back, the fingers in your mouth do little to muffle your screams and cries. woozi’s fingers continue to work at your core, gently swiping your clit every so often, making sure to rub the clear slick, pouring out of you, everywhere he can. 

once you’ve gotten through your high, woozi kisses your head, pets your sides and rocks you back and forth “you did so good,” he whispers in your ear. “i’m so proud of you, what a good baby,” he kisses your eyes and your nose before giving you a sweet kiss on the lips. you moan into the kiss and look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “ji,” you whimper, letting him know you’re not finished. “i know baby,” he smiles “i’m not done either,”

[sweetstars-posts]

SKINNY,

M. STURNIOLO x FEM!SINGER!READER

(if you don't want to be a singer, it could be anything in the public eye, it’s only mentioned a little!!)

WARNINGS — mentions of eating disorders, depression, anxiety, ALSO pet names (bc apparently that triggers ppl or smth).

a/n — this is a deep story based on billie eilish’s new song, skinny. as someone who faces troubles with eating, i wanted to make this for me and for those who need it <3

word count — 1.5k

(not proofread)

The rain is hitting the glass of my bay window as you stare helplessly out of it. The window opened a crack; the smell of fresh rain wafting into your room.

Your eyes are dull and lifeless — like you’re waiting for something that won't ever arrive. There's an aching feeling in your stomach, one that isn’t just nerves.

Your body ached as you haven’t moved from the soft plush cushions of the bay window for a couple hours.

Nothing in life felt appealing right now. The constant bodyshamming from the public eye got you back into a seemingly never-ending spiral.

People only seem to like you if you’re skinny. Eating was always a struggle, but now it almost feels like a game. Competing with yourself over and over again for trying to reach a certain weight goal that you won’t realistically achieve.

Everyone keeps saying you’re happier now. But are you? No. Complete sadness overtook you, but it was okay, because now you’re skinny.

But you also felt guilty.

You haven’t spoken to your boyfriend Matt in a couple days. You’ve been dating for 3 years and he knows every single thing about you. You still don’t have the energy to get up and try to find your phone which is nowhere to be found at the moment.

But knowing Matt, he probably knows what’s happening again. This seems to always happen. It’s like a record player that keeps repeating and repeating until the vinyl slowly starts to scratch and warp.

Your eyes falter slightly but they never seem to fully close. It’s like they can’t.

Your mind is racing 20 miles per hour but you can’t seem to comprehend a single word going through your brain.

The phone rings, the sound coming from somewhere in the mess of sheets on your bed.

A little while has passed and your phone still hasn't stopped. The obnoxious ringing made you even more aggravated. Yet somehow you felt stuck, like you couldn’t move to get your phone.

The sound absorbed into a dull hum from all the thoughts racing through your head.

You felt numb and lifeless. Like you were viewing yourself in a VR headset.

Time shaped into nothingness as your bedroom door creaked open. Your boyfriend, Matt’s, head peeks through the door.

His eyes soften as he sees your fragile figure on the soft cushions.

He closes the door behind him as he walks into the room. He makes a mental note to clean your room for you later. As he nears you, he sits on the floor, in front of the bay window.

His soft hands, grab your hands lightly, “I got you, it’s okay,” he finally breaks the silence.

Short jagged breath’s release your mouth, as you finally move your eyes away from outside, to him. He slowly moves to hold your head between his hands.

Tears slowly start to prick your eyes, yet you still don’t look away from him. Tears flow and flow, you have no control. Strangled breaths release, as you struggle to catch air.

“Hey, hey, I got you,” Matt’s fingers brush your tears away, his cold rings sending a series of chills down your spine.

Matt brought you into a warm embrace, lowering you down from on top of the seat, to his lap. He cradled you as if you were a broken fragile doll.

He pressed kisses towards your head, letting you release all those pent up emotions.

Neither of you knew how much time had passed, nor did either of you care.

Your breath’s evened out, and your tears died down. And Matt was still there by your side.

“Do you wanna talk?…” Matt questioned after a while.

“I’m just….tired” Your small tired voice let out.

Matt kissed your nose lightly before slowly standing up, pulling you up with him. He made his way to the bathroom connected to your room.

Upon setting you on the counter, he turns on the bath, letting it run for a little. He got everything ready — your clothes, a brush, and got all the small essentials, as you got in the tub.

He washed your hair, lathering the shampoo lightly. He then grabbed your brush and slowly brushed through the large matted knots.

“How about…after this we go back to mine? We can watch Inside Out because I know how much you love that movie,” His offer makes you smile, “And then we can work our way from there, how does that sound?”

You nod in response, too exhausted to speak.

After finishing up, Matt slowly helped you into one of his large sweaters and some pajama pants. Matt started to grab your phone and small things you would need to stay over (although most of your things are already at the triplets house).

“You ready, baby?” Matt extends his hand out towards you.

You grab his hand with a little small smile. Whatever joy you had in you was put towards Matt right now.

Matt led you to his car, opening the passenger seat. You could tell Chris sat there last. The seat was reclined and the seat was altogether far. You smiled at the way Chris left it.

“This kid doesn’t know how to fix his seat, I swear” Matt complained, as he helped you fix the seat.

Matt soon got into the driver side soon after closing your door.

“Where too?” Matt asked gently.

You looked at him in confusion. Weren’t you going to his house?

“C’mon, baby, we’re going somewhere to eat. Even if it’s something small, just… get something in your system.” Matt rubbed his hand against your knee.

The thought of food makes you want to throw up on the spot. You hated that he knew, but you loved that he cared.

“Nowhere..” You mumble quietly, head against the window.

You didn’t want to make this harder on Matt. But the genuine guilt fills you by just thinking about laying a finger on food.

“Sweetie, you need something.” Matt started the car, but ended up driving towards his house, “When we get home, you can have some toast. Even one slice, okay?”

You silently nod.

Matt pulled into the garage. As you and Matt make it inside, you can already hear Chris and Nick yapping about some movie they are watching in the living room.

As much of a bad mood you could be in, those triplets will always put a smile on your face.

Matt’s hand rests on the lower section of your back, gently guiding you through the basement. The two of you slowly walk up the stairs.

Chris and Nicks heads snapped towards the stairs as they heard footsteps, obviously Matt had told them.

Nick came running up to you guys first. He pulled you into a light hug, holding the back of your head with his hand, rocking you ever so slightly.

He pulled away, his hands resting on your face, “I’m so glad you’re okay, kid.”

Chris pushed Nick out of the way, “HEY! My turn”

Chris pulled you into a bone crushing hug, way more strong than Nicks. You smiled slightly into his shoulder.

“We were all so scared,” Chris whispered quietly.

As you guys pulled away, Matt grabbed your hand again, walking you towards his room, but not before bidding a small bye to Nick and Chris.

Matt closed the door behind him, as you went to sit on your designated side of his bed.

“I’ll be right back okay?” Matt kissed your head gently, before walking out of the door.

Matt had started to make a small piece of toast. Knowing you won't want to eat the other half, he put it on a plate for Chris to eat later.

Matt walked the short trip to his room, pulling the door open.

“Here, love” Matt put the plate on your lap.

You slowly grabbed at the piece of toast. Guilt swarmed you like a bunch of bees. Instead of taking a bite, you just stayed there.

Matt was now seated on his side, “It’s okay, Baby, it’s fine,” He rubbed your arm encouragingly.

Slowly but surely, you ate the piece of toast. Matt put on “Modern Family” while you ate. He never pushed you to eat faster, he was comforting and only wanted you to be comfortable.

“Good job!!” Matt’s large smile was contagious, it made you smile too.

As some time passed, you guys just stayed in each other’s presence. Not many words were said, but it was a comforting silence that everyone needs in their lives.

You and Matt were all cuddled up, your head resting on his chest. His hand rubbing your back gently.

His soft touch and actions, that lured you into a soft slumber.

“Goodnight, my love” Matt kissed the top of your head, himself feeling awfully tired.

At the end of the day, all you needed was a loving soul to guide you through your troubles. And Matt was that person. He was the light in your dark cave.

[themareverine]

Closer to Hell | shortking!DP&WLogan x fem!OC

SYNOPSIS: He may be five inches closer to hell than she is, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch. 

warnings: flirtation, short king!Logan (don't come for me), ogling, eye candy, absolutely nothing else but filthy thoughts, maybe some eye fucking.

a/n: it's my 100 celebration fic, yay me! i recently rolled over to 110 i think during the holiday, and i wanted to do something super fun for my 100 celly. i decided to play with comics-accurate, short king Logan, because i feel like we really don't appreciate him all that much. a small part of my brain hasn't stopped thinking about him. thanks to all my followers, you guys make me possible on this website, and without your interaction and all your fun stuff, life really would be so much more boring.

“Monkey Shoulder, neat—if you got it.” 

Fingers pause, hovered over a tablet that looks as if it’s been to hell and back, only to survive the purgatory that is staring into the bartender’s face. Maybe forties, gray has overtaken the once-striking ruddiness of his beard, crows feet all but eating the templepieces of too-thick glasses perched on the end of his nose. 

Once gawking at her has clocked enough time, he bats aside the tablet, the screen swiveling away, maybe in relief. 

Curious if he’ll actually serve the scotch—it’s about the fourth bottle from the left of the very back row of liquors lined against the mirrored wall, not a cheap bottle by any means. Hardly top-shelf, either. An unusual request, sure, but, she’s always made a habit of trying out the screwy names when she’s traveling—and in this dress, in this bar, well. Exceptions certainly can’t be made. Cool vinyl of the barstool’s plush nips at the back of her legs as she plunks down, docking her heels on the bottom rung of the stool. 

“Whatever you say, swee’heart,” gaps in his teeth make pronunciation difficult, but he nods at her respectfully. Lithe, practiced grace turns him aboutface on his heel, short fingers plucking the bottle from that very back shelf. Mirrored reflection reveals a popped brow of we’ll see how this goes. Giving the bottle a little swirl, the copper liquid spins a tornado, wild and dangerous in its glass prison. Unstops the bottle with a jerk of his wrist, the little pop tipping up the corner of her lips. 

Seconds, maybe, and the short glass plunks down in front of her, untouched scotch all but begging to be acknowledged. Her finger lazily traces the rim, even from here she can taste the bark of the liquor, how it hums. Warm and biting, her chest flutters with anticipation—of all the drinks she’s sampled over the years, scotch is a favorite. Next to whiskey, but, whiskey she’s had plenty of the last few days. Scotch will be a nice tamer, something to shake up the night—shake up the thoughts burrowing trenches through the arteries and cavities in her chest. 

Sliding him her credit card, it’s plastic bites against the bartop. Watching him log the number, he hands it back. She buries it against the band of her bra, against her sternum. Eyes rolling, the bartender trudges away as if he’s witnessed some great atrocity, down the other end of the bar—takes an order with hushed whispers, leaving her to eyeball her scotch in solidarity. Silence. 

Friday and however much this dress would all but stand up and demand attention, she’s alone. But that’s no great sorrow—to be alone and actually let it eat away at the marrow in her bones would mean it is unwelcome, unfamiliar. Solo is all too familiar, rent free on her person–the devil and angel parked on either shoulder, guiding her through moments. It’s been this way her entire life, sparkling personality and sunshine attitude aside. Loudest wallflower to ever exist, perfectly forgettable—she’s great company when she’s seen, otherwise all too invisible. It’s learned behavior, expected of society’s less fortunate. 

A quick flick of her foot has the barstool swiveling, her elbow parked on the bar behind her. Eyeballing the room quickly reveals that, wallflower that she is—she’s an overdressed one, at that. And she could, probably, forgive herself. Hadn’t exactly expected Mulligan’s to be an axe-throwing venue, complete with Toby Keith on repeat and flannel-clad lumberjack wannabees and their buckle bunnies—axe bunnies? 

A sip of the scotch has her nose scrunching a little, the splash in the back of her throat almost hot,  even at room temp. Two lines to her right, a cute blonde does one hell of a job playing dumb as her date comes up behind her, helping her take stance. All but popping her ass back into his pelvis, there is not a stitch of air between them that could be breathed—he’s a little unbalanced. Probably that last Coors, she’s giggly and her face is red as a beet. Probably one too many Mich Ultra’s. Together they crack up into laughter, before she actually makes an attempt to throw an axe, dressed in cutoffs and a flannel shirt a size too large, knotted off at the midriff. 

Maybe should’ve Googled that one pre-game, but, as her grandmother had always chided, Better to be overdressed than under, baby. Besides, a little black sundress was acceptable just about anywhere—the heels could be overdoing it, though. Down goes another bite of scotch, and she’s perfectly content to watch blondie and her backwards-ballcap date tiptoe around the goings-on of pre-sex, until movement to her left catches her attention. 

Pool tables racked with activity, there couldn’t be one more girlie in tight jeans or shorts leaning over green felt if the men had decided to make room. Each man at the table sports arm candy, some even two, full peacock with open chests and lifted chins. Stetsons, ballcaps, even a few beanies make a fine cocktail of male specimens, all bullshitting around ripped up pool tables and scuffed wooden floors. Beer bottles, pint glasses, liquor mottles here and there, hanging out on tables and pool table edges like trophies. Evidence of presence, of time spent. Side-eying the exchange of money isn’t difficult—they make a show of it, as if this is theatre. Shifts on her barstool as their jibes and shoulder-claps get a little more elevated, a little more colorful. 

Too absorbed in watching the flock of men around the pool table, she misses the slight creak of a barstool accepting weight to her right. Jumps a little when the air bristles beside her, signaling a new body—someone else at the bar, too close for comfort. Too close to be ignorant. Especially when there’s nobody at the bar, taking up air. Just her and her simple Monkey Shoulder, just her and the defeat that sinks her shoulders a little as realization hits. 

She doesn’t have to check if it’s a man—his presence is overwhelming, almost dizzying. Masculine and purposeful, but not in a way that sends shivers down her spine. A quiet kind of energy, like the air before a storm. Unmoving but oh so deliberate, ripe with power. As if any moment something may collapse in on itself, rip open the air—but chooses, instead, to prowl. Like a tower, overlooking, but not imposing. Temperature, too, has spiked—whoever has just parked beside her ripples with heat like an inferno, it’s nearly tangible against her skin. Thick cologne swirls, a delicious idea beneath her nose that smells like musk, pine. Sweat and smoke–exhaust. Bike, maybe. 

Unsure whether the flush lifting from her breastbone to her cheeks is the scotch or the newcomer, she uses her foot to swivel back around, leaning forward to rest her arms over the bar. Thin glass between her fingers rings a little as her nail tick, tick, ticks against it, and staring into the coppery swirl of booze allows her a little bit of a casual side-eye to the man who has parked himself at her now eleven o’clock. 

Hair the color of midnight is full and thick, almost tinges a bit of sapphire under the fluorescents that dare to flicker a little above them. Even beneath full mutton chops, she can see the sharp line of a jaw—strong nose, purposeful brow. A striking profile, as he stares at his hands—thick hands, strong. Massive, more paw than actual hands, if she were poetic about it. Calloused, even from here. A troop of ebony hair forests his arms, thick and wiry—does little to hide the absolutely godlike muscle that all but stands up and demands recognition.

Arms no less than small trees, her eyes zero in on his veins, veins that may as well have their own ZIP—if careful, she could watch his blood actually current. Count the flutter of his pulse—intrusive thoughts win. She would give limb, soul to just hook up him to an IV and drink of whatever raw sexuality God had poured into his form.  

It’s easy to take in the rest of him—thick chest, well muscled would be an insulting adjective. She wouldn’t believe, for a moment, there was a percentage of fat on his person, not the way his jeans clung to his thighs. Unaware they made belts so small for adults, she’d never seen a narrower waistline. And abdominals—God Himself had only crafted those, broke the mold. Even from beneath whatever sad excuse of a threadbare black v-neck he’d thrown on this morning, they were washboard. She’d bet her life. 

Oh my god, of all the men— 

And just as quickly as she’d ventured off into whatever pornography such a man conjures up into brainspace, he shifts a little. Situates himself on his barstool—sits back, hand on his thigh, other draped along the bar easily in that only-a-guy way. And her gut all but plummets into hell between her feet—the floor could be stained with her own blood and she wouldn’t have flinched. What’s-his-name commands every molecule between them, could split atoms with his raw sexuality, probably. Every movement is like living color, and she swears to God she can feel her ovaries kicking into overdrive. 

Eyes snapping back to her own feet, she rocks her heels back on the barstool’s rung, bottom lip rolling inward to consider just how flushed she felt. Heart hammering the marrow in her bones, she can all but taste the sweat that’s racing down the river of spine, dampening the delicate lace of her panties. Blinking, she manages a steady breath between her lips, trying not to think about the bite of scotch lingering on her breath. Aware that her hands are shaking, she knocks back the rest of the scotch. Cracks the glass back to the bar’s wood all too aggressively. 

Somehow the bartender materializes in front of her, like Houdini. Or maybe Satan—she hasn’t decided. 

“What’re you having again?” 

If it's even possible to forget, she isn't sure, but her eyes connect with his. Thankful for the distraction. Movement to her eleven o’clock signal fires in her brain—her partner at the bar has, without saying anything, entered this conversation. Or, at the very least, made himself aware. 

“Monkey Shoulder,” she brushes some curl behind her ear, “neat. Double it, please.” 

It’s too fast, too nervous to be genuine. But it is, and of its own volition, her spine straightens a little. As if such a thing is a sin—shoulders fall back, her gaze drops to her hands. Bartender all but plucking the glass from between her hands, he travels back down the bar—retrieves the bottle, which he has somehow managed to forget. She watches him go like a desperate child, all too aware that the man beside her’s eyes have raked down her form, considering. Up and down—her heart flies, almost out of her chest. 

A barstool creaks, and it isn’t hers. Oh god.  

There’s always that little something that strikes the air—he’s going to say something. Her eyes flutter closed, imaging his lips parting and closing off syllables and consonants, forming words. It’s a delicious little thought that quickly ventures into ratings not suitable for children, and she has to bite the inside pocket of her cheek to anchor her back into the reality of the bar—because she’s, very suddenly, not here. Not as present and accounted for as an unescorted woman drinking should be, God help her. 

Scotch appears before her almost fantastically. Reaching for it, the glass suddenly is heavier than the earth between her fingers as she knocks it back, entirely. In one sharp, flaming go. It spins her senses in a tilt, and the world all but flips—managing the glass back to the wood somehow, she anchors herself. Two hands on the edge of the bar, white knuckling for purchase. Eyes pinched so tight she can feel her mascara brushing against the sensitive skin beneath her eyes, she releases a low growl that’s more of a moan than anything. 

“Now there’s someth’n you don’t see everyday,” a dark, wolfish chuckle. “Don’t think I’ve seen a lady down two scotch’s back to back without breathin’ before.” 

Mother of God, it’s low. And dangerous. She wouldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion if it had detonated directly to her left, the immaculate conception had only ever been so beautiful. And if he’s tagged anything on to his statement she’s missed it, blood galloping through her ears at such a rate it should alert the Kentucky Derby to put her at the starting gate. 

A steel beam would’ve been preferable to the heat dropping into her spinal column, his chuckle rattling low in a way that, obviously, is deliberate. And she’s more bolt upright than she has ever recalled in her lifetime, soldiers would patent whatever form this was for their ranks—he shifts on his barstool to face her, and she’s suddenly Icy Hot all over. Simultaneously hot and cold, shivering and flaming—Antarctic air and Vesuvius smoke. Words lap her brain like a pace car, but none form in the back of her Sahara-cracked throat. 

Blanking, first she stares at the empty glass between her fingers. Then to the stranger, who’s arm rests along the bar like it was designed for him. Spider to the fly, the little smirk tugging up the corner of his lips gets lost in the dark hairs of his beard and chops, the swirl of shadow that chases light in his eyes like nightmares. All kinds of predator, she doesn’t miss his eyes flicking over her—it’s quick, practiced. You’d miss it if one wasn't looking, but nothing about this man could be ignored. He demanded to be seen, though she suspected by the cool smile and the dark clothes, he would’ve preferred to be anything but noticed. But such beauty demanded attention, otherwise heaven lied. 

Realizing the conversation is open, he’s waiting, she tracks his words. Again.

And again, and again. 

Swallowing the slight shake to her confidence, her eyes track back to the glass. Hone in on tracing her finger along the rim. And she ignores the souring, burning liquor in the chasm of her gut where the scotch has hit nothing but open air, maybe stones in the base of her that maybe only God could see. 

“Oh.” Oh? OH? Coma patients showed more promising signs of life. “Guess you’ve seen it all?”

Oh my god, ohmygod, OHMYGODDD—

She couldn’t have been any more pathetic if she’d melted into the floor at his feet. Channeling the tremble of thinking into her hands, she nudges the glass away. Pulls it back. Plays with it like an amused cat with a toy, trying to decide if it’s friend or foe—if it's worth the distraction. A flick of her eyes back to the stranger and she suddenly realizes this glass is the only tether she has to the present world beyond this conversation—her only confidence. The only thing giving her an edge. 

And should it be ripped from her, she’d be nothing but a fish out of water—a fat trout gasping for air. 

“Not quite,” whatever he’s drinking, he tosses it back without hesitation. Line of his jaw twitches as the liquor registers, but not in an unwelcome way. “Haven’t seen you before.” Vanishing down the long line of his throat without so much of a flinch, he savors it—his tongue chases whatever lingers in his facial hair. The sight of his tongue, flat and wide, sends her gut twisting into thick knots she can’t even fully describe—his hand moves to smooth over his mouth, as if he’s combing his goatee back into place. 

Without thinking, “Well, here I am,” slips past her lips, matching her arms that open at either of her sides, as if putting herself on display. It’s bolder and far more brash than she could ever credit herself with—Monkey Shoulder. It's booze.

He chuckles, pleasantly she thinks. “Here you are—lucky sonuva bitch, aren’ I?” 

And without warning, he gets up. 

Uncertain what surprises her first, she blinks at him a few times, fluttery lashes drinking in his presence on two feet—he’s short. Like, short short. Not-your-typical-guy-levels of short. Built like a god, maybe closer to a brick house, but he’s at least five inches closer to hell than she is—and she’s five foot eight. Makes up for it in presence, though—if he’d been any taller, people would jump under tables.

Alarmed by the sheer weight of him taking up space, the corner of her mouth lifts a little in a smile. If it’s a confidence killer she wouldn't know, he shifts his shoulders like any man does. Chin leveled with the floor, his eyes catch with the same fierce confidence of any man she’s ever witnessed. Unable to tear her eyes away, the muscle in his forearms twitch alive as he smoothly goes for his jacket, drapes it over an arm. 

Christ alive, he is—wow. 

God’s perfect design, she thinks—he knuckles his glass a little closer. Glass rakes across the bar in a little song, he swings a thick leg over the barstool directly next to hers. Nothing but air between them, now, he sinks low, and she enjoys watching him do so—how his jeans pull just so along thick thighs. How how chest flexes as he angles to drape his jacket along the bar, how thick fingers card through hair she could covet the rest of her living daylights. Closer, she can feel his heat, his masculinity ebbing like an alive river, trailblazing new paths. Looking for her, reading the moment. 

More like a predator than she realized first blush. Biting the corner of her lip, his gaze flicks over her a third time. She matches his effort. Much goes unsaid for a lot of moments, until he introduces himself—Logan. No other name would suit such a man, she thinks—within heartbeats her own name slips between them, between the lines of his popped brow and the question he asks next. 

“You drinkin’ alone, darlin’?” 

Nudging her empty away, Logan offers her a quicksilver look, hooded eyes and a cocked back expression that’s easy, collective. Nonplussed, like this is easy—like it isn’t rattling every bone in her body, taking inventory of every organ and cell raging like wildfire in her veins. Expectation brims, and she lifts a flirtatious shoulder, looking from his hand that lingers on the bar back to his eyes—and they are dark eyes, eyes that belong to only one kind of man. The type of man her daddy had warned her about, that daddy’s all over God’s creation sat up with shotguns over. 

Lovely, focused eyes. Logan knew exactly what he was doing. Few others were such masters. 

“Should I be?” 

Wrinkles that form along his eyes when he smiles are criminal. They belong, she thinks—he wouldn’t be right without them. “Would be worried if you were,” flashing two fingers at the bartender, his eyes move back to her, taking in the full scope of her features, “‘n my experience, pretty girls need someone t’stave off the wolves.” Chin lifted in the direction of the pool table trips her gaze to follow. 

He thinks I’m pretty—and that’s newsworthy, stop the presses. 

Nodding slowly, she fights back a smile. “Ah. I see,” angling to tuck a foot behind the other, her elbow props on the bar, chin in the heel of her palm, “and who’s to say you aren’t a wolf, Logan?”

A tease, of course, but the way his gaze snaps back to her so quickly, one would’ve assumed she’d reached out and slapped him. Darkness through his eyes briefly rustles alarm down her spine, and her hand gently moves to retrace the rim of a refreshed glass as silence crescendos between them. Her anchor, again. A tether to reality, to anywhere beyond the depth of the window's to his soul.  

Knocking back another sharp drink, he rolls a shoulder. “Not really a wolf,” his nose wrinkles a little as he shakes off the idea, eyes moving back to hold hers, “pack animals. Too much competition,” shrugging a shoulder, he chuckles, “besides—too short t’be a wolf, too close to hell. More like a—well, more like’a wolverine, I s’pose.” 

And that makes her giggle, like a child.

“Wait—a wolverine? Aren’t they weasels?” Her head cocks to the side, genuine curiosity wrinkling her nose—he smiles, quicksilver that’s cool, cuts down to parts of her she wouldn’t share elsewhere. Heat rises to her cheeks, deepening the makeup she’d been so deliberate to place earlier in the evening. “How is that better?”

Dissolving into giggles isn’t her style, not usually—but it’s too comedic a mental image to set aside. 

“Brought out that smile, didn’t it?”

Oh. 

She hums, nodding. Tries to hide the fluster of color sneaking up her breastbone to her cheeks. Fails.

“Charming, aren’t you?”

“It’s the scotch.” 

She laughs again, shaking her head. Turns back to the bar, too flushed and girlish to take him seriously—or the weight of his eyes. They bore into her side profile like drills, lapping up the heat on her face. Any second now he’ll come to his senses, she thinks. Conversation would fall flat, too embarrassed to speak and too innocent to flirt—he’d tire of the doe eyes.

They always did. 

Thunk thunk thunking axes hit home on targets far behind them, almost a world away.

She tracks, too sharply, like a desperate animal Logan getting up from his barstool—here it comes. Fishes his wallet from his back pocket. Withdraws more than enough money, actually more money than would be necessary for the entire night. Tosses it on the bar like it’s easy, like it means nothing.

Watching him, chin still in hand, he works into his jacket like guys always manage—in a sexier way than necessary. Pops the collar. He may be five inches closer to hell, but he takes up more space than God, sets fire to anything he’d dare to touch. 

Tossing back the rest of her scotch, she inhales a deep breath through her nose. Enough to swell her chest, pull her guts in tighter than she thought possible. Disappointment bleeds like a gunshot wound into her chest, mingling with her ribs, and she wills up cold courage. Hands on the bar spin her around on the barstool, lips parted for goodbyes—-

—only to be met with his hand, extended to her. 

“Wanna get outta here?” 

His brow lifts, investigative. Hers are nearly in her hairline, surprise shellshocked her face like broken plaster. Blinking at his hand, her stomach all but explodes when his finger crooks for her to come, to follow.

It’s a wanton gesture, the way his brow bobs teasingly. Corner of his mouth lifting in a way that’s devilish, almost sinful. Asking where to go is hardly necessary—she’d probably follow him into hell, if so persuaded.

Asks anyway. 

“Not sure yet, pretty—but, tell me. How d’ya feel about ridin' double?”

[heartssatoru]

ignoring jjk men? I hardly see any of this request. Any characters just please have megumi in it🙏

Ignoring jjk men

Characters: Yuji, Megumi, Gojo, and Sukuna.

Warnings: nsfw for sukuna and gojo!! Afab

(My friend requested this <3)

yuji

Ignoring him is pure evil. This man will get so sad. Poor baby 🙁

He'll try to put on the act that he doesn't care and stuff but is crying the moment you keep ignoring him

No but actually, if you ignore him at class then he'll spam your phone with messages.

If you don't respond thats when he makes megumi text you for him.

Will get offended if you only respond to megumi, but he'll also get sad if you don't respond

He'll literally beg for you to respond just once.

Honestly even if its just for a little he'll just start whining and begging for your attention.

He would go through ALL your guys messages just to see if he did anything wrong

'Hey! Heyyy..! Stop ignoring me!! Hellooo? Last time I remembered I wasn't a ghost! Stop ignoring me..! What did I doo?'

Megumi

Will be confused for the most part. But he probably wouldn't even realize your ignoring him

And when he does realize he's still confused. Like why are you ignoring him?

okay yeah he didnt let you pet his divine dogs but so what?

He thinks your being dramatic. So he will put up with it.

Unless he can't stand it then yes he will let you pet them.

One touch.He doesn't see why you want to be cuddling with them. I mean he's right there is he not?

'Are you seriously ignoring me just because I didn't let you pet- okay. Fine. One small pet. Thats all your getting. Don't complain im being generous.'

Gojo

Oh ignoring him? Yeah right? He doesn't care! He'll still bug you!

Not to mention he will tease you. Especially if the cause is because he upset you.

Yeah he'll act hurt. But he takes it as a challage too. If thats how you want to play so be it.

If him surprising you with kisses and hugs then alright. He'll move onto something more extreme

But how far should he take it? If you do really ignore him for a whole day or more than do be prepared.

And don't be surprised if your laying on your back on his bed with your thighs being held apart by his tight grip.

He will eat you out no hesitation. Oh you wanted ignore him? He will overstimulate you.

Oh you came? Cute, but he's not stopping. Not until he's satisfied.

By the time he's done with you, you will be a mess. Legs shaky n everything

'Hmm? Is this too much? Oh but we just started!~ I'm not done with you. Stop trying to close your legs. We both know thats not happening.'

Sukuna

Oh ignoring this man? Goodluck too you! And I mean this quite seriously.

Haha your brave if you have the guts to do that

Ignoring him for fun to see what he does too? Yeah alright we'll see..

He'll clearly be offended. Because who are you to ignore the king of curses?

If he really wanted too, he could easily destroy you. So you should be thankful he hasn't! His mindset

Your just being childish. Thats what he's telling himself.

Keep going if you want this man to fuck you and not let you cum.

Seriously. He will fuck your brains out. And he will not let you cum, not until your there's tears in your pretty eyes, and your begging him to let you cum.

If you don't apologize to him then alright. I guess your not cumming, not until you apologize of course.

'Why don't you be a good girl and apologize for ignoring me hm? Maybe then ill let you cum. No? Thats too bad.'

[veritable-trash]

maybe it's never truly over

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader(nickname used but no descriptors!)

Summary: It's been a long time since you've seen each other. For you it hasn't been long enough but for Miguel things are a bit more complicated.

Word Count: 1K

Rating: E - for eventual smut, friends to enemies to friends to lovers i think??? this chapter is tame just seeing if people are interested in what i might decide to cook up <3 :)

A/N: alright alright alright like literally everyone i watched spiderverse and have now descended into the black hole of being obsessed with every character from that movie but this one right here????? yes yes i like him very much. anyways wrote this for fun think i might try another series and see what comes of it. this is not sticking to any canon(lol miguel would be PISSED but this is my multiverse bitch!) because there's such a depth to his character that i want to just play with in this story potentially.

anyways if you like this little intro and want to read more and see where these two little weirdos spin their way off to reblog, send me thirsty thoughts about this man, comment to your heart's content about how his body is shaped like a dorito and i want to eat HIM!

also @dameronscopilot wrote an absolute SPICED piece for Miguel so go read that now if anyone sees this!!!!!

enjoy :)))))))))

masterlist weeeeeeeee

~~~~~

There was something different about today. 

Air shimmering like it was about to crystallize and crack at any given moment. 

Like the world was gonna stop all of a sudden and dissolve into some weird cosmic puddle. 

But not for you. Never for you because even when things felt like they were about to snap, crackle, pop, your life tended to stay a bit boring. It had been a long, long time since you’d felt any kind of twinkle in your life, and you didn’t mind it. The last time things had fizzled like that you’d been left a bit shattered yourself. 

Even still, the niggle at the nape of your neck wouldn’t let up. even the sidewalk seemed to wobble under your feet as you traversed the packed streets of Nueva York. Your palms can’t help but start sweating, heart kicking up its pace as the people around you seem to crowd and crowd and crowd. 

Alley. You need to find an alley and fucking breath. 

You turn in fast on the tight corridor, the smell of garbage helping to clear the dizziness in your head but it still isn’t gone. The feelings still there. Why won’t it just fucking leave you-

“Lyla I got it. Just check the other dimensions and report back to me I haven’t seen any signs of them here.”

And now you know why this an entire day has been like walking through jelly.

Because the second Miguel O’Hara turns around and sees you, everything absolutely shatters.

It’s been years, maybe over a decade since he’s seen you, but you’ve seen plenty of him. The magazines, the news, online, every god damn street corner of this godforsaken city conveniently reminds you of this Dorito-shaped dip shit man. 

Nothing changes in his demeanor, to an unseasoned eye, but you remember Miguel from before. Gabe’s older brother Miguel, mama’s boy Miguel, your best friend Miguel, and his eyes can’t hide the things you know deep in his heart. 

You don’t even know what to say. There’s nothing left in your brain, just him, still staring, but now from new heights, with new scars, and it scares the shit out of you.

And pisses you the fuck off.

“So what? You go radio silent for over ten years and now you’re gonna stalk me in some alley like creep? Very on brand Miguel but I thought you would have fucking grown up by now.”

His shoulders tense and you can’t stop the way your lips curve as you sense you’ve gotten to him, even if only a little. But then he’s turning away, slowly walking down the alley towards the brick wall and you realize he’s not going to say anything to you. That he’s going to just leave again without a single fucking word.

“Miguel if you don’t turn the fuck around right now and say something to me I will beat the shit out of you I swear to god. I know your weak spots don’t make me fucking use it!”

(it’s just under his ribs, but only on the right side)

“Bichito, pleas-“

“Don’t you dare fucking call me that. Don’t you fucking dare. You lost the right to call me that when you disappeared on me. Fuck you Miguel, honestly I don’t even have anything left to say to you just fuck off.”

This time his face face does crumple just a little bit and you preen at his pain. Suck it into your lungs as the boy who trampled your heart finally gets a taste of how you bled. 

You turn back to the chaos of the street and throw yourself into the people, away from Miguel and all the bullshit, earth shattering happening behind you. It’s been a long time since you’ve needed Miguel O’Hara and it’ll be an even longer time before you come back around to his antics.

Probably never.

~~~~~

He fucked up. 

Miguel didn’t know how he’d dropped the ball this hard, but he’d fucked up big time and for once it didn’t involve some stupid fucking multiverse drama. 

It involved you. 

You, the girl from down the block who used to wrestle Gabriel and make flower crowns out of the flowers growing between the cracks in the concrete. 

You, the girl who stayed up till the sky started to turn pink again listening to him rant on and on about his shitty dad and his shitty life.

You, his Bichito, his little bug, his best friend, the center of what he thought was his tiny little universe so many years ago. 

But he’d left that behind. Thought that he could find something else, find something better, finally be happy in ways he’d never even dreamed of.

And look at where it had gotten him. 

He wasn’t ever supposed to run into you again. He was supposed to be vigilant, cautious, knew that running into you would derail him a thousand times over and he had bigger things to be focusing on. Multiverse-altering, dimension-destroying things to focus on.

Yet the universe had dropped you both in that alley and something deep in his chest rippled with feelings he couldn’t seem to find a word for. It was fucking terrifying and he wasn’t going to let it fester. 

He had things to do. Universes to fix. An ever growing mantle of responsibility hanging of his shoulders.

A constant reminder of his fuck ups and the reality that he wasn’t going to let himself slip up again. 

And yet as his claws carry him up and onto the rooftops of Nueva York, Miguel O’Hara has a terrifying suspicion that he may no longer be able to stay away. 

~~~~~

hehehehAHAHHAHA god i love this twisted little sad sack man who just wants to be all rough and tough. anyways haven't written in ages and this character has gotten me at least sorta interested in writing so i just wanted to throw this out there, get something moving, even if i go back into dormancy for another millenia.

well heart eyes for you guys and forehead kisses for anyone who reads i hope your day is a dream <33333333333

[batneko]

Here's an idea that's been rotating in my brain for a few days: Bowser on a leash.

Somebody's threatening the world again, and to get Bowser out of the way they capture him and chain him up, making him walk on a leash whenever they have to change locations. Bowser's furious of course, but he doesn't get a chance to break free before Mario and Co. show up and beat the boss that was left in charge of him.

Mario and Luigi are just barely too nice to make fun of him to his face (though it's a struggle), and set him free. Oddly, the leash doesn't want to come off. It must be magic. Bowser says he'll accompany them because he wants to utterly destroy the people responsible for humiliating him like this, but when the Mario party starts to leave Bowser doesn't follow.

After a minute they realize he can't. The leash is enchanted so that Bowser cannot move his legs unless someone is holding it.

Bowser refuses to let Mario be the one to hold it (if Peach is in the party she'd refuse because it's just too weird, and if there are any Toads they'd be too scared) so that leaves Luigi. He tries to make the best of it but Bowser isn't helping. He makes demands, he acts out, he won't cooperate. If Luigi asks him to do something he'll either ignore it or do it in the least efficient way possible.

It goes on like this for days, and it's also not helping that Bowser refuses to be seen in this situation so he won't go in to any towns. He and Luigi have to take the long way around while the others get to shop and rest and get information from locals.

It's on one of these side trips that Luigi finally snaps and says something about Bowser's behavior, and Bowser immediately turns on him and yells that Luigi has NO idea how it feels being stuck like this. How demeaning it is, how Bowser can't forget it even for a moment.

"I have to ask you permission to do anything!"

"You don't have to ASK, you can just tell me! I won't say no."

"But you could!"

"But I won't!"

"But you COULD!"

And Luigi notices that Bowser seems... not so much upset as... disappointed? Almost like he wanted Luigi to refuse him?

Like maybe all his uncooperative behavior the last few days was intentional and he's been waiting to be punished.

Oh. Oooooh. Okay Luigi didn't see this coming. And since Bowser actually doesn't seem like he understands why he's feeling this way, it would be wrong to take advantage of it.

So instead of punishing him for acting out, Luigi will praise him when he helps! A perfect plan!

Bowser's ego is huge but it's also fragile, and it doesn't take long before he's eager to get any sort of kind word from Luigi. By the time the rest of the party join them, only a day later, Luigi has Bowser (metaphorically but Bowser would definitely do it literally if properly incentivized) eating out of the palm his hand.

Too bad Luigi hasn't thought through what to do once they do find someone who can get the leash off. Making a guy with infamous attachment issues emotionally dependent on you miiiiiight backfire a little bit.

[calisources]

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄.

All sentences are taken from different books from Phillipa Gregory, specially her series about the historical fiction setting of the war of roses and the tudors era. Change names, locations, pronouns and nouns as you see fit for your own liking. Some of these have slight foul language or involve insuation of sexual situations. Please beware. This is part one.

You can smile when your heart is breaking because you're a woman.

If it means something, take it to heart. If it means nothing, it's nothing. Let it go.

I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but think about him.

At night I dream of him, all day I wait to see him, and when I do see him my heart turns over and I think I will faint with desire.

A man will always promise to do more than he can do to a woman he cannot understand.

I would know you anywhere for my true love. 

Whoever I was and whoever you were, I would know you at once for my true love.

When a woman thinks her husband is a fool, her marriage is over. 

The world hasn't changed that much; men still rule.

If you go on flirting with the king with those sickly little smiles, one of us Boleyns is going to scratch your eyes out

What a pair we shall be! What man can resist us?

You have to choose the best, every day, without compromise...guided by your own virtue and highest ambition.

I never thought it would end like this. I never thought he would leave me without saying goodbye.

But I don't forget and I don't forgive.

A woman has to change her nature if she is to be a wife.

To be a good wife is to be a woman with a will of iron that you yourself have forged into a bridle to curb your own abilities. 

But I am above these judgments, I am a Queen.

Anyone can attract a man. The trick is to keep him.

I was born to be your rival.

Know your rights.

When they see us dance. When they see how you look at me. When they see how I smile at you.

I have learned the power of surviving.

I was a woman who was capable of passion and who had a great need and a great desire for love.

Good god what men can do to their brains when their cocks are hard.

They are a house which has to have blood, and they will shed their own if they have no other enemy.

I want to take you for pleasure, and hold you in my arms for desire.

 I want you to know that it is your kiss that I want, not another heir to the throne.

You can know that I love you, quite for yourself, when I come to your bed, and not as the York’s broodmare.

You think to bed me for love and not for children? Isn’t that sin?

I shall make sure that it feels richly sinful.

Some women attract desire. Others do not.

Every woman has to have something which singles her out, which catches the eyes, which makes her the center of attention.

If it has to be done at all, it must be done with grace.

She  was speaking out for the women of the country, for the good wives who should not be put aside just because their husbands had taken a fancy to another.

Because all books are forbidden when a country turns to terror.

You can smile when your heart is breaking because you are a woman, and a courtier.

War does not answer war, war does not finish war. The only ending is peace.

To save my son, I would plot with the devil himself.

Yes, but either way, shamed or not, I shall be Queen of England, and this is the last time you will sit in my presence.

I am not a yard of ribbon. I am not a leg of ham. I am not for sale to anyone.

We have to be more royal than royalty itself or nobody will believe us.

I betrayed as a daughter will betray her mother and yet, never stop loving her.

I am an object of beauty. He has never loved me as a woman.

When a man wants a mystery, it is generally better to leave him mystified. Nobody loves a clever woman.

I wanted the heat and the sweat and the passion of a man that I could love and trust. 

And I wanted to give myself to him: not for advantage, but for desire.

I am a fool to own it, but I am in a fever for his touch.

It is luck to love someone who is free to love you in return.

Just decide that you are not going to be a fearful woman and when you come to something that makes you apprehensive, you face it and walk towards it

This was my destiny: to put my son on the throne of England.

This is a woman whose belly is filled with pride.

 She has been eating nothing but her own ambition for nearly thirty years.

Plainly, she is quite besotted by him,... a girl, a young girl, and she is falling in love for the first time in her life.

And – I think you know, don’t you? – that I love you, Anne.

And you are the sort of mistress a man doesn't bother to marry. Sons or no sons.

You don't need to struggle, your baby is coming.

You give birth, you don't force birth or besiege it. It's not a battle, it's an act of love. You give birth to your child and you can do it gently.

But young hearts mend easily.

Either you have me or not at all. Either you love me or not at all. Either I am all yours or I am nobody’s. I will have no half-measures with you.

Men die in battle; women die in childbirth.

 shall put a curse on their house that they will have no first born son to inherit. 

Have you ever wondered, Anne, in your untiring dance of seduction, whether you might not be dancing to Henry's tune instead of your own?

I am a Queen. It is natural that men are going to gather round me, hoping for a smile.

My honour and my pride are in my heart, and not in what the world says.

He is fragile, like a prince of ice, of glass.

But I warn you that a woman who seeks great power and wealth has to pay a great price.

Every woman is a mad ugly bad old witch somewhere in her heart.

My own mother told my lady governess that if the baby and I were in danger then they should save the baby.

She has a smile that grows slowly and then shines, like an angel’s smile.

Jane would be the next queen and her children, when she had them, would be the next princes or princesses.

I am mad for you.

You're not cursed daughter, you are the finest and rarest of all my children, the most beautiful, the most beloved.

One’s lover is one’s partner in observing and understanding the world.

Marriage is a place where joint narratives are composed. If the lover is a liar then all your joint observations are unreliable. 

If it was not in your interests to betray me then you would have been loyal.

I am marrying the finest man I have ever known.

You can have my glove, my favour.

Nobody gets to be Queen of England by being loveable. You will have to play your cards right.

Thomas More once told me: lion or king, never show fear or you are a dead man.

When I marry you, everything I have becomes yours.

[adascreativeroom]

BSDecember day 6

Sickness ; @bsdecember

[Cw: bad written, mentions of panic attacks. Not really sickness but honestly i see Dazai as being sick almost all the time during Dark Era. Not beta read]

Look, it’s not that Chuuya didn’t care enough to bother checking on Dazai earlier and see how he was feeling. It’s Dazai who has a stupid emotional barrier and can’t seem to catch the hint that Chuuya cares for his well being. The stupid mackerel has an immune system of an ant, he gets sick very often, but hell, how Chuuya hates his habit of hiding his sickness, and Chuuya hates even more the fact that Dazai does a good job pursuing said habit.

So don’t blame Chuuya for not noticing it earlier, ok?

He had seen some hints during their work day that Chuuya had taken as a blessing, though he’s not sure if he should call it that anymore. Dazai weren’t as annoying and most of the time he kept quiet. Of course this stupid bastard was hiding something.

- - - -

 The ginger woke up in the middle of the night in his and Dazais' shared hotel room. They had just finished an out of town mission earlier the day, and were now just resting and taking a break until a new mission showed up. initially Chuuya had gotten up to drink a cup of water, but he soon noticed the absence of certain suicidal freak on the other bed and the bathroom door closed with its lights on.

‘Better safe than sorry’. There was a high probability that Dazai was fine and just needed to go to the bathroom, but Chuuya already had some not great experiences with mackerel and his crises.

The mafioso knocked on the mathroom door. “Hey. Mackerel, you good?”

No response.

“Dazai? If you don’t respond I'm going to open the door.”

“chh.. chibi” could be heard from across the door, the voice so faint and weak that Chuuya with no doubt knew something was wrong. Opening the door, He was greeted with Dazai lying on the floor, eyes hazy and barely open.

“Shit. Dazai, what the hell happened?!” Chuuya quickly made his way and checked his partner's temperature with the back of his hand. He didn’t seem to have a fever.

“Threw up. Lost my balance. Don’t feel good.” Dazai answered, voice trembling.

Chuuya helped Dazai lean against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. “You know, I lost count of how many times I've asked you to tell me when you feel sick,” He huffed. “Did you eat something you weren’t supposed to, again?” 

Dazai shook his head no. “Woke up feeling bad, I was fine earlier.”

Now, the ginger was aware of Dazai’s nightmares, so he understood what his partner meant. He’d probably woken up in the middle of a panic attack, and, Dazai being Dazai, probably hasn't been eating anything aside from canned crab. Chuuya didn’t notice the signs before because he was exhausted and sleeping heavily. “Alright… Do you feel better now, ‘zai?”

“I’d be feeling better if there wasn’t a snail trying to piss me off”

“You fucker. I’m trying to fucking help you!” Chuuya had to stop himself from punching stupid Dazai on his face. “Okay then. I’ll leave you alone if you want it so much.” He announced while getting up.

He didn’t really plan to leave, Dazai just can be really annoying when he wants to.

“No- wait. I… I didn’t mean-” The brunnet tried to backpedal. “Chibiii…”

Chuuya looked back, “What? I’m listening”

Dazai just pouted and looked at the ground, too embarrassed to actually admit what he wanted. “nothing, you can go”, he mumbled.

“Uh huh. Yes, you sound really believable right now.” The shorter reached out to help Dazai stand up, and the other collaborated. Dazai was still not feeling great. He had to hold on Chuuya’s arm for support while walking to the bed. “You still feeling nauseous?”

“kinda”

Chuuya let go of Dazai when they reached the bed. “I’m gonna make some tea for us”. Chamomile always put mackerel to sleep when he couldn’t naturally. This time wouldn't be different.

- - - -

Normally, Dazai was the brains and Chuuya did the punches. This time Chuuya could proudly admit he occupied the “brains” category. His partner made a face to try to avoid drinking the tea, but gave in and, as Chuuya predicted, was out as soon as his cup was put at the bedside table. 

Dazai laid down on his side next to Chuuya, who sat at the bed while still drinking in his own cup. Ever so gently, as if dealing with a stray cat, the ginger started carding through his partner’s messy brown hair. 

Chuuya hated this stupid mackerel, but god dammit, he couldn’t stop caring about him. Dazai carries a lot on his shoulders. If that dumbass needs a little comfort sometimes, Chuuya would not deprive him of it.

And he knows Dazai thinks the same way about him.

After some minutes both of them were dead asleep while holding eachother. Not that they would admit this, of couse.

[mermaidsirennikita]

I watched Pretty Woman when I was around 12. Which, first of all, my mom let me watch and read anything.

It pretty much encoded in my brain. It also played an important role in my fascination with older men with silver hair. And I love everything about it. I know it's problematic and stuff. But it's so good. Everything is perfect, casting, music, story, acting, cinematography. Romantic movies don't commit like this. I miss the beautiful, curly hair and the romantic ballads. It feels as if Hollywood is allergic to romance now.

I'm suffering from lack of good romantic movies. Please recommend some good movies.

If it makes you feel any better, I was probably younger than 12 when my mom like MADE me watch it with her lmao

And I agree so much with everything you have to say about it. Pretty Woman is, to me, the Iconique romance movie. It feels more like a romance novel, to me, than most movies. And it's sooooo sexy.

For other romantic movies, I'd recommend:

Brown Sugar (2002). This one is really fun because both of the protagonists make really bad choices sometimes! He marries the wrong person, she gets with the wrong person, it's friends to lovers the way it should be done (ie with a lot of angst). But you still root for them to get together! Also, Taye Diggs gives an absolutely perfect line delivery (like several) in this clip.

(We gonna celebrate--what? *clink clink* MY DIVOOOOOORCE!)

Always Be My Maybe (2019). Another example of friends to lovers done right, though it's really one of the things I love in books too, which is "childhood friends to strangers to lovers". So good. Also, the single best usage of a celebrating playing themselves ever with Keanu Reeves.

Imagine Me and You (2005). A sweet sapphic romcom with a bit of a moral quandary in the premise... A woman is walking down the aisle to her husband, looks over, sees florist Lena Headey, and understandably falls in love with florist Lena Headey. But like, she didn't even know she was bi, let alone that florist Lena Headey existed, so--what now? Cheesy in a very sweet way. Actually plays with infidelity in a manner that movies kinda don't as much at the moment (Brown Sugar does as well). Yet it remains heartwarming.

Faraway (2023). Nobody ever talks about this movie, even though it has so many things we always say we want—like a woman over 40 who isn't stick thin falling in love with a man over 40 who also doesn't have this insanely ripped body (and he remains hot, to be clear). In this one, a woman finds out her husband is PROBABLY cheating on her on the day of her mother's funeral. She also finds out that her mom had a secret house in Croatia! And when she goes to that house to get away from her family, there's Some Guy squatting there! And now she's kind of in a love triangle with Some Guy and a younger real estate developer who wants to buy the property...? It's delightful. I need to rewatch it.

Hit Man (2023 though let's be real it's a 2024 movie). Anyone who hasn't seen this yet--it's a romcom. It's a whole romcom. With sex in it. It's very funny, it made me attracted to Glen Powell against my will, he eats this girl out a kitchen island (and she thinks he's a hit man she almost hired to kill her husband). It's definitely got a touch of darkness, but everyone who suffers deserves to because they're like, abusive husbands and racist predatory cops. Hell yeah.

Amelie (2001). I'm sure everyone has seen Amelie by now, but if you haven't, watch Amelie. It's everything it's cracked up to be.

Argylle (2024). YEAH. YEAH. I'M PUTTING THIS ON HERE. Everyone shat all over Argylle, and I was like oh shit, what even is Argylle??? I don't wanna spoil too much, but did you know that Argylle pretty much ends on two people making out as they speed away from whimsical chaos??? Did you know that Argylle has like.. AN AMNESIA ROMANCE PLOT??? It's goofy as fuck and it is delightful.

Lisa Frankenstein (2024). Another recent one that is actually so romantic. And the monster uses a giant Hitachi magic wand on Lisa Frankenstein. Good for her.

The Through My Window trilogy I will always cite as Euroteen romance movie excellence. Like, the second movie is kinda rough, but the third makes up for it completely. It is soapy, it is ridiculous, it is EVERYTHING a good Wattpad movie should be except there's also like, an actual earnest heart to it. Ares is a king among men. Raquel is batshit insane but gets away with it because she is That Girl. I love it.

Anyway, this is far from a complete list, but try these for like, the heart feelings.

[witchhatproductions]

Witch Hat News #5 - In Sickness and in Health

by Tata Calthrop

This is an archived version of our microfiction newsletter! You can read along on our tumblr, or subscribe here.

Hey there! It's been a few months since you last heard from us, hasn't it? How have you been? I'll go first: I've been bad! Let's talk about creativity and mental health.

I don't speak much about my mental health publicly, but let me summarise it for you; I was a very happy teenager who plummeted into clinical depression at about age nineteen and never fully recovered, and it sucks.

That said, the consequence of this is that I've been in therapy for years and read dozens of books about psychology for both patients and professionals, so even if I'm depressed, I'm also wise as all hell.

(I suspect if I weren't depressed, I would probably be completely zen.)

I have an excellent relationship with my creative craft, and my evidence for this is that I am both alive and still actively creating things. A lot of people never learn to manage the balance.

Many of the artists and writers I meet are weighed down heavily by the burden of not being good enough. "I'm an artist, but I get so anxious that I only draw once every few months, and then usually throw it away," my friends will tell me, ashamed. "I'm not good at it."

"I'm not really a writer," say the people I meet on discord. "I have this idea for a story that I've had for years, and I've written down some small things, but not anything I can show anyone – I'm not good enough yet."

On the other end of the scale are the creatives who push themselves through constant burnout, who neglect eating and sleeping in order to create as fast and voraciously as possible. A "successful career" may be built on five hours of sleep a day and constant, haunting guilt about keeping up engagement and output.

I think it's very easy to hide in hard work. You can have terrible self-care and self-awareness and be falling apart in every area, but if you work hard, and succeed, you never need to feel guilty about the other stuff. 

You know who can create constantly, yet never get tired? Artists and writers who can spend hours every day effortlessly making things, while also being entirely present in their own lives? Children.

Human beings are born with the constant urge to be creative. It's pretty well-studied that imaginative play and brain development are directly linked in small children. It's in their nature to engage in make-believe.

Very few four-year-olds freeze in front of a blank piece of paper, because they know how terrible it feels to be bad at drawing and don't know where to begin with the idea they had without failing utterly. That's a particular madness we learn as we grow up.

I'm biased, but I firmly believe that playfulness is what makes us human. What we describe as "intelligence" in other animals is often correlated with their adaptability – their ability to conceptualise and understand things they've never experienced before, and maybe didn't even know were possible.

This, too, correlates with playfulness. Dolphins, crows, octopuses, and great apes – all very different animals – play games. Despite all having taken wildly different evolutionary paths to get there, they have all separately developed play.

To be human is to create. To imagine is to be human. So that's my way of not worrying about my creative output – whether I'm making enough, whether I'm good enough. I do not create art in order to sell it, or to gain praise for making it, although I would welcome it if either of those things started happening to me regularly.

My art does not need to be good, or valuable. It has the same value and function as the paintings I made at preschool when I was four; it is the byproduct of my humanity.

Let go of the idea of being a "good artist". Nobody is a good artist. The only thing any of us is really good at is being human, which tends to get in the way of the other stuff.

"How do I create more, without letting anxiety or laziness get in the way?"

I'm here again, writing my newsletter. How long until another mental health break knocks me flat again, I don't know. But right now, I feel motivated to put words to paper (or words to mailing list, as it were), and I'm going to follow that feeling until it's gone.

My advice to you is to do the same. Joy is a very precious gift; to enjoy creating something is divine. You are human, and that is enough. Put aside your doubts. Create ambitiously, stupidly, passionately, in any way you can, as long as you're having fun; and once you learn to have fun, the trick of learning how to create more and better is a very simple one. 

So, here: Three things that spoke to me about the subject of mental illness, death, and the arts. Let's drink to our good health, eh?

Recommendations

So Sad Today: Personal Essays by Melissa Broder. A series of devastating essays about illness, addiction, dysfunction, and brutal, intimate, visceral emotion. I have few words for this one. I found it indescribably powerful.

Sawbones have an excellent episode about personal mental health stories. This one's much easier to listen to, but it's still quite personal, as these things tend to be. It spoke to me as someone who, at the time, kept a lot of my issues completely secret.  

To The Moon by Freedbird Games: At the dying wish of a old man, two scientists must navigate and rewrite his memories of life. A short, funny video game, with very charming characters and hilarious jokes and – genuinely – one of the most sad and beautiful character dramas I've ever experienced in video game form. 

Your project here. Do you make art of any kind - visual, written, performed? Are you starting a project or recruiting co-creators? We want to hear from you! Email us at contact@witchhatproductions.com.

That's it from me. I'll see you on the flip side, however far away that is. I'm not giving up! And neither should you!

[jmdbjk]

Good morning! Pt. 2

I forgot to mention that it started to pour down rain (hence Rainy Day Fight) whenever JK was out there lost in the streets and I’m sure that added to his stress because he didn’t know how to get back to the dorm. Thundering, lightning, who knows... wind maybe... some outside force got upset at JK in that moment. The Universe seemed to step in and pour a bucket of water on a young JK's head to get his attention... it worked.

Continuing...

So he's scrolling through a million cooking videos and then all of a sudden "Lee Mujin Service April Fools Day Special" comes up?

I can't be the only one who is giving that the big ol' side eye... amongst all the food/cooking videos THAT one shows up? Riiiight...

He says he hasn't seen it... riiiiight.... whatever you say Kookie.

Curiously... the translation subtitle says he said "Jimin!" but that's not what he said. I don't know what he said but it wasn't Jimin.

He fast forwards a little and then this:

Hahahahaha! Yep, I bet you've heard enough about Face album to last you a while. That project tied up your Jiminie for most of the past year and had you sitting in your living room-cave drinking beer and eating gobs of fried chicken in front of Netflix all winter long singing to your giant tv and keeping the neighbors awake.

But that doesn't stop Kook from obviously loving Like Crazy...

[we're sorry we're experiencing technical difficulties with the video, please standby]

He couldn't think of Bosa Nova for the genre.

The mimicking was 💀 ... I died. I can see Jimin practicing some mock interviews with him. That seems very much like something Jimin would do. JK loves his Jimin. That's all there is to it.

Then he sang along with Lee Mujin on "Butterfly" and "Traffic Light" where he unleashed some killer ad libs. He proceeded to play air drums.

When he was done with that he scrolled some more and commented there are only cooking shows... I swear ... how did the Lee Mujin show just appear amongst all the cooking shows Kookie?? hmmmmm????

He has watched it before, that's how, it was in his history.

I have to tell you... I will admit, my mind lives in the gutter... please get that stick out from between your legs and ESPECIALLY STOP rubbing the knob at the end of it!!!

You can't tell me he doesn't know what we say on here about him. He lurks in the rabbit hole...I just know it.

Finds this specific thing and then proceeds to sing along with himself... if the neighbors managed to keep sleeping through the drumming on the furniture jam session, they surely woke up when he started to belt out Airplane Pt. 2.

But he couldn't remember the lyrics to Save Me...

When the Best of Me verse came up where he and Jimin do the switchy-switchy back and forth choreo he couldn't help himself... he had to couch dance... and it turned out to be a loop hahahahaha!

Then he belted out Wasurenai by Tanaka. The neighbors probably have given up on sleeping in by now. It's a workday anyway. Get your ass out of bed.

[the toes...] I'm not a foot person but I would give him a foot rub.

That's because you are interrupting your body's involuntary intake and exhalation of oxygen. It is theorized that the brain triggers yawns to keep you alert. I know everyone needed to know that. Don't look at my brain, its scary in there. Moving on...

And then he swapped hats and launched into a 5 minute impression of G-Dragon... I don't know anything about G-Dragon except he was in BigBang with Taeyang. I did see him arriving at Incheon one time and he was wearing the shortest shorts I've ever seen a man wear in public these days. They were like booty shorts... He did not make eye contact with anyone, as if he wished he was somewhere else. Came across as a typical western rapper... full of attitude and not gratitude. That's my impression of who G-Dragon is. Anyway. This:

Paint me clueless because I have no idea what just happened.

Ok, let me take a step away for a second and speak about something: Jungkook just parodied G-Dragon. He was mimicking Jimin earlier... ALL IN FUN. The theory is, when you mimic others, you subconsciously create a bond with those individuals. If you dislike someone, your subconscious will dampen any desire to do that. Psychology is fascinating isn't it?

I've seen some trying to weaponize these instances during this live. Jungkook mimics and copies because these are people he enjoys, not people he hates. There is not a malicious bone in JK's body. Just a lot of bones and cartilages that sound like bubble wrap being stepped on when he cracks them. Again moving on...

He stopped on Kurzgesagt, a Youtube channel that creates animated videos on a variety of topics that are informational and enlightening. Kookie loves the aesthetics of the channel.

He spends the next 10 minutes searching for something to watch while his brain tries to wind down and tell him its time to sleep. He subconsciously starts humming Like Crazy again and then finds a Jay Park song. I am thinking a collab is coming even though most of us could do without Jay Park. Obviously, Jungkook has a thing for him so I will remain open minded about any song should one be released. JK's vocals will elevate it to the stratosphere regardless.

I remember the pushback when we learned about Jimin's collab with Taeyang. And it turned out to be a great song and speaking for myself, I found Taeyang to be a decent and likable human. Why I ever doubted the kind of person Jimin would admire, I have no idea.

Displaying his prowess of composing songs on the spot:

The entire live was classic Jungkook. He will talk about almost anything and share a wide-ranging amount of TMI. Even now, he shows us how open he is about so much. He covered so many random things but mostly talked about his three favorite things: working out/body care, cooking and Jimin.

And Jimin and Jungkook...they are still the same as they've always been, always and forever since the rainy day fight up until now.

He finally decided to "rest a bit" before heading out and bid us farewell.

Apobangpo Kookie! I hope we get to see you soon again!

More thoughts as I sit here thinking about Jungkook and Jimin through the years... it shouldn't be taken lightly how much influence Jimin has had on Jungkook. And to think of their dynamic over the years, watching the way they look at each other and speak to each other has evolved. It is rare to be able to observe such a thing happen between two people in real life. The way they both light up when they see the other's presence... lately we've seen it during these lives... they both beam with joy at each other... it's an amazing thing.

(FYI: My gifs and video prevented this post from showing up on the tumblr feed so there are screenshots for now.)

[ask--eggman]

Rumor has it that tails is talking smack about you online. Saying your machines look stupid , your networks are easy to hack and that you should lay off the eggdogs and Eggcorn 👀

Hoho, how cute and pathetic. You know what? He can run his mouth about my machines and networks as much as he wants, my machines speak for themselves. I've created many that are far more notable, iconic and powerful than anything he's ever made! I mean, can you even name anything of his compared to my superior machines? Exactly. Same goes for the rest of my tech, he hasn't created any network as impressive as the vast expansive Eggnet, which only improves in security the more the little twerp hacks into it.

But taking a shot at me for my diet too, how dare he insinuate that I shouldn't get my necessary nutrition and calorie intake! Everyone knows it's important for me to eat well to maintain my perfect iconic figure and fuel my genius brain. The plentiful platefuls of Egg Dogs and big bowls of Poppin' Eggcorn contribute to both and are very important! In fact, I'm going to ask my robots for an extra plate of Egg Dogs just because he said that. I haven't put on that much weight recently, I mean I haven't at all. I've just been maintaining my current shape.

Some nerve he has criticizing my size when he's looking a little chubby himself. I mean I get it, like I said, our brains require a lot of good fuel. And maybe it's puppy fat and he'll grow out of it but there's always a chance that he could be just like me one day. But two can play at that game if he's going to shame me for it. I have a name to live up to! But in Tails' case, if he gets too heavy he might struggle to lift his body off the ground when he tries to fly with his namesakes, so he won't live up so well to his own anymore if he isn't careful, hoho.

ORBOT! Tell the chef bots to whip up another batch of Egg Dogs on the double! And don't let Cubot serve them to me when they're done because I don't want the klutz dropping them again.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

WIP title ask meme replies! Bit late on this and on literally everything else because someone who loves/hates me got me the Elden Ring DLC for my birthday. Welp.

@boom-squirrel replied to your post:

"I'm having something very strong indeed"... I know... I AM KNOWING! Haha! ;P But jokes aside, "Wizard Tower AU | Aylin & Rolan stuff" sounds intriguing! ^^

An anon also asked for "I'm having something very strong indeed". This one arose out of a prompt that got sent in the latest batch. It's (funnily enough, considering your joke reference) about Isobel trying to get wasted at the immediate post-brain-defeat party just like she planned, and being very frustrated at her apparent inability to accomplish this due to some undead-ish weirdly resurrected physiology stuff. It is mostly an Isobel and Jaheira buddy ficlet with some death-touched Isobel content because I'm a sucker for that.

Snippet:

There is no air to breathe, suddenly, in the crowded room. Isobel excuses herself to whoever might be close enough to hear, and rushes out. The inn has a little terrace, overlooking a narrow, dingy side-alley - not much of a view, considering, but Isobel is grateful for the escape all the same. She leans on the rickety, only slightly singed balustrade and reflects, idly, how much of her life she has spent brooding on balconies. Tries to pretend, for a while, she hasn't noticed how ridiculously little she has been eating. How, even when she did partake, it was so easy to blame the food not tasting like much of anything on it being scrounged-up or trail rations - no offence to Gale's culinary skills, of course. Or the noble efforts of the acolytes at the Selûnite enclave, cut off from their normal supply lines and beset by the vanguard of an army. Or the cook in the Elfsong, where that particular excuse well and truly fell apart. Isobel sighs and rubs at her face with hands that have been cold for too long, grimacing at the grime and ash and smudged makeup that comes away, coats her fingers. Very pointedly does not think about the black residue that sometimes smears away from her lips and nose. It's Jaheira who finds her. Isobel supposes, of all the many people it could have been, this is the least of all evils. 

This one also includes banter about one of my favourite silly ways the timeline works out:

"We're about the same age, Jaheira, don't forget," Isobel snarks, poking at a wound herself, trying to turn the sting of it into amusement. "You just had a busier century than I did, that's all."

Next, "Wizard Tower AU | Aylin & Rolan stuff" is pretty rough and early days still but it's one where Aylin gets betrayed and captured in Ramazith's tower, while Rolan gets to have some of his Act 3 arc anyway. Inspired in part by the letter you can get from Lorroakan in the epilogue. Bit of a dual-POV going on in this one, and honestly could be considered a bit of a fix-it, if nothing else then in how it will (probably) include Isobel. 

Snippet:

Miklaur falls in the terrifying skirmish against celestial foes.  It is a tragic - if, honestly, rather increasingly inevitable - turn of events. It is also one that means Rolan, still reeling from the one smite-imbued strike the aasimar landed on him, is the one who has to dispose of elemental ashes, feathers and… other material. The sheer radiance that filled the room still burns and dances behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. "I should have known, should have seen from the start," the Nightsong rants and raves, mostly to herself, and paces the dozen or so steps her little circle allows her, over and over and over. It is a miserable sight. Rolan is fairly sure she does not take much notice of his presence, and feels incredibly thankful for it. "When the wretch let the foul necromancer take me because it suited their plans. To play along with damned Ketheric Thorm and his lackeys--"  She spits on the floor to punctuate her derision and Rolan cringes, almost immediately moving to find a mop. Then he remembers himself - or some slight, miserable part of himself - and casts a quick cantrip instead.

[snip]

"Gods, we were stuck in that awful place… and Cal and Lia were…" The apprentice trails off, audibly choking on his words, even as he tries to square his shoulders and present a strong facade looking up at Aylin. "Don't you understand? I have nothing else. I sometimes wish I'd never set foot inside that damn cleric's moonlit bubble. At least then, perhaps, I wouldn't have wasted so much time on foolish hope." Aylin feels a surge of pity almost in spite of herself. But there is a precious nugget in his words that she cannot help but latch onto. "Tell me about her," she interrupts his spiralling musings, then lets her lips form the dearest name they've ever known, will ever know. "Isobel." "The cleric?" He seems confused even when Aylin confirms with a curt nod. "I never… that is, I talked to her the once, briefly. She mostly kept to herself, as did I. I don't really-- are you saying she will be sent to rescue you?" Aylin frowns and sucks in a breath at the reminder of that horrible possibility, as rattled by it as the apprentice seems to be. The thought of being forever stuck in this cage is nothing compared to the agony of the thought of Isobel getting hurt, or worse. Surely. Surely Mother will send someone else, will guide Isobel to safety, far from this den of vipers. She meets the tiefling's puzzled gaze - ah, wizards and their obsession with solving every single riddle they come across. "I love her," Aylin replies simply. "She is everything to me. I cherish her more than I do mine own life and so wish to never see her come here."

Seems inevitable that she will though, right? Well, moving on...

@jeejyboard replied to your post:

adolescence of rose quartz????!!!!!??? all of these are delightful

Ahah, good eye, spotting that silly "Utena AU" immediately! This one I've been poking at for a while, because it's one of those very specific self-indulgent noodlings. Basically, it's set on Homeworld and the main premise is Rose (this is just old enough originally for her to not be PD) winning Pearl in a duel, with the twist that Pearl had a hand in orchestrating the whole thing (and did some Cool Hacking in the process) in order to get away. Even includes a Prasiolite there to be insufferable, "a green quartz", and a blatant Saionji reference.

Snippet:

“Or- oh, is that envy?” Prasiolite laughed unpleasantly, then yanked the pearl closer to her, grabbing her as she stumbled. “Are pretty things like this a bit above your grade?” “I’m issuing a formal challenge,” Rose retorted curtly, forcing herself into restraint, and biting her own anger and irritation back. “The White Arena is close enough - we can settle this right now.” “Rose Quartz, what are you doing?” Larimar whispered in a squeak behind her, so different from the chirpy little assistant she'd been so far, rushing after the two quartzes and the blank-faced pearl. “That’s the head of White Diamond’s personal guard, are you- Rose--” But Larimar’s cries went unheeded all the way up the stairs leading to the arena’s entrance, where she went for one last appeal. “Rose, you don’t even have a weapon!” Prasiolite sneered. “I keep spares around. Pearl.” A shove in Rose’s general direction, and the pearl obliged, demurely, but catching Rose’s eye in a way she’d never seen a pearl - all of them, in her experience, nothing but muttered acknowledgements of orders and respectfully averted glances - do before. “A sword for you to use, My Quartz,” she mumbled, head bowed just a moment too late. Then, the unthinkable. She cast a brief look over her shoulder, back at Prasiolite, then pointedly turned away and towards Rose. “Good luck.”

[snip]

Finally, finally, Prasiolite lost her balance, and her pretty sword flew out of her hand, skittering across the stone tiles of the arena. She huffed as she climbed back to her feet and dusted herself off, pointedly not looking in Rose's direction at all. “Pearl! Bring my sword back. We’re leaving. This farce has gone on long enough.” The pearl stood at her post, unmoving for the longest time. Then, just as the silence had stretched dangerously taut, she spoke, quietly but firmly. “No.” “What?” Prasiolite was a vivid green, and looked fit to burst. “You disobedient, defective little--” “You lost,” the pearl interrupted and calmly spoke over her, to gasps from both Larimar and Prasiolite, and a frown from Rose. “Your ownership rights are forfeit. It’s the rules.” It was the most Rose had ever heard a pearl speak. “What are you talking about? You there, Larimar. What is she talking about?” “I, I don’t know, I--” “Well, check the legal database immediately!”

Hm, I wonder what the database is going to show... I'm sure nobody's tampered with it.

Anyway, I'll leave it at that for now. Hope you all enjoyed the little previews! All of them are super rough and subject to endless change, of course, but such is the writing life.

[i-need-some-advice-on]

Relationship advice?

CW mentions of abuse, SA, eating disorders, illness, disasters

My partner (26m) and I (23nb) have been living together for nearly 3 years. We both have rough pasts, he grew up with abuse, survived a disaster in childhood, moved to this country as a refugee, and struggles with PTSD. He's also struggled with chronic illness since not long after we moved in together. I grew up with abuse, including CSA and animal hoarding, and experienced several instances of SA as a teenager. I also struggle with PTSD, in addition to autism (dx'd in childhood) and chronic illnesses that started when I was a teenager. I use a mobility aid when I'm outside. We are both estranged from our parents, and both moved here as kids so our extended families are overseas. Because it might be relevant, he's Black, I'm white-passing mixed (non-Black).

Since he got sick and hasn't been able to work, I've been financially supporting him on my Disability payment. It's been over 2 years. He has applied for benefits, but he's been denied, and I guess there's not much he can do about that. This isn't really a problem, but it makes the problems more frustrating since I'm making a lot of sacrifices for him. He has had issues with pretty toxic behaviour, like yelling at me, calling me names like "retard", "pathetic", being hypercritical but getting mad at criticism, bringing up my trauma in arguments and downplaying it, downplaying my dx'd health issues, etc.

He has acknowledged that his behaviour in the past was toxic, but he doesn't really take constructive criticism and it feels like he doesn't really think there's anything wrong with his behaviour. I woke up to him the other week yelling things like "go starve yourself and die you fat whore, get bulimia cunt, etc." at the neighbours working in the office upstairs through the ceiling, because he believes they are stomping deliberately because they are racist and ableist and trying to provoke him (possibly true! still a weird reaction), and when I told him that I didn't like waking up to misogynistic shouting, he got mad at me, said he has PTSD and I don't know what it's like, called me thin-skinned, and generally dismissed my concerns. He's aware of my history of eating disorders.

He did say sorry during the day, but in the evening I still wanted to address it. I started by talking about how he's got some big emotions and they seem hard to manage, and he got upset, saying he doesn't have anger issues, he's justified in his anger, etc. I got upset and called him a narcissist, and later a dickhead. I also brought up his past behaviour. He said I have a victim complex, he's the one being victimised, I have "twitter brain" (I deleted twitter over a year ago at his request), that I always bring up the past to make him look bad, I have the same attitude as people who people who complain about protests being disruptive and ask "but do you condemn hamas?", he's objectively more traumatised than me, and I'm only upset by his anger because of my implicit biases. It didn't happen this time, but in the past he's knocked a chunk of plaster out of the ceiling and made his knuckles bleed from banging on the ceiling in response to the noise from upstairs.

Since then he's mostly stuck to playing music at full blast on multiple devices and deliberately setting off the fire alarm to annoy them in "protest", while I wear earplugs, and I guess that's a compromise. He has sort of acknowledged that he was wrong but still feels justified overall. I don't really know what to think. Maybe I'm blowing things out of proportion, maybe I should be more concerned, maybe it's all because of his health and trauma and I should let it slide, maybe there's something I can do to help him, maybe there's nothing I can do. He is sweet most of the time, I love him, but living with him can be so stressful and I don't know how to get him to understand that.

I'm planning on moving home to be closer to family, and he's planning to move after he sorts out his visa. It's also a better country to live in geopolitically and in terms of quality of life than where we live now. I've been hoping to help him get there before addressing all this, since we'll be in a more stable position overall and have more resources, but there's still months before I'll be able to move. What should I do?

.

[scribblestatic]

Ogh, my brain is super deadspace right now. I have an assignment from the job that's not paying me enough, but I don't even feel like doing it. Like, I am, but I don't wanna do it right now. I want to write stuff I enjoy, but I'm not sure where to start.

So I'll just start by talking more about the Marnie AU I have for the Sonic franchise, cause I realized that I didn't actually post a lot about her around here despite thinking I did.

It must've been something on a Twitter I've already deleted.

Anyway, about Marnie.

---

Marnie is the result of the stuff that happened after the purple Chaos Emerald was temporarily destroyed by Dr. Eggman. As mentioned in the first post I made about her a while back, Sonic (intersex) and Shadow did The Letter H, not expecting anything to come of it like all the other times, but well, Chaos energy doesn't follow logic all the time, especially when something as important as a Chaos Emerald needs to be reformed.

So, no, Marnie isn't actually the Chaos Emerald, but she is a biproduct of pure Chaos energy, so her connection with the Chaos Emeralds is pretty strong.

She's 3 years old, but she looks to be about 6-ish because she grows faster than normal. Her powerful blood means she only ever gets sick with something once, and after a day or two, she becomes immune to it. Marnie can digest just about anything, from chili dogs to heavy metal gaskets and oil. Though, she generally prefers human and mobian food when she feels like eating.

She's an alien-hedgehog hybrid with low empathy but an inquisitive mind. Sometimes she can come off as rude or selfish, but she doesn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. She also doesn't quite understand jokes or sarcasm all the time, but she's getting better at it with Sonic's and Shadow's help. Though, really, Sonic does a lot for her socialization, because Sonic's also surprisingly low on his own empathy.

(After all, he keeps Eggman around because "he can do good," but if he's honest, he just finds Eggman incredibly entertaining... What? Others are the ones who started calling him a hero. He's just a guy who loves adventure. He's not happy that people die or get hurt sometimes, but it's not like he can or wants to control the world, y'know? Whoever said great power comes with great responsibility is a hack. He just goes along with the hero shtick cause saving people is fun and that's how he's made his friends, and he's happy if they're happy.)

It's because of their similarity in this regard that he's able to teach her how to find things important to her and do what she enjoys in ways that isolate her less. After all, although he initially didn't really get why Tails was following him, the fox grew on him, and now Tails is his brother! She may not feel the same things others do, but there's a lot of positive feelings in not being lonely.

Given, Shadow is also lower on empathy than others, typically just doing what he wants to do and what he feels is right. Sonic and Shadow very much aren't that different in that regard. But Shadow has experienced tragic loss in ways Sonic hasn't (not to anyone's knowledge, but honestly, Sonic's history is nebulous), so he is also quite in touch with his emotions, especially after Sonic's birthday a few years back.

(He values the planet, but the beings on it could die and he would not care. He has fewer close to him than Sonic, but he does fiercely protect those he has allowed in his inner circle. At the end of the day, if the world turns on him, he'll turn on the world, but he won't let the planet die out. As much as he misses Maria, he doesn't care to give humanity more chances. But the blue planet, a relic and important memory of his first family—and now, the home of his second and third ones—will always be something he wants to care for as long as his ultimate power remains.)

Anyway, with both her parents understanding her fairly unempathetic nature, she has not once felt a lack of love from them. And, while she may not always understand how others feel and can't quite put herself in their shoes all the time, she's compassionate, generous, and hardworking. She also tends to go with the flow of things, even if she's uncomfortable with the situation. But she tries to get her questions answered by evaluating whatever is happening around her, only asking when she feels she doesn't understand.

I'll write some more about her a bit later.