#but I would at least like enough spoons to have the energy to do things that will make me feel better

[allalrightagain]

How do I inject spoons and/or excitement back into my life?

... asking for a friend

[notanotherblorbo]

The problem with having friends is that I want to hang out all the time and do things for 1 million years but I am also. Tired. And having a job. And having a family that has a bunch of shit going on all the times.

[methoughtsphantom]

halfas are the found family trope foster child

they all adopt each other. it’s the reason Vlad wanted so badly to have Danny as his son and the reason Danny immediately went with sure you’re my cousin now with Dani. it’s a survival mechanism from being so very few of their species. Sooo, halfa!Jason except he sorta isn’t yet cause Jason’s core is extremely ruptured from the lack of ectoplasm involved in his forceful resurrection. So when Danny finds Jason in his catatonic state he can’t quite tell the dude’s been dead and remains some, just that the guy for some reason seems very friend-shaped. Danny doesn’t mind his friend is braindead, and is also a john doe, he gives familiar vibes and that’s apparently enough for Danny to constantly find himself in the hospital doing his engineering homework on the room with the guy, and talking for hours about the updates on the absolute clusterfuck of the city and how he was from a freaking ghost town and he can almost even draw comparisons. he blabbers about how he’s not homesick enough times to even corner himself to talk about a ghost lore many times and how he’s just finding himself a little more prone to violence and in constant pain since none of the people he has adopted as his family are here with him and he can’t consider a place a lair if there’s isn’t someone of his in it.

But Danny could never drag someone with him just because of some it, after all it was Danny’s choice to come to Gotham to collage and not stay where at least his parents (good parents Jack and Maddie) were in Amity.

Ironically, Danny essentially can’t feel that his core has been spoon feeding ectoplasm to Jason. As months go on, the little ball of energy builds in anticipation practically vibrating in the waiting pulse of something (Danny doesn’t know but more often than not has he found himself laughing in happy confusion. it weirds him out in a good way) It’s really that he’s feeling the slow healing process of his friend (brother brother brother) ‘s core.Imagine it’s just about to properly, correctly heal when canon strikes back and Jason gets snatched by League assassins. Danny is left feeling like his core got torned out. His core had spend months helping another’s only to feel the other’s imprint and to not be able to protect it in return is— forget it being an obsession; thats like having your newborn baby being ripped out of your arms. An all assuaging feeling of helplessness that is devastating. Danny just beginning to feel like home lair when out of nowhere the rug is swept under him. Danny suddenly struggling to not flunk all his classes and beat every single liminal that he can feel crossing paths with him to the ground. Danny suddenly having his chronic pain (that hadn’t been so bad lately) dialed up to the point that there are just bearable and bad days.

The worse thing is he doesn’t know why.

Jason had only been a guy.

…

It’s only a three weeks before Jazz tells him she accepted a job offer in Gotham.

(and the guilt only makes him feel worse when he can feel himself feel better because of it)

…

now

whimsical time skip ✨

Danny is now on his feet again and friends with a Wayne of your choice (or maybe they were friends a little before Jay dissapeared and it was badTM cause Waynes? liminal 🥲) Danny definitely didn’t enjoy snapping off to his friend like that. anyways it’s been a year since that and he and his friend are having a grand time playing civvies, uhh let’s say dick because I want them to meet while ice skating, Also Dick because he definitely turns a blind eye when Danny goes airborne for a second there yep. He’s just having too much fun.

anyways as alwaysTM Danny doesn’t clock celebrities and like why would he, Dick is just the random guy who’s was fast to turn Danny’s slow day in the ice ring into a competition one day and brighten when Danny matched up his puns. So he totally doesn’t get why the guy’s so gloomy one day, anyways as you can figure, it’s Jason’s deathday and Dick is a deprecating bean, Danny tries to cheer him up by having him remember his brother instead and Dick attempts to, but even skipping through some photos in his phone make his eyes burn.

It is because of that that he doesn’t notice Danny absolutely freeze up at the photo of his friend Jay (Jay because he’s a John Doe, but that’s just too impersonal and so the first letter is J *wink wink*)

Danny absolutely doesn’t know what to do with this information, barely catches himself from asking Dick how did his brother die. Most importantly when because Danny just saw Jay—Jason less than a year ago, and this somehow doesn’t feel too recent.

Annd that how we find Danny digging into the Wayne second son tragedy. Staring at the date of death while the knowledge that they met almost six months after burns his forefront of his mind. Danny spends a day going over all the questions running through his mind over how the fuck he couldn’t sense Jay was a ghost—err was… in past tense?? what the fuck?? Danny would really like a refund on his ghost sense.

Anyways Danny goes check out the grave (now that he knows there is one) and boom although intangible he somehow triggers those shitty ass sensors/alarms that somehow didn’t go off when jason was literally digging himself out.

Obviously the bats get in the case immediately. And boy are they absolutely enraged that someone would steal Jason’s body.

[thebibliosphere]

Whenever I get a particularly nasty message, I always check to see if they're following me first. Nine times out of ten, they're not. But they're also, unfortunately, the same people who feel entitled to send me multiple messages in a row, most of them heavily steeped in the language of moralization and purity.

Like whenever I talk about painkillers or pain management, I always get a handful of well-meaning people who are maybe new to my blog or are just young, asking me if I've tried diet/exercise/meditation, etc.

Sometimes I'll respond to them. Other times I'll just ignore them because I get those kinds of messages so often it's like white noise, and maybe part of me hopes if they stick around on my blog, they'll learn it through exposure via my incessant bitching.

When you see me responding to someone offering that kind of advice, it's either because I'm at my fucking limit or because I'm hoping it's a teachable moment and an otherwise seemingly nice person might unlearn some harmful biases.

The people who don't follow me are not interested in any kind of conversation on the subject. They do, however, feel the most qualified to tell me, someone they didn't know existed until one of my posts crossed their dash, how to manage my life, everything I'm doing wrong, and why I'm a bad person.

And for them, my disability is proof that I am a bad person because they view health as a moral issue.

If you're sick, it's because you don't exercise enough, don't eat the right foods, don't pray enough, don't do enough. They genuinely believe that if they say and do all the right things, like a Good Person, they'll never get sick.

It's their security blanket against the harsh reality that anyone is one bad day away from disability. One faulty gene, one bad infection, one bad accident away from a life-long diagnosis. And if they do get sick, it's a test. A challenge to be overcome with Willpower as they learn the True Meaning of Life.

It can never just be a simple fact of life that sickness happens. That disability exists without a moral reason.

And it's suffocating.

Day in, day out. Folks who don't know me from fucking Eve telling me I'm being punished. Not always as outright as that. They don't always use that word. But sometimes I appreciate it when they do because at least then they're being honest. They're not couching it in the softer language of leftist circles. Not hiding it behind concern.

Because the truth is, there are just as many folks who think they're liberal and enlightened who'd be happy if disabled people just stopped existing. They don't like thinking about us because it makes them think about themselves. About their own fragility and mortality, and they hate that. They hate that there's something they can't control with their thoughts and actions. That they can't moralize their way out of.

Honestly, it's a relief when people are just cunts about it because I can hit the block button, safe in the knowledge that they were never the kind of person who would see me as a person. But when it's some 20yo kid with their pronouns, orientation, and "ACAB" in their profile spouting the same kind of moralization, sometimes even with the language of eugenics, it feels like such a betrayal. Like a loss.

And perhaps if I wasn't multiply disabled, I'd have the energy to pull them back. To tell them why they're wrong and hope like hell they realize what they're doing is harmful. But then, if I wasn't disabled, they wouldn't be messaging me, so I wouldn't be dealing with it.

I wouldn't be expected to use my existence as a teachable moment to spoon-feed them compassion. But I am, and I do. When I can. Not always with the grace that's warranted. Not always with the thought and compassion I ought to. (And I don't; I acknowledge that. I'm prone to anger and off-the-cuff remarks that are hurtful too. Though I try to keep most of it to myself or save it for therapy.)

Basically, if you've made it this far through the TED talk, don't be fucking cunts to disabled people. Don't tell chronically ill people to try yoga. Don't moralize pain relief. Suffering is not noble.

You need to kill the cop and the priest in your head telling you otherwise.

And also if you're the nice people sending me nice messages. Thank you. It helps cushion all of *gestures* this.

[lucifers-rubber-duck]

𖤓 Being married to Lucifer would include 𖤓

Pairing: Lucifer X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of depression and slightly suggestive content. Reader doesn't have a defined gender.

Waking up with morning kisses ❣

• He likes to hug you before you two sleep, is almost funny seeing him trying to be the big spoon when he's so tiny.

• It's no surprise he's a very clingy man, and that would just double when you two got married.

• Kisses aren't limited to morning tho, he'll get any excuse to give you even a peck. Lunch kiss, Goodnight kiss, Afternoon kiss, anything you can think of will be a good time to plant a smooch on your lips.

Eating the best of what Hell has to ofer ❣

• I believe with my whole being that Lucifer is a fenomenal cooker.

• He can bake anything you ask for, doesn't matter what, he will do whatever he can to make it the best meal you ever had.

• You can expect to have breakfast on bed at least once in a week, he'll sit besides you in bed and wait until you finish eating, wings around you and smiling like a idiot because he just adores seeing how happy his cooking makes you feel.

• He will ask you to cook with him too, he especially enjoys baking apple pies and pancakes and will often make cookies shaped like ducks. He sits and waits in front of the oven until it's ready and really enjoys when you also make him company.

Deal with his rubber ducks everywhere ❣

• Lucifer isn't the most organized person, yes, he enjoys doing the cleaning most of the time, but he finds it a hard time making sure all his ducks are in place.

• Sometimes you'll be going normally with your day, walking by the house and suddenly you will step on one of his rubber ducks, making it squeak.

• You tried putting them on a shelf once, making sure they were out of the floor, but in less than a week that shelf would be full because he would just keep making even more ducks and having nowhere to place them.

• His solution to it is to just shove them into his office, making piles and more piles of yellow rubber creatures, they will stay there until you two can think of a better solution.

• He gifted a bunch of those to you as well, you have your own place to put your collection, it's full of duckies themed of things you like, one of them looks like Lucifer, the other looks like you and a smaller one that looks like Charlie, the three of them have a special place and are always together in your collection.

Help him to clean himself ❣

• Sometimes his depression can get the best of him, when it happens he doesn't have the energy to even get out of bed, you'll have to help with all his chores and simple things.

• Help him get up, help him shower, brush his theet, fix his hair, help him get dressed and make sure he eats, sometimes even hygine is hard for him to do alone and the help you give him means the world.

• Also, make sure to tell him that you don't mind helping him, even with menial tasks like those, he's very insecure when these episodes happen and is scared that you might leave him because of them, he doesn't want to be a burden, so tell him how much you appreciate being his partner.

“I'm sorry for making you do this...” he silently says, head resting on your lap as you bursh your hand through his blond hair, it was one of those days and you two were sitting togheter on his office couch, he didn't have the will to do anything today and you had to help him even clean himself up, he felt like shit. “I'm such a piece of trash.”

You shake your head, grabbing his chin and making him look at you, he looks so tired and defeated, and at the same time looks at you like you're the only thing making him less miserable.

“Don't say that Luci, you know I love you a lot don't you? I don't mind helping you when you're feeling down” you move him around, enough to be able to give him a hug, pulling him closer to you so he could be comforted, you hated seeing him like that, you wish he could see how amazing he truly is, see himself the way you see him. “And hey, you were able to brush your theet by yourself today, I'm so proud of you for that.”

He's at verge of tears when he hears you say that, he pulls you closer using his wings, putting his head on your chest. “Thank you so much dear.” He's glad he has someone like you in his life.

Having to deal with bite marks ❣

• Lucifer is... How to put it. Rather possessive.

• But not in a creepy or unhealthy way! No no no, he simply adores you so much he can't help but mark you as his sometimes.

• His sharp theet can make a real number on you, he tries his best to be as gentle as possible, asking your permission before ever biting you anywhere, but he always aims for visible spots.

• Sometimes it makes you so embarrassed that you ask yourself why did you let him bite you in the first place, like when Charlie asked about it once and you had to make the worst excuse ever just to not tell her that her father was the one who did it.

• When you told him about it he just laughed, that made you a little annoyed but he promissed he would be more careful later. (This time he gave you a mark on your thigh before putting his tongue into work)

Hearing about his wishes to form a family ❣

• Man daydreams about forming a family with you, he can't help but just think about how precious it would be for you two, Charlie and a new child to take a new family picture.

• He doesn't force that idea onto you, he drops here and there how much he would love a new child, but if somehow you showed that you were uncomfortable with it he would stop, you and Charlie are enough for him and he won't try to change it for a fantasy.

• But if you want to adopt, probably a Hellhound or even a Imp since there's no human children in Hell, he will absolutely be supportive and be there with you through the adoption progress. He'll make sure to treat the child as his own and give them as much love as they deserve.

• If the adopted child is a girl then? He'll just be the happiest man alive, he's going to spoil her, never want to let her go and will dress her up in every opportunity. He'll for sure cry before you all take a family photo and say how much he loves you and his daughters.

[etherfabric]

Directions from Your Higher Self

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

Pile 1

The Star, The Moon

You started to believe in miracles, and are now scared shitless. No small expectations keeping you safe from disappointment anymore. You got a taste of what magic feels like, and now fear dullness like the plague. Two things: You are allowed to have boring days, that doesn't mean the magic is gone. It can't be Christmas everyday. You would get sick of the lights eventually, believe me. And the other thing: That's why they say that victimhood can be a kind of safety blanket. If you already expect only crap from life, there is no horrible suspense anymore. But now... you can't go back. Even if you try it.

This is an icky phase of metamorphosis. It's normal that it feels disorienting and like you can't make sense of anything anymore. Do soothing stuff, calming habits, be around safe people. And spoiler: This is about embracing your humanity in a whole new depth. Don't worry, it will feel supernatural again soon enough. But for now, practice being plain, while also weaving your belief in miracles into it. Challenging, yes, but nothing you can't handle. You got this.

Pile 2

The Moon, 3 of Pentacles

Nothing you put energy or effort into seems to yield anything. It feels like punching in slowmotion, nightmarish. Hitting no one who needs to feel your hits. Newsflash: This is not a time for work! Get soft, dammit. You can't experience rest while still trying to prove something. No one is watching. You are being your own cruel audience, and boo yourself into despair. What are you aiming at? Who convinced you that particular thing is the sole hope for you to be happy ever again?

I love you, you are me, I am you, but I can't let you go on like this. Not with what lies ahead of us. If you only knew how easy things will get. How many fears will never come true. How much lighter you could afford to be. How much love you already deserve. But you have to dare opening your arms, and put the tools down. The monuments you try to erect are aimed at Gods you won't believe in anymore once you experience your feminine side as a gift, and not a curse. Grindset? Grind your teeth while napping, if you have to. But this is bigger than your egotistical, temporal ambitions. You need to do it slow, and I won't stop insisting. Because I can see more than you. You will have no choice but trusting me on this one.

Pile 3

The Emperor, The Devil

Have you heard of this awesome thing called "free will"? Let's take that baby for a ride. Use 3 spoons for the same meal. Lie on the floor of your hallway and recite a song. Buy a stranger a magazine about trains. Take a pair of scissors to your least favorite shirt. Name your nail polishes after famous people. The possibilities are literally endless, but yet you rotate the same 7 things. They will stay ready for when you need them next, but let's shake it up a little, huh? No wonder you feel trapped and stuck. But YOU make the rules, at the end of the day. Yes, there are outer limitations you have no influence over, but even in a literal cage, you can decide what you think, or how you sit, or what notes you hum, or what shadow figures you make with your hands.

The thing itself is meaningless - it's about you experiencing being a CREATOR. Not just a servant to others. I don't care if it's throwing a paper plane into your bathtub, or quitting your job and disappearing to Nepal - but we crave novelty and agency. Deeply. Break the self-imposed limits, any of them. Just to feel what it feels like. It's more rewarding than you imagine.

Pile 4

The Hanged Man, 2 of Cups

Oh shucks. You like someone. It happened. And you can't cancel it willynilly. Suppression has run its course, and now you have to face the embarrassment of having a heart with a need to connect and love. This has completely ruined your illusion of sovereignty you so deeply depended on to feel safe in the world. What now? Where will it lead? What does it mean? What will happen next? Do they like me? Do they think of me? Do they think of me badly? Why do I think about them? Is this me being brave, or pathetic? Is there a true difference?...

The questions don't stop, and you know what - they shouldn't. This is less about the "result" of this connection (I know, boo me, because this is your hyperfixation above all, despite not ever admitting it) and more about getting you out of your shell to be curious about yourself again. The heart needs to be open, and these fears and doubts have been there for a long time already. You are ready to face them, examine them, and learn more about yourself than any flavour of aloofness could ever teach you. I know you hate it, but I can also see the faint giggly twinkle in your soul from up here, buried under all this denial and acting tough. And that's the most scary part for you. That you actually like someone, like, in THAT way. How scary that life has no guarantees, but coming to peace with that truth will serve you much more than any relationship ever could.

[shadowsndaisies]

athena; the preamble

WC: 3k

synopsis: athena at a glance basically

main masterlist

athena-verse master post

a/n: i know I should be working on cnng, but this idea has just fully taken root. the brain rot is real.... please come talk to me about it... please

Having Maverick for a dad is exactly what it sounds like.

He played fast and loose with the rules of the Navy, which made him a highly decorated captain, but at the end of the day, he had two loves in his life, the Navy and his daughter. Despite the risks he took and the chances he played with, you never doubted your dad's love. You did, however, have to learn to speak his language.

That meant early mornings in the hangar, learning how to fix up engines and motors of relics. It meant doing homework on base after school. It meant learning ranks and callsigns as a kid. And so you did. You did it all. You learned poker and swindled more than a few Navy men before you'd even hit puberty. You smiled pretty for every commanding officer your father's managed to piss off. It also meant developing a need for speed.

Having Maverick for a dad meant being on edge every time he got deployed. It meant spending his deployments with Uncle Ice and Aunt Sarah and your summers with Aunt Carole and Bradley.

Every deployment that fell during the school year was spent based out of the Kazansky house. You didn't mind too much. Uncle Ice and your dad always had each other's back, a bond forged in loss, that much you knew. Aunt Sarah acted like a mom; she cooked hot meals and taught you how to make some of your favorites. You spent time with their kids and went to school with them, too. It was fun spending time with Ryan and Elizabeth Kazansky. Ryan was about five years younger than you but a ball of energy, and little Lizzie was a planner and was often your partner in crime despite being eight years younger than you.

There were the odd in-betweens when your dad would have someone he trusted enough to watch you. That being said, you'd only ever spent a few deployments with someone not named Bradshaw or Kazansky; the exception was always one woman, Penny Benjamin.

You weren't an idiot.

Having Pete Mitchell for a dad meant wising up quick. Meant quick humor and a reckless streak that you had to work twice as hard to overcorrect and suppress because you both knew he'd never be the one to police you on it. It meant a semi-stable home life but so much love and too many role models. It also meant a fluctuating Penny.

Penny, who met your dad years before you were born. Penny, who you knew your dad loved and who loved your dad, even though they never seemed to get their timing right. Penny, who taught you how to sail, throw a proper punch, and French braid. Who showed you how to open a beer bottle without an opener in several different ways, using a belt buckle, a spoon, and your house keys? Penny, who was.. a mom. As much as you are reluctant to admit it publicly, Penny Benjamin was probably the closest thing you had to a mom because even though Aunt Sarah loved you and cared for you like she did with Elizabeth, she was always Aunt Sarah, never Mom. Even Aunt Carole, who was your godmother, could never truly fill the void of mother even though you know she tried her best to help you with the parts you missed out on. Penny was the only one who came close, at least when she was around she was.

Summers, though, were your favorite. Whether or not your dad was on deployment, you spent every summer in Virginia with the Bradshaws. You had a room that Carole always referred to as "little Miss Mitchell's room" and a best friend who taught you so much more about life.

Bradley.

Bradley, who taught you how to swing a bat and throw a football. Bradley, who gave you your first driving lesson when your dad got deployed before he could. Bradley, who you talked with weekly when you weren't living under the same roof. Bradley, who let you make fun of his name when you needed an easy out, Brad Brad, had been the running joke.

Bradley always had your back; he piggybacked you home when you skinned your knees during your skater girl summer. He took you out of the way to your favorite ice cream place whenever you had cramps and planted himself on the sofa with you to watch Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, and I Dream of Jeanie when you refused to move. Bradley, who ate the things you cooked when you'd test out Aunt Sarah's recipes and forgave you while throwing up when you gave him food poisoning when you were thirteen, who still trusted what you put in front of him even after that (though he had gotten you a meat thermometer and written up a cheat sheet to ensure you knew when it was fully cooked).

And you had his.

When Aunt Carole died, you mourned for months. Navy royalty knocked on your dad's door to share their condolences with the teen for weeks. Bradley had been seventeen at the time, about to start his senior year of high school. He completed that year back in San Diego. He'd had friends and people who cared for him in Virginia, who'd offered their homes for his final year of high school, but when your dad offered, he clung to the familiarity that was Mav. That year, your dad had a few deployments, and all of them were short. Looking back, you wonder if Uncle Ice had pulled strings to ensure that. Either way, when Bradley went to his senior prom, Mav was there. He filmed the awkward getting-ready stage, caught on camera as you helped Bradley tie his tie, and you got a great moment of Mav doing the last inspection before Bradley left to pick up his date.

You spent all your free weekends that spring at every single one of Bradley's baseball games. Aunt Sarah would come to every home game, and little Lizzie and Ryan loved screaming and cheering for Brad's mama. Look at Brad Brad go!

Bradley grieved and cried, and he was so incredibly sad and heartbroken. But he was still Bradley. He was still your best friend. He intimidated any guy who got too close and was the only person outside your father who you could love one second and be planning his murder the next. Bradley was your best friend; he was until he wasn't.

Until papers were pulled and words were exchanged, Bradley stormed out one day and never came back.

You found him; of course you did. He was your best friend. And even though you coaxed him out of his hiding spot, words were said. Phrases hurled at you that targeted the softest of spots that only he knew about. You held together; you had to. You got him at Viper's and left him there. You went to Ice's. You didn't talk to your dad for months, and Bradley never spoke to him again.

He reached out to you during your senior year of high school in an email apologizing for how he lashed out at you. You never responded. A scabbed spot in your heart that used to belong to him, still too raw to touch. He kept emailing, though. Random updates, more apologies, congratulations, and happy birthdays. You read every email, but you never could bring yourself to respond. Then, four years had gone by.

Bradley's bi-weekly email arrived when you were in your second year of university. You read it, reread it, and then read it a third time. Aviation Officer Candidate School. You weren't surprised; you knew Bradley wouldn't abandon his dream. You never thought he would, but being faced with the reality of it weighed heavily. Bradley being selected for AOCS was proof of his dedication. OCS, in general, required sponsors within the Navy and was much more difficult to get into than the Naval Academy; they only took individuals with a bachelor's degree to start with. However, for Bradley to get into AOCS, specifically the aviation program, someone up the ladder had to have helped. The more you sat with it, the harder it became to figure out who. It could have been Viper, who had dealt with an Angry, Confused, and Isolated Bradley for the remainder of his senior year and the summer, probably every summer after that. Or maybe it was Ice, cleaning up the mess your dad had made, just as he always did.

Your dad had cost Bradley four years in the Navy, but this program might help him bridge it, at least to some degree.

For the first time since the day you dropped him at Viper's, you respond.

Congratulations, Bradley, I'm glad you're achieving your dream.

That was it.

You didn't tell your dad. But you heard about it when he found out. Ice, thankfully, had given you a heads-up. You played dumb; you knew better than to admit to the emails. Your dad was strong and stubborn, but you'd seen what his and Bradley's blowout had done to him. The hollowness that followed him, the pain in his eyes at every memento and reminder. The ache in his heart is located between the gaps titled Goose and Carole.

He hadn't told you why he'd pulled Bradley's papers. You'd made (somewhat) peace (begrudgingly) with that when you finally let your dad back into your life nearly two months after the Pulling of the Papers, and only because he almost died in a bird strike and you as his next of kin had been notified upon his hospitalization.

When he heard about AOCS, though, the secret came spilling out. Carole asked me, and she gave me one request. You'd known your dad had a private conversation with Carole Bradshaw on her deathbed. You and Bradley had been asked to stand outside her hospital room while they talked. When you were allowed back in, they both had tears in their eyes. You'd always assumed it had something to do with Goose, and to an extent, you were right. Carole Bradshaw was one of the strongest women you'd ever met, but it seemed even she was afraid of the price you pay to the Navy for the honor of serving your country.

You weren't sure what drove you to it.

It could have been Bradley's transition into AOCS.

The truth your dad had finally shared.

Or because you still felt like you had something to prove.

Maybe even that need for speed that had never been handled properly.

But you enrolled in your university's Navy ROTC program that same week.

The most surprising part of the change was how easily it came. Orders sounded like they did on the bases you grew up on. Your history, lineage, and contacts helped get you started and acted as an excuse for your late decision to join. You found some semblance of peace in ROTC as if the missing parts of the puzzle were starting to become visible.

You weren't sure how you managed to get through ROTC and into your first year as a Naval officer without your dad finding out, but you did. And by then, it was too late for him to do to you what he'd done to Bradley.

Bradley, to his credit, had a mellower response, only because he didn't have your phone number anymore and could only type an email in caps lock to convey his yelling. He did include it on the bottom, though; I wish I'd thought of ROTC. I could've sped the pipeline along more.

You hadn't responded to any emails since his admission into AOCS, and if you watched his college graduation and sent a gift to Ice to pass off to him, that was nobody's business but yours.

Your dad was… displeased.

But he kept calling. He didn't freeze you out, and you didn't have it in you to do it to him again. So you talked, told him how training was, and when he finally asked you why? In such a pained voice, you told him the truth. There was no tangible reason, just that you had to do it, that this was your path. Safe to say, it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear.

Becoming an Aviator was difficult. Not only because of the requirements and the toll it takes. Not only because you were a woman. But because you faced accusations of nepotism at every turn. You were, however, your father's daughter, and his lack of movement within the Navy did not diminish his accomplishments. You learned. You learned from the best. From your teachers, from your peers, from your dad, and from the men you considered uncles. And you showed everyone what you were capable of. You were a Naval Aviator within a year of graduating from college and the ROTC program, achieving the rank quicker than almost anyone following the same pipeline. You made a name for yourself using your brain. Where people were quick to assume nepotism, you were quick to show them your dry wit, sharp tongue, and tactical thinking.

That's where the callsign came from. Athena was the Greek goddess of wisdom and war, daughter of Zeus, and king of the gods. It fit well.

You did two and a half years as a Naval Aviator Officer in training in Norfolk and another two in Japan as a Junior Officer before you got the call.

Top Gun.

Returning to San Diego was… nostalgic. Being on the Miramar base even more so. You faced criticism of nepotism from your peers here as well; never mind that only the top two percent of naval aviators are invited to Top Gun to begin with. But you worked hard and proved your calling had more to do with wisdom and war than whose daughter you were. You came out of it with two friends: a pilot named Brigham Lennox, callsign: Harvard, and his WSO Logan Lee, callsign: Yale. Both of whom were the only two to wise up within the first day and realize you are so much more than your name.

It's also why the three of you were at the top of your class.

Afterward, Yale and Harvard are sent to Oceana, off the East Coast, where you knew Bradley had been based on his emails. And you were kept in state and sent to Lemoore. You preferred that, not that you'd say so. But being in-state meant being able to visit with Ice, even when you knew he wasn't doing so well, and it meant you could continue to avoid Bradley in peace. At Lemoore, you got placed with the VFA-14, the Tophatters, also known as the oldest currently active aircraft squadron in the US Navy. There's a lot of history attached there, a legacy to make proud of, as Ice and Viper would like to remind you when you'd join them for a monthly poker game.

Being stationed with the Tophatters came with two significant perks: Natasha Trace, callsign: Phoenix, and Jake Seresin, callsign: Hangman. Stationed with the VFA-41 (Black Aces) and VFA-151 (Vigilantes) respectively. Despite the fact that the two of them could not stand each other, you formed friendships with them both. In Natasha, you found someone who understood the uphill battle for women in service, but more than that, you found someone who kept it honest, called it like she saw it, and loved you for who you were.

With Jake, it was different. His bravado and charm worked, but not on you. Where other pilots got fed up with his cocky bullshit, you were able to stay leveled and see through. A benefit you shared once after a few beers of being raised by the best of the best. There must have been a sharper edge to your reminisces than you remember because Jake never made a nepo baby joke after that. A casual one here or there, but none at the heart of it, none with genuine malice. Not like he had in the beginning.

Jake allowed you to be. Rough edges and jagged ends. He kept your feet on the ground when you spent most of your day in the skies. You like to think you balanced him out a bit, too. Able to keep him from getting too stuck in the clouds, too sure of himself. You were always happy to knock him down a peg or two; truthfully, sometimes, he needed you to do so.

You found happiness on Commander, Carrier Wing Nine in the Strike Fighter Wing Pacific. You excelled in your squad and gained recognition and honors, ribbons that decorated your lapel. You talked with your dad, mostly about random things, given the confidentiality of both his and your assignments, but you found time. Ice and Sarah checked in, and Viper, too. And every time your feet were on solid ground, they found time for a barbecue or a poker game, or both, usually both.

You still read Bradley's emails. Bi-weekly had turned to monthly, and even then, they didn't come every month, but they did come, always with a reason, just as they had been for the last decade and change. You never could figure out why he kept sending them. You'd thought about replying, now, years after the rage and pain and grief you'd held onto had been let go of, nothing productive ever came from holding on too tight, you'd learned. But Bradley sent the emails, sometimes signing his name as Bradley or Rooster, but on the nostalgic ones, he'd always put Brad Brad, an olive branch, you knew, but you never could get yourself to click send on the drafts you'd write out, dozens of them sitting in the drafts folder as it was.

You'd found your space; it wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

And then you got recalled.

And so did 'Nix.

And Jake.

Then the email came in, and they're calling me back to Top Gun for some detachment. Maybe I could find time to come to Lemoore?

And then your dad hit Mach 10 and was missing in action for over five hours, only to be found in some small-town diner in the middle of nowhere Idaho.

He was sent back to Miramar, too.

And you were left wondering what the fuck was happening now, flying down with Phoenix and Hangman on your wings, and why it seemed to be colliding all the fragments of your world.

...

everything tags: @butterfly-skinnylegend

[hwonnrinji]

i looked at ur works and was like.. yo. ANYWAYS do u make like those imagines or thoughts thing whatever it's called? if so, pls pls pls make one for how the kats let yoonchae sleep on them when she gets too tired (based on what sophia said abt her being able to sleep anywhere)

also can i be 🐹 anon

this is my first impression of you btw BUT WE 🆙⁉️💯 p.s. the fics rotting in my drafts will (hopefully) be posted next week since i have break, this was the quickest thing i can do for rn 🙏

i also believe yoonchae is rlly cuddly in secret

SLEEPYHEAD ~ J.YC

sophia ; she's not keen on skinship. she'll probably just stand there with her hand out, holding yoonchae's head while the younger is getting her makeup done so 1; the makeup artist doesn't have to constantly wake her up to finish the look, and 2; she has something at least little more comfortable than a chair that's not high enough to lay her head on. yoonchae is super grateful that sophia does this so her neck doesn't feel like crap afterwards. though there are times sophia will allow herself to be held by yooncnae, she prefers to be big spoon because it will deter her pride and ego if she were to be little spoon on a basis.

manon ; whenever yoonchae is in the mood for a nap and wants to cuddle up but the majority of the kats are gone or busy, she can and will always find manon on the couch either watching tv or doing something on her phone. yoonchae will just go up to manon and sit down next her, curling up against the older and falling asleep with her cheek resting on manon's shoulder. (manon loves this ofc and habitually pat yoonchae's knee so she falls asleep faster)

daniela ; during practice, yoonchae gets exhausted the fastest and needs extra sleep for energy. daniela is the first one to notice every time and will request at least a 20 min break for yoonchae. daniela knows to dim the lights and sit on the ground with her legs straight, yoonchae immediately laying down– on her back or sideways– and rests her head on daniela's lap. the older will play with her hair while humming yoonchae's fav songs softly. (it's so common, the staffs fixed the schedules so there's a 20-30 min block titled 'yoonchip's break')

lara ; yoonchae is the most cuddly with lara, fight me if you disagree. like she'll go into lara and megan's room and slip into bed with lara. the older always accepts with wide, open arms, tucking the younger's head under her chin. yoonchae willingly buries her face into lara's collarbone or neck, occasionally taking deep breaths to take in the scent of lara's clothes that she finds really, really comforting. instead of humming, lara will probably sing some wave to earth song, running her hand through yoonchae's hair, twirling it before letting it go.

megan ; her and yoonchae always sit next to each other in the company van, or car idk, whether the others like it or not. yoonchae falls asleep the fastest while in a moving vehicle, her eyes drooping five minutes into the trip. megan will offer her shoulder, which yoonchae never fails to accept. she would rest her head onto meg's shoulder and closing her eyes. megan also likes holding yoonchae's hand so she usually finds herself running her thumb over yoonchae's knuckles or just having their hands intertwined in general while the youngest sleeps.

~~~

i love yoonchae.

[moirindeclermont]

@itshappyginger requested on Tumblr a "all Polin first times we didn't see" all about pillow talk and, specifically, Colin being the little spoon. This is one of those time I wish I could draw, because that would be deliciously cute to draw. But, since I can't draw, I hope I can paint a picture with my words instead.

It's after their reconciliation. Both sated, Pen is still on top of Colin, who wants to drag this moment for all eternity, for all he cares. Both are naked, skin against skin, their breath slowly return to normal as they settle. Pen tries to moved but Colin stops her.

"I know we both have at least another round. Stay like this and, when it's time, we can restart again." Pen shivers. The idea of feeling him getting hard inside her is so erotic she barely contains a moan, which makes Colin smile.

"I love getting to know this side of yourself, Pen."

She smiles too. "I didn't know I had this side" she whispers, totally honest with him.

"Then, I love being the one that made you discover this side of you," and she kisses him slowly. They talked briefly like this, their first time, but now it feels like they have all the time in the world.

"So, you don't think I'm too wanton?"

The question arrives unexpected, but as Colin looks at her, he can see that she means it.

"There is no such a thing as too wanton for my taste, Pen. I want you always, in every position, in every room."

They are now both caressing each other, feeling the skin of their back, as they talk. Pen sighs at his answer, almost in relief. "Me too Colin, but before the wedding my mama said my job was to lie down and let you do everything. It made me question a bit, even if it seems stupid to me. I love being like this with you."

Colin cursed a bit - not directly at Portia, for once - but for anger at a society that keeps women so hidden from sex. "It is stupid. I don't want a doll, darling. I want you... And your sounds, and the way you move. Watching you on top of me before was the best experience of my life."

At those words, the image is too much, he starts to become hard inside her and she looks at him in awe. "Let's make love like this," says Colin and she melts in his arms.

They are too tired to do anything beside rocking against each other in their tight embrace. Soft moaning and whining escapes their mouth, as they grind and move their hips together. Pen throws her head back, the sensations too much too handle to stay still. Colin leaves more marks on her bosom, near the nipples, before sucking them in his mouth.

Pen, overstimulated, comes in waves and after the fist one is passed, the second one arrives and the way she clenches her core makes him feral. Colin muster enough energy to push her on the bed, thrusting at a rapid pace while she is still coming and then comes himself.

With wobbly legs he takes the towel they used after the first round to clean themselves. Then, he goes back on the bed and just collapse almost on top of Pen.

They fall asleep minutes after. Pen on her back and Colin using her bosom as a pillow. He wakes up some hours after, noticing his wife is now plastered to his back, hugging him tight from behind. He smiles and sends a small prayer to God, praying to wake up like this for the rest of his life. He does wake up again like this, with Pen exploring his back.

He turns towards her. "Good morning, love" , and Pen is smiling. Yes, this is his life now.

I accept request! Tell me about the first time you want to see and I'll put into words 💓

[the-fab-fox]

Could you possibly do a Drabble with Idia x Reader with the cute pocky game you had going on?

@ Anonymous,

Thank you for the request. Literally no one has been requesting any so I was super excited to get yours. And it's Idia which tickles me. Lol.

I hope you enjoy and sorry about the wait. A lot of stuff came up. (I have gotten a lot more requests since the initial drafting of this. Also, I'll be making a collection of these on AO3 so if you'd like me to gift the fic to you, please drop your AO3 in the notes.)

Original Post

Without further ado—

Idia x f!Reader

[ One-Shot under the cut. ]

Idia was legit not surprised with how the game the Ramshackle Prefect introduced to them all had spread like wildfire throughout the campus.

They were teenagers, after all. Meat suits with raging hormones and maybe a couple handfuls of brain cells shared between the whole of the student body. And several of those brain cells were held in vice-like grips by specific singular students, making the overall pool of available brain cells even smaller for the rest of them.

The Ignihyde Housewarden was just glad that no one with half a brain would ever consider inviting him to play.

As if I'd want to? A game designed for normies who just want an excuse to suck face? No thanks! I'm good. He rolled his eyes. Tch, it's so cringe it hurts.

At least, that's what he continued to tell himself. If he didn't really buy his own words... well, that was his business and no one else's.

The problem wasn't the game itself, he supposed… if he really stopped to think about it. But he didn't want to think about it.

Ugh. Hope some new cringe fad comes out ASAP! This really triggers my rage.

He sighed as he watched his game load bar slowly inch toward completion. Because, of freaking course, the server would be hella saturated today of all days.

Groaning, he CTRL + ALT + DEL’ed out of the game rather than wait for it to load before exiting out.

This thing’s got me not even wanting to play my games. FML! This is the WORST!

He got up and jerkily opened his deskside food cabinet. Pulling out a random noodle cup, he slammed it onto his desk. Luckily, it wasn't hard enough to crush it. Much.

It was still functional, in any case, so whatever.

Smoothing out the cup as well as he could, he opened it and added some hot water from his electric kettle. Setting the lid over it once more, he idly played with the little ingredient packet as he grabbed a spoon from the little plastic drawer set on his desk.

Why can't these idiots think about anything, but making out and shit?

In reality, Idia knew why.

He was one of the idiots, after all. Not that he was going to admit that to anyone. In fact, he tried his very best to ignore it completely.

Admitting that he wanted to make out with someone would mean he'd have to think about the very person he wanted to make out with.

That person?

The one who had set this whole mess into motion.

“Meh,” he muttered, glancing at the little digital numbers at the bottom left hand side of his desktop screen. Meh, meh, meh.

After a few more minutes, Idia couldn't wait any longer. He pulled the top off the noodle cup and tossed it aside, giving it no mind to where it drifted. Ripping open the packet, he poured the ingredients in and used the spoon to stir them. Some of the broth spilled with how aggressively he stirred, which only further fueled his ire.

Damn it. Damn it all to Tartarus.

He began to eat, ignoring the slight crunch to the noodles as well as he could. He had just finished up his impromptu meal, downing both a small energy drink as well as half a bottle of water, when a sound rose in the air that he hadn't expected.

Knocking.

Glaring at his door, he was about to yell at whoever was on the other side to just leave him alone to his misery when he realized that there were only two people who would knock on his door.

The other Ignihyde students would never. If they needed to get ahold of him for any reason, they knew well they would need to contact him via technological means. Ortho-chan would just come right in. None of his peers outside the dorm would come to see him. He had no friends after all. Not really.

Well… maybe…

No. Especially not her. Like yeah, okay. She was like really sweet, and nice, and actually seemed interested in what he had to say when he went full fanboy and otaku mode, but that was just her being nice. Nothing more.

And yet, she was one of the two people who would be on the other side of that door.

The other was Crowley, but considering the fact that he was Crowley, the man would more likely just summon him to his office rather than pay a visit to his dorm.

Which meant it could only be the Ramshackle Prefect.

As if proving him right, another knock came upon the door, followed by the annoyingly cute sound of his crush’s voice.

“Idia? I know you're in there. Can I come in?”

What kind of event did I trigger? Idia sighed heavily. He hated this.

Somewhere along the line, Idia had come to realize that when it came to the otherworlder, he had a very hard—if not impossible—time denying her anything.

He brought his hands up to his face, letting out as quiet and muffled a groan as possible before pulling his hands away once more. Taking a shaky breath, he stood and crossed the space between his desk and the door.

The third year wondered if he should just ignore her. After all, if he didn't answer, she would have to leave at some point right?

“Idia Shroud!”

“Eep!”

“I'm not leaving until you let me in, mister!”

Idia tried and failed not to smile.

He could just picture her. Standing on the other side of the door, hands on her hips, glaring cutely at the door like some romance anime heroine.

For the love of STYX, why was she so freaking cute?

And why was she so determined to see him?

It made no sense.

Except that she likes and cares about you, another voice said. His mind, and the rest of him, silenced the thought as quickly as it came.

His face became a grimace and he decided that now was the time to get this visit over with, so that he could get back to his raging pity party.

Whatever she wanted couldn't take that long, right?

Just rip the bandaid and be done with it.

Spite forced his hand in the end. He unlocked and pulled the door open, his face still a deep scathing frown. The moment his eyes met those deep, warm brown eyes—however—he felt his demeanor and posture go shy.

“Ah, h-hey…” he said by way of greeting, with the smallest smile on his face. Then he remembered he was supposed to be annoyed, and tried to force the grimace once more. He wasn't sure if he managed, but the moment he took in the rest of her, he had to keep himself from laughing.

If he had to hazard a guess, he imagined he looked a lot more like the nauseous emoji rather than a scathing one.

The reason for his sudden urge to laugh was that the Ramshackle Prefect was, no cap, standing with a wide, determined stance with her closed fists on her hips as she looked up at him.

That made him feel off-kilter for a moment. He kept forgetting how short she was compared to him. She could still no doubt kick his ass TKO style, because who couldn't, if he was honest—but she was just so… fun sized and cute.

He longed to hug and cuddle her. He wanted to hold hands with her. Wanted to whisper soft couple things into her hair as he embraced her from behind. He wanted to keep her safe, since she didn't have any magic of her own. And to support her in whatever she wanted to do because, damn, this was a young lady who was going places. He wanted to beg her not to leave if a way was ever found, because who would he talk to then? (Other than Muscle Red, of course. But even then, this was different.)

“There! That's better isn't it? We can definitely talk better this way.”

Idia felt himself start to nod and smile along with her, before shaking his head and frowning.

“What do you want?”

Her brows rose and slowly she began to frown. Then her brows knit together and her stance became even more stern than before.

“You won't talk to me like that, Idia! No, sir. We're friends, remember? Besides, I brought you a gift. Doncha wanna know what it is?”

Idia felt his conviction slip.

A gift? For him? Had he really triggered some kind of event?

He frowned.

If it had been anyone else, he would have thought it was a trap. The problem was, it wasn't anybody else.

It was the girl of his dreams.

“Why?” He heard himself ask. He frowned, but he wasn't sure if it was at the situation itself or himself. “Why would you get me a gift?”

The Prefect sighed, now crossing her arms. Idia called himself several kinds of idiot.

That stance is never a good one in anime and manga.

Now he'd likely ruined everything, and she was going to leave, and he'd be in an even worse funk than before.

“I already told you, Idia. We're friends. Sometimes friends give each other gifts. And I care about you. Gift giving is a great way to support the people you care about.” She then grinned. “Or just chock it up to the fact that I wanna. Okay? Now—” She fell silent and only continued when Idia looked up, into her unfairly gentle and pretty eyes. “Can I please come in?”

Idia said nothing. He just scoffed under his breath and moved aside, ignoring the rush of affection he felt as she quickly moved into his room. That quickly turned to dread as he suddenly realized how much of a pig sty his room truly was.

Shit, shit, shit.

She didn't seem to notice, however. In fact, she didn't even seem to look around. She just turned back to him and the moment he closed the door, she moved in closer and closer.

Was she about to go plot twist villain on him? Well, he supposed there were worse ways to go than being murdered by a ridiculously beautiful girl in a school girl uniform.

“W-What are you—”

She stopped in front of him and rummaged in her book bag before pulling out a rectangular, shiny yellow box. He frowned.

He was a little ashamed to admit it, but he already knew what it was from the sight glimpse.

A box of Pocky.

A box of banana-flavored Pocky.

His favorite.

“What are you—”

She said nothing, only smirking as she opened the box, then the unopened package inside. Pulling one out, she held it up as she held his gaze.

“I'm guessing you've heard about the game?” She asked, though it wasn't really a question. She knew he knew it well. “Wanna play it with me, Idia?”

There was something new there. A sort of hint of something. A variation.

He would never vocalize his guess, but if he wasn't mistaken, it sounded a lot like flirting.

“M-me?”

She groaned and threw up both hands, the Pocky rising with the one that held it.

“You're not as dumb as you like to think, Idia—about people, I mean.”

She held his gaze firmly. He just continued to stare dumbly at the shorter girl. Slowly, it dawned on her that he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about.

“Okaaay… so you don't get it.” She sighed. “Fine. I'll tell you. In a way that even you won't be able to find a single way to deny it.”

Idia just blinked.

“I like you, Idia. A lot. And I want to be more than friends. But you're also really skittish. I only introduced the game in the hopes that I'd be able to play it with you, and the kiss would tell you the rest.”

Idia just stared. And stared some more.

She sighed, moved in closer, and held up the Pocky.

He took it without thinking.

“If me being your girlfriend is something you are on board with, play the game with me…”

Idia didn't think he had ever put anything into his mouth as fast as he did the Pocky.

There it was, just the tip of the flavored part of the cookie stick held between his lips. It was worth it, though. The Prefect smiled so brightly, a light tinge of pink coloring her cheeks.

“So you do like me!”

He sighed. Here it came.

Time for the ridicule to commence in 3, 2, 1—

“I'm glad.”

That's what I thought you'd say, because duh—wait what?

“You're… glad? Why?” It wasn’t easy to talk with a piece of pocky being held by his lips, but through luck or maybe he had a high enough stat, he managed.

She sighed. This time, however, it sounded fond.

“If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you.” She then beamed and Idia felt himself mirroring her without his consent. “But I'll give you a hint.”

She then closed the remaining space between them, took the other end of the Pocky in her mouth, and quickly nibbled through it until she'd reached his end.

Idia was pretty sure he short circuited for a moment. He blinked rapidly until he was finally able to register what was happening.

The Ramshackle Prefect had kissed him. Was kissing him.

Their lips were still touching.

He swallowed the bit of banana Pocky in his mouth and closed his eyes tight. He'd never kissed anyone before, except his mom and his figurines and—though he would take it to his grave—a couple of his character and idol body pillows when he was feeling particularly needy.

Still, he let instinct take over and did his best to match her actions.

Pulling away, he opened his eyes to meet her gaze.

“I knew you liked me back. Thank you for finally telling me.”

Idia blushed. He felt his throat trying to work, but all that came out was something like squealing—but less cute and more strangled.

Apparently, the Ramshackle Prefect had no trouble finding it endearing, if the fond smile on her face was any indication. Then a conspiratorial grin slipped onto her face.

“So what do you think about the game from my world?”

Idia had liked it. He was pretty sure she knew it too. She just wanted to hear him say it.

Unfortunately, he couldn't bring himself to do that just yet. Instead, he let some of his hair fall forward to obscure his face as he brought his index fingers together, tapping them against each other a few times.

“I don't… um… not really sure.” He cleared his throat, trying to speak up, but mumbling worse instead. “Maybe we should try it again… a few times… just to get a good sample size…”

The smile that radiated off her face in that moment took Idia to a whole other realm. His room no longer felt so gloomy and depressing. It looked brighter somehow.

His attention was immediately snapped back to the short Prefect, who still stood very close. He blushed as he realized how close, before reminding himself that they'd just kissed, which had been a hell of a lot closer. That only caused him to blush more deeply as the realization sunk in.

She had kissed him.

Him!

And he had, technically, kissed back.

His face felt like it was radiating heat.

She giggled and pulled out another Pocky stick, putting the cookie tip in her mouth. She then raised her brows and grinned.

A clear invitation.

It was one of the only invitations Idia had gotten for anything (outside of gaming) that he immediately RSVP’d on.

As they kissed, Idia felt his muscles loosen and his body warm. At some point, long after the cookie was gone, petite arms wrapped around his neck as his hands awkwardly settled upon her waist. He had successfully passed the surprise event and achieved the Best Ending.

Maybe I can convince her we'll need to go through the whole box, just to be absolutely sure I like the game.

He smiled into the kiss at the thought.

[sadistic-kiss]

Use Me (Kinktober)

Succubus Reader x VariousJJKMen

.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Five.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

Everyone got their shot glasses, filling them up with liquor.

 

You had crawled to them but Getou flicked his fingers, “You can stand for this one darling.”

 

You stood with a huff, attitude still very much there and alive. You watch the cups get passed around, but you shake your head, “I can’t drink alcohol, it doesn’t work the same for me.”

 

“We know.” Sukuna grinned, “Just wait.”

 

So you waited, with your arms crossed. Some of them tried to talk to you but you gave them the silent treatment. For whatever reason that only made them want to tease you more. Giving you light touches and barely a squeeze.

 

Choso and Gojo returned about the same time, and that seemed to be what you were waiting for.

 

“Ah~!” Gojo gasped as if appalled by Choso’s costume, “you picked Viking, why didn’t you pick our team!?”

 

“Yeaaaah! Viking!” Toji, Sukuna, and Yu cheered, rooting in the air like some rowdy animals, while Nanami, Getou, and Gojo looked disappointed.

 

Choso shrugged, “This seemed to fit me better.” He spoke through the chaos.

 

Gojo rolled his eyes, “Whatever loser.”

 

After the commotion died down, Gojo and Choso were handed their drinks but you still hadn’t received one. You wondered if you were going to just go through the motions.

 

“Here’s yours…” Toji gestured to Nanami who was grabbing something from the fridge.

 

When the blonde turned back around he held a cup with a cap. He twisted the blue top off and then set it down in front of you so you could see the white liquid inside.

 

Your eyes lit up as the smell touched your nose. It smelt like the most delectable treat. Your body moved on its own as you reached for the cup but Getou grabbed your elbow, so you reached for it with the other only for Choso to stop you.

 

“Not yet pet.”

 

They all seemed to snicker at your feeble attempt to down your drink.

 

You let out a little whine, resting your arms back down. They were so much faster than you. When you were this deprived you were as weak as a human. Their movement much too quick, to the point it seems they blink or teleport.

 

“She’s practically drooling.”

 

“I know she’s so cute.”

 

Just wait. Wait until I get enough energy.

You were glaring at your cup, but then you heard chuckling bringing you out of your deep thought. You blinked up to see everyone was staring at you. You didn’t hear a word they said.

 

Sukuna snorted, “Did you hear us slut?”

 

Nope .

 

“Can you repeat… what you said?”

 

Gojo was the one who repeated the words, “We want you to guess whose cum it is. Get it right and we will let you drink it.”

 

“Is it one of yours?” you questioned.

 

“Yup. So you got a one out of seven chance of being right.”

 

That's all you need, the task will be easy now that you know that they aren't trying to pull a fast one. You lift the cup to get a good smell of it. The aroma made you swallow eagerly. You could see how Getou was eyeing you, ready to snatch the drink from you if you dared to disobey them.

 

The substance had an overwhelming smell to it, you couldn't quite pin what you were sensing. It was sweet, yet tangy among other things. You furrowed your brows not knowing who the mixture belonged to. You thought this would have been easy for you since you knew what the men taste like. This had to be someone else but they wouldn't lie to you. That wasn't the type of game they liked to play.

 

“Can I at least taste it?”

 

The guys looked around contemplating if you should be graced with such a benefit.

 

Yu was the one to come to your aid, “Just give her a bit.”

 

“Don't let her drink it she'll down it all.” Sukuna threw open a drawer and dug out a spoon. “Here.” he tossed it across the counter as Choso grabbed it.

 

“Wait I want to do it!” Gojo came over but Choso shook his head.

 

“I got it.” he said, making Gojo pout. He dipped the spoon in the cup and then offered it to you.

 

You slipped the spoon in your mouth humming as the flavour coated your tongue. It was absolutely delicious. As the spoon pulled back you chased after it but Getou grabbed your hair.

 

“Settle pet.” he chuckled as he released you.

 

You heard a few of your audience groan and someone whispered they loved how greedy you were.

 

You ignored all of that as you thought of the many different flavors that you had tried. Licking your lips you looked up with a confident smile, “It’s all of yours.”

 

They burst into surprised laughter.

 

Toji whistled, “Damn.”

 

“She got it.”

 

“I told you she would, she’s a little cum slut.”

 

“I knew we shouldn't have given her a taste! That was too easy!”

 

You felt victorious as everyone held up their cup, ready to commence a toast. The glasses clinked and then you were throwing your drink back like your life depended on it, gulping every last bit down. Your stomach began to burn delightfully with your mark, the ink curling around seductively upon your skin.

 

“Woah!” Sukuna pointed out angrily, “That is way more than she should have who fed her?!” your tattoo should not have been so drawn out already.

 

Everyone looked toward Toji.

 

“I gave her a little bit you should ask him.” The bigger man tried to defend himself by deflecting on Haibara.

 

“Me?” Yu gasped in shock.

 

“She was in the bathroom with him and hid her under the sink!”

 

“I fucking knew it!”

 

They all began to yell at each other as you made sure you scooped out the last bit of your drink with the forgotten spoon.

 

~

 

The party continued…more people began to fill the house and it got louder. The lights were turned off as colorful ones flickered on.

 

All the while you were dragged around like an obedient pet. They couldn't wait to introduce you to all their friends. Well, mainly Gojo, Sukuna, and Getou. The others had migrated off as the three treated you like some prize possession that needed to be broadcast to the whole world. Their personal little kitten. They even smacked a pair of cat ears on you. They were having a ball showing you off. Was this their attempt to see how far you would degrade yourself? Or perhaps it was to flaunt their pet in front of a group of people because what kind of normal person would degrade themselves like this?

 

“This is our pet.” Gojo boasted to a new group of people. Sometimes the people would look at you in shock or even start laughing.

 

This particular group dressed up as superheroes did both.

 

“Yo what kind of kinky shit is this?” one of the men chuckled.

 

You were on your knees with your head leaned against Getou’s leg. He was petting your hair while you zoned out.

 

“She does anything we want…” Sukuna got down as he reached out his hand. “Shake.” You gave him your hand as everyone began to cheer. “Roll over.” you proceeded to do so and every other trick while your audience clapped. You wondered who had more of a problem within this house. “Good girl.” Sukuna kissed you smack on your lips as he stood up with a shit-eating grin. “See?”

 

Your lips tingled for more, and you purred as Getou gave you a praise kiss on your forehead. If this was all you had to do for their rewards then this was far too easy.

 

One of the girls shook their head in bewilderment, “That’s fucking crazy. How much are you paying her?”

 

“Nothing, she likes it.” Sukuna grabbed your chin, “Don’t you? You like being our pet?”

 

You knew he was getting off on this ( power-hungry freak ) so you played into that. You were technically allowed to answer questions but you did him one better. You began to lick and nuzzle his hand while purring. Gazing up at him with your best fuck me eyes. You wondered if you should pry at his mind but the last time that happened you failed.

 

Sukuna bit his lip, releasing a low groan. It would appear this was already doing wonders.

 

Most people showed disgust but then that was morphed into envy and jealousy. Curiosity even.

 

Someone stepped forward, “Can I pet her?”

 

“No.” Gojo snipped rather quickly.

 

Getou chuckled, “He’s a bit possessive of our kitten, but what can I say we all are. She’s just too precious.”

 

As the group murmured about you, a more than devious plan came to to you. Why use your power on them when you could use it on the crowd? You shift your eyes to the sea of faces as you tickle their inquisitive minds, feeding them with more ideas. You truly didn't need to push too hard because they were all already on the path of depravity. Their poisonous concoctions made their peanut-sized brains much easier to tamper with. You just needed them to open their mouths to say it.

 

To sprout this sinful idea and give it life.

 

And so it began.

 

The man with glasses cleared his throat, “She wouldn't do everything you guys tell her to do.”

 

“Yeah…” one of the girls laughed while chewing her lip. They were all feeling hot and bothered by the images you played in their heads. “…like would she…you know.” The girl shrugged looking at everyone else hoping she wasn’t the only one with such dirty thoughts, lucky for her she wasn’t.

 

Everyone began to laugh as more people joined in and it all snowballed perfectly.

 

“I bet she wouldn't suck your dick in front of us.”

 

“I mean did you see the way she was licking his hand?”

 

“What a slut.”

 

“She so would.”

 

“I bet she’s wet now.”

 

“Yeah getting all this attention, what a whore.”

 

The provocative comments kept going as the crowd ran with your drop of influence. Sukuna, Gojo, and Getou looked surprised by all of this, but soon their expression turned into realization as they looked at the very person who caused this.

 

You lean your head and flutter your lashes at them… innocently .

 

 .·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.Chapter Six.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.

 Chef Note: We feast next chapter 🌚🌝

[thetxtdevil]

Hai babes, answer my ask whenever you have motivation!!! Just wanted to know ur thoughts on txt x reader w nipple piercings. Had mine pierced some few months ago and was just wondering on ur take of the boys' reactions! If u don't feel comfortable or have anything to say on the matter pls disregard :) love ur writing , ur doing great, ily

OMG 😳 that’s such a slay, good for you honestly

A different format for this one fyi (nsfw under the line)

---

Yeonjun

I think he’s the most likely to be into them, like he has a bunch of piercings himself probably would consider having his nipples pierced too. Would get you special lingerie that shows them off.

"Babe I got you something" he holds up strings that you could only assume it was a form of lingerie "I don't think I got a good look at your new piercings and I'd thought this would look hot on you." You smile and roll your eyes grabbing the garments you walk into the closet. Boobs out and framed by black lace, you see Yeonjun already half naked on the bed. He turns his head to look at you, you could have sworn there was a bit of drool hanging on his lips.

Soobin

He’s a boob/nipple guy... so he'll like them. I can imagine him being super surprised seeing you with a piercing but then just stares.

You two were making out on his sofa. Things quickly got heated and he stretches your t-shirt off and quickly unclasp your bra. Soobin throws the bra to the side taking a moment to look at you. You always caught him looking at your breasts and he would always blush and deny the act, but this time he just stared. "Wow" Soobin whispers, his big hands massage your mounds still staring at the the shiny metal "you're so hot."

Beomgyu

Probably would use the piercing to his advantage. Would it be weird to say he'd play with them? He'd like to lick them and pull the piercings when doing nipple play.

You two are cuddling on the bed, Gyu spooning you lightly rubbing shapes on your body. His hands drift up your tits and feels something, "Oh, What's this?" With a mischievous grin the man starts flicking your piercings with his thumb. You squirm under his touch crying out by the sensation. Beomgyu pushes you onto your back hovering over and shoving your top up getting a good view of you braless. You see him shiver at the sight of you before he dives his face in your boobs.

Taehyun

He'd find them hot, I can imagine him grouping your boobs just studying how they look and shine with the light.

Terry is observant, so it didn't take him long to notice the bounce of your braless breasts every time you walked by or every time he hugged you, you'd slightly tense up. He knows that you just recently got your nipple pierced and he was determined to see them. One day he begged you to go out for a workout which you complied maybe its best to start getting into the habit. You were sweaty and tired and overall not happy when you see the unbothered man before you. "Let's end it for the day and take a shower, yeah?" you nod trying to get enough energy to get back to your house. You walked into the bathroom, the closing door stopped by Tae. "I was thinking we can take a shower together" he grips your hips closer to his, "I want to see those piercings."

Huening Kai

His cheeks would be on fire 🔥 like Soobin, he'd be surprised, and stare, then get hot...

Changing in-front of the man is always a game of roulette, you never know what his reaction is going to be. He either doesn't notice or at least pretends to not notice, gets flustered, or he's in the mood and takes his chance to drag you into bed. This time it seems that you got a flustered Kai staring at your tits. "Those- those are new.." he gulps on his words. You smirk, undressing yourself and walking towards the man. "You like?" you puff up your chest to have Kai nod, big eyes staring at them, then you grab his hands to hold your breasts "they're still a bit sore but you can touch." Kai instantly moans at the feeling and the fact that your sensitive riles him up to push you into the bed.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling

[xnaiel]

Greetings, everyone. Here is a request from @pardona I received a week ago, I apologize for my tardiness and the quality of my writing if it is not to your liking.

I hope you will enjoy those Kuroo and Bokuto dating Headcanons. ~

-

Kuroo and you were already acquainted as not only are you both in the same class, but you also happen to be the class president. Although being in different clubs and having different friend groups, you never really interacted with one another. One day however, the both of you ended up being paired together because of your respective duos being absent that day and, quickly enough, you began getting along really well, learning more about every hobbies and interests you share, a thing led to another and now, you both were completely aware of each other. Everything seemed to stop when one of you would enter the room, stares were getting deeper, small touches would get longer and the soft feeling of his fingers against yours would linger on you skin after he gave you your notes back. Suddenly, before you could even realize it, the two of you were now inseparable.

It was only a matter of time before he declared that he was yours and that you would say that you were his back.

Kuroo Boyfriend HCs :

• Whenever no one is looking, Kuroo links your pinkies together as he loves the feeling of your skin on his.

• While Kuroo might try his best to look tough in front of you, Kenma, being his best friend, has to listen to him talk about you all day long, commenting on every little thing you do, calling you his "angel of a boyfriend". (But of course, Kenma has told you that multiple times already. ^^)

• Study dates would be frequent for the two of you. Whether it is at your of Kuroo's house, the library, or even a café, there is nothing that feels more fulfilling than to enjoy your boyfriend's presence, however it may be.

• Kuroo loves to cuddle you, not matter if you are the small or the big spoon, he wraps his limbs around you and when he falls asleep...it is rather difficult to get him to move.

• His kisses are always when you expect it the least where you expect it the least. His favorite thing to do is to kiss you when there are people around you, knowing none of them are looking. He lives for that surprised face and averting gaze.

• After his club activities, both of you always go home together. While you never revealed your relationship to the team, they seem to have guessed that there is something going on between the two of you, especially when their captain starts to give his all when you just happen to pass by the gym or just by the way he looks at you during the rare times you come talk to him about some class related issue. The only people oblivious to your obvious yearning are Lev and Taketora.

-

You and Bokuto met in class. You were a new student and were seated next to an owl looking individual who looked at you with a big smile, greeting you with energy but being cut short by the teacher. As the bell rang, he made his way towards you asked you multiple questions, which ended up in him suggesting for you to become their team's manager if you had no idea which club to join yet. Since you were formally obliged to join a club and not being particularly interested in doing something active, you decided to partake in his request. The classmate that made you come here was more than happy to see you and made you feel incredibly welcomed and at ease, allowing you to start bonding with the team almost immediately. Bokuto became really attached to you, taking you anywhere he could, wanting to make sure to show you around without leaving out a single detail. You also grew attached to him, and being his opposite made you gravitate towards one another, which led Bokuto to confess profusely his love to you, which you reciprocated.

Bokuto Boyfriend HCs :

• It did not take a long time for the team to figure out what exactly was happening between the two of you as Bokuto wouldn't shut up about how much he loves his boyfriend and how cool he thinks he is. Akashi seems to be the only one who keeps a record of how many times he speaks about you during the day for some reason.

• Bokuto seeks out for you whenever he is sulking, and a compliment from you would be enough to make him want to take over the moon. A kiss ? Now, he would actually be able to steal the moon for you.

• Bokuto and you are quite the...corny couple and unafraid to show affection in front of the team. (More like he shows plenty of affection whenever he can, and you just reciprocate with the best of your abilities, being flustered but the scene he causes.)

• Every time his team wins, you are greeted by a bone crushing and head spinning hug as he lifts you up and turns you around, almost as if unable to mesure his own strength.

• Everything Bokuto does, he does for you. He gets motivated by the thought of you being proud of him and telling him how cool he is. He even tries to study harder in order to show you what he is capable of. (He made very little progress, but to you, it is a lot, and you couldn't be more proud of him for trying his absolute best.)

• Bokuto uses you as his lucky charm before every single one of their matches. A kiss wherever it may be is always enough for him to be sure to grant his team victory. (Although you wouldn't want to kiss him on the lips before a match... He might explode.)

[chefkids]

Spoon Theory

This is arguably the single most important The Bear meta post I will ever make so please bear with me.

The first spoon we see in the entire series is when Carmy takes Sydney's spoon to try her stew. This is right after he cut his hand from not being able to find his sharp knife, and before he has to meet with Natalie to get Mikey's jacket, which was stressing him out. She "gave him a spoon" and a bit of positivity when he needed to calm down and get some energy by knowing at the very least Sydney can cook well.

Needing a spoon is needing help. When he hands over the brigade to Sydney he is waving around spoons the entire episode, when she really needed his help and his "spoons". Later on Sydney is not afraid to just ask him for his help.

With the risotto she gave him a "spoon" that would help the restaurant, that brought in a good review and customers, but he didn't have enough of his own "spoons" to deal with it as he was stressing out over the window that just got shot through and the IRS needing the missing tax returns. Right before trying the risotto Carmy had told Richie he is afraid of something good happening. He is afraid of Sydney and him doing well, because the better it gets the more it will hurt him when something goes wrong. That is why he keeps self sabotaging the restaurant and doubting Sydney.

After Sydney quit, she is still using her spoons for mental energy to make sure Marcus is okay and to try and figure out her next steps career wise. Carmy grabbed a spoon to open the tomato can lid, which he really didn't need because he could've just used the can opener, and then found the money. When he finds the money they both know they would be fine on their own, she could find another job, he could fix up The Beef. But they still need each others emotional spoons to achieve their passions, so he reaches out and she comes back.

In Season 2 she did need his "spoons" to help create the menu and decide on the details for the restaurant, but he barely gave her any because he was still so caught up in his past trauma and the literal and metaphorical forks in his life.

Fixing the table really didn't physically need more than one "spoon"/person. But he needed her there to work through his mental block. With the inspiration food tour, she did it on her own and she didn't physically need him for it, she needed his emotional spoons.

When they are not communicating well with each other and Carmy is trying to reach back and be involved again, he gets as close as he can to her spoon without actually using it.

And now the dark side of spoons.

The originator of spoon theory has lupus and first came up with this theory at a restaurant to explain what it was like living with the condition to a friend. They could've easily said Sydney's mom died of cancer or an accident or anything else. But this is all so intentional, out of all the things it is Lupus. I don't want Sydney to be sick as much as the next person, but Lupus is a chronic autoimmune disease that has higher likelihood of developing when you have a family member with it, and can be triggered by environmental factors such as stress. It is an invisible illness and Christine's own handle is butyoudontlooksick, which could really explain Sydney and what she has going on behind her walls that people can't see. She has been a rock to so many people and over exerting herself, but there might come a time soon when Sydney will genuinely need other peoples "spoons", especially Carmy's, because she's all out.

Now that Carmy said he is choosing to give Syd his focus aka his "spoons", will he actually be able to follow through?

Read The Fork Theory next

Read The Knife Theory

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (18)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none.

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). Just know I am reading every single one of your comments and reblogs. And I love them so much. Just to let you know. I might add a special shoutout for all of you who made my day with your comments lol.

As the evening was starting to turn dark, the boys had gone back into their roles of being with one another. You could see how at ease they all felt now that they were all together. The four boys who were staying in the city had always been a bit tense. They were worried about their comrades and thus it created a stale environment full of depression. It was clear they fed off each other’s energies. They needed every single one of them in order to be content. 

While they knew they were all together, you had noticed one person missing during dinner. The boys didn’t seem to care enough, at least not until they had all finished and Wooyoung noticed how many plates there were to wash. 

The boy was mad, stomping around as he made a bowl for the captain. He was about to scold the man until you spoke up, telling him you would take the meal. The boy grumbled to himself, shoving the food into your hands as he went back to cleaning.

There wasn’t anywhere you could knock so you had just called out that you were going to enter the tent. When you got a response, you moved the tarp to the side and passed through. You knew he wasn’t doing anything, seeing as it was just the main tent where they would gather for meetings. 

“I brought you a bowl of soup.” You gestured to the plate. “Wooyoung got mad that you didn't come out.”

Hongjoong had been looking over some papers at a desk, glancing up at you. “He'll live.” He hummed. When you set the plate down in front of him, he gave a nod of his head and moved to begin eating. “Thank you.” 

You tried not to be nosey and look over the papers he had, so you opted to look around the table, trying to find other things to occupy yourself with. Hongjoong placed the spoon down into the bowl as he kept his eyes on you.

You look awkward to be standing there next to him. He wondered why it was you hadn’t just walked out after giving him the food; however, he figured you wanted something if you were the one to do the delivery. He decided to make things less suffocating by being the one to start a conversation.

“Are you okay?” His question caught you off guard, looking at him with wide eyes. 

You licked your lips as you thought about his question. “At this moment or in the past two weeks?” You asked, looking down. 

Sighing, you felt like you knew exactly what it was you wanted to say. You looked up at Hongjoong, meeting his eyes. “I'm relieved.” You breathed out. “That you are all okay and safe for the most part. I wanted to come find you all right away, but the boys told me I had to wait. Time went painstakingly slow. It felt like torture to not know how you all were.”

Hongjoong turned to give you his full attention, one leg lifted over the other as he got comfortable in the chair. “I'm sure you weren't the only one worried.” He told you.

“So you all have said.” You laughed softly. “Thank you.” You suddenly spoke up, looking at him with kind eyes. 

“For what?” He frowned, eyebrows pinched together. 

“Keeping the others safe.” You smiled. “I know you don't like me much, but I appreciate you.” Hongjoong looked at you like you had grown an extra head.

He had given you no reason to like him. No reason to really even think about him. He hadn’t really spoken to you much, but somehow you appreciate him? He knew that you were different from what the others had said, however now he was just a bit skeptical. 

“In fact, after all this time, I think you're an inspiration. What you've done with the boys—how you've kept them together for so long. They speak highly of you.”

Hongjoong hummed as your feelings now made sense. A small smile grew on his face as he thought about his friends. He didn’t realize how much his leadership affected them so much. He knew they spoke about him, they always spoke about each other. But to have them speak about him in such a way that made people see him as an inspiration had him wanting to cry. 

After so long, he knew they were much closer than a lot of other gangs. He was glad to have reached that kind of level of friendship. He had tried so hard to keep them all together, it seemed like that paid off. They trusted him so much and he didn’t want to lose it. 

Looking over at you, he knew that they were starting to care deeply for you. If he was to ask them to leave you he knew they would, but at the cost of some of their own happiness. He had never seen the boys become so enamored with someone so quickly. Now that he was actually having a conversation with you, he could see why they would be.

“I can't remember a time when we made friends that lasted a long while.” He expressed. “They come and go after finding out what we do. I've tried my best at keeping them together, but sometimes I fail to do that.” He let out a deep sigh, pursing his lips as he had just expressed an insecurity he had. 

Your lips slowly pulled up into a smile at his confession. You were excited to get something from him after never speaking more than two words to him. “Everyone has their differences. Even all of you. I'm sure it is tough to do what you do.” You comforted him. 

Hongjoong pursed his lips. His jaw clenched as his face suddenly looked at you appalled. Here you were speaking your mind and somehow he confessed something he held deeply to you. It bothered him to know you were able to do that with him. He had hidden so much from others, even his closest friends, but all you had to do was tell him that you understood him and he opened his mouth. 

“Why are you like that?” He glared.

“Like what?” You didn’t seem affected by his glare, though you did raise a brow at his change in attitude. 

“Like you know what to say to get people on your side.” He clenched his fist. “What more do you want? You already have the others worried. Why speak to me like you understand me? Don't you know? We've killed men. We are criminals. Why associate yourself with people like that?” He stressed. 

“I never said I did.” You immediately retorted, face turning stoic. However, he watched as you licked your lips and suddenly looked down. 

“When Mingi saved me, I thought it was going to end for me. I had jumped to save that girl but at the cost of my own life.” You had an expression of thoughtfulness as you recalled that day to him. He listened intently to you, knowing that something like that wasn’t a nice experience to relive. 

“It made me realize all the regrets I had in life. Instead of feeling scared, I felt so angry with myself for not noticing sooner the life I led wasn't one I would have wanted. I had a mental breakdown after Mingi turned up, but these past few weeks made me realize that the day I found you all was the day I started to see the kind of person I wanted to be.”

“Sure, at first I thought you were all criminals and scumbags, but after getting to know you all things changed. In the eyes of the public, you are criminals and outlaws. But to me, you're the people who saved me and opened my eyes. That's worth more to me than anything.”

He didn’t know your story, just as you didn’t know his. There was a lot that you were in the dark about and Hongjoong wondered why it was that you didn’t ask about it. The boys had explained that you were a very understanding person who trusted her intuition about people. Any sane person would try their hardest to stay away from people like them, but here you were staying with them in their camp.

There would come a day when the boys would want to grow up and find their own ways, but for now Hongjoong wanted to keep them together for as long as possible. If that meant keeping you at arms length, then he was willing to put his group on the line. At least the line that would lead them to you.

“You shouldn't be reckless.” Hongjoong told you. “We won't always be there to save you.”

Your lips pulled over your teeth as you grinned at the man. “Says the outlaw.” You chuckled. You got up to leave the tent, turning back to look at the man. “Besides now we're even from when I didn't tell anyone you were in town all those weeks ago.” You teased.

“You're a menace.” Hongjoong scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully. “You'll fit right in.” He took a sip of the soup to hide the fact that he had just acknowledged you as part of the group.

A soft look cast over your features as you smiled softly. “Thanks, Captain.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory

[epigstolary]

The Middle of Nowhere, Part Two

I once said that my feeder didn’t have to do anything to keep me on his farm. That I was building my own prison there, bite by bite. And that’s still true — but only partly true. The farm may be a long way away from anything — town, other people, even the road that’s our only real connection to society — and it may as well be a desert island for someone too big to drive a car or walk further than the yard, but it isn’t my prison. Because my prison isn’t a place.

Things started to change when it got difficult even to go outside to our porch. I don’t mean they changed with my feeder; he was still as caring and doting as ever. He started bringing me my snacks once I got big enough that just shuffling out the front door took all my energy and attention. I had to watch where I placed every step of my bloated legs, laden with fat that looked like bags of cottage cheese, and hold on to the walls and the railing along the porch to keep my belly and chest fat from sloshing sideways and pulling me over. Even those few steps left me breathless and my heart pounding by the time I got settled on my bench; but it was worth it to have a plate of his biscuits and gravy or chicken and dumplings, under that big sky beyond our little farm, gilded with another sunset. And even when my bench finally gave way after one too many helpings of both, he dusted off his woodworking kit and put it back together, reinforced and better than new.

But by then, we both knew it was only a temporary fix. It wouldn’t be long before there’d be no way I could maneuver myself out there every day, and he could tell how being cooped up inside would drive me crazy after a while. If I was going to do anything other than sit mostly alone on the couch all day, we were going to have to find another way.

His first innovation was to invite people over for dinner — farmhands, friends, folks he knew from town that he could get to come to me even if I couldn’t go to them. And they were good company, in a lot of ways; they’d bring a taste of the outside world with them. They might talk about how the crops were doing, recount some recent anecdote from working out in the fields or going into town, opine on some petty local politics or gossip. And it was nice to hear about something other than what was going on within the confines of our little farm — an outside world that it was increasingly impossible for me to get to. But really, it was hard for the focus not to turn around to me. Nobody was ever rude the first time they met me; but it was rare not to see either a reaction of stifled surprise, or else a glassy look of unseeing, a conscious attempt not to notice the half-ton of fat flowing and bulging out of my ill-fitting clothes.

It didn’t help that, with me never leaving the farm, there weren’t many topics of conversation other than myself and food that our guests could engage with me about. When the conversation didn’t turn to recent meals or my favorite foods, which usually elicited at least warm agreement about the country staples forming much of my diet, it turned to how I spent most of my day. We’d do our usual face-saving song and dance about what I did to take care of the house while my partner was out working in the field — all of it lies, and increasingly transparent lies as my limited ability to even move became more obvious at higher weights — and how I was getting ready to start losing some weight. I’d talk about how I really wanted to get healthier, get out and about more often; and they’d smile and nod, giving tepid approval and encouragement.

The thing is, I really did mean it. I really did want to get down to a size where I could at least walk around outside again, maybe even drive a car into town and go to the little greasy spoon like I used to. It was becoming discouraging to have every step, every reach, every movement blocked or restrained by the fat smothering every inch of my body. But our guests knew full well I didn’t have a prayer of keeping to a diet or an exercise routine. It was even more obvious to those who’d visited before, and who saw me even more bloated, even more out of shape than the last time they were there.

The actual meals certainly made them think that, if they hadn’t before. My partner would serve a spread fit for a dozen people — something like a barbecue buffet, a whole turkey with all the fixings, a tray of lasagna — and I’d end up eating everything that was left after the others had their fill. Long after their places had been cleared away, I’d still be gobbling up the heaping plates my partner would keep bringing me until every scrap of food was gone. Since I couldn’t last very long at the dining table anymore, usually we’d sit around the living room, and they would basically watch me gorge myself — tits and chins wobbling as I’d chew, plate sitting on my enormous belly so my blubbery arms could rest on the sweep of my side rolls while I cut and speared each bite. It was obvious to everyone, I guess even to me, that I was never going to drop a pound if I couldn’t resist completely abandoning myself to food like that. By the end of the meal, I’d be stuffed full, taking up the entire couch and looking enormous, almost too drowsy from overeating to notice the expressions passing between our guests, their looks of amusement or disgust or astonishment at what was apparently a typical dinner for me. Sometimes they’d even whisper about it, thinking I was asleep. I wasn’t.

From the front window of the house, I could watch them drive away, taillights receding toward that distant road where proper civilization began again. Probably recapping the dinner and my obscene size and appetite with horrified amazement. They’d been merely passing through, tourists in my isolated bubble, visiting their friend’s or boss’s blob of a partner out of courtesy but with no real desire to bring me into the fold. They could make things more tolerable, but they’d never be any real help in connecting with the world again.

Then one day, my partner’s beat-up old pickup disappeared, and he pulled into the yard in a gleaming new one, looking unusually excited for him and expectantly at me. I was puzzled — by that point, I was already too big to heave myself up into the cab of any pickup. But then I saw the truck bed — more specifically, the crane and winch rising from the front corner. My stomach did a somersault at the sight of him rigging up a harness meant for lifting cows and pigs into the bed; it was a way to let me get off the farm, sure, but at a pretty steep price in dignity. It was as good as an admission that I’d eaten myself far too fat to rejoin the world like a normal person, probably for good.

But the temptation to be somewhere else, anywhere else, was too much. A day or two later, my partner was helping me waddle out the front door and down the steps toward the driveway. Months indoors had obscured just how much my body had changed in even that short amount of time. My legs had both bloated considerably and weakened since my last walk through the yard, making every step like having to lift heavy bags of molasses just to advance a few inches at a time. My belly hung lower and broader than I remembered, physically holding back my steps and making it harder to twist my upper body to steady my walk. My side rolls and bicep blubber fought one another for space, pushing my arms up and sending fat bunching around my neck and shoulders. I was an out-of-breath mess by the time I maneuvered myself around and collapsed into the harness.

The sensation of my weight being lifted slowly off the ground, suspended and moved by an object completely out of my control, sent a surreal thrill through me. My hundreds of pounds, cradled in the harness, wobbled and jiggled with its slow movements, and for the most part I had no choice but to be carried along with my body’s jostling inertia. Even more than usual, I was buried under my immense belly and tits, my bloated legs were lifted level with the rest of my body, and my flab-laden arms — if they’d even been strong enough to do anything — had nowhere to grasp to help stabilize my sloshing bulk. The crane and winch cracked and creaked as it labored to move my weight, lifted me over the sides and into position facing the tailgate, and lowered me onto some foam padding my partner had arranged into a kind of makeshift couch against the rear window. I didn’t fill the truck bed — but there wasn’t room to sit next to me, either.

I’ve never felt a mixture of emotions like I did on that first drive back into town. On the one hand, it felt so amazingly free — finding myself on that once impossibly-distant road, our farm receding into the distance as fields and hills sped by. Fresh air, and the wind in my hair. But then, as buildings grew closer together and we started rolling into downtown, my blood ran cold — I’m a half-ton blob taking up most of the back of a pickup truck, too fat to walk or move, coming to town like a circus attraction, I thought. People were going to react.

I’m sure a lot of it was in my mind. I’m sure I was self-conscious, reading intent into every glance and word and gesture, most of the time when it wasn’t there. But it felt like every last person in the town had turned out to stare at my huge form being paraded down main street. Me looking out over the expanse of lard occupying the truck bed and smothering my body. Blubber sloshing uncontrollably every time we turned a corner. Kids pointing at the enormous fatty passing by, their shouts being stifled by nervous and disgusted parents. Skinny people casting sideways glances at the pickup, stopped at a stoplight, as they muttered to each other amid broad grins.

And that was when I realized. It didn’t matter where I was — on the farm, in town, on stage with a million people watching. I had let myself get fattened past the point where I could exist in this world and connect with it ever again. Even when I was right in the middle of it, I was as far removed from these people as if I’d still been back on the farm. I’m never going to be walking around with them, shopping with them, just existing in the spaces they exist in. I literally don’t fit in, even if I could haul around all the blubber I’ve accumulated under my own power. And I’m just as alien to them — someone five times their weight, who can’t control their appetite any better than to get this big, someone they can deride or pity or judge with impunity.

On the drive back to the farm, under a starry indigo sky and with a backseat full of fast food from the town’s only chain, I had to wonder about my feeder. Whether he really was trying to get me out of the house. Or did he know? Had he already figured out that I was too big for it to matter where I was — that the thick rolls dominating my body and the sacks of fat hanging off my limbs would keep me his, even if I’d tried to get someone to help me leave? That this drive would do nothing more than to show me a world, a life, that my fat — his fat — would never let me go back to?

The thought lodged in the back of my mind as he gently helped hoist me, every inch wobbling and quivering, out of the truck bed. He led my bulk, step by exhausted step, back inside and to my usual divot on the couch. And as he got me comfortable, spreading the buffet of greasy, fatty food out before me, and as I bit into the first of ten thick double cheeseburgers, his too-kind smile and his gaze that lingered on my bulging gut for an instant too long told me everything I needed to know.

The farm isn’t my prison. My body is.