#but fuck it whatever who cares at this point

[greengoblinswifey]

Power Play—Lee Myung-Gi/Player 333 x Fem!Reader

summary— Despite your initial disdain, the connection between you and player 333 deepen with you taking control.

warnings— slight enemies to lovers, switch!myung-gi, fingering, oral(f!receving), praise kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— He is so hot, fuck meeeee!

Every time you caught Myung-gi’s gaze, your stomach twisted in annoyance and something else you didn’t want to name. He had been staring at you again today, right after being pushed around by Thanos and his crew. You clenched your fists, hating the way he let them treat him like shit, and even more so, hating how his eyes always seemed to find you.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” you hissed, your voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the room.

“Nothing,” he said. “Can’t look at a pretty girl?” He straightened slightly, brushing dirt from his sleeve with a calmness that only irritated you further.

“You know,” you said coldly, “you’re the reason my brother’s in debt. He’d be here if I wasn’t such a kind sister willing to risk her life to win this money for him. He’s expecting a baby.”

At the mention of a baby, Myung-gi’s gaze flickered briefly to Jun-hee, who sat nearby with a hand on her stomach. A muscle in your jaw tightened, and you hated how his eyes lingered on her just a moment too long.

“Baby, huh?” he said, his voice low.

You didn’t respond, turning on your heel before the conversation could dig under your skin any further. Your chest tightened with something ugly and unfamiliar, jealousy, maybe? You refused to name it.

That night, the room was restless. People shifted in their bunks, some snoring, others mumbling in their sleep. But you couldn’t sleep. Neither could Myung-gi.

You didn’t notice him approach until he crouched beside you, his voice a quiet murmur. “You’re really fucking pretty, you know that?”

Your breath caught. You turned your head, and there he was, his face inches from yours, his dark eyes gleaming. You should have pushed him away, told him to leave you alone. But instead, you whispered, “Do something about it.”

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed against yours, and you couldn’t help the way you melted into him. His hands cupped your face as his lips moved with a precision that sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

You lay flat on the bed and his fingers found the edge of your pants, tugging them down with a careful urgency. You shivered as his hand slipped between your thighs, his fingers finding your pussy with an ease that made you throb.

“God,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky. “So wet for me.”

You let out a shaky gasp, your hands clutching his shoulders as his fingers worked vigorously inside your wetness, each movement teasing. “You’re doing so good,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just cum for me.”

His words tipped you over the edge, and you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the moan that spilled from your lips. Your body trembled as you came undone, and he didn’t stop his gentle praise, his thrusts softening but never leaving you.

As your high faded, he pulled back to look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. “There,” he said softly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to find some semblance of control, but the small smirk tugging at his lips made it impossible. You shoved him lightly, muttering under your breath, “Shut up.”

But the truth was, you didn’t want him to stop.

“Can I taste you?” he asked, his voice low, the hunger in his tone readable.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act unfazed, though your heart pounded in your chest. “Whatever,” you said casually, then pointed a finger at him. “But don’t expect me to suck your dick or anything.”

“Noted,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again. His lips moved slowly this time, taking their time as he hovered over you. You shivered as his lips left your mouth and began a slow descent. He pressed kisses to your neck, your collarbone, and lower still, his hands sliding up your thighs to part them as he made his way down.

When he reached the place where his fingers had been earlier, he paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured. Then, without waiting for a response, he dipped his head.

The first touch of his mouth was soft, exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way. His tongue was relentless, like he was starving and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, holding your legs open as his tongue moved with precision and hunger.

“God,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him moan against you. The vibration sent a shockwave through your body, and you bit down on your lip to keep from crying out. “You’re s-so good at this,” you said, your voice trembling.

He hummed in response, his tongue never faltering. It was like he was determined to draw every last bit of pleasure from you, and the way he ate you out had your mind spinning.

You tried to stay quiet, you really did, but it became impossible as the pleasure inside you built to a breaking point. “Myung-gi,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against his mouth.

“Fucking cum for me,” he murmured between lapping, “come on, pretty girl. I want to feel you squirt on my mouth.”

The words sent you over the edge, and with a cry you couldn’t quite muffle, you squirted. Your body trembled violently as waves of pleasure rolled through you, and you felt the undeniable splash as you soaked his mouth.

He didn’t stop, didn’t pull away, his tongue continuing to coax every last drop from your body until you were completely spent. When he finally lifted his head, his lips and chin glistened, but the satisfied smirk on his face said it all.

“Guess you enjoyed that,” he said, his voice teasing but filled with pride.

“Shut up,” you muttered, though the small smile tugging at your lips told it all.

He laughed softly, crawling back up to kiss you, and the taste of yourself on his lips sent a shiver through you. “Whatever you say,” he said, brushing a strand of your curls from your face.

As you shifted slightly, you felt his hardness pressing against your thigh, and a need you couldn’t ignore surged through your pussy. “Hey,” you said softly but firmly, nudging him, “On your back.”

His brows raised slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. Myung-gi obeyed, lying back against the thin bedding, his breathing uneven. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and burning with lust.

You reached down, pulling his hard cock free, and his sharp intake of breath sent a thrill through you. Slowly, you positioned your leaking pussy over him. As you sank down, you hissed softly, feeling the stretch as you adjusted to his size. His hands instinctively gripped your hips, his jaw clenching as he tried to stay still for you.

“You good?” he asked, his voice strained, his breathing labored.

“Yeah,” you murmured, taking a moment to adjust before you began to move.

You started slowly, lifting yourself before settling back down, testing the waters. But as you found a rhythm, your confidence grew, and you leaned into it, bouncing on him like you owned him, because, in that moment, you did.

His head tipped back, and a moan escaped his lips. “Oh, God,” he muttered, his voice breaking as he squirmed beneath you. “You’re, God, you’re amazing.”

You smirked, gripping his shoulders for balance as you bounced faster. The sounds of his stuttering breaths and soft moans filled the quiet space, and you could see the way his jaw had gone slack, his mouth wide open in awe and pleasure.

“I’m gonna—” he tried to say, but his words dissolved into a stammering mess. “I’m gonna—”

You leaned down, wrapping one hand around his throat firmly. His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours in shock and a hint of thrill.

“Cum with me,” you whispered, your voice commanding as you began to grind on his cock.

His response was a strangled moan as his body arched beneath you. You pressed your other hand over his mouth, silencing his cries as his entire body began to tremble.

“Now,” you murmured. “Be a good boy and cum inside me.”

The words made him come undone, and you felt him cum as a wave of pleasure hit you simultaneously. Your body shook on top of him as you both came together, your intense orgasms leaving you breathless.

You slowly removed your hand from his mouth, and he gasped for air, his chest heaving. His eyes were wide, his face flushed, but a dazed smile tugged at his lips.

“Wow,” he said after a moment, his voice hoarse. “I love when a woman takes control.”

You smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “Good,” you replied, sliding off of him carefully and lying beside him.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as the two of you basked in the aftermath, the weird tension finally giving way to a strange sense of peace?

[moonlightdreamzz]

Moments of Praise — Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon.

bangchan and felix

GENRE. pureeeeee smut. freaky hours. 18+

AUTHORS NOTE. i am ovulating, so either im sorry or you’re welcome :)

Good girls get whatever they want—and you’re the greatest.

jungwon

you love so many things. you love tequila, you love cool sheets, you love the spring—the list goes on and on. but recently, someone asked you what do you love most? in the moment, you couldn’t make a decision because how could you choose? but right now, as jungwon’s hands are gripped around your neck—not tight enough to hurt you, but strong enough to remind you he owns you, and he’s stroking in and out of you—refusing the break eye contact not even for a second, you realize this is what you love most in this world.

he’s always so damn cocky when he’s fucking you, because he knows how amazing he makes you feel, everytime. he knows what you want—but he cares more about what you need. and you earned the di*k you’re getting right now.

he’s so drunk off your p*ssy, but that’ll never wipe the sly smirk off his face. all this, because you were so patient all day, and the cherry on top was you helping an elderly woman carry her groceries to her car. because that’s the kind of boyfriend you have—one that got so turned on at you being good.

you can’t form a proper sentence. that’s how good it feels. and he’s loving every second of it. you’re trying so hard, and all he can do is mock you—mimicking every expression you make to verbally tell him thank you. and he’s going exactly how you love it,—love him. slow and steady.

“i know baby, i know.” he utters. “daddy is fucking you so good, isn’t he? mhm.” a whimper slips out of his pretty lips, which only adds onto your incoming orgasm.

“baby—“ you finally manage to get our “why do you—always—fuck me so goooood. oh my—“ you wanted so badly to finish, but he clearly likes you like this. slutted out and unable to focus. only able to feel him and everything he’s doing to you. his free hand places itself on your clit, rubbing gentle circles around it. as if the pleasure you were already feeling wasn’t good enough for jungwon.

“good girls, deserve good dick. and you, baby?” he chuckles before biting his lip and looking at you as if your hole is the best thing since sliced bread, “you’re such a good fucking good girl. so fucking patient. so kind. this pussy is everything I’ve ever wanted in life. you’re so fucking wet. so fucking good—ah.”

“its too good, daddy. i can’t take it. i can’t.” you’re practically hyperventilating. you didn’t know anything could feel this good. you’re seeing stars and he’s living for it.

“who can’t take it? hm? you baby? because my girl can do anything she puts her mind to. so take this fucking dick.”

are his last words before you both cum all over the each-other.

jake

his members lay asleep, their faces—as well as his and yours glowing from the tv that’s still playing the movie jungwon chose earlier. to the naked eye, you and jake look like two people utterly in love, making deep eye contact because you’re so infatuated with each other. this isn’t wrong, but it also isn’t the reason why the two of you are staring at eachother in the dark.

the real reason, is because jake’s hands are buried deep in your panties, and he’s determined to make you cum in your jeans, infront of everyone. you knew at some point tonight he’d sneak you away to be inside you, but like this? but at the same time, you’d be lying if you said this isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever done. and you weren’t rude. you were raised to always be grateful for gifts.

he’s so fucking focused. and he’s doing so good. your eyes can’t figure out if they want to be open or closed and you wish you could grind in his hand, but that would wake somebody up. there’s a part of you that wants to stop him because of the way your body reacts when you or**sm, but as always, your boyfriend is two steps ahead of you.

“i need you to.” he utters, nothing short of desperation resting on his eyes. “I won’t stop until you do.”

all you can do is nod, because you’re so close. that doesn’t stop his mouth from running.

“yeah.” he assures you—his aussie accent thick. “you’re so wet, baby. and that makes me so happy.” he places your hand on his length, that is rock solid. “you like the fact that they can see you if they wanted, don’t you? i know i do.” “can’t wait to make you lick it off my fingers.” “wake em up baby. wake em up baby.” he grunts, resting his forehead on yours but eyes refusing to disconnect. you practically burst all over his fingers, your body is shaking, and you can’t help but hit his arm over and over because fuck you, jake. now.

sunghoon

sunghoon is so full of himself. he does what he wants, when he wants, and if the world isn’t revolving around him? then the world must’ve vanished. and he’s no different right now—arms tucked cockily behind his head while you bounce up and down on his length. the only thing he’s wearing is a smug look on his face, as if to say—of course the second I called, you answered. and of course, the minute I told you to strip and cum all over me, you went straight to work. because I own you and everyone else.

“i fucking hate you.” you moan loudly. but you don’t. and he knows you don’t too. that’s why all he does he chuckle in a seductive tone before whispering, “i love you too, baby.”

when he confesses his love for you, whether it’s real love behind the words or not, it always puts you in a mode. like you have to show him that if he doesn’t, he’s about to. “you love me?” you whisper, your pleading eyes turning into something much more devious. your bouncing turns for his pleasure and his eyes widen in disbelief of how amazing you feel and look right now.

“mhm.” he nods aggressively. you increase your speed and the intensity of each movement.

“you fucking love me?” you question again—laughing at him now.

it was like he was losing consciousness the way his eyes couldn’t hold still but his body was frozen from the pleasure. “yesss—oh, baby. ugh.”

“tell me why you love me.” you demand.

“becau—because you’re so pretty. and you always make daddy feel so good! your pu**y—baby please. mmm always so wet and—tight. make me cum please please please. i love you so much. please I’ll do anything for it please don’t stop!” he squeals out, before shooting his seed inside you.

[06lace]

semi fucking your brain out in a abandoned classroom i beg

semi stared at the whiteboard blankly, not processing whatever the teacher was saying, not because she didn’t understand the content, but because she already knew whatever she was teaching. she tried to stifle a yawn as she knew that the teacher would call her out for making even the smallest sound. she hated sunghoon’s guts, all because she was a delinquent, a troublemaker, yet she could score the highest in their grade. she had accused her of cheating once, when she had attained full marks to a math test that she was late for, but the school hadn’t found any hint of foul play.

so all she could do was pick on her during class for any of the smallest reasons as a way to vent her anger.

she didn’t know how much time had passed, but finally the school bell rang, indicating it was lunch break. as soon as the teacher dismissed the class, students sighed and groaned, getting up from their seats and stretching themselves before running towards the cafeteria to try to be first in the queue. se-mi , however, couldn’t care less and plopped her head onto the table, feeling tired from just the first few hours of school.

she was about to close her eyes for a nap when her phone buzzed, indicating that there was a message notification. upon checking who it was, her eyes gleamed with mischief and she wasn’t feeling tired anymore.

the message read. it was from you - her lover? friends with benefits? you two didn’t put any label as to what your relationship was even though it had been a few months since you two had first fooled around with each other. not wanting to let you wait, she immediately stood up, the chair screeching behind her, and she headed off towards your rendezvous point.

it was a classroom located in the unutilised wing of the school, furthest from where everyone usually had their lessons. the school had stopped using that wing as the facilities were old, and they had plans on upgrading the building so they hadn’t demolished it. you two decided to carry out your fun in the furthest classroom as there was a low possibility that anyone would walk by or hear you.

the moment se-mi opened the classroom door, her eyes laid on a certain girl and she licked his lips, feeling herself get hard. a lone desk was in the middle of the classroom and you were sitting on it, facing the door that you knew se-mi would enter by. you had your skirt lifted up and legs spread, a finger playfully circling around your clit which was still covered by your panties. when you had seen se-mi enter, you smirked and let out a moan, knowing that your actions would turn her on immediately.

“you were taking too long, so I decided to start the party myself.”

se-mi growled, as she knew that you were teasing her. with long strides, she walked over to you and claimed your lips in a bruising kiss as she positioned herself between your legs. you reciprocated with equal force and passion, wrapping your arms around her neck to bring her closer. se-mi bit on your lips hard enough to draw blood and you moaned as it felt so good, mixed with the pain. teeth clashed again one another as tongues explored each other’s caverns, licking every area and tasting one another’s sweetness. you two didn’t care about the mess you made - saliva dripping down from where your lips were connected. all you cared about was the pleasure that you two  were feeling at the moment.

when se-mi pulled back, she took a moment to admire your swollen lips and flushed look, her eyes practically begging for more. her eyes travelled lower to land on your full boobs, a part of you that she loved to play with. they were full, yet not big. they were enough to fill her palms, and for her to take whole into her mouth. you caught se-mi’s hungry eyes and where they were staring at, so you decided to give her what she wanted.

with nimble fingers, you unbuttoned your shirt, revealing your cleavage and the laced bra. se-mi’s mouth watered, wanting to suck on the mounds and so she swooped in, burying her face in your cleavage, taking a deep breath of your strawberry scent before nipping and sucking hard on the sensitive skin.

“a-ah! se-mi!”

you fisted se-mi’s hair as she continued to suck marks onto your cleavage, an unconscious action on how you wanted more. her hand creeped up and pushed the bra cups upwards, exposing the breast and the hardened nub. without warning, she took one of the nipples into her mouth and started sucking and licking on it while she rolled the other between her two fingers. your moans went higher in pitch, since your nipples were the most sensitive. after sucking on the nipple till it was erected and swollen, glistening with spit, she went on to give the other side the same treatment. 

as much as you loved the attention your breasts were receiving, you felt yourself getting wet and started to thrust your hips upwards onto se-mi’s groin, trying to find friction to relieve herself.

“se-mi… my pussy needs you…” se-mi raised a brow and looked down onto the said area, and behold, the panty was soaking wet with pussy juices, almost staining the wooden desk you two were on. she pushed two fingers onto the panty, right where her throbbing pussy was.

“you’re all wet from just this? i guess you really are a slut, huh?”

you moaned at the degradation, loving how it rolled off her tongue.

“yes! a slut just for you!”

se-mi smirked at your begging, and pushed the soaked panties aside to thrust her fingers into the wet heat. a squelching sound could be heard from how wet you was, and se-mi got harder upon hearing it. she started positioning her fingers hard into youf tight pussy, while rubbing your clit with her thumb, causing you to scream at the delicious friction you was experiencing. her fingers were so thick and long, allowing your hungry pussy to stretch around them, fingers reaching deeper than when you finger yourself. 

soon, two fingers were not enough and your hips canted upwards, wanting the digits to reach in deeper.

“another finger… my pussy wants more…”

and se-mi added another finger in, and the additional stretch burned a little but after a few thrusts, you were screaming once more. she angled her fingers upwards, knowing that her fingers would brush against your g-spot. when she heard a sob from the moaning mess beneath her, she knew that you were about to cum. bada sped up her fingers, positioning and scissoring them into your core at a rapid speed.

“i- i’m about to cum!” you screamed out as you felt your orgasm rip through you.

juices squirted out of your abused pussy onto bada’s hand, a few drops landing on her crotch. you felt so overwhelmed by your orgasm that you started to scrunch up into a ball, but se-mi’s figure prevented you from closing your legs and instead, she pushed your legs further with her free hand while her fingers showed no stopping and her thumb pressed down hard onto your swollen clit.

“se-mi.. please i can’t-”

another wave of orgasm came and you screamed as more juices started pouring out of your swollen hole. se-mi bent down and whispered into your ear, as she rubbed against your g-spot hard with the rough pads of her fingers.

“this is for starting without me, sweetheart.”

you sobbed as you felt more slick gush out of your hole, feeling so sensitive after cumming so many times. finally, se-mi withdrew her fingers, your stretched pussy gaping at the loss.you felt so lightheaded after being stimulated so many times, breathing hard to catch your breath but you knew that it wasn’t over till se-mi was done.

she walked away momentarily, and returned while pulling a chair in tow. Setting the chair right in front of you, she took a seat. she unbuckled her belt, unzipped her pants and pulled her underwear to the side, only freeing her cock. It was thick in girth and was longer than any of the dildos in your collection. as it sprung free from its constraints, it rested against se-mi’s abdomen, hot and heavy.

you stared at it with lustful eyes, unable to wait for it to wreck you pussy.

“ride me, babe.”

your legs felt wobbly and weak after the orgasms, but you obliged nonetheless. slowly, you positioned yourself above her, legs on either side. you pushed your panty aside and with a trembling hand, you guided the length towards your wet core, rubbing it on the slit a few times before sinking down onto it with a moan. 

se-mi rested her hands on your hips, guiding your downwards. but it was too slow for her liking, so she slammed you down onto her cock as she thrusted upwards, making sure the whole length is buried deep inside you. you threw your head back as you let out a slutty moan, feeling so full of cock, so deep in your that you could feel it bulging out of your lower abdomen. 

you continued to bounce on her cock while se-mi laid back and watched you do the work, occasionally grinding your hips down to feel it much deeper. but your legs started to give out on you and your rhythm started to slow down. se-mi knew that you weren’t able to ride her much longer, so she decided to fuck you herself.

with a bruising grip on your hips, she started to fuck your throbbing hole mercilessly, using you like a fuckdoll.

“you love this? when I’m using you like the fucktoy you are?”

you whimpered as you nodded your head, too out of it to form coherent sentences. se-mi gripped your long hair to pull your head backwards, allowing her space to suck hickeys onto your unmarked neck. your nipples constantly brushed against her shirt as you was forced up and down, causing you to feel so sensitive everywhere and overwhelmed with pleasure. 

“se-mi…”

your grip on her shoulders tightened as you felt your climax nearing and a final thrust, you let the built up pressure go, as you squirted onto the fabric beneath you and se-mi’s dick, feeling wave after wave of pussy juices squirt out of your stretched and abused pussy. as you came, your pussy tightened around the shaft and se-mi came as well, releasing deep into your core.

you loved the feeling of being filled, especially with se-mi’s cum. when you felt her dick starting to soften, you got up with trembling legs and cum started to leak out of your gaping pussy and along your thighs.

pecking a final kiss onto her swollen lips, you arranged your panties back in place and made sure your uniform looked neat before walking out of the door, not forgetting to send a flying kiss. se-mi chuckled at the scene, knowing that you were once again teasing her so that she would fuck your brains out the next round. hearing the bell ring, she quickly tucked her slick-covered dick back into her underwear, arranged her uniform properly and headed back to class.

that day, even if anyone had seen dried cum down your thighs and se-mi’s groin area wet, the scent of sex lingering around the both of you, no one had dared to mention a thing.

[scoutofmymind]

fratboy!Luigi x i-dont-wanna-be-here!Reader just randomly had the thought of Lu being a rowdy frat boy and got kinda Tingly

Divine Timing Bullshit { Luigi x Reader }

Content: pretty much SFW (if you read about an alleged assassin at work), kissing, existential crisis, Fratboy Lu is actually a sweetie

W.c: 2,485

Notes; Yeah he’s an aggro-frat boy, but he’s also a stoned philosopher, and you appreciate that, because you’re kind of losing it.

Ohh, oh, oh. Yes, yes, yes. Frat boy with a brain and heart, reader is lowkey Going Through It.

Second-year frat parties had lost their theoretical allure. Gone was that first-year thrill of living the quintessential college experience, of checking off every box in the collegiate party manual.

This year, though. This year felt different.

"Who's going to be there?" You mumble through a mouthful of scone, eyes fixed on your screen. The pastry, a hasty purchase between classes, sits half-forgotten in your cheek.

"Since when do you care?" Your roommate swivels from her desk—a chaos of textbooks, scattered lip glosses, an open laptop, and uncapped mascaras. She brandishes her lip pencil like an accusatory finger, eyebrows arched. "You're turning into such a second-year hermit."

You flinch at the accusation, phone dropping to your chest as you stop mid-chew. "Fuck," you mutter, brushing pastry debris from your hoodie — the same one you've been living in for... three nights? Four?

She doesn't need to spell it out. You've become a ghost haunting the same tired circuit: dorm room, library, labs, class. Any moment of freedom dissolves into endless study sessions or mindless TikTok scrolling until you drift off to the white noise of ASMR or satisfying slime crafts.

"Don't make me go alone." Her voice cracks with a plea you can't dismiss. "We're supposed to be doing college together. We promised."

The pact.

The fucking pact.

You'd both sworn, hands clasped under string lights in your shared room during orientation week, that you wouldn't let each other miss out on anything. Not the midnight donut runs, not the questionable decisions, not the memories that were supposed to make these years matter.

And so, it was settled.

•

The house loomed before you, nothing like the usual frat dungeons. This was old money — a sprawling estate with an infinity pool that cut into the manicured lawn like a slice of sky, and a home theater visible through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bodies pressed past, each collision a reminder that you'd rather be elsewhere.

"Whose fuckin' house is this?" The words barely leave your mouth before your roommate's giggle floats up, her shoulder bumping yours as she shrugs.

The question evaporates into the thrum of bass and chatter.

You knew the drill by now.

She'd disappear into the crowd, hunting for tonight's conquest, while you'd drift through rooms like a wandering spirit in limbo — observing the drama unfold, helping yourself to whatever expensive snacks rich kids kept in their pantries, and sometimes, when the night got boring enough, investigating medicine cabinets.

Eventually, your travels lead you toward clusters of laughing girls, some familiar faces from lecture halls, others newly christened friends after thirty seconds of slurred introductions.

The living room couch has become your sanctuary, a perfect vantage point for the night's theater.

"God, he's fucking hot." Liz's whisper cuts through the ambient chatter, her eyes fixed on the kitchen where the imported marble island has devolved into a battlefield of red cups and spilled beer.

A tall figure commands the space, radiating the particular brand of arrogance that comes with being undefeated at beer pong for the past hour.

"Who?" Your eyebrows knit together before shooting upward in realization. She can't possibly mean -

"His name's Luigi." Her voice takes on that dreamy quality, like a third-grader confessing her first crush behind the jungle gym. "He's studying Computer Science."

Your face contorts into an expression somewhere between horror and disbelief.

"I know," Liz breathes, mirroring your shock. Luigi wasn't unattractive — that was the problem. The universe had already dealt him the unfair hand of conventional beauty; the revelation of actual intelligence felt like cosmic overkill. "Wouldn't think he was aiming any higher than a business degree, huh?"

You watch him slam another cup, arms raised in victory, and try to reconcile this frat god with the same person who probably spent hours debugging code.

The image doesn't compute.

Every other CS major you knew was either passed out in the engineering building or mainlining caffeine in their dorm, not holding court over a beer pong empire.

"Just gives typical aggro frat vibes," you mutter, unable to tear your eyes away from the spectacle. He's exchanging those elaborate, ritualistic handshakes with his bros, throwing back shots like water. Your body instinctively recoils, but there's something magnetic about the train wreck unfolding before you — like watching a perfectly coded program crash in spectacular fashion.

He's performing, you realize — a master of his craft, painting broad strokes of the perfect college experience. Creating stories he'll tell at reunions and job interviews, memories that look better through the lens of a camera than they feel in real time.

You study Luigi's practiced grin, the way he looms over his temporary kingdom, and something shifts.

Does he have someone to call at 3 AM when the world caves in? Or are these connections as deep as the beer puddles on the marble counter — evaporating by morning?

The room tilts slightly, your earlier drinks and that passed joint finally catching up, making everything sharper and softer all at once.

Your gaze drifts over your own circle, these girls laughing and sharing secrets like best friends, some of which you'd only learned most of their names moments ago.

The thought hits you like cold water: who among them would you trust with your real stories? Who would pick up your call at 3 AM? Are you any different from Luigi — just playing your own part in this performance?

The night air slaps you awake before you even realize you've fled, your feet carrying you to a hidden corner of the garden where a stone fountain whispers secrets to itself. Here, the party exists only in echoes — distant laughter, scattered arguments, and drunken declarations of love or war floating across the manicured lawn.

You tilt your head skyward, searching for anchor points among the stars and the world narrows to just this: the cool stone beneath you, the rhythm of water, the infinite above -

"Hey."

Your body jolts to attention, the peaceful moment shattering like glass. Your eyes drop from the constellations to find a different kind of celestial body standing before you — broad shoulders blocking out stars, dark features caught in shadow, curls tumbling across his forehead.

Your mind scrambles for a name, like trying to catch smoke.

Luis? Lucas?

Luigi.

The beer pong champion himself, somehow materialized from your earlier observations like a summoned entity.

"Hey." Your body performs an awkward dance on the bench, caught between making room and trying to collapse into nothingness.

"What are you doing out here?"

The question, though innocent enough, triggers your defenses. Your response comes with teeth: "I could ask you the same thing." It's a warning label, bright and clear: Approach With Caution.

The garden's twinkle lights catch him in their amber web, transforming the beer pong champion into something softer — sweat-sheened skin, features gentled by shadow.

His posture reads like an open book written in a language you can't quite translate, neither defensive nor inviting.

Just curious.

"Well, you could." The words roll out with the same casual grace as the shoulder he shrugs, a yet-unlit joint dancing between his lips as his thumbs tap out a message on his phone's glow. "And I'd just say I live here."

The universe, it seems, has a sense of humor.

A groan slips past your defenses as mortification sets in. Of all the backyards in New York, you had to stake your claim in this one, then challenge its owner about his right to be there.

"To answer your question though-“ The words come filtered through the joint until flame meets paper. He exhales, and his next words ride out on a cloud of smoke: "I came out here to call my mom." His phone screen glows with evidence — his mother's contact photo, her name bookended by heart emojis and a simple Mama.

Something about Luigi — maybe the lingering beer pong bravado, maybe the way he wears this vulnerability so casually — still begs to be challenged. "Gotta make sure she doesn't suspect you have about one hundred NYU students in her home, hm?"

He shakes his head, the sound he makes sliding down the scale like lazy jazz. "Nah, she doesn't care about that shit." His thumb hovers over the keyboard, apparently deciding a text will suffice for tonight's check-in. "And there's definitely not a hundred people in there right now."

You study his posture — the way confidence and caution occupy the same space in his frame, like watercolors bleeding into each other. "Where's she?"

Luigi's eyes lift from his screen to find yours. "Seychelles." The message swooshes into the digital void before his phone disappears into his pocket. "Your turn."

The garden's ambient soundtrack fills the space between you, water music from the fountain where a bronze boy — who bears a suspicious resemblance to a younger Luigi — plays eternal lifeguard to the trickling streams.

Your eyes lock across the dim space, neither yielding.

"My turn to what?" The question is a stalling tactic, and you both know it.

"Your turn to tell me what you're doing out here."

Your gaze wanders the curated wilderness around you — the fairy-lit canopy, the fountain's eternal performance, the swimming pool framed by trees sculpted into shapes that belong in a vintage Playboy spread.

Everything here speaks of a life so different from yours, yet something about the engineering student standing before you, texting his mom from his own party, suggests a truth you hadn’t expected; the distance between your worlds might be shorter than it appears.

"Just needed some air." The lie falls flat, each word a domino tipping toward the truth you're trying to outrun—that existential spiral triggered by watching him earlier, wondering about the depth of his connections, only to find your own relationships reflecting back just as shallow.

Luigi claims his spot beside you, the bench suddenly alive with shared warmth. His knowing smirk and raised eyebrows speak volumes while his lips stay sealed, the silence between you stretching like taffy until -

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Getting some air." He mirrors your words back to you, a perfect echo with an undertone of challenge.

Your hands scrub across your face as if trying to erase something, and when you turn to face him, he's already there, matching your position like a choreographed dance. His eyes lock onto yours — steady, focused — as you stare back with the wild gaze of someone about to jump off a cliff.

"Do you ever think maybe you're just kinda... existing?"

There it is — your midnight confession spilling out into his garden, raw and unfiltered as the joint smoke curling between you.

Luigi catalogs you with the quiet satisfaction of someone who's just solved a puzzle — noting the timbre of your voice (hoarse from shouting over beer pong champions and top-40 hits), the way moonlight catches in your hair, how your eyes betray every thought. "I know that's what I'm doing," he nods, conviction steady as a heartbeat. "And that's enough."

"But what about the connections? What about true and real bonds?" The words tumble out as you watch him draw from the joint. He offers it your way — a bridge between strangers — but you wave it off, earning a laugh that somehow makes your existential crisis feel less like drowning.

"What about them?"

"Don't you miss having them?"

His shoulder grazes yours as he makes a face that suggests you're missing something obvious. "Existing doesn't mean I cease to create bonds or connections." His voice intensifies beside you, taking on the weight of someone that had something to convince you of. "They happen everyday."

The stare between you holds with magnetic force, compelling you to consider his truth: maybe you're the one who's been building walls instead of bridges, hiding in recycled hoodies and social media scrolls while real connections knock at your door.

"You think?" Your vision shifts, the aggressive frat facade dissolving to reveal something unexpectedly gentle around the edges.

"Well, what do you call this." His finger traces an invisible line between you, the gesture casual but weighted. "I think there's reason for everything, besides, like, cancer, or something." The statement perfectly gift-wraps his essence:

A walking contradiction — the frat boy who steps away from his own party to text his mom, a beer pong champion who philosophizes between 'likes,' an engineering major who can turn existential crisis into comfortable conversation.

"Well, it's interesting, to say the least." You're not sure if you mean this moment, this revelation, or Luigi himself. All you know is that Liz will either lecture you about garden rendezvous with her biggest crush, or demand a word-for-word replay.

Probably both.

"You think there's a reason we're both out here, then?" The question follows him as he leans forward, stubbing out his joint in a tray by the fountain. "Some sort of divine-timing bullshit?"

"I do." His conviction stands unwavering against your skepticism. "That's exactly what I think."

The sigh that escapes you carries the weight of self-awareness — maybe you're the one standing in your own way.

"Give me your phone." His shoulder nudges yours again, and you find yourself digging through your purse without hesitation, unlocking it before passing it over.

No questions asked — maybe you're already buying into this divine timing thing.

He returns your phone with a smile that seems to know something you don't. His own phone lights up with urgent news about a friend's overindulgence, likely greening out on the front lawn. "Gotta split."

You straighten your back, body still glued firmly to the bench beneath you, “Wait,” the request comes out steady, but hurried, afraid he might evaporate somewhere into the midnight air. “How - how do you do it, then?”

He settles back down, closer this time, “Do what?”

“Make it easier — connections, parties, being..” You gesture vaguely at all of him. “Present.”

Luigi considers this, his smile softening. "Maybe because I don't overthink it. Like right now — you're probably wondering if this is the right moment to ask the right question, when really..." He leans in slightly, voice dropping. "Sometimes you just have to let things happen."

The air shifts between you, heavy with possibility.

You're acutely aware of how close he is, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips as he speaks.

"Is that what you're doing?" Your voice comes out barely above a whisper. "Letting things happen?"

"I'm letting myself do what I've wanted to since I saw you having an existential crisis by my fountain."

And then he's kissing you — or maybe you're kissing him — the distinction lost in the warm press of lips and the lingering taste of smoke. It's gentle at first, questioning, until you lean into it and his hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

When he pulls back, that knowing smile returns. "See? Divine timing bullshit."

His phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. "Duty calls," he sighs, standing. "But text me. We'll work on your overthinking problem."

Read pt 2 Here ☁️

[cerastes]

Man I still think about the way Dusk's Operator Record basically shows that Dusk accidentally and unintentionally made a regular human immortal or at the very least extremely long-lived to the point where after several years he -- who was already well aged -- has not gotten a day older, and accidentally and unintentionally gave them the ability to also bring their art to life, shown how by the end he draws a Bitey after seeing it and then that Bitey also comes to life, Dusk then goes "Oh. Oh that was not supposed to happen. How did that happen? Oh well whatever" and then she just doesn't care enough to address it and we just have to accept that Dusk apparently can do that and may have done things of a similar caliber before, and can't be bothered to really care because it presumably has only happened with people that are decent enough to not, well, abuse any of that, but that's kinda fucked up, right? That's kinda fucked up. That's kinda fucked up.

[deramin2]

This! All this!

First and foremost, Critical Role is A GAME!

The point of games is to find out what happens when you do things. Critical Role in particular have been playing in the same world on one big ongoing timeline explicitly so they can find out what the consequences of their actions are. Especially the negative ones like guns becoming increasingly common. They could not possibly be more explicit that they deliberately fuck around to find out. While introducing the campaign, Marisha directly said to expect the unexpected.

If they play it safe and go home they are turning down the opportunity to see all the lore and character development Matt has put into Predathos. "Sorry man, we know you poured countless sleepless nights into creating this stuff just for us to play with as a bespoke act of love, but we've suddenly all decided we're scared of the consequences for the first time in literally thousands of hours. Yeah, you keep saying that the whatever happens the world will be irrevocably changed and in some way shape or form this age of the world is ending. But we've decided we're all scared of having agency in that so you should do it all for us and center only yourself as the one true story teller. We think an audience who has stuck by us because they enjoy our chaos and bold moves would really rather see us play it safe. A handful of users on social media who have made our real lives hellish at times said so. They're much more trustworthy than our internal statistics and deserve to be catered to more than our own artistic sensibilities. I'm sure you understand. We got you a complementary dumpster to put all your hard work into."

If the story isn't hitting right for you then that's your own taste to take care of and honor. But if you want a predictable YA genre expectation ending where everything comes together to preserve the world exactly as it was, then this show was just not made with you in mind as the audience. And watching people play GAMES (IT'S A GAME!!) is probably just not something you enjoy. Stop trying to buy milkshakes at the avant garde black box theater and then complaining when they don't make them.

Artists are responsible for making the art that they enjoy. Saying the things that call to them. Working with the forms that move them. They're not at all responsible to The Audience™ as mindless content machines spitting out only what they're told to. Critical Role could not be clearer that they feel at their best pressing the big red button just to see what happens, and moral purity (especially in a fake world) is not a factor in that.

You've spent 118 episodes wondering about what's up with the red moon and hearing conflicting versions of what Predathos is, and finally you're here at its doorstep, and you're NOT going to go in and find out for yourself what the truth of it is?

I am the least risk tolerant player of D&D in existence and that still couldn't be me. I'd want to see it for my own eyes and make my own choice, an actually informed choice in the only way that is possible to be informed in this situation. Especially with Matt reminding them SO many times that stories are written by the winners, continually sowing doubt in what they have managed to learn about Predathos.

Just leave? You want the D&D party to walk away from adventure? The thing they exist to experience? What an anticlimatic and disappointing end to the story that would be, and that's assuming Matt would even let that happen. That there isn't someone (like Ludinus) out there to trigger it anyway.

No, let the protagonists of the story deal with the overarching threat of the story, as they were always meant to, and let's see what happens.

[tls12lessthan3]

points at you dramatically

Hot take about ORV, go!

ooooo ok this is a little difficult because i feel like i've been very loud about my hot takes so im not sure if i have many untold ones. hmmmmmmmm. recently i've been really pissed off about people calling orv 'basically a bl' because orv has one of the weirdest relationships with queerness ive ever seen and id love to see it talked about more. like orv is so much weirder about being gay than your average queerbaity novel of this genre because it is in conversation with its genre and its fans so you get this. simultaneous mocking and validation of queerness throughout it? sing shong clearly knew that people would ship joongdok and as they often do with various expected reactions by the readers they turn to the camera and provide commentary on it through the constellations or specifically uriel. uriel is a prominent member of the constellation gang who kim dokja values which represents fujoshis being a prominent part of the fanbase who sing shong value. so there is that validation of queer fans who see themselves in these characters (which is explicitly what uriel is and who she represents).

but she also spends so much of the book being mocked and derided and that in my opinion is also sing shong turning to the camera and saying 'yes you are valued readers and your relationship with this story is as valid as any other. that gay stuff is still kinda freak shit though'. which is. complicated! it's complicated! and normally when i see fans call webnovels which are not bls 'basically a bl' or 'gay as hell' or whatever i do not care but i feel like when orv is so obviously actively discussing those fan reactions there should be a little more nuance surrounding them. like idk i very much understand the impulse to ignore homophobia in our favourite stories and just have fun. and i think you can have fun sometimes but it does have to go hand in hand with an understanding and critique of sing shongs attitude towards queerness otherwise you are losing chess to a dog which is actively mocking you for doing so. also theres so much fucking transmisogyny in that book like i see so few trans women in the fandom and its for a good fucking reason and no amount of headcanoning yoo joonghyuk as a trans woman is ever gonna make that go away as much as we can try. like theres a reason the queerbaity moments got removed in the ebook edits and not the transmisogynistic ones and thats because theres so little discussion and backlash about it when there really needs to be.

so idk if this really counts as a hot take but i think orv is weird about being gay in a really unique and interesting way and it would be a lot better if we discussed it more as a fandom rather than sweeping it under the rug. and also if the official english translation keeps in the pink kids as villains i am blowing up the publishing company.

[greengoblinswifey]

Thanks for ur answers on the dbf!rafe asks, I’m loving them sm 😍😍 ur so talented!! How do u think reader’s dad would eventually react if he found out abt rafe and reader? 😳😳 not like I would want that to happen but I’m just so curious abt what would happen, I know he’d be pissed but like how would he react specifically

a/n— you’re so messy for this and thank you for the kind words <3

You knew it was only a matter of time before your secret with Rafe came out. The stolen glances, the way he lingered just a bit too long at family gatherings, and the late night “errands” you claimed to be running together, it was all bound to unravel eventually. But you hadn’t expected it to happen like this.

Your dad’s voice thundered through the house, shaking the very walls. “You’re what with Rafe?!”

You flinched at the volume, but Rafe stood his ground beside you, calm and composed as ever. His hand rested lightly on your lower back, a silent reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Dad, calm down,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Calm down?!” your dad repeated, his face heated with disbelief. “My little girl? Really, Rafe?” His gaze turned to Rafe, livid. “You’re supposed to be family, and this is what you do? You go behind my back, with my daughter?”

“Look, I understand how this looks—” Rake spoke, his tone measured but firm.

“How this looks?!” your dad barked, stepping closer to him. “This is disgusting! She’s half your age. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Dad,” you interrupted, stepping between them. “It’s not like that. He didn’t take advantage of me. I’m an adult, and I wanted this too.”

Your dad’s eyes darted to you, betrayal etched across his face. “You’re defending him? You’ve been sneaking around with my best friend, and you think I’m just going to be okay with this?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, but he kept his tone steady. “I’m not here to cause problems. I care about her. This isn’t some fling. I’m serious about her.”

“Serious? With my daughter? You’ve known her since she was a kid, Rafe. Do you even hear yourself?” your dad said, letting out a bitter laugh.

“I know how it sounds,” Rafe admitted, his voice low. “But she’s not a kid anymore, and my feelings for her are real. I’d never hurt her.”

“Your feelings?” your dad spat. “You’re my best friend. How long has this been going on? How long have you been fucking my daughter behind my back?”

“Dad, stop!” you said, your voice shaking. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me and Rafe. I love him.”

Your dad’s expression twisted with disbelief and anger. “Love? You think this is love? He’s taking advantage of you, and you’re too blind to see it.”

“I would never take advantage of her, you know that’s not me. I care about her more than anything, and I’d do whatever it takes to prove that to you,” Rafe said as he stepped forward, his calm demeanor cracking slightly

“Prove it?” your dad snapped, his voice rising again. “You already betrayed me, Rafe. There’s no coming back from this. I should kill you.”

There was a tense silence before your dad sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“Dad,” you started softly, stepping closer to him, “I know this is hard for you, but Rafe isn’t what you’re making him out to be. He’s good to me. He makes me happier than anyone else ever has.”

Your dad looked between you and Rafe, his anger simmering under the surface. Finally, he pointed a shaking finger at Rafe. “You’d better take care of her, because if you don’t, I swear to God, I’ll make you regret it. I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Rafe said firmly, his gaze unwavering.

Your dad shook his head, his face a mixture of hurt and fury. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, walking out of the room.

The silence that followed was deafening. Rafe turned to you, his hand brushing against your arm. “That could’ve gone worse,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You gave him a small, shaky smile. “Much worse.”

“You’re worth every risk,” he murmured, tilting your chin to his lips.

“And you’re worth every argument,” you whispered, leaning into his kiss.

[funktrolls]

So glad the trolls proshitter weirdos who tried to sneak on Tumblr are getting pointed out here too 😭

Like what part of "do not interact if ur into these things" do you not understand? It doesn't matter that you have it on a separate acct and sometimes that's even WORSE if you're keeping that account a secret so that you can infuriate safe spaces people made to avoid you.

Like these people know how to read bios and the amount of them that just do not care and interact with whoever pisses me off.

Like, bruh, you may have became desensitized, but a lot of people aren't. Fictional incest or not its going make people uncomfortable and especially triggering because incest is abuse, it isn't whatever sick ass "romantic" and sexual fantasies you've made up. That shit can and have ruined people's lives.

And I've seen how Brozone, the Pop sisters and V&V have touched so many people emotionally and personally, and how Walt Dohrn, the director has said that all of Branch's brothers are heavily inspired by his older brother AND Bitty B is literally voiced by his kid.

So to see the shit that I've unfortunately seen due to having to go on blocking sprees genuinely makes my stomach churn, and it makes me feel just. Gross, that people would do this to characters that especially have a lot of irl inspirations behind their creations, and how they were literally created to remind audiences of their own family dynamics.

That these characters are nothing but fetish tropes to a bunch of freaks that should probably have restraining orders put on them by their own families. Cuz no matter how much they scream and pout, this shit bleeds into reality.

Anyways sorry for the long rant I'm just still so fucking pissed that so many ppl took a piece of media so personal to me and did the shit that they did. Yea i know i didn't MAKE Trolls but like come the fuck on. How hard is it to respect boundaries.

[squiddviscous]

Rereading the manga at the moment and there's two things that I've noticed about Maxwell (that do not make him less of a villain, just an even more tragic one).

First, not only does he seem to have been quite publicly losing the plot for so long that no one in their right mind could have seen fit to just hand him an army and a green light to do whatever the fuck he thought best without expecting something to go as it did, but also some of the early scenes with him discussing plans with Anderson and the Pope seem pretty much like the Vatican, if not exactly planned for him to attack England, weren’t too bothered if he did.

Which makes his very young appointment as Iscariot leader make a bit more sense. He’s shown as being bright, but by no means brilliant, and there are clearly others just as ruthless but a bit more level-headed than him who could have done the job (Makube is older than him). So my new headcanon is that he was probably groomed for the position from very early on, so that Iscariot could be lead by someone who was prepared to do something others wouldn’t (and that they couldn’t dirty their own hands by asking him to do), but was so isolated from anyone who cared about him, and from such ‘sinful’ origins that if and when he did do those things that they couldn’t directly order him to, they could easily wash their hands of him and come across blameless themselves.

Second, for being such a fanatic, he doesn’t actually seem particularly religious. This is me headcanoning again, but if he does actually believe in a God, then he hates him (like he hate everything else, himself and Anderson included). When he dies, he talks about having always been alone, which is at odds with the idea of God being with or loving him, that you’d expect to be something he feels if he truly does believe. So rather than being a genuine fanatic, it seems more like he’s just utterly, utterly misanthropic and disappointed in God (and thinks somehow he could do a better job).

I also get this impression from the way he acts earlier in the manga – gleefully pointing out the Vatican’s hypocrisy to Integra like some kind of teenage edgelord and having Heinkel kill that other bishop for defending them aiding Millenium. He really does just feel contempt for absolutely everything (self included).

Yknow. I think that Enrico Maxwell doesn't get enough attention in the hellsing Fandom, because he's one of the most fascinating tragedies in hellsing.

He's introduced as an arrogant prick with clear malice for Integra, but there's so much to that interaction that can be read into.

Because you have such minimal backstory that tells the whole story. As a child, Maxwell asks Anderson if he was no longer wanted because he was a bastard; Maxwell is a child of infidelity, and it's very clear that he was reminded of that consistently, during his formation years.

Mind you, he's around 10-12 when he's given up, which means he spent all of his formative years in an abusive home, implied to be neglectful and verbally abusive. He clearly blames himself for the abuse, considering how determined he is to "make his parents regret giving him up". This leaves room for so much interpretation, and it seems that he believed wholeheartedly that he was the problem, he wasn't enough, he wasn't good enough... as a child.

He's shown to have an almost immediate mood swing when meeting Integra. From an attempt to be amicable to immediate hostility when her reaction isn't mirroring his, so he goes to mirror the hostility that he personally sees. He is incredibly reactive as an adult, when as a child he was quite apathetic in most cases, or downright stubborn and resentful. Really think about his reactions to things, with such immediate mood changes, swinging wildly from amicable to cruelty right back to amicable; he's responding to what he sees.

There really is so much to analyze with him because there's so much substance within the little interactions he has. Because he's gone from an adult child to a childish adult and that is something that I'm so fascinated with because THERE'S SO MUCH MORE TO HIM THAN IS GIVEN CREDIT FOR

[jenanigans1207]

1/7/25: Petty

“Dude,” Sam says to Dean one night when they’re sitting in the library pouring over some boring ass books that haven’t helped them even a little bit up until this point. “What the hell’d you do to Cas?”

“Who says I did anything to him?” Dean asks without glancing up. “Dude’s weird, it’s probably nothing.”

A hand appears on the page that Dean was pretending to read, and it takes him a second to even realize it’s happened, blinking his attention back to the moment and glaring at Sam as he reaches out to smack the offending hand. Sam snatches his hand back before Dean makes contact, but the effect was successful because Sam now has Dean’s full attention.

“He’s taking everything I say so literally.” Sam explains, pausing as if he’s waiting for Dean to add something. When Dean doesn’t, he presses on. “We’ve known the guy for twelve years and even when he was his most angelic, he didn’t do this.”

“Sure he did.” Dean argued, the phrase no, he’s not on any flatbread circling around in his head.

But Sam shakes his head, a few long pieces falling into his eyes. “That was different. He didn’t know then. He’s doing it on purpose now.”

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “He’s doing it to be a petty bastard.” He says finally. “On our last hunt I yelled at him because he never fucking listens or does what I ask him to do, which is how he got hurt. So now—”

“He’s taking everything said to him literally and acting it out exactly as he’s told to.” Sam fills in the blank.

“Yeah.” Dean says. “I was trying to ignore him hoping that he’d stop, but he only seems to be doubling down on being an ass about the whole thing.”

To Dean’s surprise, the only response Sam has to the whole situation is to burst out in laughter. It’s the kind of head thrown back, belly laugh that Dean hasn’t heard Sam do in years. It was the kind of laugh he cherished, because he used to get it so infrequently that he had to commit every second of it to memory. And even though Sam laughs more easily now, he still rarely laughs with this kind of unbridled joy— for a moment it makes Dean entirely forget about Cas and his petty revenge. Despite himself and despite the situation, Dean finds himself grinning a little too, just happy to see his brother happy.

“You really met your match,” Sam finally manages to choke out, still smiling in a way that’s happy but definitely verging on shit-eating. “For every pain in the ass thing you do, he returns the favor.”

“It’s not funny,” Dean grumbles, leaning back in his chair. He wants to take a swig of his beer but it’s empty and he doesn’t feel like getting up. “He needs to be more careful!”

Sam settles more comfortably in his own chair then and it’s the slant of his shoulders that tells Dean he should’ve gotten up to get the next beer because he’ll need it for whatever Sam is about to say. “Have you just tried telling him that you’re worried about him? And that it matters to you that he stays safe?”

There’s a lot of deflections and defenses that jump to the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he bites back on them. He’s been trying to be better to be at least a little more honest— with himself, Sam, and Cas. Nobody else was yet included in that honesty, but he figured he’d get there someday. So he swallows the immediate words he wants to say and glances down at the table.

“He should know.” He answers instead which isn’t much but it’s better and more vulnerable than anything else he would’ve said. At least it implies admission that Sam’s right about his true reason for being upset.

“I’m sure he does.” Sam agrees and there’s a sincerity in his voice that does actually comfort Dean a little. “But knowing it deep down and hearing it are different.” Sam explains, pausing before adding, “You know he loves you, but it’s still nice to hear, isn’t it?”

And goddamn it all, Sam has a point that Dean can’t even begin to deny. Because he does know that Cas loves him, knows it to the core of his very bones. But if Cas were to just stop saying it out loud, were to stop reminding him of just how much he’s loved, it would be hard for Dean. He wouldn’t doubt that love, but he would still struggle with it.

Dean groans and pushes back from the table, mumbling an affectionate and exasperated “bitch” under his breath as he leaves the room. He doesn’t have to travel far to find Cas, situated in the bathroom preparing to shave. Cas glances up when he walks in the door, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Cas’s hand stills where they were unrolling a towel over the sink in front of him.

“I’m so hard on you because I’m worried,” Dean blurts before he has the chance to lose his nerve. “I’m terrified of losing you and it scares the shit out of me when you get hurt on our hunts.” Cas’s eyes have gone impossibly wide in his reflection, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t mean to be an ass, I just— I can’t lose you, Cas. You mean too damn much to me.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes, turning to face him properly.

“So there you go,” Dean scuffs the toe of his boot on the ground. “You can stop being a petty bitch now.”

Cas smiles as he steps up to Dean, reaching out to cup his elbow gently in a warm hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You knew, right?” Dean confirms.

“I knew,” Cas answers. “I couldn’t have been so petty if I had thought you were serious.”

“You’re such an ass.”

[thetepes]

“transwomen” it’s two words: “trans women.” “transwomen” is a TERF dogwhistle.

Since when? Motherfucker, I am not a native English speaker. You can't just come up with random political shit that effects grammar and you especially can't expect people to just fucking know whatever's the current talking point. Do you realize how this makes it hard for people who aren't native english speakers? Do you fucking care?

No. Obviously. No one fucking cares about that shit. I'll do my best to put the space from now on, but I'm going to fuck it up.

Notice you didn't say trans men not transmen so I guess that's just fine or?

Can someone explain this one to me? I know you didn't read my post so you can at least take the time to explain it to me.

[brotherwtf]

How about Gale overhearing John talking about him to someone? (with positive outcome)

oooo now this is a very interesting prompt, thanks anon!!

decided to basically mash up all of my fave clegan scenes into one big rainbow scene, I hope you guys enjoy :))

----

John often ran his mouth, both sober and with a drink in him, but the stories always seemed to flow more with the flow of liquor into his system. Always bragging, always galavanting about someone or something to any ear that would listen, especially if it was about his favorite subject, Gale Cleven.

Exaggerating stories until the Major seemed more myth than man, talking to anyone who would listen about all of their escapades, good and bad.

And John would do it no matter if the man himself was there or not, and often did it despite Gale's best wishes.

But even now, as Gale sits on the edge of the dance floor, he can hear John's loud and unabashed laugh as he starts to weave another tale for the poor dames he has coerced. Gale noticed the slightly tense smiles of a woman who was originally only interested in getting beneath John's uniform now being blathered at by a Major far drunker than she expected.

"Nah but my buddy, Buck, here, he don't like sports. Not team sports anyway, likes boxing, 'test of manhood' or whatever the fuck that means," John says, eyes lazy as he points jovially back at Gale, recalling the night Curt lay an RAF pilot on the ground with a singular jab. Gale couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Was gonna slug that RAF pilot himself the nasty fucker. Ah, he had it coming, don't you worry girls. Buck woulda knocked him straight on his British ass I just know it, there's nothing our Buck can't do, can probably take on the whole Luftwaffe by himself, all engines feathered. Hey, Buck!" John says, turning back towards Gale with loose limbs and gesturing for him to stand next to him.

Usually, Gale would be content to sit on the sidelines and watch John act a fool, but John was gesturing so heavily that it felt like he had a string attached to Gale's chest, pulling him over with just a beckon. Even when Gale puts himself right in the crook of John's body, right where he seemed to fit, John so easily puts his arm around Gale's shoulder.

"Tell em, No-Engine Cleven, nah I'll tell em, he's the best damn pilot in the 100th, hell, maybe even the whole air force, my Buck here is just too good, I wish I could fly half as good as him," John says, leaning his weight into Gale's, leaning so that his face is dangerously close to his.

Gale feels warmth bloom in his stomach but he just lets himself roll his eyes, wrapping a stabilizing arm around John's waist to prevent him from toppling over, giving the women a friendly yet tight smile.

"Easy there, Major, now I think it's best we turn in for the night. It was lovely meeting you ladies," Gale says, keeping his voice clipped and polite despite hearing the girls murmurs of how drunk John seemed to be.

The cool of the English night hits Gale's hot cheeks as soon as he drags John out of the officers club, hiding his tight smile into the night.

"Don't gotta go bragging on me, Bucky, I can hail my own victories," Gale says, breath misting in the air.

John smiles at him, swaying dangerously into Gale as they walk clumsily back to the barracks.

"It's all true, my love, someone's gotta say it and it might as well be me," John says, planting a wet smacking kiss to Gale's cheek.

Gale really should be more careful, but he seems to be getting drunk just on John's warmth and turns his head to press a careful kiss to John's lips, one that's far too slow for John's liking.

"It's my pleasure, Gale, you're my favorite thing to talk about," John says, a rogue hand coming up to squeeze Gale's cheeks and bring him in for another kiss, not being able to help the smile that spreads across both of their faces.

[arcane-ish]

This is usually the point where I whip out the

To me they just never felt that sibling coded in s1.

Ep1 and Ep2, I just don't see any sibling coding there at all? And Ep3, the episode that actually goes into defining their relationship starts literally on "old friend" as the first way to describe their relationship.

And then the first long conversation Silco and Vander have about their relationship (never forgiven myself, you had my respect etc) is literally back to back with Viktor and Jayce, them talking about the hextech dream while Vander and Silco talk about the dream of Zaun.

So to me they were always primed as friends/co-workers like Jayce and Viktor.

To me the main scene that really parallels Vi and Jinx is where Vander grabs Silco by the throat and Silco freezes up vis a vis the scene where Vi grabs Powders chin.

And the general arc about "Vi was violent towards Powder and regretted it and Powder became more violent/dark over it".

But nothing about the way Vander and Silco talk to each other rings very sibling like? It's hard to put into words, there is some pettiness there but to me it's just a very different flavor to for example how Jinx and Vi squabble with each other in the mines in season 2. It's just a very different type of intimacy in the way they reference the past that for Vi and Jinx feels like people who grew up together that to me just isn't there for Vander in Silco.

As for the writers and what they were thinking? Imo they thought of Vander and Silco as primarily two fathers. Amanda formulated it like that in season 1 already that the show is deeply about whether the daughters (Vi and Jinx) can escape the cycle of violence that their fathers were caught in.

our goal and overall theme for the series was, we were always asking ‘are these daughters going to repeat the sins of their fathers or not, and how do you stop that?’”

Source

The facts that Vander and Silco aren't the biological fathers or that Silco wasn't a father to Jinx yet when the big confrontation in 1x03 happens doesn't change that they are the fathers symbolically.

And as "they are the dads" I think the "what if the dads got back together again" is just a lot more obvious.

We know that when Fortiche asked the writers said

"they were partners"

Source

My personal theory? I think the writers didn't have strong feelings about Vander and Silco's relationship other than "they knew each other/they had a connection".

If I compare how Christian Linke talks about Viktor, I think he relates more to Viktor and Jayce and hence he has more opinions on them having a platonic connection.

But since they maybe didn't care as much about Silco and Vander, maybe the artists went to them and said "folks, the fact that Vander and Silco made up because Vander wrote Silco a letter is pretty fucking gay, can we make them gay in AU?" and the writers said "yeah, whatever".

(and again the writers likely didn't have a problem with that because they never envisioned them as brothers, just some nebulous partners/revolutionaries)

So like wtf even was zaundads.

I mean from the perspective of the writers room. Because S1 vander and silco were actually genuinely very sibling coded. In a weird uncomfortably homoerotic vibes way, yes, but a proper effort was made in the writing to parallel them strongly with vi and jinx, and they kept calling each other ‘brother’ instead of having it be one line said to a different character (cough jayvik cough).

Then s2 does the brokeback mine jackets thing and it’s like ok sure whatever. Then you get to episode 7 and. They are 1000% a couple. Like they are DADS and clearly wifing each other up HARD. And I would say maybe it’s a case of animators going rogue if it were just stuff like silco running his horny ass fingertip along vander’s bra strap or whatever:

But it’s in the writing too! Having Benzo do the chronic third wheel ‘ugh’ when silco and vander do their gay lil heart eyes toast… that felt LOUD.

Like I really just don’t know what to make of a show that sibling codes two dudes so successfully in s1 that a large chunk of the audience thought they were biological brothers, then does THAT in s2. I mean I love zaundads and I love s2e7!!! But these writers…..

I’m not sure the shippers are the ones who get confused between romantic and brotherly vibes tbh 😅

[impperfectcritiques]

tw: depression

I’m spit balling here but I would like to hear your thoughts on this:

alright, I genuinely don’t care that much for Stolas but one of the few things that genuinely irritates me when it comes to the character is how the show shows us that he “has depression/depressive moments”. No, he does not. People could argue that other episodes before Sinsmas he had his medicine therefore didn’t exhibit the traits (even though some antidepressants can show symptoms like nausea, weight gain, etc), the only thing we see of “non medicated” Stolas is sadness. DEPRESSION IS NOT JUST SADNESS. I myself don’t have depression but I have family members who do have it. I’ve seen how depressed people were like at a VERY YOUNG AGE, they are not just sad, they can be extremely tired, loss of emotion, dread, feeling of worthlessness, and sometimes can lead to addiction. I find it more frustrating that the writers coughVivcough thought that depression is just a sympathy point for people to feel bad for Stolas. At best we don’t see enough of Stolas feeling dread, or overconsumption of alcohol. I’m not even saying Stolas should show suicidal ideation, I’m just saying SHOW MORE THAN JUST SADNESS, DRINK ALCOHOL AND TAKE PILLS. The first thing I think of when establishing a character with depression is having them in bed and having a caretaker/friend try talking to them or having a schedule therapy. I’m not a writer but neither is Viv so. It just really makes me feel like the writer really doesn’t know what depression is and is just using it as a brownie point or it was an afterthought.

YEA. I have chronic depression due to just a bad roll on DNA and a shitty childhood.

Show stolas struggling more to do things to get that release of endorphins, show him struggling to be present.

Also the "happy pills" or whatever piss me off... It's a similar issue with Lucifer and his depiction of depression, which is treated more like a joke.

Like if stolas was seen constantly smoking or smth to the point its extremely noticable that would work.

Also drinking alcohol while on antidepressants FUCKS YOU UP, like not just emotionally, but like,,,, all over, its really unsafe and actually dulls the affect of alcohol, from my own experience.

I think it would make a lot of sense for stolas to have mental issues in his situation, and I think it could of been used to show how different people react to being put in the same situation! **cough cough** Stella...

[bitkahuna]

Dáin was on his back, slowly being crushed under the weight of a dead troll. Twenty minutes ago, he had become aware of the spear in his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the ground. He gave up on trying to crawl away and focused on his breathing. It was getting harder and harder. He did his best to suppress the panic that threatened to take all his air, as something warm and wet leaked from various points of his body. The edges of his vision were blurred and his head pounded. He wouldn’t stay conscious for long.

There was a shouting voice, strained and desperate. He couldn’t understand what was said from under the troll. He tried to take a deep breath. It burned.

“Fucking move it!” That strained voice roared as the troll’s body began to shift. He could hear clearer now.

“’S fuckin King Dáin!”

The king let out a sob of relief when he realized what this meant. The fight was over. They won. He was being rescued.

What he didn’t expect was for some small hobbit to begin assessing him the moment the troll was off. The dwarves, many his own men, surrounded them but stayed back at the hobbit’s instruction.

“Dirt’s fine, blood’s deadly. Who has clean cloth?” The hobbit barked as he began ripping at the king’s tunic around his exposed shoulder, revealing the wound.

“I’ve some.” A melodic voice answered, some elven woman ripped part of her dress and offered the cloth. Dáin wondered if he was dead, because there was no way an elf just did that.

“What’s your name?” The hobbit’s voice turned kind and comforting, speaking as if they were good friends.

“Uh, Dáin.” He answered slowly, feeling as if he was on the edge of wake.

“Dáin, you’re bleeding a lot, but you’re gonna be alright. Okay? Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He tried, but winced.

“Where does it hurt?”

Dáin tapped at the armor on his stomach.

The hobbit’s quick hands undid it and pushed it aside, revealing another wound. Dáin couldn’t see it, but he saw the hobbit freeze as he took careful control of his reaction. It was bad.

“Dáin, this is gonna hurt pretty damn bad. You’ll have a fever and be exhausted the next few days. No matter what, never turn down water. Understand?”

Dáin nodded and winced once more, grimacing as the small hobbit tore the spear in half before the king was pulled into a seated position, the spear staying in the ground as what remained passed through him. Alcohol burned his wound before the hobbit wrapped his shoulder in a soft and stretchy fabric from the elf’s dress.

He was laid down again and the hobbit tended to the wound on his stomach, continuing to bark orders to others as they did their best to help others who were injured. The hobbit chugged half a carafe of water that he was handed before dumping the rest on the king’s stomach.

“‘Ave some fuckin respect! Tha’s King Dáin!”

The hobbit didn’t even turn to acknowledge the shout as he knelt down to better examine the wound, gently pushing a puss out. “No. This is Dáin, my patient, and he’ll get the same treatment as anyone else. Unless you’d rather take over?”

Silence.

“Whatever got you was poisoned. Not too badly, though. Tremors and stiffness ‘ll set in soon, you’ll have a fever by nightfall. Drink water and rest often. I’ll make another round at night. Keeping that puss out of you is a priority. You’re going to be okay, Dáin.”

From there, the next three days came to Dáin only in flashes. Most of them being the hobbit kneeling over him, tending to his wounds and whispering reassurances. In some lucid moments of his dreams he could still hear that kind voice. That kind voice that seemed to care so much. Whispering to him that he would be okay, he just had to keep breathing, he would be okay. The voice that comforted him and make him unafraid, regardless of how bad it got. He was okay.

-----

Yavanna, Guide Me chapter 16, I couldn't resist making Bilbo a medic in the aftermath of the Battle of the Five Armies