#but internally i'd be like WHAT the fuck is wrong with me that i'm the only person getting this treatment

[vaguely-concerned]

obsessed with what we're meant to read out of rook's expression when taash starts to walk away in this scene. it feels like such an emotionally dense response from them, especially since they've only known taash or anyone else involved in these scenes for all of five minutes

sorry about the abysmal gif quality one day I'll learn how to make gifs properly yet that day is not today. but hello. rook. rook hello. what is this about. what's up with that. what are you thinking about. (also taash seeing that reaction and turning around to clarify that it IS what they wanted before they leave because they're upset, not unkind. aww.)

also flashback to this set of expressions rook makes later on, after the fangscorcher fight, if rook tells taash they're actually a lot like them beneath it all. taash apparently just consistently brings out some very tender rueful rook faces I guess haha

[leatherbookmark]

Huh... just connected the dots between my soul-crushing shame and inability to imagine myself "carelessly having fun" without feeling a Heavy Judging Gaze That Thinks I'm Such A Funny Stupid Little Baby on myself and like... my parents finding it the funniest thing in the world, worth bringing up over and over despite my discomfort, that I used to bob funnily to the music as a toddler

[witherby]

If Punch line can trigger Jason easily what would happen is she ever met Harley?

Let's explore that!

Punchline: First Session

Masterlist is Here!

"I need your help."

Harley perks up, gasping, and rushes over to hug Batman tightly.

"I never thought this day would come," she says, jumping up and down and clutching a gauntleted hand. "Yes!! Yes I would love to be your therapist! We have so much to work on, starting with your parents. I really think you never internalized the event and haven't given yourself any space to grieve after —"

Her hands get squeezed gently, recapturing her attention. Blue eyes meet white lenses, and she furrows her brow.

"Okay, that's fine!" She sighs. "Can't say I'm not disappointed, but if one of your kiddos is looking for help instead, I'm still more than hap—"

"Not one of mine," Batman gently interrupts. "This is a...very delicate case, Harley."

"What's delicate mean in this context, Batsy?" She asks. "Delicate like schizophrenic? Delicate like CPTSD? Delicate like one wrong word away from explodin' and killin' everybody in a mile radius?"

"Delicate," he says, "like...this might hit too close to home for you."

"Me?"

Batman nods. Harley hums, equal parts curious and cautious.

"Any good psychologist worth her salt won't let a personal connection get in the way of providin' aid," she tells him. "If the patient isn't somebody I can help myself, I'll help ya find someone who can. When can I meet 'em?"

--

Your file lies scattered across the floor of the cave. Harley stares wide-eyed at your picture while she trembles on her hands and knees. Bruce, having changed out of his suit, kneels beside her with a steadying hand on her back.

"Oh," she whispers, "Brucie, she's so small for her age. And her age!! Sh-she's..."

Harley shakes her head. Bruce continues rubbing small circles in her back. When she leans against him for support, he holds her upright.

"How'd he keep a kid hidden for eight years?" She whispers, voice thick. "I know I fucked off to go play Happy Family with Ivy, but..."

"Nobody knew," he says. "Harleen, don't play the blame game, not for this. He kept her a secret for a reason; no one was supposed to know."

Harley lifts her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes before any tears can well up and fall. She takes deep, calming breaths, gathering her focus, then carefully collects the papers and stands with his help. She draws a pad and pen out of her pocket.

"I ain't promising anything," she says, looking up at Bruce. "This is...this is a whole different ball game, 'specially with that chucklefuck as the daddy. But I'm gonna try, okay?"

He nods. "Take your time. You were the first person I thought of, but don't force this if it's too much."

Harley gently squeezes his hand in acknowledgement. She walks past him and down the hall towards the containment cells, heels clicking quietly against the floor. She dug out her old coat with the name tag pinned to it and even threw her hair back in a low braid to appear as non-threatening as possible. The closer she gets to your door, the more the wonders if you would've been more comfortable if she showed up in her combat getup and mallet.

"Miss Punchline?" She calls, stopping in front of your cell. A cursory glance of your environment tells her immediately that you're under-stimulated. She writes that down. "I'm Doctor Quinzel. Do ya mind if I come in and chat with you a while?"

You cease all movement. You'd been sitting with your back to the door, gently stroking the head of the teddy bear Alfred gave you while muttering Mistress Mary's nursery rhyme, but when you hear her, you practically turn into a statue. Unless she actively stares at your back, Harley can't even see you draw breath.

"Miss Punchline?" She repeats calmly. "I won't come in if you don't want, but I'd really like to talk to you."

"...Popsy talks about you, sometimes," you say. Harley can't decipher your tone, but the words make her feel cold all over. "Says he used to miss his favorite gal."

"I'm sure he's mentioned me once or twice," she says, clearing her throat. "But I'm old news. Why don't you tell me about yourself? I'm gonna punch in the door code now, okay?"

You don't move. Harley unlocks your cell and walks inside, getting a better look at how sparsely decorated it is. The bed is clearly unused and half of the activities left here would cause an ordinary child to lose interest in about an hour without company. Overall, Bruce and his family are keeping you in a dreary room. If she accomplishes nothing else today, it's a guarantee that she's gonna get you better accommodations.

Harley walks around the room until she can see you face-to-face. Once she's in your periphery, your eyes snap to her and follow her every movement like a predator. She lowers herself to the ground, taking a seat a few feet away from you.

"There you are," she says kindly. Your smile is just as placid as the one in your photo. "I like ya make-up. The swirly pattern on your cheeks is very cute."

You don't respond, though your smile widens briefly. Highly receptive to praise. Your eyes don't leave hers, scanning, assessing, calculating. Harley doesn't feel like you're about to attack her, but you're clearly juggling something around in your mind.

"Bet you're thinking about mine," she continues. "Normally I like puttin' on the face paint, but sometimes my pores gotta breathe, you know? Well — the pores I got left." She glances down at her hands, paper white like the rest of her body from her dip in a vat of acid. With relief, Harley notes that your unpainted skin is a healthy color. Even though the bar's lower than Hell, it's nice to know that at least the Joker didn't immediately treat you to a dunk of your own.

"Punchline, I'm gonna be frank with you," she says.

"Nice to meetcha, Frank," you chirp, grinning mischievously. Harley lifts a brow.

"That was funny," she praises. "I know your, eh, Popsy, he places a lot of value on bein' funny. Used to say nothin' was worth the effort if it didn't amuse him at the end of the day. I'm sure you know that already."

"A giggle a day keeps the boredom away!" You say, pitch and cadence matching that of your father's. Harley knows that the grip on her pen is too tight. She breathes deep and forces herself to relax. "Ohh, hit a nerve, Frank?"

"I'm doin' just fine," she says. "What's boredom look like for you and Popsy?"

You separate your hands, fingers splayed wide, and make explosion noises.

"Do you get caught up in that explosion?"

Your smile doesn't change but your eyes get sharp. Harley makes a note.

"It's hard keepin' him entertained all day, every day," she says. "I would know. But I'm gonna tell ya somethin' your popsy probably never has."

Harley scoots a tad closer to you, reaching her hand out and gently taking one of yours. She can feel every bone in your hand and has to utilize all of her training to school her expression.

"It's not your job to make yer popsy happy. In fact, it's not your job to make any adult happy. Grown-ups shouldn't rely on their children for emotional regulation."

"Couldn't rely on you, either, could be?" You snicker. "Since you ran away."

"I left him because he was treatin' me like dirt," Harley says, a little more firm than necessary. "He's real good at drawin' you in, Punchline. Shows you an ounce of praise that makes you feel invincible, makes you wanna do anything he asks to get more of it."

Harley lets go of your hand to tuck a lock of emerald green hair behind your right ear, brushing gently against the shell. The edges are distorted, flatter than your left.

"He's also real good at draggin' you through the mud, makin' you feel like everything's your fault. Like you got no choice but to make it up t'him. Ya never wanna get on his bad side cause he really makes you feel it."

You tilt your head away from her hand, eyes dropping back down to the teddy bear Alfred gave you. You resume petting it, slightly faster and rougher than before. Harley makes a note.

"His anger's always more powerful than his joy, Punchline," she says, "but both of them are destructive. I wanna help ya break away from his cycle."

"No thanks," you say, "if I wanted to be a washed-up, third-rate party clown, I would!"

Harley feels a wave of pity for you. It's obvious you're just regurgitating your father's words back at her, and she's not surprised. Change doesn't happen overnight, especially not for you.

There's so much work to do, but Harley's not afraid. You may look and behave similarly to the Joker, but you're young and still impressionable and already starting to pull away from him without even realizing it.

"I can tell yer getting upset, and that's the last thing I want," she says, climbing to her feet, "so I think this is a good stopping point for today. But I'd really like to see you again. Would you be alright with that?"

You blow a raspberry at her, then cackle. Harley exhales sharply through her nose, giving you a fond smile, and pats your head as she steps past you and opens the cell door.

She can do this. She will do this. For you.

But, first thing's first.

"Brucie, you're kidding me with the furnishings! How's the richest man on the planet gonna put a kid in such a shitty room!? Don't look at me like that, mister. You brought me in t'do a job and I'm gonna do it right!!"

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 16!

well it's been a wild week... i just want to quickly point out that i'm not a major angst reader (not without a happy ending, at least) and when i'm searching for fics, one of the very first filter options i click is the one to exclude mcd fics, so. i'm sure there's tons of beautiful, beautiful post-8x15 fics being written, but you probably won't find them on my rec lists.

please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some contain spoilers for season 8. and if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

between something and nothing | taegyungie | 11.8k | E

It all begins with a heated conversation: “What, you want me to fuck you in your sleep?” this both has some truly beautiful prose and is also mindblowingly hot. if you're looking for freak4freak explicit buddie, you can't really go wrong with this author's fics tbh and i'm so here for it!!

can we go home? | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 1.8k | GA

The one where Eddie and Christopher figure out why everything in El Paso feels wrong and fix it. i love how eddie is written here!! this is soft and sweet <3 it's partially set during golden hour and it feels like such a golden hour of a fic, if that makes sense? just so good!!

coming right back home to you | justhockey | 7k | T

And this is good, it’s great, it’s more than Buck ever imagined he would find for himself. More than he ever thought he would be trusted with. But there’s that part of him that lurks just beneath his ribcage - the selfish, greedy part - that longs for more than this. For more than just a few evenings a week, hanging out like friends do, pretending like it doesn’t break his heart to love Eddie in a way that Eddie could never love him back. such a lovely one <3 i love how this one captures how buck sees eddie and the found family is so good!!

grown with care | coldbam/@coldbam | 8.1k | E

Buck and Christopher start a garden. Eddie is in love. this fic genuinely makes me want to grow a garden (i have a massive black thumb and zero garden space so this will not work lmao) but like that goes to show just how good this is. the best pieces of writing are always inspirational, i think, and this is definitely that <3

i want your flowers like babies want god's love | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 17.5k | E

In Texas, after a setback with Chris and his parents, Eddie is forced to confront his inner child. Literally. i love how this captures both eddies!! and their interactions were the best, as was buck with little eddie. so lovely <3

if i stay here i'll never leave | napricot | 5.2k | E

Buck looks after Eddie, after the events of "Eddie Begins". i have such a soft spot for post-eddie begins fics <3 this is soft and tender and just so incredibly beautiful!!

i'm only honest when it rains | 061828 | 3.9k | T

the four days following the well collapse. this is such a beautiful look at eddie's mindset during and after the well collapse!! i love how he's written in this one <3

international let's hug day | KejfeBlintz/@kejfeblintz | 1.3k | GA

Eddie was yawning his way through fastening his uniform shirt when the door was flung open. Before he even really registered someone else’s presence, a body flung itself into his back and two strong arms clamped around him, squeezing tight. this is the kind of fic that immediately makes me want, like, ten more that are almost exactly the same, that's how much it hit the spot <3 so fluffly, so good!!

keeping score | arcanaphora | 23.2k | M

After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia. cruise ship trivia fake dating?? a string of words i never thought i'd put together but that delights me so very much. this is beautiful and fun and such a good time!!

on my last strength against you | markofalover/@markofalover | 9.1k | E

Eddie could just use his words, but where’s the fun in that? honestly yes eddie this is much more fun!! why do that when you could just wear a crop top instead? this is fun and hot and just <3 also the bird feeder!!

risotto | mandolare/@rainscenes | 2.5k | T

Eddie listens to the music coming in from the living room; to the sounds of Buck washing up, the rustling of clothes, the tell-tale spritz of cologne, the mere anticipation of it all making Eddie actually salivate. He is hungry, but more than that he almost doesn’t care to eat the food, not right now, only really looking forward to watching Buck take the first bite; the way he closes his eyes every single time as if he’s eating at a three-star restaurant, not Eddie’s— their— dining table. this is the most wonderful read!! i love when eddie cooks in fics and this whole setup is so, so good <3

room for two | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 3.3k | E

“Dude, you’re not sleeping on the couch, you pay half the rent,” Eddie pushes Buck into the bedroom when he walks out of the bathroom on the third night of Buck’s 4 off. He’s almost dreading Eddie coming back to work next shift, then he’ll have no reprieve. “I promise I don’t bite — not unless you ask nicely.” this is so soft and sweet and also hot and also so beautifully written <3 so good!!

slide into home base | sibylsleaves/@jeeyunspetrat | 5.1k | E

Eddie's the star pitcher of the 118's intramural softball team. Buck is the assistant coach who has a few pointers for him. ohh my god the vision that is this fic!! so hot, so good, so very buddie <3

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[minhosimthings]

Prideful

Synopsis: You never thought that Lee Heeseung, the man who had proven you wrong in the subject you were best at, would be fucking you on the classroom floor, but here you were.

Pairings: Heeseung × fem!reader, sort of enemies hate sex, includes Sunoo from Enha, and Soojin

Warnings: Smut with plot in the beginning, MINORS DNI, fluffy in the beginning, mention of food, degradation, praise, fingering, oral (f receiving), sex on the floor, unprotected sex (not for you bubs), rough sex, overstimulation, swearing, Heeseung calls reader princess and doll, open ending my babies have fun with that

A/N: idea came into my brain and I thought I'd forget about it and just added it to my wip list but then I was like NOPE IMMA WRITE THIS SHIT. So this makes my third smut for Heeseung (idk why I'm writing only smut for him) enjoy it y'all

Jane Austen once wrote an entire fanfic about enemies to lovers, slow burn, and she thought no one would notice. Well almost no one. Nothing ever gets out of the eyes and pens of literature majors does it? Especially not out of hardcore Jane Austen fans like yourself.

You must have analysed that godforsaken piece of literature atleast a thousand times since you recieved it as a gift for your birthday. And every single time, you failed to understand how such a love could be possible. I mean come on, a man and woman who hate each other, falling in love with each other? Either Jane Austen must have been a reincarnation of Aphrodite, or a madwoman who still kept faith in love.

Your heart nearly exploded when your professor had assigned a full fledged essay-presentation, costing half your grade on Pride and Prejudice. "Explore your opinion!" She had called out cheerfully, "Tell me what your heart truly feels about this beautiful piece and I'll give you a full half grade and no assignments for the rest of the semester." The class gasped in excitement at her words as you pretended to be interested. Internally, you were groaning. Wasting half of your night to make a presentation about a book you hold no love for? The universe really was against you. You picked your books up dejectedly and walked towards the entrance, shoulders hunched and music at a higher level of noise than it should have been at.

"Oh shit!" You cursed, dropping your books at the sudden interruption. A flurry of blue wool flooded in your face, as you leaned down quickly to pick up your fallen books and phone. "I'm so sorry." You apologised not looking up at whoever you crashed into. "It's alright." A voice responded back, and you looked up to see him. Lee Heeseung. You had seen him a few times in class, heard him actually. With his pristine glasses, and his woolen sweaters, he was the definition of a movie nerd. He was actually smart, you had to admit, always quick to respond to the questions that you had no idea about. Best in the class after you, according to your professor. Although his choice of literature slightly weirded you out. You often spotted him sprawled out under a tree, holding Pride and Prejudice to his nose, deeply engrossed in taking in each word.

"Is that The Neighborhood you're listening to?" Heeseung asked, as he handed you your phone, which he had picked up before you had the chance to. "Do you have an ear for them?" You asked, taking the phone from him. His hands felt soft, like the first snow when you were eight. Heeseung shook his and chuckled. "I'm more of a Arctic Monkeys person." You smiled awkwardly and shuffled your feet. "To each his own then."

"Macbeth." Heeseung said, before you could escape from the conversation. "I'm sorry?" You questioned, confused at his sudden outburst. "That line's from Macbeth." Heeseung sent another smile your way, pushing his glasses up from his nose, "Polonius says it, 'To each his own'." You felt a pang of jealousy hit your chest. You didn't know where that line was from. Of course, what normal person would know the origin of a common idiom?

"Cool." Your laugh was not without a tint of awkwardness. "Well-" Heeseung shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Bye then." "Bye." You bid each other goodbye and rushed off in opposite directions, not wanting to be stuck in another neverending loop of conversation.

"Don't tell me you actually talked with The Lee Heeseung." Your roommate Soojin laughed, accidentally smearing some turquoise nail polish onto your thigh. You quickly wiped it off with a tissue before frowning at Soojin. "It's not a big deal." You scoffed, having another slice of pizza, "I mean he's just a guy. Kinda nerdy actually"

Soojin burst out laughing again, this time shutting her nail polish close. She gasped for air as she pulled out her phone and showed you a picture of a what looked like a frat party. "Girl-" she got up from her leaning position, "Nerdy is the worst way to describe Lee Heeseung. I'm telling you-" she picked up the last slice of pizza, "-he's the playboy representative of this college."

"Oh come on." You scoffed again, getting up to go to the bathroom, "Stop joking around." Soojin shrugged her shoulders as you disappeared into the bathroom. "Whatever you say."

The next day, you strolled into your favourite cafe with your laptop, headphones, a copy of Pride and Prejudice, money in your pocket, a sketchbook, and a positive mindset. Always need one to write an essay right? You were thankful that it wasn't raining today like it had been for the past few weeks.

The cafe was mostly empty, with a few medical students drinking coffee to their death, as they always did. You walked up to the counter, where you saw your friend Sunoo, working his shift.

"Y/N hey!" He flashed his bright smile at you, putting down the glass he had been cleaning. "Hey sun." You clapped back, leaning in front of the counter, "The usual please." Sunoo nodded his head and started to prepare your drink. "So I've heard something." He put on his mischievous smile, one that he often wore when he had gossip on his fingers. "Please tell me it's not about that girl from Chem again." You sighed, as he put a coffee cup down in front of you. "No it's about you dumbass." Sunoo scoffed, taking the money you handed him, "I heard you bumped into Lee Heeseung." You let out a groan at his words, and quickly grabbed your drink, going off to sit in the corner. "Yah take your change!" Sunoo shouted after you to which you shouted back, "Keep it! Your broke ass needs it anyway!"

You didn't get the chance to see Sunoo giving you the stink eye, as you plopped down on the comfortable couch and opened up your laptop. You had prepared a few opening lines the night before, since you had learnt that doing half of an assignment on the day of the announcement is better than starting the next day. Whoever wrote that theory needs to clarify it to you, but hey never pass up a good study tip right?

Immersed by the clacking of the keyboard keys and the pretty syllables decorating your page, you were completely absent from the world around you. Until, you heard a familiar voice, which broke you out of your hypoxia.

Heeseung.

What was he doing here?, You thought, not realising that you were basically staring at him. He was dressed in full black today, a leather jacket adorning his broad shoulders. A single earing dangled from his right ear. He still had his glasses on, which were fogged up completely, courtesy to the weather outside. Chatting away sonderly to Sunoo, as Sunoo prepared his drink in a way familiar to you, Heeseung caught your eye. He waved joyfully to you, akin to a child waving to their best friend. You waved back, not aware of the face you were currently making.

"Hey!" Heeseung said, sitting down in the chair next to you, with his drink in hand, "Working up on the Pride and Prejudice thing?" There were atleast a million other seats empty in the cafe. Why did he have to sit next to you? You didn't really realise how handsome he was, until he was sitting face to face with you. The mere sunlight coming in from the windows seemed to illuminate his face well. "Oh yeah I am." You replied, shooting him a smile, "Same thing?" You asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. Heeseung smiled jovially at you and propped his laptop open. "Yep." He replied and glued his eyes to the screen as you went back to your own work. "The Neighborhood again?" He raised an eyebrow, peeking at your open Spotify. You smiled gently and replied, "Arctic Monkeys?" As if ticking a correct answer, Heeseung laughed and showed you his phone where 'Arabella' was playing. A pretty album cover, you thought, subtle and sleek. "To each his own then?" Heeseung said. You nodded and smiled in response, before dropping your head back down to your laptop.

An hour must have passed like this, both of you hypnotised in writing and editing, and downing the refills of coffee Sunoo was providing you with. You stole tiny glances at Heeseung from time to time. Concentration was a good face on him, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands typing away furiously at the keyboard. He didn't talk to you at all, except for the initial hey and hello. But something about the way he spoke to you in the beginning, about the way he asked if you had a pen, and about the way he said 'Hey you have an eyelash on your nose' made your stomach erupt into butterflies.

Heeseung left before you did and before leaving he had extended a hand out to you. "May the best essay win." He spoke, shaking your hand and showing you his smile. God he never stopped smiling did he? His hand was soft, as was his grip on yours. It felt like how your father would hold your hand when you were little on the crosswalk.

"Girl just ask him out." Sunoo called after you as you were about to leave, "The tension between both of you back there was almost poetic." Even though you laughed at Sunoo's quip, and denied the offer, a part of your mind lingered on Sunoo's words and the way Heeseung spoke to you that afternoon.

The days leading upto the hour of the presentation went fast. Too fast almost. Your mind went over your short conversation with Heeseung atleast a million times, sometimes distracting you from typing. You didn't know where all the red bull cans littered across your room came from, but you remember where you threw every single one of them and why. The presentation was perfect. It must have been checked by your eyes atleast a hundred times. Finally, a time was coming when you would be able to express your true feeling about it. Despise and Trouble ran through your veins as you walked up to the board as your professor called on you to present. The class seemed to hold a tight breath to themselves. Everyone knew you, teacher's pet, best at English, known for using the most difficult metaphores in her essays yet having a straightforward point.

"Shall I begin?" You asked your professor who gave a curt nod and leaned back in her chair, an expectant smile plastered on her face. You returned the smile and turned to your classmates, who seemed most interested in your essay.

"Well to begin with, as one does-" humor was always the best way to start off speeches, which was shown by the subtle laughter of the students, "-I would like to say that Pride and Prejudice may be one of the most despised books I have sitting in my bookcase." You heard gasps around the room as everyone started murmerring. Your professor leaned forward in her chair, her mouth pressed tightly to form a thin line. That's good, you thought, a good way to break into their corneas.

"While most people would disagree with me upon this apparent piece of art, I truly believe that this sort of a romance is highly impossible. And no-dont tell me that this is fiction and in the fictious worlds you can quote unquote 'do whatever you want'." The audience held their breaths back as you continued with your rant. Your professor was watching it all with a smile on her face, knowing that she couldn't disagree with you. After all, you had to present your own opinions no matter how opposite they were to everyone else's.

"Well-" you professor stood up from her chair, as you finished your presentation. It had been a 25 minute rant about the book and by now everyone seemed to be meekly looking at their own essays. "That was brilliant Y/N. Truly brilliant." You professor clapped you on the back, "I must say, you have a flair for arguing in a way no one can find counter-attacks. I wonder why you did not choose law as your major?"

"Because there is another argument to be discussed here."

A cold voice rang through the room, as you were about to laugh at the professor's quip. You spun around on your shoes to face the culprit.

Lee Heeseung.

"Heeseung!" Your professor delightfully responded clapping her hands together, "Well why don't you tell us your opinion then? And we'll see if Y/N can fire back." She sat in her chair again, looking positively delighted at the forthcoming, "A battle of the best wits perhaps!"

Heeseung smiled widely and stepped forward to where you were sitting, plopping down on the opposite chair. Your professor had always kept two chairs facing each other in front of her class, for debates, her reason sounded. And now, as you sat in front of Heeseung and his stupidly handsome smirk, you swore you were going to bring him down.

"First of firsts-" Heeseung began, as everyone's attention caught on you. "-your opinion is speaking from a highly biased perspective." "How so?" You fired back, before he could even breathe, "I had already stated in the beginning, about how this cannot be on a biased perspective, since fiction based in actual words cannot be this animated." Heeseung smiled again, which threw you off track a bit. God he's handsome, you thought, too handsome....

"Of course but must I remind you, that this book was perhaps the first out of many to start with the trope of enemies to lovers?" Why were his eyes like galaxies?, "Jane Austen invented an entire trope, which still remains a genius scan of literature to this day. How could you say it's too animated?"

"Yes but-"

"Furthermore-" Heeseung continued, not giving you the chance to breathe, "inventing new tropes does not break this 'law of literature' as you say. Since there was no law of literature to begin with. So please Miss Y/N-" he leaned forward, looking at you with dangerous eyes, "-don't you dare say that Pride and Prejudice is a worthless piece of literature just because it does not have proof of poetry."

The class let out a breath as you sat frozen in your seat. Someone actually breaking your argument was a first for you.

God, his hair. His pretty curly hair.

You didn't realise how long you'd been staring at Heeseung with widened eyes until your professor clapped her hands together again.

"Well then!" She said cheerfully, effectively breaking you out of your stupor, "I believe this goes for grading both of you an A+. Half of your grade is filled you two! Congratulations!" The class broke out into applause as you thanked her and awkwardly shook hands with Heeseung as the bell rang loudly. "Well class I'll be seeing you next time!" Your professor announced, as everyone started filing out. "Oh Y/N, Heeseung a moment please?"

You stopped your feet from stepping out the door and immediately spun around, marching off towards your professor, seeing Heeseung doing the same. "Yes Professor Kim?" Heeseung responded with those stupid puppy eyes of his before you could. Professor Kim smiled gently at both of you, before pulling out her tablet.

"I need a bit of help from both of you. It'll be sort of a favour to you too." She handed you the tablet, which had a sort of letter open on it. Heeseung leaned from behind you, and put his chin on your shoulder, making your stomach feel clammy. He smelled good too, you thought, like fresh paper.

"An event is being hosted by our Dean for all majors." Professor Kim smiled, "Sort of a career booster you could say. We were instructed to pick two students from our classes to have the assignment of checking essays, and documentations and whatnot pertaining to their majors."

"And you chose to pick us Ma'am? I'm flattered." Heeseung chuckled, as Professor Kim laughed to his quip. "Well you two are my best students." She drawled, "So the assignment I'm giving you is-" she pulled out a huge stack of papers from beneath her desk. It shocked you how quickly they appeared out of nowhere, like magic. "-these are all essays collected by last year's class. I want you to go through them, give them a good critic, and grade them according to you. You will personally grade each one, taking each other's help of course,since it's a group project. And it will lend you a helping hand since you'll be getting a certificate which you can use to get into any company you'd like!"

You and Heeseung glanced at each other and we're relieved to see the same excited expression face back at them. This was a rare opportunity, a diamond of the first water you'd say. And you had to grab it, even If that meant it was with a person you despised with your entire being.

"I'll do it Professor!" You replied positively to which Heeseung also nodded frantically as if to say the same thing. "Great!" Professor Kim clapped her hands together again, "Oh and one rule is you two have to work together in this classroom. Since the Dean wants to provide you with an opportunity to see how workplace relationships doon out."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you heard her words. You, working with Heeseung in an empty classroom? You would rather have praised Pride and Prejudice.

"Here, the keys." Professor Kim handed you and Heeseung a pair of keys, "You can work in the evening if you want. But make sure to complete it as soon as you can alright? Oh and you can skip classes if you want to do this first, since the Dean is prioritising this before anything else." You nodded in response to her instructions and bowed her goodbye as you and Heeseung walked out.

"So-" Heeseung stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You wanna work on this shit tonight?" "Unless you have any other appointments, sure we can work on it tonight." You responded, coldly, not looking at him in the eye. "Alright then." Heeseung scoffed, "Meet you here at 8?" "Alright." The end of your conversation came a little too fast, you thought, but you couldn't stand looking into his pretty little eyes and talking to him, as if he didn't just embarrass you infront of your entire class a few minutes ago. "Y/N wait!" Heeseung called, running up to you, as you were about to exit the building. "What?" You spun around to face him. "Shouldn't we exchange numbers first?" Heeseung handed you his phone, which had his contact list open. "Why? So you can take me out on a date later?" You shot at him. A smirk tugged on the corner of Heeseung lips, but he resisted, not wanting to anger you more. You looked cute when you were angry in his opinion. "No. Maybe incase you were murdered by someone on the way here, I can call you and scold you on why tardiness is a childish thing to do." Heeseung joked. You smiled sarcastically at him as you handed him his phone back, having typed in your number. "Eight o'clock princess don't you forget now."

Tick tock tick. The clock's quiet sons echoed through the empty class. 'Don't forget.' you scoffed, 'And he's the one who's late.' The time on your watch sounded 8:30 and yet Heeseung wasn't here. You had given up waiting for him, and started on the assignment yourself, already finishing two of the army of papers. You were a hard critic, and it clearly showed in the way you were seeping your eyes through the ink.

"Soojin he's late! I can't come back now!" Your roommate had called you, in the midst of your third paper, complaining about a cockroach in the room. "Just call your boyfriend, and don't be such a pussy it won't hurt you." You scoffed at Soojin, whose scared whimpers were heard clearly through the phone.

"How's the checking going?" Soojin asked, having seemingly calmed down. You groaned and leaned back in your chair, wincing at the crack of your backbone. Your back must have become stiff from the amount of time you had been sitting in that chair. You felt pity for your professors for the first time, having finally been in their shoes.

"Heeseung's not here yet and I'm literally so fed up right now." You complained to Soojin, "That handsome bastard told me not to be late, and now look where I am! Asshole seriously." "He'll turn up, cool down Y/N." Soojin soothed you. You heard a sound of crashing in the background and stifled a laugh, assuming that Soojin must have miraculously jumped from one bed to the other. "I told you he's a playboy." Soojin panted through the phone, "Maybe he's busy fucking some poor girl in his frat house." You rolled your eyes at her statement.

"Please." You scoffed, "He couldn't fuck a girl if he wanted to, with the tiny ass cock he has." Soojin let out a raucous laugh from the other side of the phone. "How the fuck do you know he has a tiny cock?" She chuckled. "Intuition baby." You responded, "And my intuition is never wrong."

"Like how it was on the day of our debate?"

A familiar voice again. But this time, the warmth in it wasn't present. You whipped your head around to the door, where Heeseung stood, leaning against the door and smirking. "Soojin I'll call you back." You cut the call, before Soojin could respond.

"Hey." You called out to Heeseung. "Hey." Heeseung shot back, sitting down on the chair in front of you, spreading his legs wide. An involuntary gulp went through your throat. "What were you saying princess?" He leaned forward, his shirt dropping down slightly, "I have a tiny what now?" The dim lighting of the room, made his eyes look dark, and the leather of his black jacket, gleam more. "I- I wasn't saying anything Heeseung." You responded, turning your chair back to the desk, warmth coming up on your cheeks. Heeseung cocked his head to the side and smirked at your flustered state.

"Really princess?" He smirked, edging closer to you. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils again. His glasses dropped on his nose, and he hadn't even bother to push them back up. "Heeseung just get to work." You sternly responded, trying to keep your cool. How could you though? When he was so close to you, lips almost touching your ear. "For you information-" Heeseung spoke, turning your attention away from the paper you were working on, "-I had a friend who needed a lift to his dorm, so I ran a little late. But you couldn't wait for me could you princess?" He smirked, laying his hand on top of yours, "Just couldn't wait to critique all those papers like the good girl you are." "He-Heeseung." "Shh don't." Heeseung shushed you, "You want to see how tiny of a cock I really have then hmm?"

"Heeseung we shouldn't." You hesitated, feeling your legs warm up. "No one's gonna know, as long as you don't make a noise alright?" He kissed your neck gently, turning your figure to his, still sitting in the chair. "Oh princess, already wet for me?" He chuckled, toying with the button of your shirt. "Heeseung-" you moaned out, quickly unbuttoning your shirt, as Heeseung took off his jacket and threw it on the desk. You pulled back slightly as your mind came to its proper senses. "Where are you going doll?" Heeseung questioned, hands resting on your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, "Don't worry princess, no one's gonna know."

Heeseung brings his lips down to yours in an instant, wasting no time. You gasp at his sudden actions and he takes advantage of that by entering his tongue into your mouth. You grab at his shoulders while he cups your jaw with both of his hands. Your hands reach his hair, softly tugging at the root and you hear him whine. Heeseung sucks on your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and pulling it back to look at you. You look up at him and he takes your face in his hands.

“You wanna see my cock baby?” Heeseung asks in a teasing tone as he looks down at you. You could feel the throb in his pants press against your legs as you whimper. “Hee please.” You whine, squirming as he places a kiss between your breasts. Heeseung runs his hands up and down the sides of your body. If he was going to fuck you on the classroom floor right there and then, you were going to let him.

“Oh, you're feeling extra polite today huh? Please, Heeseung.” Heeseung mocks you with a tiny laugh. You groan in embarrassment and hide your face with your hands. Heeseung just lets out another laugh and wraps his hands around your wrists, prying them away from your face. He transfers both of your wrists to one hand, holding them over your head as he uses his other hand to trail his fingers down your body.

“Don’t hide your pretty face now, princess.” Heeseung says nonchalantly as he dips a hand inside your leggings and panties to feel your dripping cunt. His glasses were beginning to fog up slightly as he whipped them off of his face, setting them down on the desk. You clench around nothing when you feel his middle finger dip into your wetness and bring it up to your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. You moan softly as Heeseung teases your clit, never taking his eyes off of your face.

Heeseung begins to rub your clit faster, and you buck your hips up into his fingers. You hear him laugh at your eagerness and he presses soft kisses into your neck. Heeseung takes his fingers off of your clit and he snaps the waistband of your trousers against your pelvis.

“Dirty girl. Never thought you'd be like this.” Heeseung says with a smirk and you dumbly nod your head. The sounds of your heavy breathing and your pussy squelching around his fingers make your legs begin to shake.

Heeseung spits on your cunt to lubricate it even more, and that's what makes you come undone. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, sucking them in as he fingers you through your orgasm.

Heeseung takes his time kissing down your body, letting your need and desperation build by the second. He tugs one nipple and then the other into his mouth, suckling at the perky nubs and massaging your areola between his lips. Your hips are trembling with anticipation, the space between your legs aching to feel Heeseung's kiss.

Stars hover over you, or at least, that’s how it feels. Your eyes are closed, awareness cut off to the world around you except the place Heeseung's face is buried. He devours your cunt like a man starved, swallowing you whole. Heeseung doesn’t come up for air; he doesn’t need to, because all he breathes is you. Your back is arched and arms stretched forward, fingers clutching Heeseung’s hair in fistfuls.

Your thighs are shaking, reflexively clamping around Heeseung's’s face. He keeps forcing them open, demanding full access to your cunt, even as you buck and claw and convulse. Your mouth hangs open in a stupor; a thin line of drool trickles down your cheek and connects to the cold floor beneath you.

Heeseung laps at your slit like he’s never tasted you before, like he never will again. His tongue pads between your lips, upward strokes that end with the tip of his tongue flicking your clit with a firm intensity that has you reeling. Tugging at his hair, trying not to scream his name incoherently, you ride out the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears burn the corners of your eyes, stars bursting in the black sky of your vision. Heeseung doesn’t stop licking your cunt till you release his hair.

“M’gonna fuck you now, okay?” Heeseung says sweetly and you nod your head. He runs his hard cock through your folds, and he catches your clit, making you jerk a little. Heeseung slowly begins to push himself into you and you throw your head back against the hard material of the desk.

“Fuck, knew you’d be tight when I felt you around my fingers.” Heeseung grits out, and he continues to push himself into you until he bottoms out. He starts to move at a slow pace, and he whines when you beg him to move faster. “Fucking whore. Bet you think about me fucking you in class don't you?” Heeseung spits out as he pushes himself harder and deeper into your sloppy cunt. You moan at his words, and you try to reply but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You cry out, and you clench around Heeseung's fat cock.

“ Cum for me princess.” Heeseung. moans out, fucking into you so deep, a ring of your cum and his has formed at the base of his cock. You run your fingers through his hair, harshly tugging on it as you come undone at his expense. Heeseung buries his face into your neck as he cums, sucking at your pulse point. You feel his cum shoot into you and it only prolongs your own orgasm.

After a couple minutes of you two catching your breath, Heeseung takes his face out of your neck and plops down in the chair, pulling you onto his lap. You sit there, dazed for a few seconds, burrowing your head in his chest, his heartbeat reminding you where you were.

"Well that was a whirlwind of emotions." He says at last, when you start to stir from your hypnosis, "You good doll?" You nod slightly and feel Heeseung's arms wrap around you, putting you safely down on the chair, as he put his clothes back on, slowly picking up yours as well.

"Heeseung the assignments." You panic, as he puts your shirt back on you. "It's alright princess." He coos at you, wrapping an arm around your waist, "We can do that in the morning. Let's get you home." He guides you slowly out the door. "So-" he smirks, locking the classroom with his key "Same time, same place tomorrow?"

[mourn-and-watch]

in all seriousness, dragon age being almost officially dead to me is, like, whatever. i'm used to hanging out in dead fandoms because i'm usually extremely late to the party so i think i'll manage. i was excited for veilguard but even if it was bad bad for me (which it wasn't. i have my problems with it but they didn't ruin the franchise for me) i would also manage because dragon age to me always was extremely flawed but had an enormous potential for fan content. at some point i started to treat it like my favourite fantasy playground where i can smash pre-existing barbie dolls with the ones i made myself. all my barbie dolls are in place and i still can do whatever i want (and i plan to continue to do so) and, i guess, i shouldn't be upset.

i am upset, however. for all the devs affected by laid-offs, but especially the writers. these people created dragon age as we know it, and it's been a messy series in every aspect, including the writing, it's been insensitive at times, at times dumb and undercooked, but there was always an immense amount of potential that's been inspiring fans for years, and also a feeling that all, or at least the most of it was created with genuine passion. and realizing that there is no one left from the team that made dragon age what it is, every installment of it, is just. genuinely sad. and it's not a theseus ship dilemma, because it's not like they were slowly replaced one by one. they were just fired. this ship is destined to sink, it's falling apart in front of our eyes because neither ea nor bioware cares about writing. not many companies do nowadays, to be honest. and it's kinda devastating. grifters will celebrate that like a "downfall of woke slop", but they'll get only more ai slop instead, lol, because good writing doesn't guarantee good sells. best selling games of 2024 are shooters and sports games. and elden ring which is a nice exception, but an exception nevertheless.

i don't think mass effect will save bioware at this point. even if it's an absolute banger it still has to meet ea's expectations. which are unrealistic, to say the least. also people who wrote characters like mordin, tali, legion, thane, garrus and liara are all gone. either they left themselves or were laid off. like, if you want "old bioware magic" to return, there is none. the same people who wrote your favourite characters and storylines in da/me were also working on veilguard. i may be wrong, but somehow i think they didn't all lose their ability to write here because they went woke or whatever. i think the inconsistent quality of datv writing that can only be described as 'we're so back/it's so over' pic is a consequence of multiple rewrites, constant director changes and shitty decisions, both internal and coming from bioware/ea higher-ups. i also may be wrong, but it wouldn't be such a big problem if writing wasn't at the bottom of priority list.

if i recall correctly, when gaider left willingly, he highlighted that bioware didn't treat its writers seriously at that point. and i'd say that tracks. like, from countless veilguard rewrites and scrapped ideas to lay-offs of every single studio veteran.

idk what else there is to say. i'll cheer for every studio that value its writers and i hope all ex-bioware devs will be able to do something new and exciting. i also doubt bioware is the last studio that will experience such a decline in the years to come. the narrative of this shitshow will also be twisted into 'go woke go broke' and it already slightly draws me insane. fuck ea fuck bioware fuck grifters. also i beg everyone to start appreciating writing as a craft because otherwise it's only going to get worse!

[cc-kote]

Nine people I'd like to get to know better

WOOPS I did not have time to do this for the past like, week but I've been wanting to bc I love silly little memes like this. Tytyty @ithillia for the tag :3

Last song: All Our Bruised Bodies And The Whole Heart Shrinks by La Dispute (It makes me think about Fives and it hurts so fucking much) 

Favorite colour: GREEN!! and also blue 

Last movie/TV Show: TCW of course, I had a Bad Autism Time™️ and my gf put on the fucking Umbara Arc to calm me down. It worked like a charm what the fuck is wrong w me lmfaooo. 

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: All of the above but spice hurts me. I do it anyway tho, mama raised a little bitch but she didn't raise a quitter lmfaoo. 

Relationship status: So fuckin down bad for my girlfriend hhh 

Last thing you googled: fuckjgn AO3 LMAOOO 

Current obsession: clonesclonesclonesclones forever. I haven't had a special interest/hyperfixation this deep since I was like 12-14 so like this is one of the most important things in my life tbh. Specifically like thinking about how their culture would work, and their solidarity, internal conflicts, shared trauma and how that would relate to those things. Their ideas about personal and cultural identity and how that would vary individually. Things like how their upbringing must have felt, how that affected them and who they became later in life, the things they're taught vs what they truly come to believe once they're out on the field, the psychological effects of O66 on the clones who survived and the devastating impact it must have had- Bro stop me or I'll keep going forever like. I'm in deep and tbh? I wouldn't change it for the world. 

NPT: LMFAO bold of this title to assume that I know 9 people on this site, or am brave enough to tag ppl I haven't talked to often fhsjdmksmf SO if you see this consider yourself tagged. Yes, You. idc if we've never talked It's probably bc I'm too baby, so (unless u don't feel like it) do it 👀 also @mamuzzy and @whatislifewithoutangst if y'all haven't already and wanna do this here u go! 

[doubleddenden]

Jason DeMarco (main guy for Toonami and the producer for the Toonami original animes, including Uzumaki)'s piece on the sudden drop of quality

From this language, it seems like 3 and 4 will probably not fair much better. It also sounds as if someone or some people screwed them over- naturally there's probably some NDAs at play that prevent any direct finger pointing, but it could be anywhere from a studio, a fuck up from an intern or employee, a greedy exec, DeMarco himself- it's likely we'll never know the full picture of what went wrong, at least not until the nda runs it's course, and even then we may never know.

It certainly does suck that something as important as this that people have been looking forward to for years was treated this way, god knows covid didn't help matters. Poor Junji Ito is just cursed to have bad adaptations I guess.

There's a lot of outrage that can be had about this, but a friend of mine made me realize that it was either they show us what they had or risk it becoming lost media and it NEVER see the light of day. Remember the Coyote Vs Acme movie that got finished and completely trashed because one worthless asshole up top decided the hard work and passion of many workers making the film was worth less than a legally questionable tax deduction? Several over movies like that too. Lots of media just GONE that we won't ever have access to because 1 person made a decision for the rest of us. That doesn't sit right with me, high or low quality of the product aside.

It's not ideal, but these are the cards dealt. In that regard, I can kind of appreciate the effort to release it anyway. I'll always be bitter at whoever fucked it over, and if its a case of executive meddling or embezzling then i hope they get locked up, but I think I'd rather see the end result than have it all tossed in a vault to never be seen again.

I for SURE would rather stupid executives leave art alone until it's fully fucking baked, but they won't. As an adult, you learn to try and make the best of bad situations, and that's all I'm gonna do here.

In any case this is certainly an interesting real-world incident to follow further development on.

[syluscrows]

LNDS boys reacting to Cupcakke songs

I genuinely love cupcakke so much she is so creative 🫶🏻🩷 my favourite lyrics of hers are "But my cum is Caucasian"

But.. how would the LNDS boys react to her songs??? 😏

SUGGESTIVE - SYLUS, ZAYNE, XAVIER

Mdni

Xavier - Backstage Passes

- "You want me to listen to a song..?" "I think you'll like it Xav!" (you were wrong)

- At first I think he would be internally jamming to be honest. But..

- "O-oh..." Is his only response when she sings "Got my asshole squinting on his dick like it might fuck around and get glasses"

- I think he would get super embarrassed.. the reddest you've ever seen his cheeks 😭

- "I didn't expect this.." once the gagging noises start

- Once you explain it to him a bit he does think it's kinda funny.

- I'm sorry, but I really do think he would get hard? He doesn't know what to think!

Zayne - CPR

-Man is frowning from the start...

- It just doesn't seem like his kind of thing?

- But the fact she's slurping and moaning from the start, he is already SILENT..

- He is so tense and unmoving he might as well be a piece of furniture

- "I save dick by giving it CPR" "But- that's not how cpr-" "shut up nerd"

- He wouldn't laugh, he would look DEFEATED

- "Oh my God Zayne are you SWEATING?" "Yes..."

- If you measured his heart rate you wouldn't hear a fucking thing he's in shock.

- "Okay, I get it now.." "I'm not turning it off."

- As it ends he's just.. frozen in place.

- "Zayne you can breathe.. it's over.." "Please don't do that to me again."

Sylus - Deepthroat

- Mans loves music right..? And ideally I'd like to think he's quite open to discovering different genres / artists, so I don't think he would question if you wanted him to listen to ANYTHING.

- First 17 seconds he looks so focused

- I think he would genuinely break his facade and piss himself laughing the moment the "HUMP MEE FUCK MEEE" starts

-"Mouth wide open like I was at the dentist??" He looks IMPRESSED (HER LYRICS R SO CREATIVE HOW COULDN'T HE BE??)

- He is speechless when she starts moaning, in a good way???

- "I think I like this music" "oh?" "I think I'll get it on vinyl." "NO SYLUS.."

- "Put it so deep I can't speak a sentence" HE WOULD SMIRK IM SORRY

- Turns to look at you SHOCKED when he hears "I ain't swallow one kid I think I swallowed twins!" (He's still laughing though)

- "So, can we go to one of her concerts?" "Anything you want, kitten"

- I think he wouldn't mind listening to the rest of her songs, he seems like he would find this kind of stuff funny?

- Perverted man would probably ask if you showed that to him for certain reasons.. "So, I'm guessing you'd like to recreate all of that..?" "I just wanted you to react to it--"

BONUS: the twins would fucking love it.

[whorediaries-09]

hey I love your writing. I’d love if you could do like a James potter x reader where James is smoking and reader finds it really hot and has maybe there in public so she’s just sitting there really turned on and can’t do anything about it ??

hello, love! do you mind if i take a piece of your mind because this idea had me reeling. hehe, thank you for sending in the request!

can't you see, you're meant for me?

pairing- bsfdad!james potter x reader warning(s)-suggestive content, cigarettes. a/n- i'm a sucker for dilf james...sorry not sorry.

ps- this is very short :p. lmk if ya'll would like a part two hehe.

little train

you shouldn't be thinking about his biceps. not when you're out and about in public. but still, your mind doesn't stop reeling. you watch the sun rays reflect on his brown skin, reflecting the stretch marks he's got on his arms. they're beautiful, you think, as the veins pop from within his skin. he inhales another puff from the cigarette, watching as the smoke ascends into the sky.

'want one, love?' he asks.

'no mr. potter,' he huffs.

'i've asked you so many times to not call me that. you know you can call me james,'

'ah-okay, james, i don't want a cigarette.' he laughs.

'i don't think i'd be able to handle two stoners either ways.'

you're listening to him intently. at least that's what he thinks.

your mind however in occupied in the idea of having his hand wrap around your throat, as he'd push you to the wall, kissing you harsh. you imagine his fingers exploring every bit of your bare skin, with his rough calloused hands. you'd let him, happily. and even if deep down you know it was wrong to be fantasizing about your best friend's dad.

god, you couldn't help yourself.

'love, are you listening?' he asked, apparently caught up on the way you'd zoned out. you'd been practically zoned out, mesmerized by his biceps. he threw the cigarette on the ground, crushing it with the sole of his shoe.

you'd been caught. fuck.

'you seem lost, are you okay?' he said, moving towards you. he was wearing a compression sleeveless shirt paired with gray sweatpants. the ultimate outfit to get you reeling and drooling over him.

'i-ah- i zoned out, james. i'm okay,'

he didn't buy your lie. instead, he offered you a wicked smile.

'you are?'

'totally,' you answered, overly cheerful.

'and i totally believe you.' you blushed, cursing yourself internally.

'now tell me, what is your pretty mind thinking about?' he said, moving closer. you stammered, taking a few steps back.

'i-i'm just thinking about-'

'about?' he knew what you'd been thinking about. you could see it in his eyes. in his soft hazel eyes there was a twinge of malice, a twinge of mischief which you could recognize so well. and god forbid it made you so weak in the knees. you closed your eyes, trying to let your heart stop before you spoke the next words,

'you know what i'm thinking about, james.' he smiled lopsidedly, as if greatly amused, running his tongue over this upper row of teeth.

'do i now, love?'

'i think so, yes.' even if you're faking your confidence, he can right see through your act. he can see you crumbling from within as he towers over you, asking you mundane questions. and god does he love the effect he has on you.

he tests the waters, his palm coming closer to your face. you lean towards it, but just as your face is about to touch the crevice of his palm, your best friend shouts,

'oi! papa! i'm coming,' you jump away from him as harry comes running towards james. in your head, you hate how harry came in and ruined the moment. but you're also grateful because you didn't think you'd be able to control yourself if he held your face. however, it was safe to say the ride back home was more torturous than ever.

he kept tapping his fingers on the passenger's seat while he drove, seemingly nonchalant. but boy both of you knew it drove you fucking crazy.

*************************************

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking @fictional-magic @iamgayforyourmom1510

(if you want to be tagged please send a request through my inbox.)

****************************************

[kings-highway]

haikyuu ship headcanons except i forgot to think of a theme so they're all unrelated

daisuga: absolutely they casually kissed sometime before confessing to each other. Either as a joke/gag between friends, a dare, or maybe for some kind of student film/stage production, their first (romantic) kiss is definitely not their first kiss. Its probably not even their second. I'd hesitate to say third.

iwaoi: Iwa uses Oikawa being "needy" as an excuse to hide his introvertism. Makki and Mattsun are trying to drag him over to play video games for the 3rd time that week so Iwa's just "ahh, can't, Oikawa's already mad I ditched him the last few nights. You know what he's like, he gets so whiny if I don't give him attention," and meanwhile Oikawa is waiting for him by the gate like "alright I'll walk you home so the lie holds up, but you're giving our friends a bad impression of me and I don't appreciate that."

tsukkiyama: yamaguchi decided he was going to marry tsukki very young and tsukki did not get a say in this. like I'm thinking 11 years old and yamaguchi is daydreaming like "yeah. im gonna make him my husband." concidentally this is also why he doesnt get jealous of girls confessing to tsukki because he has this incredible internal conviction that they'll be married one day. basically he spends the next decade of his life wooing him over and playing the longest game ever and it works. tsukki never realizes exactly how young he was put into yamaguchi's trap.

ushiten: tendou was absolutely downright plagued by sex dreams starring Ushijima in their second year and into their third year and this was incredibly alarming for him because he had never even had a crush on anyone before, nor a dream like that previously, and he hadn't even consciously realized he had any attraction towards him beforehand. well thats one way to figure out you have a crush. and that you're gay.

kagehina: wrong culture but I think these two would fucking nail the promposal thing in theory, but they'd be competing with each other to see who could prompose first and theyd be so caught up in avoiding the other person's so that they could be the one to do it that they'd never actually ask each other to prom and then theyd have to go together but technically alone because they never asked. like theyve been dating for 2 years they both knew theyd say yes, they simply did not let the other ask because they wanted to do it.

matsuhana: they would both deny it with their whole chest, but they actually look up to Oikawa and Iwa as a couple, and will often default to asking them for advice. Even when its really complicated stuff, they trust their judgement. Mattsun and Makki met in high school, so they've always been really jealous of the long, childhood best friend thing and want to be able to know each other that well.

[aizamatsu]

alright a few people mentioned wanting to hear more about meeting some of the death note VAs so i'm gonna ramble under the cut!

alright so i was lucky enough to go to an anime convention this past weekend and i decided to splurge n spend some money on autographs/meet and greets.

so i met L's voice actor alessandro juliani first. his table had no one in line (perks of being a VA for a 20 year old anime i guess)! i wasn't sure exactly what to do so i walked up to his table and he smiled and waved at me :000 i spoke to his assistant and paid for him to autograph my death note w just his name (paying for a quote is more than just an autograph) and then jus stepped over to the side and spoke to him! he asked me my name and how to spell it, and also asked my boyfriend his name despite him not paying for anything lol. i told him that it was my 21st bday on sunday and that i'd like it if he could write that somewhere in my death note. so he autographed the front of it and decorated it with different colored sharpies and wrote "hope you get cake - L" which made me very very happy bc he did it for free :D his voice is literally like warm milk yall his energy was just so relaxed and humble he is genuinely great. he's also very handsome but that's just me being a dilf enjoyer ok.,,,

after that i got to meet misa's voice actor shannon chan-kent. i mentioned in my last post that she wasn't very nice so let me elaborate on that. essentially she was sitting there on her phone for almost the entire interaction w the exception of her writing her name on my death note. she didn't make eye contact really or ask me for my name which was just a little bit of a bummer. the whole interaction was maybe only 30 seconds. i asked her how she was and she was very short w me. i don't have any ill will towards her i just kinda wish she had made an effort to speak to me but at the end of the day she's a human being and was probably drained/tired. she also doesn't owe kindness to me cus im litrally a random boy paying for her autograph. i'm still happy i got her signature though and i'd be down to meet her again ;p

last but not least i met light's voice actor brad swaile and my god guys. he was sooo fucking nice. i was talking to his assistant about cosplays while i was waiting for my turn (i was next in line) and this interaction happened

me to the assistant: swag is priceless though

brad; *turns his head* did you just say.. swag is priceless?

me, lowkey FREAKING THE FUCK OUT: haha . yeah.

brad: *laughs* wrong. swag is very expensive.

like bitch i made brad swaile laugh >???? lets fucking go?? anyways after that he finished up with the person he was with and i slid over to his area and had him sign my DN. i told him it was my 21st and that i'd love for him to write happy bday on it and he was like "Omg!! make sure to be safe!! what are your plans?" and we started chatting about going out to the clubs and drinking safely lol. i also paid for him to write a long quote as well,,, i wanted him to write "this is the first time in my life that i've been provoked to hit a woman" and i was like if ur not okay with writing that quote i totally get it i dont wanna be offensive and he was like

brad: O:< ..... just kidding imagine if i said no. i think thats funny.

then he signed it adjkfhjajsk. he also drew me a slice of cake and gave me a bunch of stamps like he decorated the shit out of it it was so cutie. then we took a picture together and he put his arm around me !!! i was fanboying so hard internally.

anyways yeah it was so epic and i now have a mega decked out death note with autographs and doodles. such a great experience. :))))

[gatheringbones]

[“Too many of us have chosen to live in sexually ambiguous, sexually boring, sexually dead lesbian relationships because it wasn't safe to talk about desire---desire for cock, desire for pussy, desire for leather, desire for diversity. Exploring my desire for men has led me in an interesting circle---back to my incredible passion for womyn. My queer world will have to stretch (again) to make room for my fantasies, and perhaps even an affair or two. It will have to stretch to make room for whatever I desire.

Finally I realize what I am so afraid of. I am afraid that men and penises have so much power in this heteropatriarchal world that simply desiring one can invalidate 25 years of deep womon-loving. I'm afraid that lesbianism is so fragile that it needs to be protected by an iron fence. I am afraid that by desiring a cock, I will be excommunicated, torn away from the world of womyn. I am afraid that if I allow myself to open, perhaps I will want more. This is why a lesbian wanting a man demands so much courage. Courage to stand outside of identity politics, to insist that our community grow to accept all of us.

My lesbianism is as sure and solid as the Himalayas, as predictable as the seasons and the phases of the moon, as familiar as a womon in my arms ("Wherever I go, there's one thing I know, I'm sure to have a womon around me"). My desire for men is as fleeting as good chocolate and ripe strawberries---not always available, sometimes bitter and disappointing, often intoxicating as nectar, somewhat allergic, and extremely tempting.

I can live with all these desires. I will not compromise myself again. Fitting in is less important than filling out. There is a revolution afoot, and it is stretching the parameters of the old gay life. The hundredth monkey. A friend says, "Oy, I'm not ready for this century." But she is. She is.

Just when I thought I'd made some sense of these desires for men and had come to peace with them, my ex-lover called. The butch who couldn't communicate and who could never fuck me right. She has something to share, something important, something very personal. She has decided to come out as a transgendered person---bi-gendered, s/he calls it. S/he has come to realize that s/he has both a male body and a female body. Hir language may be new, but the experience is familiar.

It was hir male body I always wanted. I'd called it butch. S/he says that when s/he is in hir male body s/he desires men; when s/he is in hir female body s/he desires womyn. In other words, s/he's as queer as a $3 bill.

Suddenly, a fog begins to clear. If I desired hir male body and hir male body desires men, and when s/he is in hir female body s/he desires womyn, then s/he must've wanted me womon to womon (or man to man?), while I wanted hir butch to femme (Dare I say, male to female?). Suddenly our sex problems become very clear.

I always felt hir switch. As I filled with desire, wanting hir hardness, her maleness, s/he would become soft, almost girly, and it was like someone pulled the plug on the bathtub, the desire leaked out of me, leaving me--us--empty.

This starts me thinking about the lover before hir. The one with the sweet curls in her hair, the big round belly, and the soft eyes. The kinky one, where anything goes. She loves my femme self, calls me bitch and desires to fell me with hardness, to force me into submission.

Somehow though, it never quite worked. I am beginning to see what went wrong. This one wanted butch/femme, boy/girl sex, and I wanted lezzie sex. I loved hir female body and wanted to touch her. S/he wanted to give me hir male body. When I tried to touch hir breasts, I was reminding hir that she was a womon and was therefore rejecting her power. The lover s/he picked after me identified as a heterosexual woman (although she too used to be a radical dyke). When my ex-lover told me this new lover wouldn't touch her (after all she did identify as straight), I thought, how terrible, such internalized homophobia. Now I am beginning to understand how, by ignoring the girl body, the boy could feel his power. It got old fast, but for a while it worked, fed the rejected boy place inside.

I began this piece saying I hadn't had a man in 15 years. I am beginning to suspect that I've had many men. They'd called themselves butches.

I suppose none of this makes sense if you just think about biological bodies. These girls definitely had female bodies, tits and ass, and oh, so lovely to touch. But there is no doubt that these womyn have also had dicks. I've never said this out loud before, because dick is a dirty lesbian word. But I have been filled by womyn's dicks, and no, they are not "just" dildos.”]

Lionheart, from wanting men, from genderqueer: voices beyond the binary, edited by Riki wilchins, 2002

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 10 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: wrote this in between study breaks, I’m totally spent 😭😭

W/C: 3.523

part nine

"So, uh- do you have any allergies?"

I mutter awkwardly, standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on Jude as he sits across from me at the kitchen island.

He folds his arms across his chest, raising his head to look over at me.

"Are you planning something?" He eyes me suspiciously, causing a tired sigh to leave my mouth.

"Shut up- answer the question.." I raise my wooden spoon, threatening him.

"No, I don't have any allergies. Is that good enough?" He replies, Brum accent making him sound even more defensive.

"Ungrateful ass.." I mutter, turning around and starting to work on breakfast.

I had slept horribly after last night’s events. I'd reckon- maybe, six hours in total. It was our day off- thankfully, but that didn't mean that I trusted Jude to rummage through my house on his own while I rotted away in bed.

My dad had called earlier, wanting to explain the situation to me clearly without leaving any important details out.

Apparently, last night Jude's place was broken into again. This time, he was at home to actually witness it happen. I'm not sure what transpired between the intruder and Jude. Since, my dad had told me it would be too invasive for me to know.

From what I knew, it was the same person as last time- or how many damn times this had happened. This case had been keeping my dad busy for months now, and it only found a way to piss me off even more.

Either Jude had the shittiest security, or- did he even have security?

"Can't believe I'm cooking for you.." I mutter, hearing the drag of his house slippers against the floor as he walks up to me.

"What are you making?"

I move away, so he doesn't touch me, giving him a side eye as I crack four eggs in a pan.

"Eggs.." I say, moving back when oil splashes up.

"Can you cook?" He asks, eyes moving in between the stove and my face.

"Kind of.." I say, hesitating with my reply.

I knew how to cook the basics. Say, your pastas and soups. Though, I like to think I'm improving every time auntie Carmen comes over to show me how to cook another delicious meal.

"How do you like your eggs?" I ask, raising my head to look up at him. He has a confused expression on his face and his gaze is fixed on me.

Fuck, did that sound wrong?

"More runny or cooked?" I ask, grimacing to myself as I sprinkle salt and pepper into the pan.

"You've cooked it- enough.."

"Oh, okay.." I mentally curse at how stupid I sound, looking away from him.

I quickly plate it up for him, not forgetting the avocado and barely toasted pieces of bread.

Well, too bad for him.

We eat our breakfast without speaking to each other. I can only hear the crunch of my bread and clatter of the cutlery against the plates.

I look up at him when I've cleared my plate, wiping crumbs from the corners of my mouth.

"How long are you staying?"

"Are you trying to kick me out already?"

I give him a look, raising my brows as if to tell him he already knows my answer.

"I don't know- depends on the situation.." He says, rubbing his hands against his gray sweatpants.

I sigh, rubbing my temples in irritation.

"Where's your mom anyway?" I ask, remembering that they literally lived together.

"I made her go back to England for my brother’s games. She's always spending more time with me- felt bad for the lad.." He answers, looking away.

"Last night?" I ask, raising my voice in surprise.

"No, during international break. I wasn't playing remember.."

"Oh- that's good, I guess.." I trail off, realizing we're going to be home alone for a while.

Silence falls in between us, and I begin picking at the loose threads of my old pajama top. It was old, but so comfy to sleep in.

"Okay, uh- let's clean up, and I'll give you a quick tour of the place." I jump up from my seat, grabbing my plate off the table, and walk over to the sink.

I look back when he doesn't get up. I raise a brow, sending him a questioning look.

"What are you doing? Clean up.." I say, waving him over. I watch him grab his plate and cutlery- a comical sight that had me struggling to keep my composure.

He places the plate in front of me, looking at me like he's expecting me to do something.

I step back, folding my arms.

Woah, he looked clueless.

"Do you even know how to do- like the dishes or laundry?" I ask, eyeing him up and down.

"Not really.."

"You're what? Twenty and don't know how to do your own laundry?" I pull a horrified face.

"Do you think it's okay to freeload?" I question, immediately grabbing his wrist to drag him upstairs to the laundry room.

Did he think this was a five-star hotel or something?

"I can't believe I have to drive you there. Why don't you have a license?" I whine, walking into the bathroom and seeing him fix his hair. The array of skincare, haircare and bodycare all on the counter in front of him.

Why did I think that he only used a block of soap and aftershave?

He turns away from the mirror, taking a step closer to me as I passive aggressively grab my toothbrush.

"Why wouldn't you want to drive me?" He questions, his voice full of mockery.

I wet my toothbrush and the blob of toothpaste, starting to brush my teeth as I look up at him.

"Do you know how crazy it looks for a staff member to arrive with a player in her car?"

I mumble, probably half audible, as I spit foam into the sink.

He grimaces at me, and I watch him take a step away from me via the mirror.

"Oh, you're dramatic.." I mumble, running the brush over my teeth again.

"Everyone thinks we're together anyway- does it even matter at this point?"

I freeze, turning to him with white foam dripping down the corner of my mouth.

"That's even worse.." I shake my head, giving him a once-over before starting to rinse my mouth.

"Pre-match meal is at...?" I question, waiting for him to finish the sentence while I dry my hands and mouth.

"Half past two." He replies, making me nod.

"Okay- give me an hour.." I say, quickly running to my room to change and get ready.

It was match day against Granada. Thankfully, after this we got some more days off.

We had to get to the training center early, mainly due the fact that I had become Jude’s private driver.

When my father told me I had to drive him around, I almost fell to my knees in sheer despair, not believing the torture I had to go through.

I didn’t even get anything in return, well, maybe I’d bug my dad for another pretty handbag- or two.

Pre-match meals are usually about three to four hours before the match. Normally, I could arrive very late and still manage to snatch a nice plate, but because of Jude - that wasn't possible today, and probably until he’s moved out of my place.

y/n's only half-way through her 'getting ready' playlist when she hears multiple loud knocks on her bedroom door.

"What?! Stop banging on my door! You don't even pay rent!" She shouts over the music, watching the door handle twist.

She turns away from her vanity mirror, makeup brush in her hand, as she sees Jude walk into her room.

"Who invited you in?" She questions, gasping when he goes to sit on her nicely made bed, wrinkling the fabric.

"Me, you’re taking so-” He begins, but he's immediately cut off when she shouts.

"Wait- shut up.."

She says, turning away to sing along with the song currently playing from her phone.

"We do the things but we know it's wrong

All on my skin, you all in my palm

I sent you a envelope, came with a poem

You possess venom that came with a charm

You get the good out me when I perform

I know the bad in you, that's what I want

And you a baddie, you turnin' me on."

Seems like she forgets he's even in her room, singing along to the Future verse while she dots a good amount of blush on the apples of her cheek.

He sighs loudly, continuing to stare at her from behind. She doesn’t notice at all, now way too invested into getting ready while listening to her favorite songs.

Jude runs a frustrated hand over his face, taking in the way she sings along with the all-too-familiar-sounding song lyrics, hoping she can hurry up soon.

"Do I have to take you home too?" I ask, getting up from the comfy chair I'm in. Following Jude towards the dressing room. Relieved after a 2-0 win against Granada.

The sound of his cleats hitting the floor is loud, and I stop right at the entrance of the dressing room when he stops in his tracks.

"I can call a taxi, probably.."

I search his face for any annoyance or anger, but don't see anything like it. Instead, in a strangely familiar way- his eyes are wide and expressive. He looks more unsure and uncomfortable than I've ever seen him.

"It's fine- we're going to the same house anyway.." I whisper, dismissing his words with a wave. 

"I have to go back to the training center though.. Can you stand tagging along with me?" I question, raising my brows in anticipation.

"Yeah, I'll just get freshened up really quick.." He says, stepping inside and closing the door since he was the last player to enter.

After saying bye to everyone, I sneakily walk up to my car. Almost jumping out of my skin when I see Jude already standing at the passenger door.

"What are you- get in.." I sigh, unlocking the door and stepping in.

The ride over to the training center is awkward and quiet, to say the least. I'm not in the mood to look through my playlist- and I'm sure he isn't either, by the way he's busy scrolling on his phone.

I park my car in my designated spot in the staff parking lot, looking over at him.

"Do you want to stay in the car?" I ask, unbuckling my seatbelt, and glancing at him.

"No, I'll come with you.." He replies, stepping out of the passenger’s seat and following me inside.

"I need to leave this bag here.." I inform, locking the car as the both of us walk inside the center.

He doesn't reply, not that it's necessary.

I walk up to the office, still hearing Jude walk right behind me.

"You're following me like a lost puppy.." I mutter, unlocking the door of the room I'm supposed to leave the equipment in.

"Okay, damn, I'll be downstairs.." He sneers, turning away and leaving immediately.

I shrug to myself when he leaves, finishing my business before going down as well.

I shove my keys into my bag, swinging it on my shoulder, then go looking around for Jude.

I enter the meeting room he and other players would hang out in, but don't see him. Stepping out, I look up from the door, walking in and out of the other meeting rooms.

"Where the fuck are you?" I mutter, reaching for my phone to call him, only to remember that I don't even have his phone number.

"Looking for something?"

I almost scream out loud when I hear a deep voice behind me. I turn, trying to not look like the person scared the crap out of me.

Oh, the creepy coworker. How fun.

"No, just dropped off some equipment upstairs.." I quickly say, rubbing my hand against my jeans.

I watch his eyes flicker to the keycard around my neck, which I forgot to take off.

"Coming from Bernabéu, y/n?"

Why did he know my name?

"Yeah, busy day.."

He stares at me, not saying anything else. I mentally hype myself up to say something, maybe to learn more about him.

"What's your name? We've seen each other around, but I don't know your name.” I say, shifting nervously as his blue eyes peer into mine.

"Andrés, fitness department. I'm new.." He says, sticking out a ghostly hand for me to shake.

"Right, nice to meet you. I would introduce myself too, but you seem to know already. How come?" His grip is tight, so I tighten it even more.

Give me a rough handshake, and I’ll break your hand out of pettiness.

"Everyone here knows you.." He replies, there is a harsh, but breathiness to his voice and it causes chills to run down my spine.

I clear my throat, realizing he still hasn't let go of my hand.

"Because of my father, yeah.." I fake a chuckle, trying to pull my hand back.

"No, not because of mister l/n.." My breath hitches audibly at his tone, and I try to snatch my hand back even more forcefully.

He doesn't even flinch, continuing to stare down at me.

"y/n, here you are.." I hear a familiar voice say, breaking out of this weird fucking trance.

My head snaps up, my eyes going wide, when I see Jude stepping out of the meeting room I had not checked out yet.

I use the opportunity to snatch my hand away from Andrés, rubbing my hand to fix my blood flow.

I watch Jude give him a look, death stare imminent when he walks up to us.

"Andrés? What are you doing here, it's late." He says, for some reason, slower than I have ever heard him speak.

"Work, busy.." He answers, trying to speak English with a broken Spanish accent.

Oh, he didn't speak English?

I watch a strange interaction between them, a jumble of Spanish and English. I try my best to understand, but it seems like both men throw in some gibberish too.

Finally, when they're done with their simlish, I'm grabbed by my hand, dragged away by Jude.

"What the hell is his problem?" I exclaim, still feeling my hand ache from the pressure.

"He's been fuckin' weird, don’t like him..” He mutters, walking ahead of me while still dragging me along.

I struggle to catch up with his long strides, his warm palm pressing into mine as he looks back at me.

"You okay?" He questions, stopping abruptly, causing me to smash my face against his arm.

"Ow- not anymore.." I mutter, rubbing my nose in agony with my free hand.

"Oh- shit, sorry.." He spits, his hand still on mine. I remove my hand from my face, raising my chin to look up at him.

"Am I bleeding?" A dramatic question, but you never knew with his rock-hard, muscular- arms..

I blink up at him, feeling his hand come up to my chin. He pinches my face, making me move my head.

"No, no blood- I think.." He breathes out, eyes roaming around my face to check for any blood.

I make sudden, close eye contact with him. His brown eyes catching mine, breath fanning my face.

We stare at each other for a moment. His hand still clearly on mine while he cups my face to look at me.

I realize the position we're in and step back. I eye our intertwined hands, looking back up at him as if to tell him to let go.

He clears his throat, dropping my hand like it's hot, and stepping back.

I decide to pretend I don't give a fuck. Ignoring the drumming of my heart, and grab my car key out of my bag.

"Get in.."

"Smash.." I say, maybe for the 10th time this hour.

"Oh my days, can you stop saying that?" Jude exclaims, a bewildered expression on his face as he looks over at me.

"Can't, it's Michael B. Jordan, and you want me to sit still?" I ask, earning a grunt from him.

"You're unbelievable.."

I ignore him, continuing to drool over the screen while I shove popcorn into my mouth.

"What are you going to do? You're off for four days.." I ask, sprawled out on the couch, in front of the TV.

"I have physical therapy every day, can't leave the city.." He complains, sitting on the couch across from me.

"Oh, how inconvenient- wait, who's driving you?.."

"Don't you worry, I've got someone driving me.." He sneers, folding his arms.

I roll my eyes, going back to watch the movie on the screen.

A hot man could make a boring movie so incredibly interesting.

"I'm not home tomorrow. Will you survive being home alone for the rest of your day?" I question, flickering my eyes back to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking my last exam, library helps me focus better.." I stuff another handful of popcorn into my mouth.

"Last one?"

"Yeah, I need to go revise a little." I sit up, pausing the movie, and getting up from the couch.

"Have it.." I shove the bowl of popcorn into his hands, walking up the stairs to my room. Ready for this exam to be over already.

“What the fuck was that.." I whisper to myself, hitting my head on my steering wheel repeatedly. I had long driven home from the library, not caring to step out of the car, parked in the driveway.

I had studied hours on end, but when I was presented with the questions, my brain practically short circuited, causing me to blank out so much information I needed to know.

I'm on the verge of tears at this point. Normally, after the last exam of the semester, I'd be jumping from joy, but the way this exam had gone- I wanted to cry buckets of tears.

I sniffle, wiping my nose with my sleeve. Not caring about the foundation stain left on it, and grab my bag from the backseat. I get out of my car, unlocking the front door of my house quickly.

I expect the house to be quiet, but instead I hear loud music. Old 80s songs, solely about love. Music only I knew auntie Carmen loved listening to while cooking.

I drop my bag at the front door, blinking repeatedly to hide the tears in my eyes. I shrug my jacket off, the December cold had come in full force. Though, to me, nothing was worse than winter in London anyway.

"Harina, say it, young man.." I hear auntie Carmen say in Spanish, a voice following behind her.

"Harina? Harina.." A broken accented voice says. I raise my brows, my tears and worries in the back of my mind now.

Curiosity takes over, and I immediately walk towards the kitchen, where the noises are coming from.

I'm greeted by the sight of auntie Carmen and Jude standing next to each other. Both wearing aprons as they are kneading dough on the kitchen island. Flour sprinkled on the marble as I hear Jude repeat random Spanish words, often getting corrected by my auntie.

She didn't even speak a lick of English. How did they even communicate?

I clear my throat, taking their attention away from the slabs of dough on the counter.

"Oh- you're home.." She smiles warmly at me, beckoning me over with a flour-covered hand.

"What's this?" I ask, stepping closer and speaking in Spanish.

"We're making pizza from scratch, sweetie." She says, giving me a kiss on my cheek.

"With him?" I point to Jude, watching him pound the dough with unnecessary aggression.

"What do you mean? Jude is so good at this, look at him go..” She smiles, saying his name with the utmost affection. He looks up confused, but I ignore him further.

What the hell did he do to make her like him already?

"Your boyfriend is a better cook than you already..”

I pull a horrified face, eyes going wide as my arms fall to my sides. I glance at Jude, noticing that he hadn’t even flinched at the words.

Thankfully, his Spanish classes weren’t so advanced yet…

I lean in close to her, whispering, well whisper-shouting.

“He’s not my boyfriend..” I say, pulling a face. I watch the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles.

“I know, I’m just joking. Your dad called me about this entire situation already..”

“Why would you say that, then?”

“He’s handsome, isn’t he..” She says out loud, making me facepalm.

First, he steals my dad’s time, then my house, and now my auntie?

I look at him, watching him knead the dough, a smirk forming on his face.

I want to strangle him right here and now..

It’s only been a couple days, and this was too much for me already.

[xenasaur]

So, you gonna admit you were wrong and forced a trans woman to out herself because “Everyone I Disagree With Is A TERF!” or what?

holy shit, you mean homunyas? hey tell her to unblock me, if she didn't like what I have to say about cryptoterfs when I thought she was cis, she's REALLY not gonna like what I have to say now that I know she's trans. because now I know she's not only spouting off crypto-terf shit, she's also doing it to someone who was supposed to be her own fucking sister. this intensifies my dislike of homunyas and I stand by every single fucking thing I said. poor "mean lesbian" can't take backlash? she shouldn't fucking harass transfems. nobody made her come on my post (which was about trans positivity) and call me a bigot for having a complex relationship with gender and sexuality (which is especially funny because by her own rules I'm a good girl Real Lesbian™️). nobody made her mark me as a transphobe on shinigami eyes. nobody made her out herself as trans. she experienced the consequences of her own fucking actions and is now trying to use her identity as a shield, because surely a trans woman couldn't POSSIBLY have shittons of internalized transphobia.

that being said, I obviously do not support the harassment of transfems, even if they fucking suck and are harassers themselves. idk what is going on with homunyas bc if i did a "where are they now" with every harasser i got I'd never have any free time. but we already have so much fucking shit to deal with every day without it. if you think you are helping me by harassing her, or are in any way doing this shit on my behalf, take a big fucking step back and realize You're The Homunyas Here. then go live in a monestary where trans people don't have to exist around you for a few years to do some deep soul-searching. then come back and voluntarily self-report so I can block your ass. don't fucking harass trans people. i get it, she sucks. just block and move on. you aren't making me feel better by making my sister feel worse.