#but no - my brain was like “render it bitch”

[flickeringquip]

Convince the Fighter abstinence is bad for his health. There may be consequences(?) <<

Part 2 of this post, feat. @thedolmainblog's Blythe

(smut continues below the cut + link for the full nsfw aster pic)

(full & uncropped picture here)

(1) Arrive at Blythe's flat.

It's only when the engine cuts out from beneath you that you realize you're shaking, clinging to Blythe as tightly as you can. It would be easy to assume it was from some manner of fright or nerves from the reckless ride—

But it was certainly not fear that had your face burning beneath your helmet, caught somewhere between dazed by the experience and mortified at the very real worry you'd left a stain on the leather seat of Blythe's bike.

Blythe who disentangles himself from you with little difficulty despite your death grip, dismounting in a smooth, practised motion before turning sharply back in your direction. A few seconds later finds you free of your helmet — and realizing all at once that he hadn't worn one.

"You shouldn't ride one of these things without a h—" The concerned admonishment slips free of you before you even really think about it, but your scolding is interrupted when the Fighter hoists you onto his shoulder like a particularly prized sack of potatoes, your voice pitching high as you cling to the back of his shirt, "—elMET!"

(1) And once again you're along for the ride as Blythe makes for his apartment with the same single-minded focus as before.

You expect this ride to be much shorter than the last, and it is, but you can't help but be a little confused when you aren't set down as Blythe steps into his apartment like you'd been expecting.

It's a confusion that only grows when you remain slung over his shoulder as he locks his door. As he crosses the length of his apartment. As he steps into what you assume to be his bedroom.

He only lets you down when it's to drop you the short distance to his bed, leaving you to blink up at him as he whips his shirt off and tosses it somewhere out of your line of sight.

(1) Get a little distracted ogling Blythe's chest and biceps.

Look.

The man is shredded.

You may be a little restrained compared to some other residents of this hell hole, but you do have eyes. Eyes that are all too happy dip as Blythe shoves his trousers down his hips, and you aren't sure if he had simply skipped on boxers or if they went down with the pants, but it's a question that'll have to wait, because—

(1) Turns out Blythe was very proportional.

In the span of time it takes for you to force yourself to stop gawking at him, Blythe closes the distance between the two of you once more, stripping you from the top down with the same ruthless efficiency he'd rid himself of his own clothes. The last to go are your own pant and panties, tugged off in one go that leaves you splayed on your back on his bed, more exposed in front of someone than you've been in a long time.

"It's-" Your tongue sticks to a suddenly dry mouth as you push yourself into a seated position just in time for the Fighter to lift one knee to the bed — your voice pulls his attention up from your body so fast it almost startles you, the intensity in his gaze more than enough to have you squirming a little beneath his attention, "It's been a bit for me, that is, since the last time I, y'know— I mean, not as long as it's been for you of course—"

After transitioning to working for Landry full time, you had seen no need to continue doing sex work on the side; working for the Criminal had proven more than profitable enough, and you didn't even have to see Bailey's stupid face anymore thanks to automatic deposits. And without that pressure to constantly have to make more money, you simply had found your interest in sex greatly reduced.

You weren't unhinged about it like someone — and besides, you weren't part demon, so it's not like being abstinent would've even hurt you the same way — but it wasn't uncommon for you to go months and months between your little dalliances. You'd never experienced sexual attraction quite like most of your peers, and you found that now that it wasn't a transaction, you generally needed to get to know the person before you'd even really think about sex.

(1) Which was really all to say: you weren't fitting him anywhere without some prep first.

The moment you opened your mouth to offer to handle it yourself (look, you'd never really gotten the hang of the whole 'rely on others' thing), a yelp stole free of you instead. Why?

It probably had something to do with how Blythe grabs your thighs and yanks you towards the end of the bed, looking for the world like he'd heard the words you'd been about to say and found them truly, deeply insulting.

And then his gaze dips between down to your legs as he hoists each of your thighs over one of his shoulders, you, well—

(1) You're not sure what's going to kill you faster: the sudden shocks of intense arousal or the overwhelming embarrassment.

And you just wanted it on the record that you're hardly some blushing virgin, and while you have far more experience giving oral than receiving it, you had been eaten out before. It was just. . . a long time ago. By a client you really hadn't liked much.

And yeah, fine, you are blushing, but it's because this is Blythe, who you'd formed something resembling a friendship just by proxy of co-existing in the same spaces long enough for you to get a little attached — even if you hadn't really thought he felt the same. It had never bothered you, if the people you cared about reciprocated the feeling; you'd managed to shake the guilt over the years, but the caretaking habits had held fast. And it had been nice, knowing someone else who had clear, simple loyalties — him to Aiden, you to Landry. You didn't have to really worry about navigating weird backstabbing bullshit, and if down the line your respective employers' relationship turned sour, well. . .

. . .There wouldn't have been hard feelings, at least.

(But wow, that's an anxiety that's gonna haunt you later, isn't it?)

Which was ALL to say, you think you have a pretty solid grasp on what's about to happen as Blythe yanks you a bit closer, close enough that the feel of his breath has your thighs jolting a little overtop his shoulders.

(1) It only takes one lap of his tongue for those confident expectations of yours to Go Out. The Fucking. Window.

Because you were so wrong, holy shit, you were so wrong it's not even funny, you hadn't even come close up realizing what you were in for—

But how could you have possibly known he'd be this good? That it would only take a couple minutes for you to be squirming something fierce in his hold, mewling as his tongue laves through slick, sensitive folds to flick against your clit. That it would take barely a few minutes more to find yourself cumming embarrassingly fast, hips jerking fruitlessly in his hold as he keeps your climax going for as long as physically possible, pausing only when you slump in his hold, breathing hard.

". . .Why on earth are you so good at that?" The words spill out of you as soon as you have enough air for them, an arm tossed up and over your eyes because you aren't sure you could survive whatever sight he must make between your legs right now, "You've been abstinent for like— Ack!"

The startled squeak that leaves you is far from dignified, but that's a hard thing to maintain when Blythe slides your thighs off his shoulders — only to push them up towards your chest instead, making use of your flexibility to all but remove your ability to squirm and wiggle as he holds you in that position with just his hands.

. . . It's both a little insulting and incredibly enticing how little effort it takes him to keep you pinned down like this.

(1) That's the last coherent thought you have for awhile, because—

Blythe isn't satisfied with only making you cum on his tongue once. The man eats you out like a man posssessed, and each new noise he pulls from you only seemed to encourage him. And when he closes his lips around your clit with a moan that you feel all the way to your core and you're all but thrown into your next orgasm, he works you through it and keeps going until the next one, until your thighs are trembling in his grasp and you keen loudly enough for the sound to echo throughout his room. It's only then that he at last pulls away, and even the groan that escapes him is enough to have you whimpering from sensitivity.

Your legs feel like jello when he finally releases them, pleasure long having robbed your limbs of any semblance of strength. For all that you haven't really done anything, you feel like you've run a marathon, flushed and panting. Blythe's palms are rough against your skin as he smoothes his hands down the backs of your still faintly-trembling thighs, a soothing gesture—

And one that is very at odds with the salacious way he licks his lips and the ravenous glint in his eyes.

(1) Which is obviously a great time for you to realize that you had yet to even really touch him, let alone help him release all that pent up stress form his abstinence.

"Do you want—" A true seductress you are, truly a vixen to be feared, your words winded and blurted as your hand meets his thigh and sweeps upwards, "I could suck you off—?"

Your fingers don't quite get to brush against him before you find your hand caught in his grasp, a full-body shudder rolling down your spine when Blythe growls and guides both of your hands above your head, pressing both wrists hard into his sheets with one hand in clear command — stay — before letting go.

You- you stay.

"Next time," His voice is even rougher than usual, guttural in a way that would've made your thighs clench, had he not already reduced them to jello — he splays a hand over your belly that feels hot enough to brand, something in you coiling hot and tight beneath your skin, "Only place 'm gonna cum tonight is inside you."

(1) This man was going to fucking kill you.

A fact you become more and more sure of when Blythe hits you with that fucking bombshell and does not immediately fuck you into next week, because first he has to loosen you up a little first.

Any attempts on your end to convince him you probably don't need any more prep are utterly ignored as he works one, and then two fingers inside of you — and, to his credit and despite your assurances, even with you all but dripping off his wrist thanks to his earlier affections, there's just enough of a stretch to it to make you shift in discomfort.

And for all that you might have expected him to call you on being wrong about how ready you might have been, Blythe seems to instead throw all of that energy into actually accomplishing that goal. There's a level of meticulous care to the careful way he works you open that you wouldn't have thought possible for someone in his state, and it does things to you, things that have you clenching around his fingers with a shivery little moan.

(1) The sound seems to chip away at the remnants of restraint you're not even sure how he's been hanging onto.

Blythe fingers you through two more orgasms — once with his thumb pressing sinful circles around your swollen clit and another by fucking his fingers and curling them into a spot that makes your legs shake with every stroke — before you start to crack.

Like you'd been the one who'd had a decade-long stint of abstinence.

"—Please," There's just enough desperation in your voice to bring Blythe to a pause as he teased a third finger against your entrance, one trembling leg hooked over his forearm to keep you spread wide for his touch, "I'm ready, I-I promise I am, please Blythe, I want- I need you to—"

Blythe seems to freeze above you, but you keep pushing, because you're not sure how much more of this you'll possibly be able to survive but you know you have to at least accomplish the singular thing you'd set out to when you'd kissed him.

(1) "I need you to fuck me, Blythe, please—!"

Even if you hadn't already been spread too thin to have room for embarrassment, you simply wouldn't have had time to even feel things like that with how fast Blythe sets upon you. The words have barely slipped past your lips when you find them claimed, the kiss as ravenous as the man himself as he hitches your thighs up around his hips, the heavy weight of his cock a brand against your dripping sex that has you both moaning in tandem.

Blythe doesn't leave you in suspense, driven by a lust you barely imagine as he lines himself up and pushes forward with a groan so deep in his chest you can feel it through him and it's—

It's a lot.

Your arms twine tight around his neck as your legs squeeze tight against his hips, needing something to ground you against the almost dizzying sense of fullness as Blythe sinks deeper inside of you inch by agonizing, amazing inch. You realize at once why he thought to prep you to three fingers, but it is not pain that has your nails scrabbling against his back as you cling tighter to him.

It's the way every inch he sinks deeper has you pulsing around his cock; the way his weight above you presses you down into his sheets like he never wants to part from you; the way his lips suck bruising marks into your pulse; the way he sounds, the shuddering gasps and broken groans breathed right into your ear—

(1) And above it all it's the words spilling from him like the sweat across your brows, rough and breathless and adoring.

"Fuck, you feel—"

"You're so—"

"Perfect, fuck, Aster, you're perfect—"

And it's his fault, it really is, it's his fault because you're already so sensitive, so hyper-aware of his everything, and what right did he have to say your name like that? To talk to you like that? Of course you find yourself pushed to the very edge just as you feel him press flush against the back of your thighs, and realizing you'd taken every last inch of him does things to the both of you.

"Blythe—" Your voice quivers alongside the rest of you, his name nearly a keen as tension winds tighter in your middle, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to hold yourself together just a little bit longer—

(1) Only for them to fly open with a yelp at a stinging smack to your hip.

"Eyes on me," Blythe chooses then to begin to pull back, establishing a rhythm that's slow but deep as you shiver and squeeze around his cock, his words half-groan, half-command, "Want to watch you— cum."

His hips snap forward with a force that steals the breath from your lungs, feeling what scant control you'd mustered beginning to slip as you turn your burning cheek to the side despite his demand—

Only for the sound to taper off into a whimper when strong fingers catch you just under your jaw and turn you back to face him with a strength that brooks no room for argument and the barest little squeeze that sets your already racing heart beating even faster.

Your lashes flutter unsteadily, vision blurring as you desperately try to hold your pleasure at bay when every slam of Blythe's hips threatens to send you careening over the edge.

"Aster," One of his hands slips down from your hip, and your whole body jolts beneath with a stuttering cry as his thumb presses into your clit with tight, devastating little circles, "Cum for me."

(1) And damn him, you do.

A pleasure crashes through you that blinds you to all else; light splintering through a prism as waves of heat burn through your veins. Some distant part of you is sure you're going to be mortified by the noises you're making right now, sure to wake his neighbors, but you cannot stop them anymore that you could the climax currently shattering you to pieces.

And throughout it all, Blythe's rhythm only grows more desperate, the sordid sound nearly as loud as you as he fucks you deeper into his bed — and beneath it all, you can hear his voice, a strained mantra of curses as his fingers squeeze and shake around your hips.

(1) And all at once, even beneath the all-consuming tide of your climax, you're filled with a fierce, singular desire: make Blythe cum — isn't that why you'd come?

(a few times, at this point.)

"Blythe, p-please—" It's all you can do to mewl the words, your voice raw from all your cries and still shuddering through your own release; it takes everything you have to focus up on him with blurry eyes, to keep them on him like he'd wanted because you want to be good for him, "You p-promised— wanna feel you cum i-inside, please—!"

"Fuck—" He tenses above you, every muscle taut as his his hips slam into once, twice more—

Before a scalding heat bursts inside of you as Blythe makes a noise so relieved he sounds almost pained by it, fucking you through his orgasm while the feel of him has you whimpering a new, aftershocks of your own pleasure skittering up your spine.

(1) You all but melt into his sheets, feeling well-fucked and accomplished.

Blythe's lips meet yours in a kiss sweet enough to make your chest warm, hands rubbing up and down your sides as he breathes praise against your lips; how well you'd taken him, how perfect you feel, how perfect you are for him — and you ride an altogether different kind of high, a euphoria that has you shuddering as you coast along cloud-nine.

Before you can sink too deeply into the afterglow, all soft-limbed and sleepy-eyed even as the slow drag of Blythe's cock from inside of you, the spill of his cum making your face flush anew—

(1) You're startled back into full-alert as Blythe rises to his knees and rolls you onto your belly, pulling your hips back towards himself and pushing back inside of you with a groan.

"Blythe?" You shake and squeak below him, twisting to look over your shoulder in time to watch and feel him tug your hips higher, trembling thighs unable to support your own weight but so easily supported by his strength, "D-didn't you just—"

He does not start slow this time, setting a rough pace that quickly finds you keening into his pillows; you're just so sensitive now, pleasure bringing tears to your eyes as you squirm, only to yelp when Blythe answers your wiggling with a spank that makes you squeeze around him for reasons you aren't going to think about.

And then you hear a word you've heard once before tonight already, a pattern he's spent all night establishing as his fingers slip over your hip to find your clit, still flushed and swollen from his loving abuse—

"Again, love."

(1) And for the first time this evening you begin to realize the predicament you'd gotten yourself into. Good luck!

[iceclew]

I'm cracking up so much right now like....I really did it, wtf XD

First I wanted to go like "this is not my fault, this is @mechazushi's idea", but to be honest.. I had so much fcking fun with this.. ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ )

The idea is just *glorious* and so fcking stupid, it's perfect again.. https://www.tumblr.com/mechazushi/754110618707066880/so-this-isnt-so-much-an-incorrect-quotes

So this was her original post, the idea sprouting, so to say :D

Credit on your brain rot, it's hilarious @mechazushi :D

The less I get done in RL - the more creative I get, it's such a horrible curse..

Should I do a split up version of this as well, I wonder..? Like..all of them in seperate pics? (¯―¯ ٥)

[brain-rot-hour]

[maareyas]

I've been trying to speedrun learning to use Blender! here's some stuff I've made with the help of tutorials on youtube :]

Hammer | Room | Space bottle

[earlysunshines]

love at your door

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: you wake up on the couch to find out that it’s actually not your couch and oh my god why is your hot neighbor sitting across from you watching tv???

warnings: sana is a FLIRT ; reader is a loser ; sana is a losersexual ; pacing is iffy but it’s bc i wanted it to be short ; alcohol ; anything else i didn’t mention ; not proofread so prob spelling errors idk i wrote most on my phone

a/n: based off the time i got drunk and fell asleep in the wrong room… anyways my love for sana will NEVER DIE guess who’s BACK.

you wake up with a groan, face smushed against a cushion that's definitely not yours, and the first thing that hits you—aside from the dull pounding in your head—is the faint sound of a tv playing in the background. 

slowly, you crack your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. you finally realize you’re not in your room, and the couch you're sprawled out on… also not yours.

you sit up too quickly and regret it immediately, head spinning, the room around you momentarily blurred. but then it sharpens, and your heart nearly stops when you spot her. sana, your neighbor—your gorgeous, gorgeous neighbor that you’ve been eyeing since you moved in—sitting across from you on her armchair, completely unbothered with her legs tucked underneath her, eyes fixed on the tv but clearly aware you’re awake now. 

she’s holding a ceramic mug in one hand, and for some reason, that little detail makes everything so much worse.

because—how did you end up here?

you glance down at yourself and, of course, you’re still in your luigi costume from last night. the tight green tank top clings to you under the denim overalls (one strap purposely loose and falling off your shoulder because you’re desperate for attention in these trying times) which you had decided to wear in some ill-fated attempt to look “hot” while still committing to the theme. you had succeeded, at least you think, judging from the compliments you vaguely remember through the drunken haze of the halloween party. but now, under sana’s gaze, you suddenly feel a lot less confident about it.

“jesus christ,” you mutter, rubbing your temples, trying to piece together what happened. “what—”

“morning sleepy,” sana says, finally looking over at you, lips curling into a small, amused smile. “you came stumbling in after the party. i figured it was safer to let you crash here than send you back to your place like that.”

this has to be a nightmare.

her voice is casual, like this isn’t completely mortifying for you. like this isn’t the exact scenario your sleep-deprived, engineering-major brain has dreamed up in countless fleeting moments when you’ve caught glimpses of her in the hallways (well, you figured you’d be in a less embarassing scene) but now it’s real, and your heart is thudding painfully loud in your chest, and you can’t decide if you want to disappear or if you never want to leave.

(the first option might be the smartest)

you clear your throat, pushing down the urge to bury your face in your hands. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t—i didn’t mean to crash here like that. i must’ve been drunk out of my mind i— fuck, nayeon, that bitch… im sorry my friends they’re—“

“don’t worry about it,” she waves off your apology, taking a sip from her mug, her gaze briefly dipping down to your outfit before flicking back to your face. “i never knew luigi could look this good.” she adds, a smirk playing on her face that renders you weak.

you feel heat rise to your face instantly, and you’re pretty sure it’s not just the aftermath of all the alcohol you consumed last night. her words hang in the air, teasing, but there’s something else in her tone that sends a jolt through you. something that makes you suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you feel, the snug fit of the tank top and the way her eyes had lingered on your exposed skin just for a second.

“uh—” you start, but your voice comes out strained, so you clear your throat again, scrambling for a response. “thank you…?”

she grins at your awkwardness, a soft, almost mischievous smile that only adds to the rising tension in the room. “you’re welcome.”

you force a laugh, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin tingle. “right, well… thanks for, uh, taking care of me. and not letting me do something even more embarrassing.”

“more embarrassing than this?” sana raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your discomfort. she gestures toward your outfit with a nod, and you can’t help but huff a laugh this time, the tension breaking just a little.

“point taken,” you mutter, swinging your legs off the couch to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to hit. sana’s on her feet in a second, steadying you with a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm.

“easy,” she murmurs, and you freeze, suddenly way too aware of how close she is. her hand lingers just a second too long, and when she finally lets go, you feel like you can breathe again—but it doesn’t stop your pulse from racing.

her eyes dart down to the base of your neck and the intensity of her gaze is amplified.

“quite a hickey, huh?”

“what?” you had to be drunk drunk. you can’t recall anything about kissing girls, you’re not the type to be like that when under the influence. “that’s— i can’t even remember.”

“had fun, didn’t you?” sana looks back into your eyes, making you shrink despite her smaller frame. you feel sorry, you want to apologize for something you can’t even remember—you have no clue why. she’s just your neighbor. she’s the neighbor down the hall that greeted you kindly when you had moved in to town. the same neighbor that you had to blink multiple times at before realizing she’s not a fairytale princess that’s creeped out of the books.

you glance at the door, needing an escape, even though a very large part of you doesn’t want to leave just yet. but standing in her living room in yesterday’s clothes with your head still buzzing is doing nothing for your nerves.

“i should, uh, probably go,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the door.

sana steps back, giving you space, but her expression shifts into something playful as she watches you. “right. but hey—if you ever need a place to crash again, my couch is always open.”

you blink, not sure if she’s joking or if there’s more to that offer. but before you can overthink it, you nod, mumbling a quick, “thanks, i’ll keep that in mind,” before heading for the door.

and just as you’re about to step out, sana calls after you, her voice teasing, warm. “hey, luigi.”

you pause, turning to look at her.

she leans casually against the doorframe, eyes glinting with that same playfulness, and she gives you a slow, once-over before her lips curve into a smirk. “seriously. never knew luigi could be this hot.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and all you can do is laugh, a nervous, breathless sound, before quickly slipping out the door, your mind buzzing as you head back to your place.

sana always caught your eye, but now… now you’re pretty sure you’re never going to stop thinking about her.

—

the whole day you’re quite literally losing your mind. as soon as you crash onto your bed when you get back home, you cringe at how much of an idiot you are, and at the fact that you accepted every single drink handed to you by nayeon.

and then the next day, you’re still replaying the entire morning in your head—how sana’s words lingered, the way her eyes had flickered over you with that teasing smile. it’s been driving you to distraction all day. you couldn’t focus during class, barely heard a word your professor said, and by the time your last lecture ends, you’ve come to a decision.

you’re going to do something about it.

(you’re undeniably an idiot, but everyone in your circle knows that anyway.)

so after class, you stop by the small flower shop near campus. it’s not something you’d typically do—flowers and chocolate, that’s so cliché, right? but somehow it feels like the right move. sana had caught you completely off guard yesterday, and maybe it’s time you do the same.

you have a small conversation with the florist, who recommends her favorite assortment of tulips. you don’t want to do too much, so you settle with yellow tulips, their petals delicate and bright. simple, but thoughtful (you hope).

next, you pick out a small box of chocolates, nothing fancy but enough to show you’ve put some real thought into this. because somehow, leaving things the way they were feels unfinished.

you can’t possibly just leave it like that, you can’t have the only real memory and meaningful interaction between you and sana consist of you flat out drunk and at a loss for words.

you’re already a loser as it is, and especially when sana is around—whether that’s when you two both end up at the mailbox together, with you losing the ability to speak when she simply smiles and compliments you; and also the simple greetings when you two arrive at around the same time on wednesday’s and thursdays (not that you take note of it—you definitely do). 

when you get home, you scribble out a short note on a small card:

hi sana,  

thanks for letting me crash on your couch yesterday. i’m really, really sorry. 

here’s a little something as a thank you. hope you like tulips.

and chocolate.

– luigi 

you read it over twice, fighting the nervous energy bubbling up inside you. it’s playful, casual, but maybe—hopefully—it’ll make her smile. you take the flowers, chocolates, and the note, placing everything neatly in a small brown paper bag before heading down the hall.

when you reach her doorstep, your heart is pounding. you place the bag gently on the ground, adjusting the flowers one last time so they look perfect. then, you take a deep breath and knock, firm but quick, before spinning on your heel and rushing back to your own place.

you barely make it through the door before the nerves fully hit. your heart races, and you lean back against the door, letting out a heavy breath. what if she doesn’t like it? what if it’s too much?

but before your thoughts spiral too far, you hear the faint sound of her door opening down the hall, followed by the quiet shuffle of her picking up the bag.

there’s silence for a bit before you hear the door close again, earning a sigh of relief.

if your friends were to find out literally everything that had happened in the span of less than forty-eight hours, they’d tease you until you had to move out again.

—

the next night, you’re at your desk, buried in the engineering assignment youve been given that same day. something about fluid dynamics, a dense problem set that has you scribbling equations and checking graphs on your laptop. it’s not exactly easy to focus—your mind keeps wandering back to sana, the flowers, the chocolates, and really just everything about her. every time you think about her, a small smile tugs at your lips, despite the headache that’s building from the workload.

then, out of nowhere, you hear a knock at the door.

you blink, glancing at the clock. you’re not expecting anyone, and for a second, you wonder if you imagined it. but when the knock repeats, you push your chair back, setting aside your notes. still a little distracted by the assignment, you take your time getting up, stretching briefly before finally heading to the door.

when you open it, there’s no one there. just silence, the hallway empty. but as you glance down, you spot something on the floor—a folded piece of paper. your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but grin as you bend down to pick it up, already knowing who it’s from.

you unfold the note, and sana’s handwriting greets you:

so, you’re kinda cute even in that luigi costume—i couldn’t stop thinking about you

(i think you’re cute in uniform and not) 

though i have to ask—what’s with the hickey? did luigi have a little too much fun?  ;)

anyway, i liked the flowers. i liked the chocolates too. 

but i think i like the person giving them more.

you should come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. i mean, you weren’t that shy the other night ;)  

– sana <3

your face heats up instantly as you read the hickey line, hand instinctively reaching to touch your neck. there’s no way, right? you don’t remember—

then it hits you. fuck. it wasn’t a hickey. nayeon had bullied you about how you ran into something that night at her party, some broom? wall? maybe momo elbowed you? or something. you’re not the type to just fuck random girls, not when you’re loyal to your neighbor that you utter maybe three sentences a week to if you’re lucky. but the thought of what had happened that night isn’t even important because now your mind’s racing, thinking about how sana’s teasing you. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you all giddy and nervous.

you reread the note, feeling that familiar nervous excitement grow. come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. your pulse picks up. there’s no way you’re saying no to that.

without bothering to change out of your hoodie and sweats, you grab your keys, locking the door behind you as you head down the hall. your heart’s still racing, and your mind’s swirling with a mix of nerves and anticipation as you stop in front of sana’s door.

when she opens it, she’s standing there with that same playful smirk—sultry, seductive, and somehow so cute at the same time. her eyes gleam like she already knows exactly what’s going through your mind. 

"took you long enough," she says, stepping aside to let you in, her voice warm, teasing. "for a second, i thought you’d be too shy to show up."

you huff a laugh, shaking your head as you walk inside, glancing around her apartment again. “i’m– i’m not.” it sounds unconvincing, but the woman in front of you thinks it’s adorable.

she quirks a brow, then smiles at that, closing the door behind you. "good to know." she says, handing you a small glass of wine and suddenly everything is a little bit too intimate. 

the two of you end up sitting on her couch, the tv still softly playing in the background like it had been the other morning. the conversation flows easily—there’s that natural comfort between you now, even with the teasing tension that lingers under the surface.

she talks about herself and you talk about yourself too, piquing both your interests. small talk grows into something bigger and you two enjoy the newfound information you’re both learning about each other. you’re breaking the ice, maybe easing into the cold waters in comparison to splashing into it.

“so, about that hickey,” she says, leaning back into the couch, her grin widening as she glances pointedly at your neck. her leg crosses over the other and she holds the glass in her hand near her lips, a small smirk tugging at one corner. “i’m just saying, it looks a little suspicious.”

you roll your eyes, your face heating up again. “it’s not a hickey. i swear.”

“uh-huh,” she teases, clearly not letting it go. “sure it’s not.”

“apparently i hit a broom or wall—something like that.” you shake your head, laughing lightly, but there’s an undeniable pull between you two. 

the way she looks at you, the way her smile lingers a little too long, and the way her knee brushes against yours every now and then—you have to hold yourself back from saying and doing a lot of things. it’s in the way her voice lowers when she speaks, soft and reeling.

you spend the next hour just talking, laughing, sharing random stories about classes, her teasing you about your engineering homework, and you teasing her back about her terrible taste in tv shows. every time she smiles or laughs, it feels like a small victory, something you want to keep chasing. and every time you speak her eyes are in deep contact with yours, spiking your heartrate without fail.

eventually, the conversation lulls, and there’s a moment of quiet where she looks at you, her eyes softening just slightly. “you know,” she murmurs, “i’m really glad you came over. this… was nice.”

“yeah,” you say, smiling back, your heart racing in your chest. “it was.”

“i always thought you were really cute,” she says before sipping on her white wine, “but i’m not a chaser.”

“is that right?”

“unless you count me responding to your apology, then yes.”

you laugh, setting the empty glass down. 

“well,” you begin, biting your lip. “i like to pursue.”

“quite forward isn’t it?”

“you invited me over for wine, it doesn’t get more forward than what you’ve brought to the table.”

“is that so?” sana hums, tilting her head. she bites the inside of her lip, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “i think it can get more forward.”

your breath hitches in the slightest and you can tell sana’s noticed when she lets out that signature chuckle. 

“well, i think it’s time to end the night. you were working on assignments prior, no?” you frown at the suggestion.

“i— yeah, you’re right.” 

there’s a knowing smile on her lips, but you ignore it and stand up with her as she walks you to her door. 

“i had a great time pretty girl,” she puts her hand on your forearm while saying it, her touch burning your skin. “hopefully we can be much more forward next time.”

you laugh. “i like the sound of that.”

“mhm, goodnight.” she says, grinning at you before meekly closing her door.

you purse your lips before walking down the hall and reaching your door. your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it and head in, feeling a sense of regret.

…

sana hears a knock at her door ten minutes later, turning off the sink and drying her hands before walking over to see what’s up. 

the moment the door opens and sana sees you standing there, the look on her face is priceless.

“what—” she starts, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused, but before she can finish, you step forward, your hand reaching out to grab her forearm gently. you pull her just a little closer, your heart pounding as you look at her.

“i want to be more forward,” you admit, voice low, the question hanging in the space between you.

for a second, she just stares at you, wide-eyed, before a soft laugh escapes her. she gets it now. “oh, we’re moving pretty fast, aren’t we?” she teases, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “take me out to dinner.”

you grin, and she hesitates for a beat, but then she nods, and it’s enough—enough to send your pulse racing, enough for you to lean in. before you can close the distance, though, her hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing the base of your neck, and you feel her shiver as she touches you.

“you say that like,” you pause, observing the surprise and allure in her features. “like you didn’t eye-fuck me the other night.”

her cheeks flush as her fingers linger on your skin, and you catch the way she bites her lip, trying to hide her own smile. you don’t wait any longer.

you lean in and meet her lips with yours, melting into it just as she does. 

it starts soft, just a gentle press of your lips against hers, but it quickly deepens as sana lets out a quiet, surprised sound that turns into something more—something she’s clearly enjoying a little too much. her hand moves to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and the way she kisses you back sends a thrill through you.

before you know it, she’s dragging you inside, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other guiding you back toward the couch. the door closes behind you, but you barely notice, too focused on the way her lips move against yours.

when you finally pull back for air, she’s breathless, grinning like she’s just won something. “you should’ve been this forward earlier,” she teases, her thumb brushing against the side of your neck.

“yeah?” you ask, a little breathless yourself, but you can’t stop smiling.

“yeah,” she murmurs, eyes flickering down to your lips before she leans in again, kissing you slower this time, savoring it. sana is a great kisser, the type of kisser that leaves you wanting more and more. after a moment, she pulls back, just enough to whisper, “maybe you should stay a little longer.”

you can’t help but laugh softly. “you sure you can handle that?”

“please,” she says, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous look. “you weren’t that shy the other night.”

“well i was drunk and—“

before you can even finish your response, she’s kissing you again, and this time, you’re more than happy to let her pull you even closer.

[hysteria-things]

based off of this

BEREAL

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

��𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: the bereal notification goes off when you and your boyfriend are in an intimate situation.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PURE FILTH, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, spanking, hair pulling, dumbification, breeding, ROUGH

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 631

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: DID NOT MEAN TO RELEASE THIS LATE BUT I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT SINCE I REACHED THE POST LIMIT AGAIN😭

but anyway matt/chris will be back tomorrow!

nate’s phone blows up with notifications on the nightstand from the DA BOYZ group chat with nick, matt, and chris — but he’s too busy to check it now.

moaning loudly, your hands clutch at the pillow your head is lying on. your knuckles are white, eyes rolling back so far in your head. it’s been forty-five minutes, and you came twice already.

you guys are making a fucking mess, but neither of you cares at this moment. his and your cum combined slap against your thighs, a string of arousal connecting and breaking each time he thrusts into you. you mumble something into the pillows, but it’s so incoherent that it sounds like a moan.

his hand is wrapped tightly around your neck, the other one running up and down the small of your back. he’s so deep inside your cunt that you seriously don’t know how he does it.

drool drips down your chin and onto the sheets below, body becoming rag doll-like when your grip starts to loosen and you start to rock violently to the speed of the way he’s plowing hard into you with no mercy. “there she is; getting fucked stupid on my cock because that’s all you have to fucking live for.”

only groaning in response, you start to see specks of white every time you blink. your pussy is so tight around his dick that it makes it hard for him to move. nate’s so balls deep that it feels like he’s in your throat.

silenced screams go past your lips as the headboard bangs rapidly against his bedroom wall, his tip brushing against your g-spot for the nth time tonight. he moans, grabbing your ass and jiggling it before slapping it. “might have to put my kid in ya.” he hisses, giving it another hit. “i need to breed this pussy full. you let me use it so well.”

catching a glimpse at his lit phone screen, he sees a specific notification pop up:

⚠️time to bereal⚠️

2 min left to capture a bereal to see what your friends are up to!

he smirks, grabbing his phone and opening the app. he points the camera to his face as the time counts down. eyes hooded and lips swollen, a handful of hickeys decorate his neck in red and purple, along with a few scratch marks on his chest.

pressing the white button at the bottom of the screen, he grips the top of your hair to yank your head off the pillow. he quickly turns his phone around, the back camera getting your face into view.

nate waits patiently a few seconds for the picture to render, letting go of your head so he can upload it. this is the first time he’s seen what you look like all night.

strands of hair are disheveled or stuck to your forehead from sweating, eyes crossed with your tongue sticking out like a dog. that poor brain of yours thinking only about nate’s cock fucking the shit out of you.

“i’m cu-mming.” you hiccup, shaking violently as you’re overstimulated from three hard orgasms. the boy behind you licks his lips, stopping deep before spurts of his hot cum fill your womb.

seconds later, reactions come flooding in on his post. some are from peers from high school, while the rest are from the crew.

madi’s eyes are wide, her hand covering her mouth.

nick looks disgusted, his face half out of the frame.

matt’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth hanging open in complete shock.

last but not least, chris smiles widely at the camera with a big thumbs up.

matthew.sturniolo: oh brother

nicolassturniolo: NATHAN DOE.

user: she’s living the dream, i’m afraid…

madifilipowicz: 😟

user: HE HAS BITCHES???

christophersturniolo: get that pussy bro😝

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @stellarsturns @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @crazychrisl0v3r @maggieflms @strtuniolo @mutualsafe @riasturns @sturniolowhore @antpile00 @ashley9282828 @stingerayyy2

[lalalunel]

Work (or a lack thereof)

semester is over, I've just been rendered horny

wc: 671

cw: filthy, porn no plot, needy user x tired Leon, dirty talk, degrading, mention of aftercare, p in v sex, crying, unprotected sex (wrap that thing yall!), creampie

enjoy?

All Leon wanted to do was work. 

Get some reports done, send a few emails, down a couple glasses of whiskey while doing it. He had it all planned perfectly. He should’ve known there was something wrong with how perfect it seemed. The ‘something wrong’ was you. 

Leon wanted to work but you wanted to play. Leon wanted to work but you wanted to cuddle. Leon wanted to work but you wanted to paw at his dick like a needy slut in heat to tempt him into giving up his work and fucking your brains out. 

You were the word distraction in human form and Leon was only a man. He couldn’t be blamed for his actions when you were asking for it. 

“God, I really do hate it when you’re needy, y’know that?” He grunted, roughly gripping your hair with no remorse. He didn’t have the energy to try and be gentle, and it's not like you deserved or wanted it anyways. “Only thing you ever want is my dick, huh? Like you can’t live without it.” 

He used his grip on your hair to roughly push your face into the pillows on your shared bed, rolling his hips so his cock nudged into you deep enough to have you squirming and babbling incoherently into your silky pillow case. “For fucks sake- I told you I needed to get my work done but you just can’t wait. Desperate little bitch can’t ever wait, tight little pussy just needs to be filled 24/7, hm? I should keep you fucking sedated when I need to get something done.” 

His words are filled with a heat that he knows you can’t understand at the moment, and he doesn’t mind it because that saved him a little more apologizing later. Right now, though, if you can’t understand it verbally, he’ll make you feel it. 

Tugging on your hair and pushing your face into the pillows, pressing down on your back so that it arches, and he can rut in deeper, reaching to pinch at your pert nipples until you’re whining about the pain and sensitivity. 

He’s doing everything so sharply and at a pace so slow it makes you want to cry- no it does make you cry. A few watery sobs mix into your babbling and Leon wonders for a minute if he’s gone too far. He stills his hips and just as he goes to ask if you’re alright, he feels you pushing yourself back on him, fucking yourself back on him even as you cry. Fuck. It nearly makes him bust right there. “Jesus--” 

It’s all he needs to exchange his grip on your hair for a two handed grip on your hips, pulling your body back onto his cock and snapping his hips into you at the same time for a dangerous combo. “Fuck, gonna’ stuff this pussy so you’ll leave me alone. Make sure you’re satisfied and full of cum so I can get my work done.” He makes you feel like a rag doll in the best way and it has you gushing and clenching around him just mere moments later, crying completely into the pillows as he chases his own release using your body. 

“Ssshit--” He comes with a hitched groan, his hips stuttering into yours once, twice, before he’s falling still and then literally falling down on top of you, caging your body down against the bed as he takes a breather and his dick jerks inside you, spurting thick ropes of white deep inside. Fucking takes a lot out of him. Literally.

He huffs when he hears a hiccupy complaint from you about how he’s too heavy and for him to get off of you. That’s the thanks he gets for giving into your whining about needing him and neglecting his work that he needed to get done? Sounds to him like you need a lesson in how to properly show your gratitude. Another round seems like a sufficient lesson in his books.

~~~

i'd kill to be sedated rn

[mandatory-ftmbreeder]

Some people have been asking so here’s the story of how i had a threesome with myself (trans guy), my boyfriend (cis guy), and our new fwb who is a divorced single father of 3 (cis guy) tldr; i understand why this guy has 3 kids cuz i would also let him put a baby in me again and again.

FOR REFERENCE: Single father = D, my bf = P.

I was traveling all day on the 28th (had TWO flights to get back to where i live) and i didn’t get home till 1 am. But thankfully D was still up to meeting up with us despite the late hour and we got to his house at 2 am.

We walk up to his front door and I can see this man is watching freaking heroes of the storm gameplay on his tv, he opens the door and is wearing a onesie lmfao. We walk in, its a small but very cozy house with a large couch. I sit on the couch in the middle with D to my left and P to my right. We talk about random video game shit for a bit, glance thru his tv and put on a random anime episode. During this my bf is cuddled up to my side and I’m moving my leg closer to D till its pressed against his.

D gets up to get water and my bf whispers to me that I should put my hand on D’s lap when i get back. D returns, it takes me awhile, but I eventually do put my hand on D’s thigh. It doesn’t take long before he’s doing the same to me. We talk a bit more like this, starting to rub each other’s thighs, we change the tv to 21 jump street, laugh at the stupid shit in the beginning, and then my bf starts encouraging me to put my hand on his dick. Slowly, I start to rub where I think D’s dick is and eventually I find it and shit. He’s already fully hard.

I’m also rubbing my bf’s dick with my other hand while I do this. Both of them are rubbing higher and higher on my thighs and D is rubbing my cunt through my shorts. I tug at D’s onesie and he opens it up for me and this man is FULLY naked underneath it. I grab his dick and start jerking him off. Bf tells me to return the favor and yanks off my shorts and boxers.

D gets down between my legs and starts eating me out with a passion. Clit sucking, lapping at my hole, going crazy. My bf takes off his bottoms as well and we end up in this triangle where D is eating me out, I’m jerking off my bf, and my bf is sucking D’s cock.

We move to the bed and I lick/suck D’s dick for a bit (but i have a small mouth and my jaw gets tired very easily unfortunately). Thankfully my bf LOVES sucking cock so my bf tells me to ride D’s face while he sucks D’s dick. We do this for a bit before I move down and start to ride D.

and holy fuck. Hooooly. Fuck. The moment this older man’s dick is in me I can tell I am in for a good fucking time. It fills me up so fucking good, stretches me and goes in me deep without hurting me (I’ve taken a dick way too big before that DID hit too deep and hurt me.) and even though I’m riding D, he’s also very actively participating and fucking right back up into me. Shit. It felt so good. I end up also slobbering all over my bf’s dick while D fucks my brains out and I bounce on it like a mindless slut. From this point onwards my brain is a mess because that dick renders me incapable of proper thought.

We fuck like that for awhile before my legs get tired so I lay on my back, legs spread open wide by D. And then D gets out this amazing huge powerful wand vibrator and thats when I know I am REALLY, REALLY in for a good time. Getting fucked by this man while a vibrator on my clit is so FUCKING GOOD. While this is happening sometimes I’m jerking off my bf or sucking his dick, or D is sucking his dick.

D decides to give my bf a turn fucking me. Bf mating presses me while I open my mouth wide and stick my tongue out and let D rub his cock all over my tongue and lips. I also suck on the tip and lick up and down it too. Moaning like a fucking bitch in heat. Doing this until my bf cums inside me.

Then we change positions again so I’m on my back, ass hanging off the side of the bed, while D stands up and fucks me. Back to using the vibrator again and this shit is fucking magical. And let me tell you all… D knows how to fuck. This man knows. how. to. fuck. He doesn’t hesitate to move me around however he wants, spreading my legs wide, folding me practically in half, yanking me closer to him so he can fuck me better. He puts his hand on my lower pubic area and pushes upwards so it pulls back the foreskin on my clit so i can feel the vibrator against it better AND HE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TO ASK IF I WANTED IT. HE JUST KNEW IT WOULD FEEL GOOD FOR ME. (Probably because I clench really hard when something feels really good but yknow lol)

At this point we have to take a short 5 min water break (neither D nor I have cum yet, bf did cum and is just chilling) and my hair is literally WET and matted with sweat.

D and I go back to fucking in the same position. I end up taking control of the vibrator while he keeps fucking me. Bf is whispering naughty shit to me, telling me how much of a slut I am, how much I very obviously enjoy this, while D says how fucking tight and good my hole feels. D ends up cumming inside me and a few seconds later I’m able to make myself cum with D’s cock still in my cunt and holy. fucking. shit.

I screamed so loud my bf thought I was giving BIRTH. Listen, when I cum, I’m usually a quiet guy. I rarely make any noise and if I do its usually a few quiet whimpers. But this time… I genuinely could not fucking control myself and I was screaming LOUD. I wasn’t playing it up, I wasn’t faking it, that shit was from the SOUL. My orgasm is so fucking overwhelming it lasts a solid 45 seconds and i’m nearly screaming the entire time and my legs are shaking so hard D has to hold me up. Towards the end of my orgasm D pulls out of me and I can feel a thick string of cum leak out and go right down my entire ass.

My bf and I were literally laughing at each other after I finished orgasming like “um holy shit what the HELL was that???” girl idfk either.

And afterwards I felt very at peace with myself and so deeply satisfied all I could do was laugh and be sleepy till we got home and fell asleep.

Thanks for reading my sexcapade. Hopefully I’ll have more in the future with D to tell about later.

[risuola]

▶ BOYFRIENDS — two is better than one.

contents: college+roommates!au, alcohol consumption, college party kind of situation, groping mentioned — wc. 845

a/n: you were voting in the poll and picked the stsg protecting the reader from the drunk so there we go! our boys making sure we're safe!

𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝘿𝙇𝙀𝙔 | series masterlist

“C’mon cutie, it’s jus’ a dance.”

You’re far from being a mind reader. Sometimes you struggle with getting the point of something someone is telling you straight on, but this time you were sure it wasn’t a dance the man wanted from you.

A thick stench of alcohol saturated the air whenever he was leaning towards you, rendering the oxygen useless because you’d rather suffocate than introduce that toxic waste into your lungs. You were trapped, between the counter in a small, dorm kitchen and a guy you recognized from a sport’s team popular in your college. He’s not the top dog, average at most, but famous nonetheless and apparently such condition turned his ears deaf to any sort of refusal. The small of your back burned in the place where he glued his hand and it wasn’t a pleasant type of burn.

“I’m not gonna dance with you, get away, creep,” you scoffed, frowning upon the stubborn behavior and pressing the open palm of your hand against his chest, trying to put your strength against his own. No luck there, he didn’t budge the slightest.

“Hard to get, huh? I like that,” he grinned and next thing you noticed was a hand on your butt, squeezing the flesh like an orange. You flinched at the feeling, digging your nails into his forearm, doing about as much damage as a little kitten. That’s why you didn’t like college parties. “You sure are a feisty one, aren’t you?”

“Get. Off.” A groan left your throat and your fist clenched to your side. A knee itched to meet his crotch, a drink in your hand begged to be spilled over his stupid face and wash off his stupid smile, maybe even refresh his stinky breath a little.

You thought about violence, your body tensed and muscles contracted, getting ready for a strike, but then, you heard a hum. Soft, melodic, like a cotton and silk, soothing your nerves and making you relax. The sound made you stop; it made the drunk stop as well and your position shifted.

“Does my beautiful mochi have a problem here?”

You could physically feel how Satoru removed the unwanted hand from your rear and the wince on the boy’s face in front of you told you his grip was much heavier than the tone of his voice suggested. Then, your friend wrapped his arms around your waist, effectively pulling you out of the toxic orbit; your back met his wide chest and his chin dropped to rest on your shoulder. His bright blue eyes sized the guy in front of you from above the dark shades he wore that night and you noticed him smiling. It was confident, it was judging and so very challenging. You could tell he wished to get down and dirty with the drunk.

“And you are—?”

“Her boyfriend. Back off.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Bullshit,” the boy scoffed, clearly unable to comprehend the danger he put himself in. He hiccupped drunkenly and then found Suguru in the crowd, pointing at him. “That bitch told my friend her boyfriend is that guy.”

Satoru hummed again, amused, and then chuckled vividly. You felt his embrace tightening protectively around you and his fluffy hair tickling the side of your face. As if summoned, Geto made his way towards you and soon he joined your other side.

“Suguru, this guy over there called our girlfriend a bitch and dared to lay a hand over her ass,” Gojo painted the picture with a sweetly threatening tone and even pouted a little for the added effect.

“Oh yeah?” Brunette mused, raising an eyebrow and you heard a soft crack of his bones when he tilted his head to one side and then the other, stretching his neck. Oh, how menacing. “It can’t be.”

You watched as confusion washed over the features in front of you. The guy was drunk, but it seemed as if the dots were finally connecting in his brain, as if the message was reaching and realization was sinking in — very likely the sound of Suguru’s cracking knuckles made the process much more quick and efficient.

And he crumbled.

The boy shrunk under the set of gazes and tensed atmosphere. Mumbling something incoherent, he backed off, grabbing a can of beer on his way as if pretending to not be bothered when very visibly he was.

You sighed.

An exhale of relief made you wilt a little inside the protective embrace of Satoru’s arms. You felt your body relaxing.

“Thank you. He was damn persistent,” you addressed your friends, smoothing over the hands snaked around your waist and looking up at Suguru.

“Always,” brunette smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, while Satoru nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. Then he bit you, of course he did, but this time you let it slip.

“I’d be persistent too if I saw those tits unattended,” the snow-white mumbled, and Geto immediately nagged him, causing the dramatic roll of blue eyes.

You, on the other hand, laughed.

Those idiots.

taglist: @kibananya @r0ckst4rjk @rixo-19 @soraya-daydreams@hyun0200 @ilykii @roscpctals99 @mushkasstuff @siimp4youu @juicedcherry @themoreeviltwin @stevenknightmarc @ms5m1th @local-mr-frog @minimorale @lansy-4 @dancer545

[wherenymphsroam]

don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve” “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it. 

‘Shock’, right? 

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one. 

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right? 

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of. 

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel. 

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man. 

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.  

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image. 

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here. 

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip. 

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.” 

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners. 

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system. 

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so. 

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times. 

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID.  He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action. 

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy. 

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.) 

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of  mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding. 

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself. 

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

[lycancrow]

Ņ̴̻̰̼̼̘̃͊̓̿̍̉̌ͅÉ̴̻̹́̌͆̄̅̋̅̉O̸̢͔̰̱̠̫͔̮͕̾́N̷͙̥̊͝ ̴̨̪̺͋͂̍V̵̛̱̱̝͋̊̍̔̂̊͝O̸͔̻͓̟͙͉̗͌Ị̴̛̖̘̞̪̖͈̊̒͌͊͆̈D̷̰̟͙̏̇͒̿́̌

“You wanna F̷̬̒̒̃Ḯ̶͚̻̈́̆G̷̯̦̠͝H̶̙̯̖̠́͆̓̓T̵̨͕̗̙̈́̂?”

“The Neon Void” by sugarpastels on Ao3

ugh i have brain worms for this fic

notes about sketch:

gave him boots because i felt like his dramatic bitch ass would jump at any chance to wear big stompy boots (no matter how impractical they can be)

BIG EARS

red parts inside ears resemble demon horns, symbolizing how he’s seen as an almost “demonic” presence

this is just my silly little interpretation of void; several parts of the design don’t line up w/ the descriptions in the fic exactly. the changes were made for convenience and ✨aesthetics ✨

i don’t draw humanoids very often, but this was a fun challenge !!

i honestly expected to struggle with the flowy clothes, but they were surprisingly easy lol

i think i’ll try to render this, but i can’t guarantee that it’ll go well

thank you for your service @sugarpasteltmnt o7

[tot4llynotg4y]

Random post and first post but-

mommy fucking me brain dead with her strap for lying to her, the way she’d sweat and keep going as her body and muscles tenses, holding my waist with one hand and keeping my left arm up with the other. Her grip is painful but the pleasures so much that I can’t even render the pain. The way I pant like a fucking bitch as she convinces me “one more time prince, you’ve got this” as I struggled to speak in full words, just moaning helplessly.

[bryce-bucher]

500 CALIBER CONTRACTZ Post #16

WISHLIST IT PLZ!

Green Demon!!:

This whole post is gonna be about the green demon challenge that I implemented. For those unaware, the green demon challenge is something that originates from mario 64. It's a self imposed challenge in which you try to complete a level after spawning a 1up without letting it touch you. I love the concept so much, so I decided to add in a lil challenge on certain contracts where you summon a green demon and run around to grab 4 token pieces before it catches you.

The process of making the green demon's graphics was v fun. First, I made a sketch.

Then, I rendered out the head and hands in blender. (The animation is only 6 frames of the head and hands bobbin up n down.) Then, I brought those frames into csp and drew the same face on each frame.

After that, I shrunk that bitch down and dithered it with web colors like I had done with the environment textures.

The final result is something that feels like a geocities gif, and I'm really happy with it.

During playtesting I realized that players need to be able to figure out where the token pieces are gonna spawn before the demon is summoned, so I included these green token pieces to take their place before they spawn. Honestly, the only reason I'm mentioning this is because something in my lizard brain tells me to get very excited when I see floating green collectibles in games. I think it is because of how cool and special I thought the green stars were in Mario Galaxy when I was younger.

Conclusion:

I am aiming to have a demo of this game done with a couple contracts you can play by feb. We will see if this will happn... Other than that I don't got a lot 2 say. Next week u might be seeing some v cool ui if I manage to get it done.

[quinacridonered]

Rings of Power Recap - Season 2, Episode 2

Durin Jr.: I miss fancy food.

Disa: At least we are not eating rocks.

Earth: *quakes*

Crop Illumination System: *dies*

Durin Jr.: We are now.

--

Elf Principal: Commander Galadriel?

Galadriel: Huh? 

Elf Principal: You wouldn’t be tripping balls in the middle of a military strategy meeting, would you, Commander?

Galadriel: I was but it won’t stop me from rendering an opinion. 

Elf Principal: What did you see?

Galadriel: Sauron eating Celebrimbor for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. And a series of mid-day snacks.

Elf Principal: Nah. Eregion security is the stuff of legend.

Galadriel: So is Celebrimbor’s insecurity.

Elf Principal: Should have invited him to the Rings launch party.

--

Celebrimbor: Wash-resistant human?

Assistant: Still here.

Celebrimbor: Party invitations from Lindon?

Assistant: Not here.

Celebrimbor: Surely ’tis but an oversight, but just in case I’m going to try and invent the telegraph.

Murdered Messengers from Lindon: You go, dude.

--

Bulgarian Folk Choir: We are here to indicate mysterious Eastern Otherness.

Probably Not Saruman: Consider it indicated. Any news?

Resurrected Acolyte: No. Homeless Wizard kicked my ass.

Probably Not Saruman: Perhaps I should unresurrect you.

Minion: Permission to slaughter his hobbit friends?

Probably Not Saruman: That would diminish their hostage value, but give it a whirl.

--

Dwarven Mountain Communication Choir: LAAAAAAA!

Mountain: Nope.

--

Galadriel: Come with us to check on Celebrimbor.

Elrond: You’re interrupting my occupational therapy.

Galadriel: Talk to me, friend.

Elrond: Considering your other friends, it is a moniker I no longer desire.

Elf Elder: Channel your rage by exerting control.

Galadriel: That sounds kind of Sauronian.

Elrond: Just to be contrary, I’ll go.

Elf Elder: Good call, but promise me you’ll try yoga and meditation.

--

Homeless Wizard: I found a stick. Should my name be Stick Man?

Minions: Come with us and we’ll sort it out.

Homeless Wizard: *swears in Quenya*

Minions: Wheeee!

Hobbits: Wheeee!

Homeless Wizard: Field notes. Swearing in Quenya raises a hurricane. Will try to swear in Sindarin going forward.

--

Celebrimbor: Please leave.

Sauron: I have ring intel.

Celebrimbor: Please stay.

Sauron: Eh. I gather I’m not wanted.

Celebrimbor: If you tell me about the rings, I’ll give you dinner.

Sauron: They worked.

Celebrimbor: Was there a party?

Sauron: Yes, but they didn’t invite you because nobody likes you except me.

Celebrimbor: My next move is to get drunk on ancient booze.

Sauron: Or you could make some rings for humans.

Celebrimbor: Don’t tell me what to make.

Sauron: Guess we’ll do this the hard way.

Forge: *bursts into flames*

Divine Light: *illuminates all*

Angelic Choir: Do we have to?

Sauron: Sing, bitches.

Angelic Choir: LAAAAAAA!

Sauron: Have you considered accepting me as your personal saviour?

Celebrimbor: Holy shit, you clean up well.

Sauron: How ‘bout them rings?

Celebrimbor: Sorry, did you say something?

Sauron: *snaps fingers*

Celebrimbor: Ah! Yes! Rings! Circular objects made of metal! 

Sauron: I better tone it down if I want his brain to work.

--

Letter to Dwarves: Lord Celebrimbor requests your presence.

Murdered Messengers from Lindon: Funny how that one went through.

------------------

Recap for Season 2, Episode 1

[mdhwrites]

how would you have written eda's curse and Luz's time in hexside? Eda's curse supposed to be a stand in for chronic illness but not only did they get rid of it they turned it into her 'superpower'- I know a lot of people call that a bad faith critic but it bothers me and just because hexside is cool and magic doesn't mean it's separate from the rest of the BI's laws and darwinism plus Luz is neurodivergent and has no biological magic- she would have issues with bullying and learning like she did back on her world- things wouldn't be magically fixed and might even be worse?

Why is it that The Owl House has nothing interesting to be done with powerlessness? To turn one's theorized weaknesses into strengths? Why do they just have to become strengths?

This is one of the biggest ways in which I would argue TOH is brain dead. Most other aspects of the show I can criticize but I have to admit that they tried. That there's something there... But it's entirely missing here. Which the fact that in an adventure series, the show cannot challenge the protagonist when they have a SEVERE disadvantage like this is emblematic of how the show doesn't challenge anyone on anything.

Eda's curse is like THE plot point of S1. Its finale and S2's opening, and even Affearances, all revolve around how we have gone from being worried about using magic to not being able to use magic. It's a HUGE status quote, especially because it leaves these characters so much more vuln- Oh never mind. Eda has explosive potions and glyphs that outdo all of her magic that she did before. It's not a problem. Move the fuck on.

I talked to an author after Clouds on the Horizon about how Eda gaining a coven sigil means nothing. They argued back that she'd lose her magic then. I shot back that she already lost it... And they admitted, being a fanfic author for TOH, that they FORGOT EDA DIDN'T HAVE MAGIC.

But why would you even remember that? She uses more magic with the glyphs than she did without them. The one time the curse really got in the way was with Tibbles. Then it not just became a superpower, it had EXTRA POWERS! Like what we saw in Eda's Requiem. Her magic genuinely got more interesting and more devastating AFTER losing it.

And this paralleled with Luz. Covention is the ONE time her not having magic comes up as something that puts her in danger and the answer is just to have someone else do the magic, which is always the solution in S1 early on. Need to fight Bounty Hunters? Bring in Willow. Need to escape detention? Yo Gus, use that good good illusion magic of yours. My own unique personality traits, skills and abilities instead? Why the fuck would we use that when everyone is overpowered and that's SO much easier a solution?

And once Luz does have her full arsenal, she rivals ANY other mage we've seen below Lilith's level. Fight a Selkidamus? Sure, I'm better than the entire fucking boat and will solo this bitch after they fail and I only need them for physical strength. The Conformatorium is my bitch by the end of S1 despite no training or practice. I can just walk up to Warden Wrath and render him completely at my mercy with just slips of paper. After those two back to back moments, anytime Luz loses or is challenged is just narrative contrivance because we've seen that her power is essentially limitless. It doesn't even cost her energy since her stamina seems entirely disconnected from her spells...

Which Gus reinforces because when he picks up glyphs, even when nervous with them, they are bluntly stronger than any other version we've seen of those spells. The largest fireball in the entire show is when Gus nervously casts his first glyph. It's horseshit.

And as you point out, it has cascading effects. If you want boring combat because otherwise you would need to sacrifice time from character work, that's one thing. However, the show's premise is on Luz learning magic. Learning to be the best version of herself. Because magic is not challenged though, she does not have to improve as a person to improve her magic. That's why three of her four glyphs have nothing to do with moral lessons. Arguably, all of them, and that's not getting into how the combo glyphs happen off screen and you can't argue shortening because all but one combo glyph is gotten before the shortening took effect. As such, you're not doing character work AND you're not doing interesting, entertaining combat or adventures.

I think the most damning thing here, period, is that I've mixed these subjects because it's obvious. A depowered, master of magic working with someone who wants to be that master of magic to understand the world and their abilities. It should be a bonding point for them that they don't have magic or that magic comes hard for them. But... It's not. It literally never is. The closest it EVER comes to that is when Luz teaches Eda glyphs which is like all of two minutes between two episodes and that's in SEASON TWO. It's not a reversal of dynamics because the first dynamic just straight up NEVER HAPPENED.

But it's easier to just give them powers. To just give super forms or combo glyphs or whatever else the person needs in that moment. It's easier than exploring the complicated subjects of not having something everyone else has, even though shows for TODDLERS literally have done it for decades in single episodes.

How am I supposed to agree that this is the deepest show with the most complex writing when they could not bother even once answering the question "How does someone without magic win against that win against something that does?" And for a show with two of its protagonists entirely missing magic at different points in the show, that's downright embarrassing.

TOH would have to be more than just another isekai using fantasy elements for power fantasy elements to give a shit about that though. Shame to anyone who actually cares about those genres though, this isn't the place for you. See you next tale.

======+++++======

Before anyone tries to crack back with this btw: Putting a glyph on Belos WOULD count if not for the fact that Luz has to break every version of the invisibilty spell we've ever seen for that to have worked. Her magic just did what it needed to do. She wasn't smart, the show cheated, which is essentially the whole point of this blog. And for those curious: EVERY other use of the Invisibility spell includes making the entire person vanish which makes sense since it is connected to the breath of the caster. Then out of nowhere, Luz can do it to a single object that she's wearing despite no one ever making their shirt even accidentally vanish. That's not clever, that's bullshit.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[ladydeath-vanserra]

Hello 👋

I love your thoughts on anti ic and the way you delve into everything and actually name the issues within them .

I have a rant about Feyre :

I liked her in Book 1 but book 2 onwards Mr SA melted her brain . There are lots of things that irk me about feyre : Her Hipocrasy first and foremost

The Hipocrasy is strong with this girl istg , like you're the one who does a free public porn show for the guy who SA you and then have the gall to compliment rhys when he uses his powers on keir for calling you a whore. Like wtf ? I am on kiers side in this , if your dictator ( because that's what rhysand is ) was fingering a fae in front of all of his court I'd be disgusted too .

The scene where feyre starts crying because of nestas expenditure ? Like bitch you have 5 houses and your "friend s" are always out drinking and fucking and you don't have a problem with that ? I actually think mor is an alcoholic and her relationship with cassian is incestuous.

Feyre locking Nesta in the HOW even after her trauma when tamlin locked her up in the manor like are you kidding me rn ? Seriously if I was nesta I would've verbally rendered feyre to a pile of dust .

Coming to that she also has no phycological damage from the 3 months rhysand SA her and made her do lap dances but when your sister is snarky and calls you for her decisions you have the gall to have trauma about that ? Be fr bro I call my brother whore for fun 💀( only children shouldn't be allowed to write sibling relationships - sjm )

Sorry if this got too long , I just wanted to rant to someone and I hope you understand ( you're one of the few people in this fandom with actual functioning neurons )

Thank you 💗

Yeah, I don't really get Rhysand's whole,,, well anything regarding politics tbh. He talks down and degrades the CoN and treat them as nothing more than oppressive misogynists' in front of them and then proceeds to perform sexual acts with the woman he then wants to be viewed in a professional, respectable and political light and when that doesn't happen, due to the whole sexual act and 'Rhysand's harlot' or whatever she called herself, thing, Rhysand then assaults Keir

So like.... he can assert authority and abuse power when it comes to disrespect to the girl he literally wanted to be his plaything in front of these people, but he can't assert authority when it comes to protecting the vulnerable populations of the CoN or to establish progressive laws. He says Keir is in charge of the CoN and that he can't use the Darkbringers without his permission but then he assaults the Steward of the CoN. High Lord or not that doesn't make a lick of sense if he ever wants to be viewed as a legitimate ruler. I would also be disgusted by such vulgar acts- besides these people did not consent to be witnesses to sexual acts of display

Feyre crying is... I dunno. Like I chalked it up to hormones, but I am more concerned with Rhysand's blatant manipulation and emotional and financial abuse of reading off expenses in front of every single member of the IC. That is a form of shame and humiliation in order for Feyre to 'get her sister under control'. But I also agree, I think it's completely unnecessary and hypocritical of Rhysand and Co to look down their noses at Nesta for spending money when Rhysand himself said that the IC bleed him dry with their flagrant spending on alcohol and parties- which is said in ACOMAF but then it gets played off for the Laugh

Feyre and Rhysand locking Nesta up in the HoW is just sooooo. guh. How is it that when Tamlin does it for *checks notes* five minutes it's the most egregious, unforgiveable sin but when Rhysand and Feyre not ONLY lock her up, they demolished her home, they had Elain pack up her belongings, they made her live with a man Nesta repeatedly, verbally said she wanted nowhere near her. Plus the humiliation factor of not only being talked at in front of the IC, but Rhysand, Feyre and Amren talking about Nesta via Mental Powers in front of Nesta. There was so, so much wrong with that entire scene and the fact that both the narrative and the fandom cannot see why that scene was so disgusting is quite frankly, alarming

Like I can get that Feyre could have emotional and internalized feelings of a bad self image via Nesta from childhood, but I am also aware of what can happen when children are forced into extremely small proximity with each other with a very toxic and unhealthy household. Nesta and Feyre both were at each other's throats. they were both awful to each other and there is a rather large amount of assumption by Feyre and a large amount of miscommunication with both the girls

Rhysand however, with all his abuses of Feyre UtM, just... being forgotten about, just like that, is very weird. Very weird, especially if Nesta is still paying for sins from before the first book even took place. Feyres not getting triggered from the Weavers cottage? shes not getting triggered with his "Feyre Darling"? She's not getting triggered being in the CoN where UtM was inspired by? She's not getting triggered wearing those scraps of clothes? She's not getting triggered when Rhys uses paint on Feyre in Chapter 55 or whatever chapter it was just like he did UtM in front of Tamlin??????

Feyre brings up UtM ONCE to Rhysand and he gets all hyperventilatey and says theyll 'talk about it later' and then guess what, it doesn't. It just gets explained that he just had to torture his mate and what it was doing to him

give me a break