#but prevention can only take you so far

[savetheghost]

save do you have any tips for managing migraines

uhhhhhh lessee

personally i have prescriptions for it cause mine screwed my brain up but obvious ones like proper rest + maybe log what you eat and see if theres any correlation + general put nutrients in your body stuff which is actually kind of hard to keep track of

i have some REALLY WEIRD scent based triggers so i have to stay away from ammonia-like scents and eucalyptus cause those will put my ass out flat IMMEDIATELY, thats not an everyone thing but maybe note if theres sensory stuff around you that might be a trigger

for me warm toned lights and screen tints are way better than cool tones/white light and if youve got light colored eyes wear amber tinted sunglasses outdoors

water + salty snack > pedialite > gatorade and depending on caffeine sensitivity maybe moderate that cause it can either help or hurt, kinda depends on the person, but water and saltines will get you electrolytes and its cheap as fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck even if it doesnt taste as great as gatorade

sunlight on your skin and not in your eyeballs

also vitamin d just in general helps but its way better to actually use the sun for that than trying to digest it so like just 10ish minutes in the sun is what my neurologist recommended on top of taking 2000mg tablets

thats what ive got off the top of my head

[diewilderonja]

Why are there now so many women in video clips saying that women can absolutely physically best men? You can't go "wonderwoman" on a guy...wth. Do they not realize how significantly stronger men are?

I'm glad these women have never been in a bad situation with men to get smacked in the face by reality how easily men can overpower women. Yet, I wonder how these women have never observed that fact otherwise in their life? Have they never helped their father with work around the house, workshop, car etc? Never had played with boys during childhood? How is a demonstration how much more physical strength men have such a shock to these women?

I just can't comprehend that level of delusion? Maybe it's because I'm an only child and have always been around my father to help here and there, dirtbiked with boys in the woods and had other more masculine hobbies..but if those women interviewed in the streets seriously believe they can overpower a bad man or flip them judo-style to get away...that's worrisome.

And yet explaining that reality will destroy that fantasy is so offensive to these women?

[chaosciara]

[image #1 id: A tweet by @/esdin (Ted DiNola | Virtual Realist) that reads,

“Regulatory Bodies: "ADHD medication is highly addictive"

ADHD Folks: "Wait... did I take my pills?"”

end id]

[image #2 id: Tumblr tags that read, “‘the struggle’; ‘drug seeking behaviour: I’m seeking where I put the goddamn bottle’”. end id]

[rivilu]

The more I think about the story through Daeran's pov the more insane i go. btw.

[fushitoru]

finish her! a toji fushiguro oneshot

pairing ⸺ wrestler!toji x reader

summary ⸺ you will have to face one of the most formidable wrestlers in history in your next match: toji fushiguro. but don't be confused, this isn't normal wrestling⸺no, it's nude wrestling. and winner gets the spoils of the other's body! (extended ver of my toji drabble here) creds to @/reynisxxsimart on twitter for art!

warnings ⸺ nasty, NASTY smut, VERY public sex, WWE but pornhub edition, you’re a wrestler fighting toji, so some violence but nothing graphic, fem!reader, HUMILIATION, degradation, you're literally fucked in an arena of people, p in v sex, unprotected sex, spanking, oral sex (f! recieving), boobplay, very inaccurate depiction of wrestling/WWE, not edited we die like toji

a/n im going to sit in the corner and think about what i just wrote

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

the muffled sounds of the crowd’s deafening roar seem to swirl in the space around you, each cheer vibrating through your chest like distant thunder. you take a long, cool sip of water, a welcome contrast to the warm air backstage. lounging back, you let the chair support your weight, your muscles still humming with the residual tension of anticipation. utahime’s fingers work into your shoulders, and her voice filters through the buzzing atmosphere, calm and steady as she gives you a rundown of the night ahead, though her words seem to blur slightly at the edges—just background noise to the constant hum of adrenaline.

“in front of a crowd—do you understand? and the rules are no fucking, unless all clothes are off first.”

“right,” you affirm, albeit hesitantly. you’re feeling a bit jitterish in anticipation of what’s to happen, despite having trained months to hone your ability as a wrestler. look, wwe itself can get really suggestive at times, with people giving wedgies, removing certain articles of clothing, or even letting the crowd cop a feel of the defeated to serve as humiliation. not only does it improve publicity, but it also increases viewership of all the horny bastards on the internet to circle the televised clip around in their subreddits or discord servers.

but what you were going to do today—that was a bit…extreme. it was like bridging the gap between soft core and hard core, with the humiliation turned up to a hundred. because today, you were going to wrestle the man that all female–and male–wrestlers could even dream of having their hands on, even if for a slight moment.

toji fushiguro.

a man of impressive build—entering a ring with him only meant defeat. he’s had numerous career wins, far exceeding any other. hell, you shouldn’t even be matched to wrestle with him today; he outweighs and outranks you by far. the only thing you really have running for you is the sheer amount of fans you have, ready to tune in to your fights and edit your moves and time spent in the fighting ring to songs like “chun li” and “maneater.” so, sure, you don’t exactly anticipate a win today in that stadium that’s waiting for you, but you’re no less of a wrestler in your own right. you won’t go down without a fight.

however, today was no normal fight. the wwe had suddenly decided that their viewership was too low, that extreme measures needed to be taken to boost. so, ironically enough they had decided to change the rules just before your momentous match:

all wrestlers must consent to having all and any articles of clothing removed from their person, particularly for sexual intercourse as a reward for the winner.

so, WWE (Pornhub’s Version) (In The Vault). 

and your luck dictated that this paradigm shift for the organization occur just before your most anticipated match with toji. again, you knew that no amount of training could prevent you from getting utterly humiliated, but it was almost like the gods were laughing down on you, eager to rub in your impending defeat once more. because you were going to get your shit fucked up—-literally.

“it’s going to be fine,” utahime assures you, and you snap back to the present from your thoughts at the sound of her voice. “just think about the publicity this’ll get you! not that you don’t have any fans of yourself, but there are going to be a lot of people tuned in because of fushiguro.”

you take an inhale in and nod. “yea, that’s true. i just want to get it over with.”

as if answering your prayers, gojo satoru, the mc, burst into your dressing room. “it’s your time to shine, buttercup!” he grins, ushering you out the door. albeit a bit nervously, you stand up and make your way into the hallway that leads directly into the middle of the arena. “you’re going to do great!”

as soon as you walk closer and closer to the arena, the screams get louder and louder, the music booming and causing the floor under you to vibrate. the sounds of people surround all your senses, wrapping you up and causing your heartbeat to go faster and faster. 

reaching the end of the hallway, the arena is filled with light, and you have to blink to get a hold of your sight. surrounding the center boxing ring are stands upon stands of people, hustling and bustling. at the sight of you, cameramen stationed around in various spots through the arena furiously angle their cameras towards you. not only are journalists and the media snapping pictures, blinding you with the flash, but you see yourself displayed on the big screens visible to everyone in the arena. you smile and wave, causing your fans to scream as they register that you have walked in. 

then, a realization washes over you. these are the same screens that are going to be projected whatever's going to happen during the fight and when you lose.

oh god.

you walk forward, trying to keep up your smile and wave to all of your fans that outstretched their hands, trying to cop a feel and/or get a high five. most of your fans are male (to no one's surprise), and you can feel their eyes roving over you appreciatively, taking in your outfit. it was simple and tight; shorts that just barely covered your ass and was snug around your hips, and a low cut top that couldn't even be called a top. your cleavage was on full display, and the top stopped just below your waist. typically, this is your wrestling attire you wear to a normal match, but you couldn't help but wryly notice that today, your neckline was cut lower than usual. the wwe was really trying to milk this, huh?

you stood just below the boxing ring, eyes anxiously scanning the arena, unconsciously searching for the man you were set to fight. but no matter how hard you looked, you couldn't spot his tall, muscular figure either in the ring or in the seat he was supposed to occupy with his manager.

a light tap on your shoulder startled you, and you turned to find utahime behind you, a concerned look on her face. "everything alright?"

"yeah," you said, waving her off with a forced smile. "but where is he?"

utahime pointed toward the boxing ring, and then you saw it—a glimpse of black hair.

"alright," you said, swallowing nervously. "i'm heading into the ring. wish me luck."

"wait!" utahime called out, but you were already too far to hear her. gripping the ropes at the edge of the ring, you hauled yourself up and strode toward the center, determined to get a better view. and there, just on the far side of the ring, hidden from your previous angle, was toji fushiguro.

he was lounging back, relaxed, his posture almost lazy as he faced his manager, shiu kong. you couldn’t see toji's face from this angle, but his body language indicated that he was the epitome of ease. shiu was saying something to him, and from your best attempt at lip reading, you could just make out the words, "don't break the rules today."

toji, on the other hand, didn't seem to be looking at him (giving 0 fucks, something so classically toji), focusing now towards the big screens everyone else saw in the arena. you turned your gaze towards them as well, only to be taken aback when it was you, a compilation of your best moments in the ring, narrated by gojo.

“and today, fellas, we’re going to see the bombshell y/n—the maneater, as coined by her fans—-competing! while her opponent is fushiguro, don’t be fooled—she can pack a mean punch. look at this fight with mei mei; she sweeped the floor with her face!” 

satisfied, you looked around, the arena bustling with people getting drinks, being enraptured with your fight on the screen, or pointing at you or toji. toji, on the other hand, was chuckling and shaking his head at your fight, observing as you gave the bitch mei mei a wedgie. which kind of made you flustered, because you had developed a crush on the guy observing him from afar or in passing, so you just focused on shaking out your legs and arms in nervousness.

gojo similarly announced toji’s fights and compilation, gassing him up for the crowd and it was then that toji finally turned around, uninterested in whatever was going on, and caught your eye. you stared back, breath held involuntarily. 

his eyes had a predatory glint to them, and he smiled, charmingly in a way that showed off his scar, and they scanned up and down your figure, taking in what you were wearing—or rather, letting his imagination run. nervously, your heart sped up as you clenched your thighs up in anticipation or anxiety, you couldn’t choose which, as your mind began running at the speed of light thinking about what was going to happen today.

today, you weren’t only going to wrestle toji fushiguro. you were going to fuck him.

but you’re jolted out of your thoughts as gojo’s obnoxious voice blares through the speakers. “give it up for thee wwe goat, toji fushiguro!”

screams reach an all time high as his smirk is broadcasted to the audience, biceps bulging and flexing as he heaves his way up on the ring, joining you. he waves lazily, roars at an all time high as he stalks his way to you, and you squeeze your nails into your palm out of nervousness.

when gojo announces your name, the male screams rise up in volume, causing you to giggle and fushiguro to roll his eyes from what you can see in the corner of your eye. you give a dainty wave, choosing to wink and blow a kiss to the camera in front of you, causing your fans to scream even louder.

“you sure got a lotta fanboys, darling.” you jump as toji has now bent down to whisper in your ear, literally sending shivers down your spine.

you force out a laugh. “and you're at no shortage of fangirls yourself, fushiguro.”

he gives you a nonchalant hum, assuming his original position. as gojo continued to yap about the stakes of the round today, the recent rule change, a referee walked over to you both, coming in closer so that you would be able to hear him over the chaos of the arena.

“so, you’re both aware of the rules, right?” he both looked at you, to which you nodded and toji’s smirk widens. “you gotta get the other’s clothes completely off, and the first one to do that wins.”

you gulp, eyeing what toji was wearing today. it was his signature garb, the one he wore to almost every match without fail: grey pants with various sponsorships sewed on, and a black compression shirt. it was definitely very minimal compared to what a lot of the other wrestlers wore, but it was iconic, giving him a lazy, laid back aura that no other wrestler could truly emanate.

it wasn’t anything hard to take off in particular.

both of you affirmed your consent to the referee, who then took a step back after wishing you both good luck.  you turned, facing toji face on, who had his hand on his hip. “try to last long, okay?” he smirks, patting your shoulder with his other hand. “i’ll try to drag this out as much as i can, but it’s gonna be fuckin hard if that ass is grinding against me.”

you glare, but there isn’t much intensity to it because you know he’s much stronger than you. there isn’t much to get angry about. “yea, yea,” you huff. “for all i know, you’ll be my personal dildo today.”

he barks out a laugh and looks at the referee, who has one hand raised, the other one poised on his whistle, ready to blow and start the round. it’s starting soon. then, he looks back to you and smiles. “let the games begin.”

the referee blows the whistle.

at once, you launch yourself towards toji, trying to jump on him to get him off his feet with your weight. instead, he dodges easily and leaves you hurtling towards the floor, making you poise yourself on your hands and feet upon impact. you roll over just as toji tries to tackle you and pin you against your original position on the floor and quickly get up.

however, as you’re steadying yourself on your feet, toji grabs your ankle, causing you to lose your balance and giving him the advantage to pin himself on top of you, his mouth breathing heavily next to your ear, whispering so it was just the two of you that could hear his words. “what do you think i should take off first?” he laughs deeply, the vibration causing you to shiver and try to squirm to get out of his hold, to no avail. “should it be these?” he snakes his hands down to grope your tits, giving them a firm squeeze, much to the arena’s pleasure. “or should i take these off of you?” he slaps your ass, making you blush furiously.

“fuck you,” you hiss as his hands catch on the edge of your shorts.

he gives you a sweet, small kiss on your temple. “don’t worry, baby,” he smiles. “you’ll be doing that anyways.” and with that, he pulls at your shorts until the waistband’s elastic rips, leaving your shorts in tatters until he throws the remains of it away, baring your panty-covered ass to the crowd, which immediately grows wild.

you crane your neck to look at the screen, which is currently focused on toji’s hands feeling up your ass, dipping inside your underwear to knead the flesh. your heart is pounding, the thought i need to get the upper hand flashing continuously across your mind. it’s almost as if you’re drowning, the noises of the crowd blurring together until it was only you and toji’s weight on you. you barely heard the announcer exclaim, “toji is currently in the lead!” as you focused on calculating your next move.

it was time to pull out all the stops. 

turning your head until you were making eye contact with him, you bit your lip, momentarily distracted him with the 180 turn of your actions, now nonchalant rather than the flailing you were doing earlier. then, you raised your hips, meeting your backside with his crotch in an effort to catch him off guard and to make him lose balance. then, you maneuvered yourself so your thighs surround toji’s waist and hump your hips against his bulge. this momentarily distracted and weakened toji, and you take full advantage of it by overtaking him and now straddling him. you quickly take off his shirt, salivating at the muscles you see. the whole stadium, in fact, can see his abs and pecs glistening with sweat.

smirking while peering down at him, you slowly grind your hips as if you were riding a mechanical bull, making a show of spinning around his shirt with your hand to mock him. toji’s eyes darken, but a mirthless smile flashes across his face anyways. “damn, take me out to dinner first.”

you flash him one of your own humorless smirks, happy that you got at least one thing against him. “i don’t fuck anyone before the first day, honey. this is just another cheap fuck.” with that, you yank his head back with his hair roughly, making a show of motorboating his pecs, as if to mock him.

instead of getting angry, he chuckles darkly. “you’re going to regret that. i was going to drag this out, princess, but i gotta fuck the brat out of you.” with that, he spins you around just as quickly—if not quicker—pinning you against the ground with your hands held above your head in one hand in a vice grip, the other groping its way down your body. he buries his face in your neck, salaciously licking the length of it. with his free hand—now stationed around your tits—he grabs at the hem of your top, pulling it up so everyone could see your lace bra. mockingly, he plants his face in the middle of your tits, moving his head side by side to motorboat you just as you had done to him, the soft plush of your tits encompassing his face.

the crowd cheers, even more so than they had when you had ripped his shirt off, as toji completely rips the top off as you squirm, making the removal even easier for him. you can feel all eyes on you as toji reaches for the clip of your bra, unhooking it and making your tits pop out. helplessly, you look at the screen, your writhing making them move in a jiggling motion, sweat shining and giving you the “oiled-up” look. he takes a moment to grope them, your whines ignored as he pinches your nipples. “what a sensitive girl,” he coos. “too bad she was too weak. now she’s going to have to take my cock.”

with that, he teasingly closes the distance between the waistband of your panties and his teeth, mouth snagging on the elastic. slowly, he drags them down, unveiling your glistening pussy for all eyes to see, and the crowd goes wild, chanting random requests at toji to do the most heinous things to you. as soon as you’re completely naked, he grabs you by the waist, propping you up against one of the corner posts. you’re now standing up, tearfully facing the arena as the wrestler kneels behind you, burying his face and nosing his way until your pussy, lapping up your wetness.

at the unexpected feeling of his tongue, you yelp, and toji slaps your ass. “stay still.” acquiescing, he licks up long stripes and shakes his head to grind his nose into your cunt, pleasuring you while humiliating you in front of everyone, forcing you to succumb to the pleasure he’s making you feel. while licking you, he groans. “fuck, this pussy is so sweet. i’ve run out of patience, fuck the performance part.”

with that, toji flips you over so you’re on your hands and knees on the floor and pulls down his pants. you don’t even look back at the monster that’s about to enter you for the sake of your mental health, but your legs are shaking in anticipation of his cock, slick dripping down your thighs. 

he drags his cock teasingly through your folds, and then brings it out to slap it against your ass, humming appreciatively at the recoil. then, as if he’s lost patience, he’s slowly entering you, pushing against your pussy’s resistance as he penetrates you in front of the whole arena. “fuck!” he groans, getting a better grip on you as he pushes your head down on the mat and fully goes to pound town.  

the humiliating plap! plap! plap! of his hips against the flesh of your ass echoing multiple strangers watch your pussy get wrecked. “the fuck this pussy’s so tight for? thought you were a slut?”

you’re tearing up, the feeling of his dick hitting your g-spot straight on making you clench hard, overwhelmed by the feeling of him pummeling you and his hands on your body, feeling you up. clearly, he knew how to pleasure a woman, and it made you all the more annoyed. you were fucked out, but not fucked out enough to prevent you from snarkily replying, “you’re not turning me on, small dick.”

he did not like that very much.

toji drills his hips into yours faster and slaps your ass multiple times consecutively. “yea, so why is she clenching so fucking much? why is she dripping, you whore?” as if to demonstrate his point, he brings his fingers to rub at your clit furiously, collecting the wetness that had dripped down from your hole then shoving his fingers into your mouth. “suck.” when you did just that, suckling at his fingers while hollowing your hot, wet heat around the appendages. 

at that, he groaned. “what a little cockwhore. shoulda made you suck my dick instead.”

in retaliation, you bite his fingers, hard, and then spit them out. “i would’ve bit your micro off.”

toji hisses, grabbing the hair at your scalp and pulling on it until your face was up, his mouth at your ear. “just for that, i’m going to come inside of your slutty pussy.” he speeds up, moving his hips faster and fast. the hand that wasn’t at your hair is now sneaking his way down your back, until you gasp.

because he’s inserted his thumb inside your ass.

“oh, ho ho,” he laughs mockingly. “you liked that, didn’t you?” you offer him no response, choosing instead to focus on the feeling of the sheer amount of pressure you were feeling down there, being doubly stuffed. by now, your orgasm has been steadily building because of the sheer power of toji’s stroke game, but as soon as he hits your spot one last time, your eyes roll back, causing you to arch your back and writhe due to the intensity of your orgasm.

you’re breathing heavily, toji fucking you roughly through it. once you’ve gotten a hold of your sense, you come back to reality as you realize that the crowd has adopted a rhythm to their chants, your fans and his screaming the same thing.

cum! cum! cum!

and toji only chortles as he continues your thirst, looking at you once again, and you can tell that he’s staving his orgasm back just after experiencing your clenches with the way he’s biting his lips, sweat running down from his temple to his abs. “what do you say, baby? wanna give the crowd what they’re asking for?” 

all it takes is a whimpered please, and toji just does what the crowd asks of him. ropes of his cum fill you, and you drop down in exhaustion to hear toji declared as winner. 

as you exhaustedly lift your head up, you see that cameras are out all around you, focused on the screen. you’re flustered when you realize the billboard is displaying toji’s cum seeping out of you.

A hand on your shoulder. “you good?” toji’s looking at you, eyes twinkling.

you let out a breath. “yea,” you laugh, out of breath. “good round.”

and he’s huffing, giving you a hand to get on your back. you can only lie on the ground as he barks for clothes to be put on you and for some water. then he turns to look at you once more, eyes twinkling. “wanna go for more in my hotel?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n i was going to have him carry u up near to the stands where your fans could grab at ur titties but this is alr depraved as it is. now im going to take a breather from tumblr for the rest of this week becasue WHEW ch5 gojo yesterday and finished this today i am ON A ROLL. see you guys for next week's kinktober fic (comment if you want to be tagged)! much love<3

reblog and comments are much appreciated!!!!!

taglist:

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk

[vampjaeyun]

STRAWBERRY LOLLY

PAIRING shy nerd!sunghoon x confident fem!reader | wc: 1.5k

WARNINGS vague smut, miniskirt agenda (duh), sunghoon is a perv and he got it bad, dom!sunghoon

However, one aspect that stands out on this particular day is the sugary rock between the lips he loves so much. God, Sunghoon practically busts at the sight.

NOTES hi first post kinda nervy

PARK SUNGHOON has the hots for you.

It has only been a few months since he’s known of you. And it’s not enough time to build the courage to approach you.

What can he say?

You look unfathomable. Something so unreachable. Especially for someone like him.

He sits far across the room as the professor rambles on, stealing glances, wondering if you’ll notice him one day. It was hard to keep his mind at bay, to prevent walking up to you. He knew that he would ramble and mess it all up. Or stutter while attempting to acquaint himself with you.

He realized that admiring from afar was the best solution to the issue at hand. And it proved to be a good one.

That is, until it became unbearable. More specifically, sinful. And today is one where it seems God is testing him.

You return to the classroom and Sunghoon automatically straightens his posture– his doodling on the notebook gone astray.

You’re sporting the same mini skirt he loves so much and those legs are perfectly on display for everyone to see. It’s definitely not because they’re so short your panties practically peek out without having to look under.

He doesn’t know how you do it. How you claim attention to any room you walk in. Heads automatically turn in your direction the second you step foot into it. But you play dumb, acting as if the people in the room don’t automatically moan at the sight of you.

And whether it’s the perfect posture or the pearly smile you showcase, you’re far out of reach for the quiet, stereotypical glasses-wearing nerd, whose favorite class is calculus. And it’s most definitely because you’re in this class too.

However, one aspect that stands out on this particular day is the sugary rock between the lips he loves so much.

God, Sunghoon practically busts at the sight.

The glassy ball between your lips that you occasionally run your tongue along has him losing all composure. You’re innocently conversing with your classmate beside you, innocently grazing the tip of the red lollipop against your bottom lip, and innocently putting it back into your mouth in one motion. Your cheeks hollow, and he salivates at you sucking on the sticky candy. He knows he’s far away, yet believes his eyesight couldn’t be any clearer.

His leg starts to mindlessly shake once scenarios run wild, and one point he makes clear to himself is that the flavor is strawberry. It fits you perfectly, he thinks. The strawberry lollipop tints your lips a fitting scarlet shade, the gloss resembling honey as you continue to edge him beyond belief with the repetition of your ministrations.

But as he continues to gawk from across the room, your orbs shoot directly into his.

It’s so sudden that he moves to deter from your glare at all costs and reverts back to random doodling. Sweat dribbles down alongside his temple because your sharp eyes contain purpose behind them, and he prays that the purpose isn’t him.

You’re definitely going to call him out for being a creep if anything.

But a tap on his shoulder forces him to address the siren in heels behind him, and as he turns, Sunghoon can hardly meet your inviting eyes.

And just like taking a breath, your syrupy voice addresses him for the first time. He wonders if you feel an ounce of what he’s feeling at the moment.

Surely not, because you act as if you’ve known him your whole life.

“Hey Hoonie, can I talk to you for a second?” you infer with your hands pressed against the edge of his desk. And it’s proving impossible to look straight into your eyes, even more at your tits pressed together, spilling out of your top.

“Shoot,” he mentally applauses himself for a collective response.

“I need a tutor,” you frown, and all he thinks about is how your face would look when you cum.

“I’m on the verge of failing, and I know you’re about to check off a hundred percent in the class.”

“Yeah o-of course. I have to make sure my schedule’s open first.”

“Great! My place or your place?” you bat your lashes innocently.

Sunghoon swears if you do one more thing, he’ll cum in his pants right then and there. There’s not much more he can take. “Anywhere is fine. I gotta go though. We can discuss the details in class tomorrow.”

You’re giggling at his shyness, quick to follow his scurrying around the desk. “Or we can keep talking since I like talking to you so much.”

You’ve got him staring like a deer in headlights, “You do?”

“Do you?” you inquire while also wondering when he’ll drop the shy act.

An opportunity like this most likely won’t ever happen again. And the countless times Jake has called him a pussy for not shooting his shot only motivates him that much more. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?”

“Maybe because I enjoy hearing answers I like,” you raise a brow at his sudden confidence, but your interest is showcased through the closing proximity between the two of you with each word that escapes your throat.

Sunghoon notices the glint of surprise in your eyes when you realize he wasn’t going to cower backwards.

His thoughts, on the other hand, were the complete opposite of his cowardly actions. In fact, he wonders how’d you react if he kissed you until your lips were bruised. Or if you liked it if he wrapped his entire hand full of your hair and tugged ‘til his heart’s content.

But in the end, your answer has him speechless, and you fully grin at that. “Let me know the answer to mine when you get the chance.”

You’re turning around to leave the shaky boy alone, but something catches your wrist.

“Tomorrow. Eight p.m., my place,” he’s breathing pattern quickens and he thickly gulps as he awaits your response.

And you giggle at his eagerness. “Can’t wait.”

And that’s how you ended up at his place the following night. Sunghoon had successfully helped complete a total of five questions before your hand slithered up his thigh and the subject of derivatives flew out the window.

To be honest, he doesn’t care he gave in so fast.

He’s so easy. So easy for you.

And you knew that. You took advantage of how he averted your gaze at all costs, yet you could still feel the heat of his stare when you looked away. Usually preferring men who are more dominant and masculine in and out of the bedroom, you took this as a challenge to stray out of your comfort zone.

You couldn’t lie though, Sunghoon’s awkward mannerisms are awfully cute. A bonus was he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. Your friends often scolded you for wanting to pursue him, but you ignored their incessant warnings.

And when you made due of your promise, you were surprised at how he was able to get a few words out.

What was even more surprising was the night that followed.

“Fuck—mnph!” your moans are muffled into the pillow as Sunghoon plows into your sopping cunt from behind. His palm envelops the entirety of your nape, pushing your head harder with each thrust. Your entire spine buzzes with pleasure, and his fingers digging into your neck only heighten the feeling.

“This is for underestimating me,” he seethes. You wish you were facing him to see his darkened persona.

“I w-w,” you barely get out.

“You what?” his hoarse voice mixes with a groan at your velvety walls sucking him like a vice.

“I-I wish I c-could take a pict-ture,” Sunghoon’s fingers press deeper with each word that escapes your throat, and you giggle. You’d never imagine the loser in class could get you pussy drunk.

“Go ahead,” he seethes before pulling out and flipping you over to your back.

“Wha-” you can’t even finish the word before he’s roughly thrusting into your pussy in one motion and continuing with the same pace.

“Hoon! Fuck,” you’re under his spell while the bed frame rhythmically knocks against the wall.

“I should take a picture of you like this,” he turns your slack jaw so you are able to look at him.

He chuckles once his eyes make contact with your hooded ones. “With drool and tears decorating your face while I use you as a cock-sleeve.”

Your fists ball as the drag of his cock overwhelms you. “So full,” you moan, and he rewards your comment with another harsh snap of his hips.

“Remember,” Sunghoon sets your calves against his shoulder and leans down against your ear. It feels unworldly, his cock pushing deeper and rougher into your cervix.

“Remember who makes you feel this way,” he whispers.

[beeseverywhen]

Not in the US so can't speak for what's happening there, but I've def noticed here that healthcare workers are struggling with dealing with sicker patients than they felt they were getting before covid and lots of them are mentioning a lack of immunity thanks to lockdowns. every time I hear it I can't help but think that the increasing desperation thanks to years of underfunding that's really beginning to have an impact since covid (because the pandemic served as the last straw on the camels back there AND because it showed our government that they could neglect the vulnerable to the degree that they were dying by the thousands and still nobody bothered to blame them.) Is a contributing factor in this and I don't understand why nobody is mentioning it???

We're getting sick because we've spent decades being bled dry and now we're hungry, stressed and being worked to the bone. Meanwhile we aren't getting any kind of return on the money we're pumping in to the healthcare system and our governments aren't doing shit to address health inequalities or any of the factors contributing to everyone's poor health.

If you look at covid death statistics, if you look at which countries are currently suffering from supply problems; a job market bursting with unfilled vacancies, civil unrest and protests, strained healthcare systems, and all the rest; the countries at the top are those that have allowed capitalism to call the shots for the past century, more than the rest. That is why the UK and America have been so badly impacted. Its no accident that we are paying so heavily, this system started with us. We forced it on the rest of the world and now, we're the first to pay the price. There is a direct correlation between the impact being felt post covid and a countries wealth divide and I'm tired of everyone ignoring that.

I look around me and People are going hungry, the food they can afford to buy is lacking in basic nutrients, of course people are sicker! Even if you can afford them, the shops keep running out of vegetables! Our health system was already breaking and then, we were hit by a pandemic it was completely unprepared for (tho it should have been) and now, people are getting way more ill than they need to before they finally reach hospital. When they get there, the hospitals are understaffed (thanks to years of underfunded budgets and the extreme stress so many health care workers were put under), we keep having drug shortages because our country keep straight up refusing to pay how much things cost, and what they are willing to pay, goes to pay about ten profiteering middle men at each stage of the supply chain.

People are massively stressed thanks to the cumulative weight of a completely broken capitalist system and those in charge are more worried about lining their pockets for as long as they can until the whole thing collapses, rather than actually trying to address any problems. Stress IS something that's known to weaken immune systems so why are we blaming something that MAY affect them??? Extreme rises in energy costs have meant everyone's spent a winter without adequate heating (even those that can afford it are revolting at the increase and so are trying to cut costs by using less energy.) Again, insufficiently heated homes are also known to affect immunity. And that's just the people who still have safe homes! Masses of people have been made homeless recently thanks to rising rents and mortgages which were already unaffordable, our housing stock is largely dangerous, with homes falling in to disrepair because landlords are barely regulated and when they do break laws they go unprotected.

Is anyone surprised that so many people are getting so ill and not getting better? Cause I'm not.

It's startlingly obvious when you start looking at the health divide between those who have spent 40 years subject to the whims of poorly restricted capitalism and those able to opt out. Medical technology is improving, but healthy life expectancy is now dropping year on year, because there are more people living here without the capital to turn away from jobs that will break them, than there are those whose inherited wealth opens doors away from employers that'll ask you to pay the price of bodily health, so they might strengthen profit margins. Its just basic averages. 1% of our citizens are standing on the backs of 99% of us and wondering why more and more of that 99% are getting sicker and sicker. The labour market for working class people has been allowed to drain its workers dry for years now. The progress made in the early to mid 20th century has slowly been worn away at, with the labour laws we fought for, only being accessible for an ever decreasing number of people. The laws are still in place but no low wage employer bothers to follow them any more than they have to. Do you know how many people I know who've been working without breaks, going unpaid for extra hours, been forced to follow unsafe working practices that they know are illegal and then being forced to lie to protect the employer that put them in that position? The people being broken by companies raking in billions, as they flaunt labour laws, don't have any means to access justice! If you complain, you lose your job. If you take them to court that costs money and that company is willing to drag out proceedings for years till you run out of the money needed to keep things going.

When i look at how much money is being wasted in government budgets, while the people responsible for making that money, see little return; I can't help but think of various theories for why certain societies in history have collapsed. (If you want to be really worried about the state of things, read the Wikipedia page on societal collapse. Spoiler: most of the potential causes of societal collapse have already begun in America and the UK. That guy who wrote that article saying America was already past the point of collapse might have been right.) One theory behind the bronze age collapse is just that... societies became too complex. A society where the 1% are given too much power over the 99% becomes one great big pyramid scheme. Unnecessary burecracy at every level (designed to squeeze as much wealth possible for the person overseeing that level) results in those at the bottom, working themselves to death and still going hungry. The theory goes that there comes a point, in societies like that, where the workers look at how they are living and just...walk away. They decide that the security once offered by that society isn't worth what it's costing them and fuck off to become farmers, preferring a life of hard work and little security, to what they had been living. Without the workers, the system breaks down. The only people getting fed are the ones growing the food. All this stupid stratification. Allowing every supply chain, business and institution to become unnecessarily complex just so on each level the people in charge can let their mates get a foot in on the profits. All these middlemen. Business consultants. Supply chains allow for a product to be sent back and forth from country to country just so more people get a cut. Its no different to any other pyramid scheme so why the hell are we allowing it.

We need to start telling our politicians to show some goddamn accountability for this shit. Stop accepting them skirting responsibility for being at best: Inept and at worst deliberately negligent. We all need to stop supporting a system that's hurting us all. In the hope that we might be one of the lucky ones. That's not the reality of things. We'll only get out of this hole we've inadvertently dug ourselves in to, if we stop fighting each other and work together to demand change.

You know how sometimes you catch someone in a lie, and so they tell an even bigger lie to try and cover up the first lie they told?

Well, that’s happening right now.

Last winter, a handful of celebrity doctors went on mainstream news networks to assure us that Omicron was “mild.” They carpet-bombed us with articles and tweets, doing their best to brainwash everyone.

They were wrong.

In the end, real science junked that idea. An article in the Journal of the American Medical Association showed that Omicron killed more people than previous variants, even when adjusting for other factors. Another study by doctors at Massachusetts General and Harvard Medical found that Omicron was just as deadly. In fact, “the risks of hospitalization and mortality were nearly identical.” As it turns out, the entire idea of “mild” Omicron was based on an old, flawed idea known as the law of declining virulence, developed by a doctor who was studying tick-borne disease in cows. It was debunked decades ago.

Most epidemiologists know that viruses don’t magically evolve to become milder. Virus evolution is random and chaotic.

In some cases, viruses evolve to become more deadly.

A handful of actual scientists tried to explain all this last winter, including disease experts at Johns Hopkins. A handful of other established experts spoke out against this myth. As a microbiologist at Penn State told Politifact, “You can’t just say it’s going to become nicer.” They were largely ignored, because everyone already sort of believed the misinformation. If they knew it was based on a study about cows, they probably would’ve thought twice.

This year, the makers of “it’s mild” are back.

They’re selling “immunity debt.”

We should be skeptical.

Schools and daycares are sending letters home to parents talking about this “immunity debt.” They’re saying that healthy children are getting sicker, even dying, because they weren’t exposed to enough germs over the last two years. Newspapers and TV stations across the country are running with it, proposing it as a “possible reason” for this year’s explosion in pediatric hospitalizations. Meanwhile, major medical organizations have sent a letter to President Biden urging him to declare an emergency over an “alarming surge of pediatric hospitalizations” due to a range of respiratory viruses, including Covid.

A lot of people are drinking the “immunity debt” kool-aid.

After all, Americans have believed for generations that getting sick is “good for you.” We think our immune system behaves like a muscle. We worry that if we’re not giving it a workout, we’ll get weak.

It’s a myth, just like the law of declining virulence.

Here’s why.

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[autisticmudkip]

I personally believe everyone deserves to get the medical care they need to live and thrive. You may not be able make huge changes to remove obstacles that prevent people from getting the care they need on your own. However, you can bring change by working with others, and you can actively take steps to help those who can't afford the care they need. One way you can do this is to support my good friend Fadel.

Fadel Aldani @fadel-dani lives with his family in Ghazzah. He and his family were in their home when it was bombed, which left them all injured. Fadel was the most seriously injured, with shrapnel being embedded deep in his body. The doctors were unable to remove all of it due to the lack of medical supplies in Ghazzah right now.

The shrapnel causes Fadel a lot of pain, and if it remains he is at risk of dying from it. He needs money to evacuate whenever possible, so he may recieve surgery to remove it. Fadel has also been diagnosed with hepatitis, but he has not been able to find or afford the prescribed treatment, due to overwhelmingly high prices and lack of medicine anywhere.

Fadel has been raising money for months now to afford the treatment he needs to survive. However, his original campaign was deleted by GFM without warning! He now has been forced to restart his campaign from scratch. So far, he has only raised €155. This is nowhere near enough to afford the vital treatment he needs.

Please, if you have any means to do so, help Fadel! Healthcare is a basic right. Fadel shouldn't have to live in agony just for being trapped in the midst of a genocide, and not being able to afford the egregious prices for treatment.

Please, share and donate! Even a small donation of €5 or €10 makes a difference to Fadel! If you absolutely cannot donate, send Fadel's campaign to some friends, and tell others about his story. Even just reaching out to Fadel to talk and offer a kind word makes a difference to him.

Vetted #197 by @/gazavetters

@neptunerings @neechees @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense @meowmaids @noble-kale

@a-shade-of-blue @ddeck @galactic-rhea @skinwretch @skipppppy @sithbian

@whatcoloristhatcat @chilewithcarnage @lil-mf @rob-os-17 @operationladybug

@beefbologna @revon-aurora-borealis @kh0ng @555cat @notedchampagne

@kumatora @winolas-boosts @killjoynest @thegreatbeyondmp3 @slingbees 

@stroebe2 @mapsofnonexistentplaces @memecucker @extra-mt16 @alolannraichuu

@tierras @nonbinary-support @bigskydreaming @onlyinankhmorpork @nbblacksheep

@borrelia @lesbian-serpent-rider @quasi-normalcy @myrfing @paradimeart

@remnants @mossyfield @dear-indies @holedyke @jedi-valjean

@butchfeygela @pikslasrce @shirleyjacksons @scribbleboxfox @pig-demon

[mixingandmelting]

Inconspicuous Relationship

Summary: Everyone in the family thinks the two of you hadn’t tied the knot and keeps playing matchmaker. He, being the troll he is, decides to roll with it

He told you it was going to be fine. To leave it to him; his plan was going to be flawless. Flawless his ass. You’re dying from second-hand embarrassment and Jason’s not helping with that shit-eating grin on his face. 

“You know, Gotham Park is apparently considered one of the prettiest in the city during all four seasons.” Steph starts, sending you a look across the dinner table. “Wouldn’t it be so romantic to go there, especially for a first date?”

You beg to the higher beings that your cringe isn’t visible in your smile as you hummed in agreement. You’ve been enduring this since the beginning of the family dinner where the siblings kept dropping obvious hints for the two of you to get the ship sailing. And Jason being Jason, went along with it all the while ignoring the secret glares you give him. For Pete’s sake, he was even playing footsies under the table!  

“Didn’t you say you had a plan?” You hiss under your breath as Tim and Dick, surprisingly, voice out in agreement how Gotham Park was the last place to go on a date, their expressions speaking for the horrors they’ve seen there. 

“Yeah? Why? You don’t like how my plan’s going so far?” You scowl, kicking his foot away when he prod your foot again with his. He gives you a cheeky smirk in response. 

Checking and seeing Steph getting into a squabble with the other over the apparent controversial site, you lean closer towards him. 

“You call this a plan?”

“If not, then what is it?” He chugs the water in his glass, waving a hand towards them. “Besides, over half of them are grown ups. They’ll get it one way or another.”

If you’re not dying from embarrassment, you’re dying from stress. It’s clear as day that he’s in it for the chaos while you’re simply wanting to rip the bandage and get this over. Just when you’re about to snap at him, you catch Damian staring at both of you across the table. Quickly, you compose yourself, the same smile you had on for Steph now directed at the fourteen year-old.

“What’s wrong Damian? Need something?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, his gaze blank and revealing nothing. You can feel sweat accumulate in your hands, the urge to swat at the man beside you getting stronger at the coughs he lets out that’s meant to cover his laughter. 

“I simply don’t get it.” The teen then takes a bite of his steak and thoughtfully chews on it. “Why can’t Jason simply ask you out for a date when he’s completely smothered for you?” 

Cue the room going completely  dead silent. Well, sans Duke pounding his chest from choking on his food. You would’ve, at least, chuckle at had it not been for you steaming up. 

“D-Damian? Damian buddy?” Dick calls out from his seat, his voice slightly pitched. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t be the only one that’s getting tired of them beating around the bush, Richard. I’m simply spelling it out, that’s all.”

“Damian-“

“No, Damian’s right.” All eyes set on Jason, who puts the silverware down and leans back on his chair. “It’s not like I’ve been really meaning to hide it anyways so,” he turns toward you, “what do you think of Saturday, 1:00 PM at your favorite place you like going to?” 

…You can’t do this. This man and his theatrics; you wanted to scream how he had already asked about it last week. Tell them they’re getting scammed,  it’s not even the first date-! 

But Damian’s words keep echoing in your mind and the fact Jason knows that you know that it’s true is messing with you so badly. It prevents you from trying to calm everyone down, the family up and arms at the “horrible” confession Jason gave as he merely shrugs and asks what else he was supposed to do.  You further baffle them when you muster a nod, your hands still covering your very much burning face. 

Later on, when Bruce comes back from the supposed emergency phone call, he pulls you and Jason to the side. It was one thing to hear Bruce Wayne giving his approval and blessing (for some reason) for you two’s relationship. It was another when finding out this whole thing was indeed staged by both Jason AND Bruce to get back at the rest of the family for a prank that occurred last week during a joint mission as the older man asked the younger if everything went accordingly. 

You decide to give Jason a piece of your mind once the two of you got home which led to him to follow you around and ask you to reconsider calling him by his full name for the rest of the week.

[chilumi-shipper]

Mama and Papa

Neuvillette x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Breeding Kink, Cockwarming, Creampie

Summary: You absolutely adore the Melusines, treating every single one as if they're you're own child. That tenderness you hold dear for the cute little creatures was what drew the Chief Justice to you in the first place, seeing how even the tough Melusine guards seem to indulge and melt into your motherly embrace. However, for some reason, the scene of you all sweet and caring with the Melusines invoked another feeling from Neuvillette, one more... flithy and sinister than mere adoration.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

His eyes can't help but wander...

From the papers on his desk, all the way to your figure sitting on the floor. Two little Melusines accompanied you, one sleeping on your lap, the other behind you and braiding your hair.

The serenity of the scene before him prevented him from keeping his eyes off you... your presence was simply too alluring.

"Miss Y/N, are you our Mama?" Sedene, the one braiding your hair, suddenly asked, opting a surprised look from you, as well as your lover just a few feet away from you.

There was innocence in the little darlings eyes, "You are very nice to us, just like a Mama." She reasoned her question as she finishes off your braid with a bow.

"Hmmm, I guess I am your Mama! If you want me to be." You answered, caressing Sedene's cheek. "And that means that Neuvillette over there is your Papa!"

The Chief Justice assessed what had just unfolded in front of him, the cutest interaction he's ever seen in, perhaps, his entire life. Sedene's eyes met his, expectantly waiting for a confirmation of what you said.

"I suppose that makes sense." He answered the Melusine's questioning gaze, enjoying the huge smile that was brought to her face as she looks back at you.

That is when Neuvillette can truly take in the situation...

You and him... Mama and Papa...

Being parents together, that would mean seeing you with a swollen belly, nurturing a baby born of his and your love...

From him breeding you and coating your insides with his cum, your breasts would be producing milk for your child, and you would look absolutely radiant completely naked for him to please make love to and-

"Papa!" Neuvillette was taken out of his (very filthy) trance when Liliath, the one previously asleep on your lap, yells for him.

When he looked at her though, the Melusine gasps, "It's true..." She then looks back at Sedene. "He is our Papa! He looked when I called him Papa!"

"That's what Mama said!"

You giggled at their conversation, none the wiser of the piercing eyes that stared at you and was currently picturing you in his dirty fantasies.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"W-Woahh... darling, hold on..." Your words seem to only come out as a breath, closing your eyes as you hold on for dear life.

He had you in a mating press, keeping your legs pressed against your chest as he eases into you slowly. Neuvillette is rather big, and you held desperately on his arms as he shoved himself all the way in.

He lets out a deep groan when he finally started to move, immediately opting for a fast pace. "Darling... I-" Neuvillette found it hard to get his words out, the feeling of your pussy squeezing him tight was far too good to be interrupted by his thoughts.

He was being rough with you, holding tight onto your thighs, thrusting hard into you, making sure to mover around so that you feel him fill you up to the brim with his cock. It wasn't like your usual love making... this one... he means business...

And boy, did you feel what he meant by the way his cock pounded you over and over, giving your pulsating cunt the pleasure that it wants.

Your husband couldn't be more hot at that moment, so focused on drilling into you, looking intently at where you connect. "I love you, Y/N." He whispered into the air breathlessly, eyes shut as he felt your insides squeeze him.

"I love you too..." you caressed his face and smiled, feeling full of love... in more ways than one.

As you continued, he pounded you even faster, a clear sign that he's about to cum. He would usually pull out already, preparing to coat your breasts with his hot seed.

However, he remains inside you, thrusting continuously, making you call out for him. "Neuvi... Ahhhh...." You moaned as you grabbed onto his arm. "I'm gonna... I need to..."

"Inside."

"Ahhhhg... What...?" You half moaned out, looking at him as you were almost blissed out from his cock fucking you so good.

"I want to cum inside you, Darling..." He said in such a dangerously low voice, sending shivers down your spine. "Will you let me?" He slowed down his thrusts into you, looking at you, almost begging.

You were rather shocked at his request, looking at him wordlessly.

"Please, darling..." He whispered once again. "Wanna breed you..."

And that did it for you, you nodded immediately, allowing him to do as he please.

You moaned loud as you came together, you feeling extremely fucked out as you felt his cum coat your insides, "Ohhh, Neuvi..." He buried his face on the crook of your neck, not bothering to take his cock out of your pussy.

"Thank you... I love you..." He said, his voice muffled by your skin. He inhaled your sweet smell before rolling to your side, holding you close so that you could cockwarm him and keep him all nice and warm. He also wanted to make sure that his cum would stay inside you.

"You know, Neuvillette..." You started in a rather teasing tone. "I think it would take more than one round for you to actually breed me..." You moved to be on to of him, sitting on his cock as you smile almost innocently.

You felt his cock stiffen inside you, making you giggle. "Don't worry, Darling... I'll make sure you get what you want..." You kissed him on the lips, your hips starting to move up and down.

"Breed me, Darling..."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I absolutely love Melusines and now I have adopted every single one of them. I am now their mother.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy my once a year update!

[targaryen-dynasty]

SET ME ALIGHT AGAIN.

Cregan Stark x female!Targaryen!Reader (Part 2 here)

"It was on request of your younger brother's small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And now it's at his hands that the haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s giving back to you. And you let it flood you."

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; p in v, oral (fem receiving), angst (?), breeding kink, size kink, size difference, romantic fucking in front of the fireplace, afab reader, post dance of the dragons

WORDS: 4.8 K

NOTES: I dedicate this to @sylasthegrim. You're not only one of the few people I really grew fond of in the short time we truly got to know each other, but since both our minds basically came down to the same idea, this is for you! Thanks for beta reading this. 💕

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

You’ve been in Winterfell for a moon’s turn by now, and have quickly noticed that the ancestral castle possesses a beauty and calmness the Red Keep can be jealous of. But even that isn’t enough to make you feel at home – as if you could ever call a place your home again. Not after you’ve witnessed almost everyone in your family, no matter whether you liked them or not, perish at the hands of each other. 

It was on request of your younger brother, now dubbed King Aegon the third, or rather of his small council that Lord Cregan Stark agreed to take you to the North with him to prevent you from succumbing to grief like your aunt did. And while you’re grateful for the chance to flee the one place that has caused you more hurt than good, riding in a carriage up to the far North like a commoner wasn’t exactly pleasant. 

But how else should you have gotten there when your precious mount died along its kind as the common people stormed the Dragonpit?

For the past month, you’ve very rarely seen the sun – or anyone else than your maids. 

Your days are spent in your chambers, not leaving the safety of the Guest House as you often try to find the sleep you can’t seem to get at night. And during the night, when the Hour of the Owl strikes and no light other than that of the moon reaches Winterfell, one often finds you wandering the quiet halls of the castle. Sometimes one even spots you outside in the Godswood, regardless of the low temperatures that make the three pools fed by an underground hot spring look even more inviting. 

But warmth and comfort are never what you’re after. 

You feel incredibly daring tonight, sitting beneath the ancient weirwood tree on one of its roots. Although there is a thick fur coat draped around your frame, the thin nightgown beneath does not allow you to be kept as warm as one usually desires, your bare feet hidden inside of the coat not a big help either. 

Tiptoeing barefoot through the snow was the hardest part, but it was worth it as it gave you exactly what your body longs for. 

You’re far too absorbed by the reflection of the moon dancing on the pool of black water beneath the tree, and the peaceful allure of the snow-covered night that you don’t notice you’re not alone anymore.  

“Princess?” a husky voice rings out from the shadows, one you’d even recognize in a room full of loud and drunken men. 

Almost as if he doesn’t want to startle you, the tall frame of the Lord of Winterfell approaches you without any sudden moves, becoming more visible with the moonlight shining down on him. “What are you doing out here this late?”

Only when he’s stopping not far away from you do you avert your eyes from him to the water again. “I could ask you the same, Lord Stark,” you reply softly. 

A chuckle rumbles in his chest at your remark, and you can’t help the tint of heat hearing it brings to your cheeks. “Indeed you could,” he says. “I have not slept well, and the night has a peaceful allure. But you should not be out in the open without any guards, especially not this late at night.”

You drag your index finger through the snow at your side, drawing a mindless pattern in the dark as you do not pay any mind to his words. “And why is that, Lord Stark?” you ask, a certain snarkiness to your tone. “There is nothing worse that could happen to me than what I have already endured.”

Cregan sighs, and even in the dim light you can make out that he’s scratching his stubble covered chin. “And yet, should something else happen to you, I would not like myself for neglecting you and not protecting you just as I have sworn to the king,” he explains. “Besides, there is a cold chill in the air that I can not believe you are not feeling right now.”

“Perhaps that is the answer you’ve been looking for, my lord,” you mumble. “Perhaps I came here to feel something.”

The Wolf of the North doesn’t immediately answer you. Instead, there lingers a pause between you. But it’s not uncomfortable or feels as though it doesn't pass, no, you find yourself to actually enjoy his company. 

His next words, however, even surprise you as you didn’t think he was capable of it. “Feeling the cold of the snow has its way to make one feel alive, that much is true,” he agrees, and then looks up to the dark sky. “You wish to feel something else than the pain of the absence of the people you’ve lost in this war, I understand… I think.”

His words make the feeling of emptiness, the hollowing ache of loss just worse, while at the same time, he seems to know the feeling of craving pain when you’re just so used to it. 

“This cold bite, the chill that lingers on the skin — no one should want to feel it, Princess. It makes even my bones shake, do you know that? Surely you must be shivering, and we should be getting you inside. I should be getting you inside.”

You know he‘s right. While his words are blunt in nature, they are very much that of truth. You shouldn’t be out here, nor should you want to be out here. There‘s nothing to enjoy about this cold chill and the snow, not when you‘re as sparsely dressed as you are. You‘re not yet used to the chill of Winterfell, of the North. 

Cregan offers you his hand, but you‘re still hesitant to take it. Albeit you reach out, your significantly smaller hand hovers over his, not yet grabbing it. “You‘re not exactly wearing proper attire to be out in this wretched cold for very long,“ he remarks. “Let me help you get up, your feet must be in agony by now.“

“And what if I don‘t want to?“

“Then I will still get you up.“ There is a tinge of amusement in his voice now, seeing this little bit of rebelliousness from you, your strength of mind. Even if he doesn’t exactly approve of it. “I shall simply pick you up myself, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you inside to your chambers, even though I‘d get you quite angry and don‘t imagine you want me to do just that.“

You don’t believe he actually has the gumption to do something like that at first, although you know he’s able to muster a decent amount of strength that would easily allow him to lift you up. But then, you wonder if he would truly do it if challenged. “Try that, if you dare, my lord.”

He lets out a snort of amusement, enjoying the teasing that slowly shapes between you two. It still is a challenge, and as a man of his station, he could never let words like this go unspoken. “Oh, I dare, Princess.” 

Putting forth his arm, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and easily pulls you forwards onto your feet without applying too much pressure. You’re certainly caught off guard by his actual willingness to lift you up, and a squeal escapes your lips before you’re tossed on his strong shoulder as if you are some silly, helpless girl. 

Cregan carries you through the Godswood and towards the Guest House, though you don’t resist too much as you’re hanging there over his shoulder – a part of you is grateful you don’t have to walk through the snow with your bare feet once more. 

“Lord Stark, put me down at once!” you demand with a little twinge of laughter in your voice. You feel so light, much lighter than you imagine he’s used to lifting up, almost as if it’s taken all of the pressure off your shoulders. 

But when there doesn’t come an answer from him, you grow slightly frustrated. “What if anyone sees, you madman!” you remark, embarrassment warming your cheeks. 

“Madman? That’s rich coming from the woman who was willing to freeze to death in the snow,” he says jokingly, approaching the large doors. “Who do you think could see us at this hour, princess? The rats? And what if they do? What if someone sees me carrying the poor princess, who had the gall to get out of her bed after midnight and wander the Godswood while in her nightgown?” Although there is amusement in his voice, you also notice the faintest hint of flirtation laced within. “Will they judge me for carrying her, or would they judge her for her imprudent midnight excursion?”

You stay silent thrown over his shoulder, not sure how to reply. You thought you had a good comeback, but it seems Cregan is one step ahead of you. The flirtatious teasing you’ve heard catches you off guard, not expecting to hear it from him at all. It makes your cheeks flush with even more embarrassment when you notice that he’s actually right. But you don’t want to admit the truth in what he’s said. 

“You mock me, but you shall see there would be much scandal if someone were to see this,” you retort, trying to keep calm as you’re now a little bit flustered by these sudden developments. “Besides,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and nonchalant, “who says I won’t tell a tale of you being the imprudent one?”

“Ah, you little rascal,” Cregan replies with a chuckle, giving your thigh a tight squeeze. “I see you’d find a way to turn the tides and have it end up with me being the bad guy, taking my chances on a vulnerable woman in the guise of protecting her.”

You’re clearly enjoying the teasing a tad too much, enjoying these quick and witty back-to-backs with him, taking your mind off of your grief. Drawing in a deep breath, you hold onto Cregan’s thick coat. “What would you have been protecting me from, Lord Stark?” you ask with feigned innocence. “Were the trees too menacing that you just had to sweep me off my feet to carry me away from their clutches?”

“No, I am afraid it was not the trees that had me worried, Princess,” Cregan replies as he brings you further into the Guest House, easily opening the door to the sleeping quarters with one hand. “The cold was the greater menace, and it had you in its grasp.”

Your words die in your throat when he puts you down on your bed, the soft furs very welcomed beneath your cold feet. You look up at him with wide eyes and a heaving chest as he towers over your significantly smaller frame, and you wait for him to make the next move. 

There’s a moment of silence between you, obviously he’s considering his next words. 

And boy do they disappoint you. “I shall make sure a fire is lit for you to warm yourself, princess,” he says, turning around to approach the hearth on the other side of the room. 

Cregan crouches down to build and start a small fire in the hearth that should last the night, not wanting you to stay too cold. But you wouldn’t be a thoroughbred dragon if it didn’t mean for you to take any risks. And so you get onto your cold feet, the coat still draped around your shoulders sliding down to the ground. 

Feeling a bit too exposed too quickly, you grab one of the thick fur blankets laying on your bed instead and wrap it around your frame, before you tiptoe towards the large wolf kneeling in front of the fireplace. 

“I have something different in mind,” you speak softly. Cregan, startled by your words and your sudden approach, turns around and faces you as he rises to his feet. You reach and bury your hands in the collar of his coat, the blanket falling to the ground in the process, and when you use your grip to pull him close, you find that he does not shy away in the least – if anything, he follows the tug to connect your lips in a heated kiss. 

He brings his large hands to your waist with ease, and presses his body against yours. The wolf feels like he’s drowning in you, in your lips, your warmth, your presence and scent. Wanting to lose himself in the moment, in you, his hands wander lower to your hips. 

“I did not expect you to do this tonight,” he breathes against your lips, breaking the silence. 

“And I did not expect some things from you tonight either,” you reply, breathlessly, voice breaking with every breath you take. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice is low and smooth as he speaks, shaking his head. “Quite the contrary.” There is a flirtatious smile on his lips, and a playfulness you haven’t seen before in his gray eyes. It’s as if that small spark between you has quickly evolved into an inferno that now burns bright in the both of you. 

It’s a fierce and burning kiss when your lips connect once more, fueled by the fires coursing through your veins. You release a soft whimper with his large paws trailing over your sides, feeling the fabric of your nightgown. 

“If we continue this, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he rasps.

You tilt your head back to look at him, a cheeky grin on your lips. “Perhaps I do not want you to.”

Cregan’s eyebrows raise at your reply, and you feel his hands tighten around your waist once more. He can’t help but feel a jolt of arousal run down his back, which prompts him to release a low chuckle. “Well, if you wish for it that much…” he whispers in response, before pulling you back toward him, kissing you passionately. 

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips as you pull back from him, licking your kiss swollen lips. “But there are a few things we need to get you out of first,” you tease, tugging at the thick, furry coat that’s draped over his broad shoulders. 

“Are you this eager to have your hands over all of me?” he replies with a flirtatious smirk, but still unclips the coat and lets it fall to the ground. He doesn’t mind you seeming quite intent to get him out of his armor, allowing you to fumble with the clasps and buckles, and eventually helps you remove the heavy bits until he’s left wearing nothing but his breeches. But even those are quickly unlaced by you, left to be a puddle around his feet. 

“My my, do you not feel a little too hot still, Lord Stark?” you tease, letting your fingers wander over his exposed stomach. You can’t help but feel warmth creeping onto your cheeks as you see him in such little clothing, so exposed. He’s a muscular man, tall and large, and the sight of his bare skin with the dark of hair on his chest and a trail of it running below his undergarments is a welcoming one. 

Through the linen you see that he’s already hard and begging, waiting for you to take things further. Truly a shame you seem to relish in the teasing. 

Goosebumps prickle on his skin in the wake of your finger, making you smile. You drag your finger along the waistband of his undergarments, hooking it beneath to tug on it. He knows what you desire, and he’s not ashamed to give you just that. “I do not see you so eager to remove your own clothes, Princess,” he teases, undoing the laces in the front for his undergarments to join his breeches. “It is hardly fair you want to see all of me, yet I am not allowed to do the same.”

You take in a sharp breath at the sight of his hard cock, standing to full attention. It has you licking your lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you’re quick to pull your nightgown over your head, a smirk on your lips. A flimsy piece of linen conceals what lies between your legs, but it’s still enough for him to all but devour your almost bare frame. 

“There,” you whisper, “now we are on equal grounds.”

Cregan takes a moment to look over you, licking his lips at the sight of your breasts fully exposed mto him. He knows you’re no maiden who’s completely untouched, you wouldn’t be as confident if you were, but it doesn’t stop him from appreciating the sight in front of him. 

“Equal grounds, truly?” he asks you, taking a step toward you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against him, as his other hand fists the linen of your smallclothes. “I think you still have an advantage over me, Princess. Because I have yet to see what lies beneath your undergarments.”

Your palms rest flatly against his chest, and you press a chaste kiss to his skin. “I will not stop you, Lord Stark,” you whisper, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“Then let’s make these ‘equal grounds’ a little bit more equal, hm?” Cregan whispers as well. He sinks to his knees with his mouth trailing a path down your body, licking and kissing over your skin until he reaches your navel. His large hands trail over your sides and thighs on his way down, the movement and sight making your breath hitch in your throat. 

A shudder ripples through your body as he tugs your smallclothes down your legs, and while you watch him with your hands buried in his dark curls, his eyes are all but focused on what’s between your legs. 

He drapes one of your legs over his broad shoulder, his dark blown eyes darting up to meet yours, and before you can make any teasing remark, his mouth is on you. A gasp catches in your throat. “Cregan, please,” you whimper, forgetting all courtesies the moment his tongue drags through your slit. There’s no softness, no gentleness in the way he all but devours your cunt, the previous teasing having made his patience run thin. 

Your head tips back in pleasure as his tongue alternates between sliding into you and swirling around your pearl, noticing both options have you grind your hips against his face. The tip of his nose rubs so perfectly against your pearl when his mouth pays attention to your entrance, and Cregan’s fingers dig into your flesh with your body tensing up already, keeping you steady. 

The Wolf of the North growls against your cunt as if he’s truly turned into one, devouring you with all he’s got, the sheer pleasure brought by his tongue and lips taking over you. 

As you look down at him again, you find him already staring up at you, watching you carefully as you slowly but surely unravel on his tongue. It’s intense, but you’re captivated enough not to break eye contact. 

“Gods, yes, I–” you whimper, and fall apart all over his tongue with a shudder. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s paws on your body, you would have lost balance by now, especially with the way he seemed to work his tongue in and out of you faster just in rhythm to his nose rubbing your pearl. 

He pulls away from you slowly as your peak subsides, and with his beard and lips glistening with the remnants of your arousal, how could you not pounce on him right then and there?

He supports his body with one arm placed on the ground and stretches his legs as you push yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue makes you moan against his lips before you deepen the kiss. 

Cregan’s hard cock is nestled between your bodies, and you can’t resist wrapping your hand around it, stroking him once, twice, before you shift your hips and slowly sink down on him. 

Muscular arms completely wrap around your waist, making you very well aware of the size difference between the two of you. You’re significantly smaller than him, and relish in the feeling of being safe and protected with him around. You two haven’t been too close upon your arrival in the North, but it seems that there has been a hidden attraction lingering for quite some time. 

You know your hips would sooner or later become sore from pumping him with your core, hence you stick to rocking your hips back and forth with his cock stuffed deep inside you. It’s intimate and slow, but with the coarse hairs around the base of his cock dragging over your pearl with each swivel of your hips, you’re still racing for completion. 

While he mouths along your jaw and the curve of your throat, one of his hands comes up to cup your breast. Rolling the perky bud between his index finger and thumb, the slight sting works wonders to amplify the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

“By the Seven,” you whimper, grinding your hips against him with more determination. 

There comes a sharp hiss in return from him, barely audible between the open mouthed kisses he presses to your collar bones. You’re clawing at his shoulders and neck by now, scratching it despite the sensuality of your movements, and it feels as though you’re even drawing blood. But he doesn’t care about that – he rather enjoys having a woman that doesn’t hold back. 

Trailing his lips up to your throat, he nudges your chin with his nose, prompting you to tip your head back. “It’s not them you need to pray to right now, Princess,” Cregan rasps, a clear strain to his voice. “But perhaps I should take that as a compliment, hm?”

His words cause you to chuckle, and you’re grateful that he’s quickly distracted by kissing your throat again, because otherwise he might have noticed the heat his words bring to your cheeks. “If that is…” you trail off panting, burying your hand in his curls to tug his head back, forcing him to look up at you. The sight of his dark blown eyes hungrily gazing at you sends a shiver down your spine. You feel desired. “If that is a compliment, then I shall have to say it much more often.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact you state wanting to compliment him more often, or if he’s just not used to having an appreciative lover in general, but your words seem to flip a switch inside of him. You quickly find yourself lowered on the fur blankets, warming your back while the flames heat up your skin and Cregan your blood. 

Nestled between your legs, he’s growing more determined now, the sensual rocking of your hips clearly not enough for him, but you don’t mind it. As much as you enjoy being in control, setting the tone, you also revel in following the lead. 

He’s propped up on one elbow, supporting himself as he thrusts into you, rolling his hips that make his cock drag so expertly against the sweet spot inside of you. 

With one hand, you hold onto his broad shoulder, digging your nails into his skin, while the other gropes at his chest, teasing his bud just like he’s done with yours before. The feeling of his coarse hairs beneath your fingers feels somewhat strange at first, for Aemond hasn’t had as much chest hair as Cregan does, but it’s also comforting. 

The familiar coil in the pit of your belly tightens slowly with his hips snapping into yours over and over again, split open by his hard cock.  

“Will you fill me up, my lord?” you moan breathily, arching your back with your breasts pressing against his sturdy frame. 

Cregan releases a choked groan at the question, and for a moment you can feel his hips stutter. You briefly wonder if you’ve pushed your luck too far, especially with him not replying immediately, until his raspy voice cuts through the heavy pants and moans. 

“Only if you let me take you to wife, Princess.” 

You inevitably clench down around him as a small, hiccuped gasp catches in your throat, resulting in Cregan drawing in a sharp breath. The haze in your eyes is replaced by an emotion you haven't felt in so long, an emotion he’s now giving back to you. And you let it flood you. 

Your hand comes from his chest to his biceps, holding onto it as you gather your thoughts. His hips haven’t slowed down one bit, and he’s truly expecting you to answer as if he wasn’t repeatedly impaling you on his cock right now. 

Staring up at him with wide eyes, your voice isn’t any louder than a whisper. “It would be foolish of me to turn this offer down,” you reply.

An impish smirk dances along Cregan’s features. “Is that meant to be a yes?”

“Y-Yes, it is, “ you whimper beneath him, arching your back once more. 

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent cloud your every being, and his thrusts are determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him. 

His hand snakes between your bodies, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the coarse hair around his cock has granted you at least a bit of friction, it’s not enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circles over the little bud, fully coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly is close to snapping. 

“Then I just might,” he grunts in return. 

Your body jerks at the sudden touch, but his muscular frame between your legs is enough to keep you pinned to the ground. “I need you… Cregan,” you whimper, bringing a hand behind his head to pull him down for a heated kiss. Your lips hardly part to release whimpers and moans, swallowing each other’s sounds of pleasure without any shame. “Let me give you a spare.”

It appears that your words give him a new-found vigor that leaves you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. As you start to roll your hips against his thumb, you not only create some friction that feeds your pleasure but his as well. It’s not long after that your peak washes over you with a soft gasp, walls clenching around him like a vice. 

With your small frame trembling between his strong arms, Cregan releases a strained grunt, his own peak being milked out of him by your cunt fluttering around his cock. He keeps on dragging his thumb over your sensitive pearl, prolonging your peak and the pleasure that comes with it.

You stare up at him with wide eyes as you’re milking him for every drop, because there’s something so vulnerable in this wolf of a man, towering over you with his skin glistening with sweat, so desperate to fill you with his seed and breed you. 

The last jolts of his peak force him to languidly rut his hips into yours, desperately chasing the feeling of bliss that courses through your veins. His chest heaves with every heavy breath he takes, and the dark curls are damp and fall into his face. 

Only as Cregan is certain there’s not one drop of his seed left inside of him does he slowly stop his ministrations, and the hand that has toyed with your bud seizes your hips, stilling them.

His erratic breaths fans over your sweaty skin with his lips pressing to your temple. The feeling of being whole with him doesn’t leave you, not when his weight pins you down and keeps you grounded, easing your tumbled mind.  

“I shall welcome the arrival of any child you bear me,” Cregan says, inevitably breaking the silence. 

A smile spreads across your lips as you wrap your legs around his hips, and your arms around his neck. “Be careful what you wish for. My children will certainly be just as stubborn as me.”

His heart is practically pounding against his ribs, and he can feel himself on the verge of being lost by your touch alone again. You make him go wild and feral, your bold and flirtatious nature bringing out another side to him that’s completely unexpected. And yet it feels so right.  

The teasing banter brings a smile to his lips and a light to his gray eyes, your wit and humor shining through. “Let them be stubborn, then,” he chuckles, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “They only need to be half as feisty as you, and I shall be the happiest man in Winterfell.”

[doberbutts]

One of the really insidious ways black people in media get treated is that despite our stereotypes expanding outside of "thug" "slave" and "prostitute", we are still very limited on *what* we can be portrayed as.

It is no shock to me that the two black women in Veilguard, for instance, are either medium toned like myself or a nonhuman skin color (introduced as a woman). It doesn't escape my attention that the only black woman in Baldur's Gate list of companions is also a nonhuman skin color. Dark skinned black women are still considered too unattractive to include as potential romanceable candidates, as it *also* does not escape my attention that the darkest we've had was Vivienne who was simultaneously regarded as an incredibly unlikeable character by huge swaths of the fandom and also unavailable for romance.

But moreover- why can't the bubbley nerdy cute mage be a black woman? Why can't the shy but resourceful archer be a black woman? Why does the black woman have to be someone with their guard up, walls as high as a skyscraper, cynical and callous? Why can't the black woman be the warm and loving Wynne, or the somewhat naive yet devout Leliana? The stalwart and just Aveline? I know plenty of Isabelas, and Viviennes, and Neves, and Taashs, but I also know plenty who are Merrill, or Bellara*, or Harding, or Cassandra, and I even lived with a Sera for a while. Why can't she be Bethany or Morrigan?

The closest we had was Josephine, who again is still fairly light skinned, but at least she has a bit more flexibility. And she isn't a companion, so her screen time is fairly minimal if you're not taking the time to romance her.

*And I don't begrudge Bellara too much, as A: I adore her and B: I'm pretty sure she's our first visibly Asian companion which is a milestone in itself. My point is more that Bellara could be black with virtually no story change because I know plenty of bubbly chirpy friendly black women who have a deep love of their hobbies and interests, who are bisexual and even prefer women, with deep trauma in their pasts, and yet the choice to *not* do that speaks to a problem the media has in their depiction of black women that is far bigger than Bioware.

And it doesn't escape my attention that the men have this problem as well- Wyll and Davrin* are both regarded as boring by their respective fandoms due to the choice to play it safe and stick with the extremely good and upright and just knight character instead of giving them something more messy- Astarion and Lucanis could be black with, as said, little-to-no change in their storyline because I know-even have dated- pansexual former sex worker black men with intensely complicated feelings about sex and intimacy, and I've had plenty of ex-con soft yet dangerous men holding themselves at a distance to prevent themselves from hurting anyone as my friends and even extended family.

I know plenty of intensely nerdy and probably autistic black guys who will infodump gladly about their special interest to the point of it consuming them. I know plenty of black guys with martyr complexes who think they have to tear the world- and themselves- apart just to fix what is broken in this world. I know plenty of black guys who, despite their own inability to get their shit together, are like a port in a storm every time you talk to them. I know plenty of black guys who are extremely educated and well respected within their field, with gentle yet commanding demeanor. Any of these characters *could* be black, and yet they aren't, and the choice to do so is again far bigger than Bioware and Larian.

*Davrin, like Vivienne, being the darkest and first blatantly black male companion instead of potentially able to be ambiguously "of color" like Zevran, Fenris, and Dorian. Even more damning that they'd considered, like Sera, making Solas blatantly black in his concept art and instead chose to make him a pale egg.

As someone desperate for representation, it becomes quickly obvious as I take inventory of what roles black people are given that we still aren't considered as complex and nuanced and interesting. We're allowed to be more than we were before, but we still have a long way to go.

[cheapshrimpysheep]

Pocky Game

SUMMARY: How would they react if you asked them to play Pocky with you? Do they already know the game? What is it like to play with them? And how would a game with them end? 💋

CHARACTERS: Demon Brothers +  Dateables (- Luke) = Lucifer; Mammon; Leviathan; Satan; Asmodeus; Beelzebub; Belphegor; Diavolo; Barbatos; Simeon; Solomon.

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Bullet Points; Kissing; Suggestive?

WORD COUNT: An average of 240 words per character.

COMMENTS: I've already given up questioning the lore of this game, trying to find canon in the stories of the cards and events. I'm just going to write what I want and if there's something similar in a card or something, I don't know anything anymore. 😅😭

I hope you enjoy ❤️

CONTEXT: The Pocky game is a party game played with Pocky, a Japanese chocolate- or candy-coated biscuit snack. Two participants place the Pocky between them “Lady and the Tramp” style, and try to be the last to hold onto the biscuit, often resulting in a kiss.

How to play:

Pick a partner that you wouldn't mind kissing.

Face your partner and put a Pocky stick between you. Each partner takes an end of the Pocky stick in their mouth.

Each partner bites their end of the Pocky stick until their mouths meet in the middle. The first person to pull away loses!

To ensure that the others don’t interrupt or prevent you from playing, you go to his room.

Lucifer doesn't know what game this is. He doesn't usually have much interest in being up to date on these matters. That is more a Levi or Asmo thing.

“If you want a kiss, you can just ask for it, you know?” He tells you with a seductive smile after you've explained the game. But you insist that you want to play. He sighs amused. “Fine, if you want it that much.”

He comes closer to you and gently holds your hand with which you hold the box. Without taking his eyes off yours, he opens the box, leans over to bite into one of the biscuit sticks, takes it out with his mouth and points the other side at you. Before you bite the other side and start the game, he also places his index finger and thumb on your chin to tilt your head.

He plays with that seductively piercing gaze of his fixed on your eyes. As intimidating as it is inviting.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you in, taking the last bite and kissing you passionately.

He breaks the kiss but doesn't take his face away from yours, speaking with his lips still very close to yours. “Well, I played your game. Will you play mine now?” He lifts you up and carries you to his bed.

Mammon knows what game this is. Some Succubus and Incubus have already tried to convince him to play with them. “Hey, I said they tried! Of course I didn't play. Who do you think I am?” So... would he accept to play with you?

“W-with you?” He blushes. “Well, s-sure. You're the only person I wouldn't mind playin’ with.” That he wouldn't mind? “FINE, that I would like to play with. Happy now?”

Yes! You take a biscuit stick out of the box, put it in your mouth and point the other side at him so he can bite it. He does so, blushing. He ends up letting go and relaxing as the two of you take your bites.

When the last bite comes and it's his turn, he ends the game and kisses you. It starts out relaxed, but within seconds it becomes needy. To the point that he cups your face and gets so close to you that you almost feel the need to take a step back so he doesn't completely eliminate the empty space between you.

He doesn't want to, but he breaks the kiss. “I hope you only wanted to play once, ‘cause now I just want to enjoy my prize.” He kisses you again, picks you up and takes you to his bed.

OF COURSE LEVI KNOWS THIS GAME! What kind of fake Otaku do you think he is? He even started rambling about the times he had read in mangas or seen in animes scenes like that and wanted to experience it and know what it was like.

He even goes so far as to comment on a character in a game that he loves doing this to him (the player) and... he sees you start to get upset with him. “NO, NO, NO! It's nothing like that! I swear! I mean, I like the character and I wanted to know what her route was like, b-b-but I was wondering the whole time...” He already had a small blush on his cheeks, but it got even bigger. “...ho-how it would b-b-be with y-you.” He also does that thing where he puts the tips of his two index fingers together.

Well, lucky for him, you also want to know what it's like to play with him and you have a box for that. His blush deepens, practically spreading across his entire face. BUT HE IS SO HAPPY!!! You also want to know what it's like to play this with the person you love? AND IT IS HIM? You'll need to find a way to calm him down so you can play.

You are the one who puts the biscuit stick in your mouth and points the other side at him for him to bite. He will be nervous the whole time you are playing. And when the last bite comes and it's his turn, he can't take it, he stops, perhaps in a mental struggle whether he should kiss you or let you decide. You're the one who ends up deciding to end the game and kiss him.

And now, with this confirmation from you, he can no longer contain himself and wrap his arms around you. And even after you break the kiss he will want to continue snuggling with you.

Yes, Satan knows the game, or at least the description of it from some books. “You want to play it with me?” He smiles. “Of course, I would love to! I would also like to know what it is like.”

He lets you set up the game. You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and let him bite the other side. Although he's blushing a little, he maintains his composure while playing with you, while looking into your eyes with affection.

When there is only one bite left to finish, even if it is his turn, he stops. You can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants you to be the one to choose how you want to end the game. And you finish the biscuit stick by kissing him.

You feel his lips form a smile, his arms wrap around you and surprise you when he pulls you in a way that you lose your balance and lie down supported by his arms.

He breaks the kiss gently and looks at you to see your reaction. He smiles, happy that he surprised you so positively. He rests his forehead against yours. “I can see why people like to write about this game. Would you like to play it again?”

But OF COURSE Asmo knows this game! He tells you he's even played it before, and then regrets it a little when he sees your reaction. “Oh no hon, it was just a few quick kisses, just a little touch. Don't be sad, you know that my special kisses are aaall for you~. You still want to play with me right?” He makes puppy eyes.

“Yaaaay~” He gets so happy and excited when you say yes. He's so cute he looks like a kid in a candy or a toy store.

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and he wastes no time in biting the other side. He plays the entire time with that cute smile and his eyes shining as he looks into yours. But in the last few bites, that look begins to change and become more seductive.

When there is only one bite left to finish and it’s his turn, he stops. His inviting gaze tells you he wants you to be the one to end the game and give him your love.

You do so and, as if that had been a way for you to give him permission to show his love for you, he hugs you passionately and deepens the kiss.

You're going to have to be the one to break the kiss because if it were up to him you'd stay like that for hours. “Oh, do you want to take a break? Do you want to play again? Sure! I can play with you until the box is empty. And then we can continue the kisses without the sweets right~?”

You hesitate to ask Beel about the game. I mean, it's a game that involves food... and it's Beel. But he realizes that there is something you want to tell him, so you end up giving in and telling him about the game.

He thinks he heard about the game from Levi, but the only thing he remembers is that there were biscuit sticks involved. You say you would like to play it with him, emphasis on the play.

“Don't worry, I understand what you mean. I know I'm at risk of being tempted to just eat the biscuits, but if you want to play I'll do my best to restrain myself.” He smiles warmly. “Even though biscuits may be tasty, I like making you happy more.”

You are the one who puts the biscuit stick in your mouth (because if it were Beel he would simply eat it whole) and point the other side at him so he can bite. He rubs the back of one hand with the other, nervous because he's afraid he'll end up eating the whole biscuit and ruining the game. But he takes his first bite anyway.

His first two bites go well, but on the third he gives in to the temptation of chocolate and ends up taking a bite that almost ends the game. You are both surprised and he looks away sadly. But you can still take one last bite.

You take the last bite, ending the game and kissing him. You try to convey through your kiss that everything is okay and you forgave him. You realize you've made it successfully when you feel him smile, hug you and deepen the kiss.

“Hey, I liked the game, but can we separate food and kisses for now?” He says when you break the kiss. “I was really scared that I might accidentally bite you.”

Belphie recognizes the name of the game because he's heard Levi or another brother talk about it. But could you explain the rules again? It's a game that doesn't require effort and that brings you both closer together, so: “Okay, sounds fun. Who starts?”

You were going to put the biscuit stick in your mouth, but then you decided to hand it to Belphie for him to bite first, as if you were feeding him. You know he loves it when you spoil him. You bite the other side and the game begins.

He is very chill when playing and have a sweet smile on his face. There is no tension during the game, just a warm and comfy feeling.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game, it is his turn and he ends the game by kissing you softly. You stay like that for a while until the kiss is broken gently.

You keep playing until either one of you gets bored or the box is empty. After that, he will convince you to lie down on the bed and cuddle. “It's a fun game. We should play it again sometime.”

Diavolo doesn't know the game, but he's super excited to learn everything about it and play with you. He listens attentively and with a smile to your explanation. “Ha ha ha. Looks like a simple but fun game. I will play with you with pleasure.”

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and point the other side at him so he can bite it. He does so with an amused smile. The game goes smoothly and without tension, just with a warm and comfy feeling.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game and it is his turn, he stops and looks you in the eyes. You giggle and he understands this as the confirmation he was looking for. He ends the game and kisses you sweetly.

He hugs you and pulls you gently against him. He deepens the kiss before breaking it with a big warm smile. “What a lovely game.” He caresses your cheek. “Thank you for showing it to me. Do you mind if we play it again? I really enjoyed playing it. And I enjoyed doing it with you even more. Your sweet kisses are the best thing I've ever tasted.”

Barbatos doesn't know this game, but he will be happy to learn how to play it if you don’t mind teach him. He listens attentively to your explanation and the more you talk the sweeter his smile becomes.

“I see, the rules seem simple. It will be a pleasure to fulfil such a request coming from you. Do you want to start the game or would you like me to do the honours?”

You let him start the game and hand him the box. He takes out one of the biscuit stick, puts it in his mouth elegantly, and leans forward slightly, as if bowing, so that the other side of the biscuit is level with your lips.

You bite the other side and the game begins. As expected, he is a perfect gentleman throughout the game. When there is only one bite left to end the game, even if it’s his turn, he will stop so that you can decide how you want the game to end.

You finish the biscuit stick and kiss him. His kiss is gentle and loving. You feel his gloved fingers on your chin, caressing your face until they reach your cheek, the feeling of a soft, well-cared-for fabric.

If you take too long to break the kiss, he will politely break it. He chuckles. “It will be my pleasure to provide you with all the care and love you desire. But shouldn't we distribute this feeling out across the game rounds for it to be more fun?” He brings his index finger to his chin. “Unless one round was enough for you.”

Simeon doesn't know the game, but he will be happy to learn how to play and do it with you. He smiles sweetly the whole time you are explaining the rules. “Ha ha. Sounds like a fun game. I would love to play with you. How do we start?”

You put one of the biscuit stick in your mouth and point the other side at him so he can bite it. He does so with a cute smile. The game goes smoothly and without tension, just with a warm and comfy feeling.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game and it is his turn, he eats it, kissing you. It's a kiss that starts off sweet but becomes more intense, with him cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You can feel the smile on his lips.

He breaks the kiss slowly. “Hum... This was the goal, right?” He asks slightly embarrassed. “Did I overdo it? I’m sorry if I did.” You say he didn’t, that everything is fine and that you even liked it. “Oh, really? I’m glad. I got excited when I when I felt your lips. But don't hesitate to let me know if I do, okay?”

Of course Solomon knows this game. From Asmo? Thirteen? Someone else? You will never know. “Ha ha ha. I don't remember who told me first, but I've known it for some time. Don't worry about it. I'm looking forward to playing with you. Can I start?”

You tell him he can and hand him the box. He takes out one of the biscuit sticks, puts it in his mouth, places his index finger on your chin to tilt your head and places the other end of the biscuit at the same level as your lips. When you bite it, he smiles.

Even though his face doesn't have a very different smile than usual, there's a certain mischievous tension throughout the game. The closer your faces get, the more this feeling grows.

When there's only one bite left, even though it's his turn, he stops, and looks into your eyes waiting to see what you're going to do. You finish the biscuit and the game, kissing him. You can feel his smug smile. He wastes no time in grabbing you by the waist to press you against him to deepen the kiss.

You'll have to be the one to break the kiss if you want to continue playing, otherwise he'll simply lead you to his bed.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

FYI artists and writers: some info regarding tumblr's new "third-party sharing" (aka selling your content to OpenAI and Midjourney)

You may have already seen the post by @staff regarding third-party sharing and how to opt out. You may have also already seen various news articles discussing the matter.

But here's a little further clarity re some questions I had, and you may too. Caveat: Not all of this is on official tumblr pages, so it's possible things may change.

(1) "I heard they already have access to my data and it doesn't really matter if I opt out"

From the 404 article:

A new FAQ section we reviewed is titled “What happens when you opt out?” states “If you opt out from the start, we will block crawlers from accessing your content by adding your site on a disallowed list. If you change your mind later, we also plan to update any partners about people who newly opt-out and ask that their content be removed from past sources and future training.”

So please, go click that opt-out button.

(2) Some future user: "I've been away from tumblr for months, and I just heard about all this. I didn't opt out before, so does it make a difference anymore?"

Another internal document shows that, on February 23, an employee asked in a staff-only thread, “Do we have assurances that if a user opts out of their data being shared with third parties that our existing data partners will be notified of such a change and remove their data?” Andrew Spittle, Automattic’s head of AI replied: “We will notify existing partners on a regular basis about anyone who's opted out since the last time we provided a list. I want this to be an ongoing process where we regularly advocate for past content to be excluded based on current preferences. We will ask that content be deleted and removed from any future training runs. I believe partners will honor this based on our conversations with them to this point. I don't think they gain much overall by retaining it.”

It should make a difference! Go click that button.

(3) "I opted out, but my art posts have been reblogged by so many people, and I don't know if they all opted out. What does that mean for my stuff?"

This answer is actually on the support page for the toggle:

This option will prevent your blog's content, even when reblogged, from being shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models.

And some further clarification by the COO and a product manager:

zingring: A couple people from work have reached out to let me know that yes, it applies to reblogs of "don't scrape" content. If you opt out, your content is opted out, even in reblog form. cyle: yep, for reblogs, we're taking it so far as "if anybody in the reblog trail has opted out, all of the content in that reblog will be opted out", when a reblog could be scraped/shared.

So not only your reblogged posts, but anyone who contributed in a reblog (such as posts where someone has been inspired to draw fanart of the OP) will presumably be protected by your opt-out. (A good reason to opt out even if you yourself are not a creator.)

Furthermore, if you the OP were offline and didn't know about the opt-out, if someone contributed to a reblog and they are opted out, then your original work is also protected. (Which makes it very tempting to contribute "scrapeable content" now whenever I reblog from an abandoned/disused blog...)

(4) "What about deleted blogs? They can't opt out!"

I was told by someone (not official) that he read "deleted blogs are all opted-out by default". However, he didn't recall the source, and I can't find it, so I can't guarantee that info. If I get more details - like if/when tumblr puts up that FAQ as reported in the 404 article - I will add it here as soon as I can.

Edit, tumblr has updated their help page for the option to opt-out of third-party sharing! It now states:

The content which will not be shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models, includes: • Posts and reblogs of posts from blogs who have enabled the "Prevent third-party sharing" option. • Posts and reblogs of posts from deleted blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from password-protected blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from explicit blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from suspended/deactivated blogs. • Private posts. • Drafts. • Messages. • Asks and submissions which have not been publicly posted. • Post+ subscriber-only posts. • Explicit posts.

So no need to worry about your old deleted blogs that still have reblogs floating around. *\o/*

But for your existing blogs, please use the opt out option. And a reminder of how to opt out, under the cut:

The opt-out toggle is in Blog Settings, and please note you need to do it for each one of your blogs / sideblogs.

On dashboard, the toggle is at https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/blogname [replace "blogname" as applicable] down by Visibility:

For mobile, you need the most recent update of the app. (Android version 33.4.1.100, iOs version 33.4.) Then go to your blog tab (the little person icon), and then the gear icon for Settings, then click Visibility.

Again, if you have a sideblog, go back to the blog tab, switch to it, and go to settings again. Repeat as necessary.

If you do not have access to the newest version of the app for whatever reason, you can also log into tumblr in your mobile browser. Same URL as per desktop above, same location.

Note you do not need to change settings in both desktop and the app, just one is fine.

I hope this helps!

[anarchist-rat-swarm]

Got an interesting take on eldritch horror for all you writers out there. It's a bit of a roundabout schlep to reach the actual idea, but writers tend to be readers so I hold you'll stick with me til we get there.

So, consider a 2D creature. Little flat dude, living on the ground. No concept of "up" or "down." He's 2D, he just doesn't parse the concepts and can't perceive them anyways.

He sees you. What he actually sees is just the 2D cross section of you where you intersect with his 2D world, which is probably your footprints. So, as far as he can tell, you are a pair of footprints that are.... apparently one being? He doesn't get how it works exactly, but it's not too far out there, so he just kind of accepts that, yes, humans are The Two That Are One. Spooky. They always seem to use the singular to refer to the pair of themselves, and only differentiate between themselves as Left or Right. But other paired instances of The Two That Are One are, in fact, separate entities. So they're only in sets of two, unless accompanied by a companion called "Cane," which they are sometimes, or even a pair of companions called "Crutches." When Crutches are present, sometimes one of The Two That Are One will be missing entirely. It's a little confusing.

But wait, what now? They disappear and reappear in sequence, teleporting in turns. He never sees them just move like a 2D being, always the stop-start teleporting. Apparently this strange power is called "walking," and its accomplished by The Two That Are One moving through an unseen dimension called "Up," through a process called "lifting" themselves and re-entering the real world farther away in the direction they wanted to go. He can accept the idea of unseen dimensions, and he vaguely gets the idea that one of The Two That Are One must remain anchored in the real world to prevent something called "falling," which is some kind of uncontrolled movement through the unperceivable dimension of "Down." Which is the same dimension as "Up," but...... backwards? Reversed? He's not really clear, but "Falling Down" is presumably bad, so The Two That Are One keep one of themselves here in the real world to prevent it.

Except if they do something called "jumping." Which consists of gathering up their power to hurl themselves through the Up dimension together to reappear together somewhere else in the real world. He isn't sure why they Walk instead of Jump, since it seems better to take both of The Two That Are One together at the same time, but okay.

Okay, what the hell, they can Walk through impenetrable barriers like the great wall of Sidewalk Chalk? How do they go through that? What? They went "Over?" The hell is "Over?" Like 'around' but through the unseen dimension of Up? But they couldn't Walk through the barrier of Wall. Why could they go "Over" Sidewalk Chalk but not Wall?

And they can't go between the four small obstacles of Refrigerator Feet. The area between them is safe from The Two That Are One, for the four Refrigerator Feet are connected to each other in the strange and eldritch dimension of Up. The barriers are too powerful to be moved by The Two That Are One, and it (they?) cannot enter the real world where it is blocked by such powerful forces.

Got all that?

Okay, now consider a 4 dimensional elder god and how we 3D entities would perceive them.