#but that doesn't matter i'm a bit better now i'm not thinking about it as much anymore

[zepskies]

Aww thanks so much, friend!! (lol even SB can offer his own version of comfort. 😂)

That's so normal too with pregnancy! We can be our own worst enemy sometimes, but definitely rock those beautiful curves, hun. 😘💗 (LOVE that Joey gif!!!! loll)

Giving me full PTSD here, girl 😂

God I'm so sorry. 😭 Honestly I was using my own PSTD here, so you're not alone. 😅

And yep, that's always the worst when your partner eats so much crap and does not gain an ounce. Like, how?! Are you magic???

Right?!?! This is such a thing with men in particular I think, not just Dean lmfao.

Sobbing 😭 He so would do that! And honestly, love doesn't give a shit about looks. I mean, at some point, we all will be wrinkly and saggy, so you better hope there's more there than looks 😅🤷‍♀️

Gah, I'm so glad you agree! 😭😭 Exactly!! Of course attraction matters, but real, true love gets to the core of a person and doesn't just consider how they looked when you first met one another.

Bury me in a ditch... 🫠🫠

lmfao girl I'll hop in with you. 🤣

Lovely 😆 Oh, Beau! Sweet, sweet Beau... I can so see him and reader getting their wires crossed, and him not even registering it while she quietly suffers 🙈 I feel like that happens a lot to couples, though, when times get a little stressful and busy. Loved the realism of this!!

lolll that visual right? 😅😅 But busy Beau I thought made sense with him getting lost in a case at times, and yeah I agree -- I feel like something like this could very easily happen when couples have been together for a while. Life can just pass you by, but this was a big reminder for Beau. 💗

Poor, tired Beau, though, now dealing with a crying and upset reader 😂 (Do you think he retrospectively wished he would've just let her hop on for a quick ride? lmao)

lmao I'm sure he does!! Though consequently he's now wide awake. 💀

DEAD 💀 Also 💯 agree with this SB headcanon 😂😂 And weirdly, I thought from the start that Ben would probably mind the least of all of them if his partner put on a few extra pounds. If grannies don't scare this man, weight certainly won't either lol (His answer was perfection 😂😘)

ahahaha thank you, lovely!!! YES that was my HC too! I feel like Ben's not only "seen it all," but the granny thing would definitely expose him to some cellulite and stretch marks. I don't feel like a bit of extra weight is gonna deter him from some good pussy. 🤣🤣

But so on point for him to be jealous at first and accuse her of cheating 🙈 I also wonder how long she got away with it, considering that man's sex drive.

Ben has absolutely no chill! 😭 I can't imagine she'd get away with it for very long -- maybe a few weeks at most LOL.

Loved all of them so much, friend!!! 🩵🩵🩵

Aww thank you!! I appreciate you, friend. 🥹 This set of HCs hit close to home for me, and seeing as it did for you too, I'm very glad you enjoyed them. 💕💕

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is it the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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[may-stuff]

a friend in need. - fc43

summary: you've been best friends for almost your entire lives. who is he to deny you some help when you need it the most?

warnings: afab!reader, masturbation, oral sex (m), dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie || typos and grammatical mistakes because english is not my first language and I'm a little stupid. also, this isn't great in any way so please don't be mean, thank u.

word count: 6.6k approx.

a/n: please please please, if you read this and you like it at least a little bit, please interact with it. If I don't get notifications I die 🥀

In the loneliness of your bedroom, you can't help but let your mind wander. Surrounded by shadows that seem to whisper his name in your ears, you get engulfed in the reminisce of him and almost every moment you've shared together. 

Behind your closed eyes you can see his beautiful face, his hair that smells so good, his hands and those long fingers that have touched you in a friendly way countless times before but tonight, tonight you remember those interactions from another perspective, in a new light. 

Not everything is about his physique, though. The brightness of his smile that could light up an entire room, his laugh and the sound of his voice- everything about him is perfect, even the imperfections. You also think of his moody, short answers in the morning when he's still sleepy; you think of his frown and the look in his eyes when he's angry for something or at someone, and even that seems like undeniable proof of a kind of beauty you've never seen before in anyone else. 

Your feelings for him, you realise now, go beyond everything; but tonight, in the quiet of your own room and with the knowledge that you'll never be more than his dear, best friend, you decide that setting your imagination free won't hurt anybody. He doesn't have to know, you don't even have to say his name out loud. 

Only in your mind. His name echoes in every part of your conscience as you imagine. You imagine him in situations that you're sure you'll never see him in. You imagine him kissing you, both softly and then roughly, as if he were trying to consume all of you. Your mind shows him on top of you, his clothes gone, his lips on your skin and your name coming out of them in a plea. 

The visions in your head are so clear that soon your own hands are exploring your body. First, they travel up and down all through your abdomen, making you feel goosebumps at the thought of how good this would feel if it only were his hands on your skin. When you reach your breasts and cup them in your hands under your shirt, you can't help but to moan softly, even more when your fingers pinch your nipples that, in result, become impossibly hard in a matter of seconds. With the image of his beautiful lips wrapping around your hardened peaks, painting them with his own saliva, you feel that familiar pressure in your lower abdomen. That sensation that comes with the arousal that becomes physical and pools in the deepest parts of you, coating your underwear more and more with each second that passes and he's still in your mind, touching you, making you feel better than any man has ever done before. 

In the complexity of the mind, a deep feeling of guilt presses onto your chest. You know this is wrong, you know this isn't what you should do when you think of your dearest friend, but you can't help it. You can't avoid the feelings and the images in your mind. It's like a film that won't stop playing over and over; it's a bunch of images of him on top of you, inside of you, whispering the filthiest things right in your ear. It's him telling you how divine you feel around him, how much he loves being buried deep inside of you. It's his voice moaning and grunting, face hidden in the curve between your neck and your shoulder. 

It's your hands caressing his back and your nails digging into his flesh every time he moves inside you, the lewd sounds of his cock sliding into your hungry pussy filling the room and, in response, making you more needy. 

In the real world, your left hand has already reached your underwear. Your fingers come in contact with the wet spot right above your slit and you moan softly to the knowledge that you've become this wet only because he is in your mind. And as the guilt hits you once again, trying to drift your mind away from the pleasure that the thought of him gives you, you decide to go against it. 

He will never know about this. 

That thought is decisive. Your shirt and underwear are gone in a matter of seconds, and when you feel the soft air coming in from the window and touching your skin, you shiver. You wish he would be here, his natural warmth engulfing your body and soul, making the sadness and loneliness go away. But you're alone in your empty house- and even if he were here, he wouldn't be where you want him to be. 

With the crude reality put in the back of your mind, your fingers finally travel down to where you need attention the most. Feeling your own dampness, you let out a deep sigh. No one has ever made you this wet, not even yourself. All of this is thanks to him, because of him. The fire in your veins, the need to feel pleasure, the need to cum, all of this intensity is due to him and his face engraved in your mind. 

That's why you can hear his voice so clearly in your head the moment one of your fingers finds its way inside of you. The familiar intrusion feels good but it's obviously not enough, so it isn't surprising that a second finger adds to the first in a matter of seconds and this time you feel fuller. You feel fuller and needier, because now you're realising that nothing will be actually enough, because what you need isn't a matter of size, it isn't a matter of how and how much; it's about him. It's all about him. 

About his face and his hands and his voice. About your own fingers trying to find the right pace as you can almost feel his lips on your skin. It's about you and the need to say his name even though you know that you shouldn't, because if you do, it'll become real. The shameful thought that you want your best friend in ways that you shouldn't, will become true if you say his name out loud. 

But you can't help it. Your fingers inside of you feel good enough to make you whimper and mutter words that don't make sense. They're enough to fuel the images in your mind and you can't take it anymore. So, against your will, his name leaves your lips and you feel some sort of relief with it, because now your needs have claimed his name as their own. Your lust has a name now, and you can't stop saying it. 

“Franco.” 

It comes out in a soft plea at first, loud enough so only you can hear it. But it doesn't take much time or effort for you to continue further, saying it louder and louder each time your fingers enter your cunt again. Soon the room is filled with your pleas and cries that almost sound like you're in pain, because in a way you are, but his name falling from your lips over and over are enough to cover them up. Or at least that's what you think. 

You would have heard the front door opening and closing if you were paying more attention to your surroundings. You would have heard the voice calling your name once, twice a second later and then the steps getting closer to your room. You would have had time to cover yourself and come up with an excuse if you weren't so lost in your own mind and body. That's why the only thing that brings you back to the present, to reality, is the light that bathes your face when your bedroom's door opens. 

Everything happens so fast that you're sure you won't be able to recall this memory in the near future. Or maybe you will, and it will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Once your eyes get used to the light that has suddenly corrupted the darkness in your room, your heart starts beating fast with horror. 

He's standing there, at your door, and the expression on his face is quite difficult to decipher. At his complete mercy, you're fully naked, laying on your bed with your legs wide open and your hands on your cunt; one of them with fingers buried deep inside you while the other is resting a little bit higher, just above your clit. Your chest is rising up and down with the heavy breathing that the pure terror and shame have triggered. Eyes wide open, mouth agape, you're frozen in the spot, unable to say a word, unable to act. 

The tension in the room is cut when he says your name, and maybe you're imagining things, but his voice sounds strangled.

Then, after some seconds, he mutters it again, your name. This time you're sure he's shocked with the scene in front of him but not entirely disgusted. 

The fear and guilt that had taken over you vanish almost completely when you see the expression on his face. Your eyes have adapted to the shining light coming into the dark room, so now you can see him more clearly, and the strange glint in his eyes is enough to make you think that maybe, just maybe, something good can come out of this situation.

Franco's eyes are wide open for a few shocking seconds. Then, when his brain processes the image before him, they start roaming your body. Bright green eyes observe your chest, bare tits and hardened nipples that seem to get even harder under his gaze. The valley between your breasts is covered in sweat and, in a strange way, that makes them look even more appealing. Your stomach, then, is a zone that perhaps you feel a little concerned to show too much but his expression doesn't change at any stop his eyes make on your body. He admires every part with the same intensity, with the same look of bewilderment in that gorgeous face.

He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible groan when his eyes reach your lower stomach and your legs, long and thick. His mouth agape when, in a sudden movement full of boldness, you open them a little wider and let him see more. He's standing to your right, so he can't see all of you properly, but he can see enough and, by the expression on his face, he's loving every second.

The absence of a negative reaction on his part emboldens you to act. Your hands, as if they were separated entities from the rest of your body, resume the earlier activities. Two of your fingers find your clit at the same time your left hand grabs one of your breasts. A sigh leaves your lips at the sudden contact and the fact that Franco is watching your every move makes a wave of pleasure hit you hard. You're aware that you're starting to put on a pornographic show for your best friend and, honestly, you're enjoying it maybe too much.

This is the first time you've seen him so focused on something. All those times he told you he struggled with his own attention span, you should've known that being naked in front of him, touching yourself for him, would be all he'd need to keep quiet and focused. That's why you chuckle when your eyes find him again and you see that his gaze is still fixed in your body.

The sound, a mix of a giggle and a moan, make him look at your face.

"Franco." You moan his name for the hundredth time this evening and rejoice when you actually see him shiver at the sound of your voice. "Please, please help me." You whimper, your own fingers pumping in and out of you faster each time. Harder. "I need you."

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and you know that he's fighting against something, against the fact that, if he gives in, everything will change. You will be friends no longer, because friends don't do this, friends don't want each other in such a way. But you do, and both of you know it. You both also know that, if you act on your shared desire, then when the moment is over you'll probably be in a limbo, trying to figure out what comes next.

But Franco actually doesn't care about the after, he almost never thinks too much before he acts. He lives the moment. You know that and your knowledge gets reinforced when he opens his eyes again and walks towards you, closing the door behind him. In response your heart flutters with excitement. 

Your fingers leave you and go up to rest on your lower stomach when he reaches your side. He's standing at your right, and this time you realize that he's looking at you in the face, looking for your gaze. When your eyes finally meet again, you can read a question that is answered with a nod of your head. 

You want this. You want this so bad. 

Franco's left hand caresses your hair first. His long fingers intertwine in your locks and for a moment you close your eyes to enjoy the innocent touch that, in a different situation, would get you to sleep. But the grip becomes a bit firmer and now he's tugging on it so your head can move to the side again, that way you can meet his eyes. As his hand leaves your head and travels to your soft cheek and then your lips, you don't stop looking at each other. 

A gasp leaves your throat when his thumb sits on your lower lip, and then he puts it inside your mouth, gently enough to give you time so you can reject him if you want. But you don't, you would never.

Soft lips wrap around his finger. Franco's reaction to the feeling of your tongue against the pad of his thumb in an almost imperceptible moan. The sound is low, coming out from the centre of his chest through gritted teeth, and it is the first time in the night that you feel some sort of pride fluttering inside you. The simple fact that he's reacting like this to the first physical contact with you is enough to make you act even bolder than before, and you keep sucking on his finger while looking him in the eyes. 

Franco smiles almost tenderly before the tone of his voice becomes twisted. 

“Who would've thought…” he mutters, still looking at you. “That you were such a desperate slut, huh?”

The sound you make in response to his words is almost inhuman. You're desperate and he can hear it in the tone of your moans, that are still muffled by his finger inside your mouth. 

“All these years…” he continues, voice feeling like velvet on your heated skin. “You were always such a good girl. Always the one to behave properly, wise beyond her years, or at least that's what all of them said, your family and mine… What would they think of you, (y/n)?” Franco asks, the mocking tone coming back. You squirm on the bed as you take his finger deeper and hollow your cheeks, imagining his cock in its place. 

“What would they think of you, (y/n)?” He presses on. This time, you look up at him. “If I told them about this. How I found you naked on your bed, fingers deep inside your soaked cunt while moaning my name like the fucking little whore you are. What would your family say? And mine? Should I let them know how much of a slut you're?”

You almost cry when he takes his finger off your mouth. 

“Answer me.” He commands. “Should I let everyone know?”

“If it pleases you.” You answer, voice sounding a little hoarse because of the previous activity in your throat. 

He smiles. 

“Is that what you want? To please me?”

You nod, fully conscious that you're making yourself look desperate- and actually you are. His mere presence, the sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne and the fact that he apparently wants you as much as you want him is enough for you. You're more than ready for him, for all of him, and Franco knows it. 

He knows it because it's written in you. All over the expression on your face and the way you open your legs for him when his right hand travels all the way down to your knee, and stays there, not moving back but neither further, torturing you silently. 

“Please.” You whisper. “Fran, I need you.”

It's funny, though. You're the one who's ready to please but you also are the one who begs. You've been actually begging him to touch you since the moment you saw him standing at the threshold.

Franco wishes you could read his mind and know that he's waited for this moment for a long time. He's wanted you since the moment you met, all those years ago. First, it was an innocent crush, that was all a child could offer, of course. But since you both grew into yourselves and he started to discover the world and other people- Franco had been with enough people to know that none of them could compare to you, even if he hadn't laid a hand on you yet. Something about you, about your aura, about the strong pull he felt towards you every single time you were in the same room, would assure him that nothing, no one, could compare to you. 

And now you're here, right in front of him, begging. The sound of your voice is almost haunting, like you're in deep pain. He could ask himself over and over again if this is the right thing to do, but in all honesty, he doesn't care about that. He only cares about you and the painful desire you make him feel even when he hasn't touched you properly yet. 

Besides, if you really need him as you say,  if you're in pain as you sound, who is he to deny you his help? Isn't he, after all, your best friend?

That thought is all he needs to vanish his worries to the darkest pit of his mind. 

“Are you really sure about this?” His voice cuts the silence once again. The eager nod coming from you makes him smile. “I need words, love.”

“Yes.” You answer almost too fast. “Please, Fran. Please. I can't wait anymore.”

He curses under his breath because he honestly can't believe it. He's amazed by your eagerness and so fucking turned on that he feels like he's going to cum right here and now. 

So, to avoid that, Franco doesn't waste any more time. Before you can blink twice, he's undoing his trousers and underwear, pulling them down as his hard cock springs out. You moan at the sight of it. Long and thick enough to make your mouth literally water, standing proud and impossibly hard against his shirt, almost staining the fabric with the precum that pools at the angry red tip. It's beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your cunt hurts with the anticipation of feeling it in you. 

After taking his shirt off, Franco's right hand travels down to his dick, grabbing it with a firm grip before pumping it a few times, smearing his own juices all over his length, which makes it look even more appetizing. 

You wait in your place on the bed, observing the small show of him touching himself for a few seconds until his right knee sinks on the mattress, right beside your shoulder. Then, his left hand goes to your hair, under your head, lifting it and adjusting it in the right way so the head of his dick is now right on your lips. He traces them with it, as if he were painting them. 

“So fucking perfect.” He whispers. In response, you let your tongue lick around the head of his dick, coaxing a deep moan out of him. The first contact with his skin is delicious but now you want more, so much more. And apparently he feels the same. 

“I'm gonna put it in your mouth. Is that okay, baby?” He asks. You make a sound that it's a mix between a whine and a moan as you nod for the hundredth time in the night. “Gonna suck my cock until I cum down your throat?” You almost jolt in excitement at that. “Yeah? You want my cum?”

Your answer sounds against the skin of his dick, which you keep licking. “Yes. Yes, please.”

That is the last thing you say for a few minutes, right before he presses the tip against your lips again and this time you open your mouth wide enough to take him in. The way Franco moans at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth is pornographic and you thank the Gods for that, the fact that he's always so vocal about everything and this situation is not an exception. Actually, his moans are all the fuel you need to keep going. The taste of him too. Everything about him makes you take him deeper inside your mouth every time he pulls almost all the way back, fucking your face faster and harder as the minutes pass by. 

The grip on your hair becomes tighter as the sounds of your throat being fucked fill the room. You gag only two times, when he pushes all the way in and holds his dick in the deepest part of your throat he can reach, your nose pressed against him and saliva falling down your chin and neck. Every time he pulls out, you take a second or two to gather your breath but soon enough he's at it again, and you receive him without any complaint, relaxing your throat all you can as he keeps filling it over and over again. 

The intensity and pleasure of it all becomes almost unbearable and soon you're pressing your thighs together, trying to ease the almost literal pain you feel. Franco sees it, attentive to your body even though a great part of his mind is clouded with the sweet abandon of pleasure. So, for a few seconds, he eases the grip on your hair so you can start doing most of the work now, because his right hand travels from your knee to your inner thigh, and it isn't long until you can feel his fingers in your cunt. 

Both of you moan at the feeling. You, because the pressure of his fingers on your slit ease the pain you've been feeling; him, because you're so fucking wet that, when he starts massaging your clit, your juices are so abundant that the movements he makes leave a loud, squelching sound behind them.

“You're soaked.” He moans, still inside your mouth and touching you at the same time. “Is this because of me, love?” 

The answer is obvious to both of you, but you answer anyway, “Yes.” You say, a hoarse voice can barely be heard above the sounds of your cunt. “Yes, it's because of you. Always.” 

Franco smiles, “Do you always touch yourself while thinking of me?” You nod and this time he laughs. It doesn't make you feel bad because it isn't a mocking laugh, it's like he can't believe it. “Same. You have no idea how many times I've made a mess while thinking of you.” 

As his velvety voice keeps sounding in your ears, he keeps massaging your clit, faster as the seconds go by. 

“I've imagined you in every position.” He mutters. “I've made myself cum so many times, thinking of your sweet mouth and cunt wrapped around me, milking me as many times as we wish.” 

He's realized from the first moment that dirty talking is one of your weaknesses, and lucky you, he loves saying naughty things, so he keeps doing it as he massages your clit and smiles triumphant when your legs start trembling and you look at him with an expression on your face that he will never forget. Glassy eyes look up at him as your teeth sinks into your lower lip; your orgasm is close and everything about you says so. 

When you try to close your eyes, his hand immediately slows the pace on your clit. You frown. 

“What-?”

“You keep looking at me.” He commands. You want to yell at him, but his movements become fast again and the sweet pressure on your lower belly comes back. “You look me in the eyes as you cum or I won't do this again, you understand?” You nod. “Words, (y/n).”

“I- fuck, I understand!” You moan as his fingers keep working you on at an impossible pace. 

Not many seconds pass by until the first orgasm hits you hard. Your eyes are still on his; your entire body trembling as the most lewd sounds leave your throat. The simple act of having an orgasm while looking at those beautiful green eyes is enough to bring tears to yours. The pleasure is too overwhelming. 

When the best seconds of your life so far end, your body relaxes and Franco pulls both his hands away from you, letting you rest on the bed. The fingers that worked your clit are now in his own mouth as he sucks them clean. The sight makes you moan. 

“Delicious.” He says, coaxing a giggle out of you. “What?”

“You're crazy. And so fucking hot.”

Franco smiles and shrugs. 

“You know me.”

“Not like this, no.”

“Oh, this? This is nothing, love.”

You frown, “You gave me the best orgasm of my life by simply touching my clit and you call it nothing? It never felt like that before.” 

“I mean, it's not my fault that your previous lovers were fucking idiots.”

You smile.

“And you're what, some sort of sex God?”

“That I am.” 

A genuine laugh escapes your lips. You laugh at his smug words and at the entire situation. Everything is so- surreal, in a way. It's almost comical. But the sound dies in your throat when you realize the way he's looking at you. He's not mad or annoyed, he just looks like he's discovered something new in you, but if he did he doesn't say it out loud. 

Soon, when you've recovered from your orgasm, you realize that Franco's still standing by your side and his dick is still impossibly hard. You remember his previous words, about sucking him off until he's cumming down your throat, and you feel the fire inside you light up once again. Your right hand wraps around his dick without a warning and he hisses, but he doesn't pull you away, instead enjoying your ministrations. 

“Not right now.” He says after a minute or two, as if he's reading your mind. You're sure, though, that he's actually reading the expression on your face as you jerk him off. It's clear that you want him to cum. “Not like this, I won't last long.”

You stop. Then, looking into his eyes, you open your legs for him once again. 

“Come here, then.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. In an instant, he's standing at your feet; both hands reach behind your knees and they pull you towards him. 

In a silent agreement, both of you take your time to look at each other. He's lucky enough to have you like this- completely bare before him, body glistening with sweat due to the previous activities, pretty face with an expression of utter pleasure as you anticipate what's coming, unconsciously opening your legs further, letting him fully see you. You're out of this world, so beautiful that it almost hurts. And he isn't so far behind- you also think he's the most handsome man you've ever seen, with those eyes scanning every piece of you, his curls sticking to his forehead and, oh, such a pretty face. His body is something else too- the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen, the shape of his arms, his hands. You take his hands in yours for a moment, squeezing them, praying this isn't the last time you feel them on you. 

You're both so mesmerized with each other that your bodies seem to move with their own consciousness, and that's why you share a loud moan when he enters you for the first time. 

It feels like nothing you've experienced before. You can't decide what is it that makes him so different from other people you've been with, but surely, there's something that makes Franco feel like heaven. He stays still for a few, long seconds because he's just realized that he penetrated you without warning and in a single movement, and even though it's obvious that you're ready enough to receive him, he doesn't want to hurt you. 

What he doesn't realise is that you're in pain once again because you need him to move and put an end to this feeling, this primitive need to have him just fucking you hard and deep. And that's what you finally ask from him, without shame, without guilt. 

“Please.” You beg once again. “Move. Please, move. I need to feel you.” 

You're sure you're about to cry but the tears get stuck in your eyes when Franco complies and starts moving his hips. It's slow at first, like he's testing the waters, but when the only thing you do is moan softly and writhe under him, crying for more, his hands leave yours and travel to your hips. Once he's sure his grip on your flesh is firm enough, he accelerates the pace, and starts pumping into you with a force that has you almost screaming. 

Soon you start moving your own hips, meeting him halfway and making the experience a thousand times better, if that's even possible. The feeling of his dick inside you, so fucking deep, is more than anything you've ever felt in your life. 

The room is filled with the sound of your skin against his, and the musky smell of sex intoxicates your senses. You've dreamed about this moment for so long that it feels surreal- his hands on your hips, his cock deep inside you and his eyes roaming the entirety of your body, all of it feels so out of this world and you love every second. You love it so much that you feel drunk with pleasure and something else that you can name yet. 

Franco grins at the sight of your eyes, glassy with tears that you're soon to shed. A deep feeling of pride fills his chest. 

“Look at you.” He taunts, never stopping his movements. “You were made for this, weren't you? You were made for my cock, for me.” 

You nod and moan, unable to form a full sentence as his pace becomes impossibly fast and hard- it's almost too much and the thought of asking him to slow down crosses your mind for a split second, until his hands travel up from their place on your hips to your breasts, and your brain almost shuts down. 

“Gonna enjoy these later, I promise.” He chuckles as his long fingers start kneading the flesh of your tits. When he pinches your nipples, the moan that leaves your throat is almost too much, but you don't care. It feels too good to hold back. 

You relish on the feeling of his fingers on your hard nipples until his right hand stops its ministrations to start roaming the skin of your left side, your waist, all the way back down to your hip and then- then you feel his fingers on your clit again, massaging it with expertise. You can't help but throw your head back as a deep moan leaves your throat. 

“Fuck, yes.” You moan, almost hysterical. “So good, so good- oh my-” 

Franco chuckles again and then says, in a mocking tone, “You're so dirty, (y/n). You really-” his words are suddenly interrupted by a strangled groan as you tighten your walls around him. Your warmth hugging his dick in a way that has him literally losing his balance and almost falling on top of you, and he would've crushed you if his arms weren't strong enough to keep him hovering over you.

His face contorted in an expression full of sheer pleasure, he looks so good with his eyes closed and mouth agape, desperately trying to hold the moans in. 

You're the one who chuckles this time. 

“Too good, huh?” You tease him, your cunt tightening around him once again. He groans and hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Can't take it, baby? Too much for you?”

Franco moans again and then you hear him whisper.

“I'm gonna make you- you will pay for this.”

You giggle softly. 

“I think I'd like that.”

All resolve leaves him when you make your magic again. The feeling of your cunt hugging his dick so tightly is enough to make him lose his mind and almost all control. His movements become messier as they get faster, you feel him twitch inside you once, then twice. You hum at the feeling, caressing his back and nape, then intertwining your fingers with his messy, wet locks. 

“I'm close.” He moans, the sound muffled by your skin. 

“I know, baby. Come on, cum for me."

“You first.”

For a moment you think your words are enough, but apparently they aren't. In a second, Franco seems to take back control of the situation when he suddenly breaks away from your arms, kneeling in front of you just like before- his hard, throbbing dick still deep inside of you. You're about to ask him what's going on but then his long fingers are on your clit again, and you answer by throwing your head back in a loud moan. 

Franco keeps working on the most sensitive part of your body as he starts moving again, in and out, at a torturous pace that has you writhing on the bed. Your eyes fill with tears again and he smiles. 

“Cum for me, love.” He encourages through gritted teeth. You know he's holding his own orgasm back by fucking you slowly, and his will certainly impresses you. “Please, do it. Cum all around my cock.”

How would you deny him? When he looks so good fucking you, working on your clit like this isn't the first time. How would you deny him anything when this is all you've ever wanted?

So you let yourself go. Your second orgasm hits you harder than the previous one, sweet cunt gushing all around him, soaking him and the sheets below you. Your moans are almost pornographic and you feel him twitch inside you at the sound of them. 

In the electric explosion that takes over your entire body and mind, you feel him crawling back on top of you, like he was just minutes ago. His face hiding in your left shoulder again as his hips keep fucking into you aggressively, making your climax last longer than expected. 

“Look at me.” You moan in his ear and your body trembles with the sound of a deep groan coming as a response. After a few seconds of you repeating those words, he lifts his head to look at you, forehead pressed against yours. “Cum inside of me and don't stop looking at me as you do it.” 

He chews on his lower lip. 

“I-inside?” You nod as much as you can. “Fuck, (y/n).”

“Please, I need it.” You moan against his mouth, your eyes on his. “I need your cum.” 

That last sentence is accompanied by his name and the way you moan it's all it takes for him to finally let go. The sounds Franco makes when he's cumming deep inside of you are never going to leave your memory, and you wish, right here, now, that you have the opportunity to hear them again many times from tonight. The sight of him is beautiful too- brows furrowed, eyes desperately trying to stay open and that pretty mouth shaped in an O form. His cheeks are red and glistening with the sweat that's covering him, as well as the tip of his nose.

As he empties inside of you, you keep caressing his back, leaving goosebumps behind your touch. His skin shivers with the feeling, still making little sounds that will haunt you forever. 

He pumps into you two or three times more, still filling you with his release, that soon you start feeling overflowing your cunt, falling down your ass and on the sheets. You wonder if he always cums this hard, and the idea that he might not, that you're the only one that makes him feel like this, it's exciting. 

After some long seconds he stops moving his hips but is still buried deep inside of you. His face goes back to the crook of your neck for the second time and you smile as you feel his hot breath on your skin and then a kiss, then his teeth grazing the spot and sinking into it. 

“That's gonna leave a mark.” You moan. 

“Good.”

You stay like that for minutes that feel like hours, in each other's arms, your skin sticking to his due to the sweat that you both share but you couldn't care less. It feels too good, everything about it feels too good and none of you make an attempt to break away from the other. 

Franco knows, as well as you do, that this has been an event that will change everything forever. Some part of you is afraid of what comes next- a hundred questions flood your brain but the main one is the one that haunts you the most. Was this a one night stand? 

You're about to gather the courage to ask him when he lifts his head to look at you, forehead against yours again. You look him in the eyes and, for a moment, you think that the green in his gaze gives you the answer you so desperately need. But in case you needed confirmation, he decides to speak it out loud. 

“I wanna do it again.” He simply states, and you feel your chest full with happiness. “Like, forever. I really mean it.”

You giggle in response and you feel the tears that you've been holding back slowly falling down your cheeks. Franco kisses them away as soon as he notices them. 

“You liked it that much?” You ask as he keeps kissing your face. He stops for a moment to answer, his lips moving against your jaw. 

“Yeah. But I like you, all of you.” He says. “And I want you so much it hurts.”

“I want you, too.”

He smiles shortly before capturing your lips with his, and you realise that this is the first time you've ever kissed. People are supposed to kiss before having wild sex, but who cares?

All you care about is Franco and his pretty lips on yours, moving with such confidence and expertise that leave you breathless. You can feel everything in that kiss, it feels like he's trying to say all those things that he thinks it's too soon to say yet, but you answer him with the same intensity, making him tremble in your arms. 

His kiss says that he loves you too much to let you go, and you tell him that you feel the same.

a/n2: hope you liked it! pls let me know what you think ♥

[earlysunshines]

secret rhymes - 44. ???

a/n: written part seems a bit short but shits gonna be brewing (i think) also the last name for lauren rhymes with the last name of an evil man i know so like. shit i just make up ppl based on my Enemies omfg…

you shouldn’t be doing this. you should be on your way to hybe right now to tell hanni that yujin solved her “problem” with her girlfriend. you shouldn’t have lied in the first place, really.

still, you’re out your dorm with something slightly presentable because you can’t show up looking like a bum to see the girl who dumped you over a year ago.

fuck. you think as you walk toward the cafe. fuck.

there's a growing worry about whether or not you'll be caught out with her, knowing that there's a bit of attention on you due to your popularity. it doesn't matter, you tell yourself, it'll be over quickly.

you walk in and the cafe is quiet other than the clinks of cups, conversation, and buzz of the espresso machine. scanning the room, there's a familiar figure that sits in the more secluded corner. you order a latte in hopes that it'll give you some good luck.

when the time hits 3:05, you sit in front of lauren, catching her by surprise. she looks more mature now, prettier (as much as you hate to admit), but there's a familiarity that weighs the air with too much left unsaid. you don't let any of it bother you, not yet.

"you look good," she says first, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

you exhale slowly, offering a polite nod. "thanks."

she hesitates for a moment, fingers tapping against the table before she speaks again. "I missed you."

you grimace. the words hang between you, waiting for something—acknowledgment, maybe. but you only lift your cup to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down.

"how are you and your boyfriend?" you ask, voice even.

she lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "still together."

of course. you nod again, as if it doesn't matter—because it doesn't.

"what do you want? and why are you in seoul?" you ask, tone vicious.

she traces her nail along the rim of her glass. "for work. i do modeling on the side."

the irony hits you, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh.

"what?" she asks, tilting her head.

"that's so fucking ironic. you bashed me for doing music and now you're a model. are you playing with me?" you respond, though it 's not hard to believe that she is a model; she's pretty, it's not hard to see that. hating her guts doesn't erase that either.

she smiles, that same practiced, self-assured curve of her lips. "it's different. modeling is just a side thing for me. I'm still focused on my degree and getting a stable job. you know, something secure." she takes a sip of her drink, keeping eye contact.

it's backhanded, but you don't react. you simply nod.

"right." you say, your tone light.

you don't owe her anything—not a reaction, and definitely not an explanation. whatever this meeting was supposed to be, it's clear now that it isn't for closure. maybe just curiosity on her end. for you? it's just a reminder that some things are better left in the past; you should've seen hanni instead.

lauren places her chin on her palm, giving you the same look that she'd give you before a kiss or something more. you feel your heart sink and there's a strange, uncomfortable churn in your stomach.

"you look really good after all this time. all that fame did you good." she says, smirking. "it's no wonder I spent all that time with you. i really do miss it."

you freeze, unsure of how to respond.

she chuckles and reaches over, tucking a piece of hair behind your ears before sliding her finger down your cheek.

"you're lucky, you know?" she continues, "i can't believe you made it this far. maybe I should've reconsidered."

you scoff. "don't you have a boyfriend? stop acting like this."

"i always liked to tease." she grins, not fighting back when you put your hand on hers to aggressively push it back. "your reactions were always great—cute."

what are you still here for? you groan at her response, narrowing your eyes at her. she seems to be scanning you, looking for every emotion you feel through your eyes and twitch of your features. it's scrutinizing, and it urges you to bring the meeting to a close.

"i don't know what you wanted, or what you gained from this," you begin, standing up. "but if it was to make me feel bad again, then fuck you. and if you really thought you could coax me back into your life—you're a fucking idiot. i honestly don't want to hear from you again, don't contact me or anything."

her reaction consists of a mere chuckle, plus a shit-eating grin. you bite down on your back teeth and scoff again at her before leaving. you've never had a more confusing—and frustrating—interaction with her. what was the point? for her to bash you discretely? you tell yourself not to get worked up by it, but it made your blood boil.

—

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[unoriginalcontent]

Been thinking a bit about this post; I do believe that to empathize with Trump voters, at least on an intellectual level, is important for purely pragmatic reasons. The idea there is that the right wing propaganda machine is a menace that no one knows how to deal with, and so if we can understand the concerns and anxieties of the conservative voter, we might have an opportunity to demonstrate how Trump is tangibly not addressing their problems and turn them against him. And hell, even if they did vote for him out of bigotry, maybe they'll still be willing to turn on him out of self-interest. However much it sucks, many of these people will not care if you simply point out that his policies harm other people. They've already set the human cost aside as acceptable losses, or else they outright support harming these people, which is why a different strategy is necessary for them. If we can get conservatives to turn on Trump, then even if it's not for the right and morally-correct reasons, that's still a win.

Of course that's all in reference to conservatives who were probably already predisposed towards whoever has an R next to their name on the ballot. When it comes to leftists who refuse to associate with democrats out of protest, I just don't know. I can understand that someone might want to vote out of self-interest and also believe that a Trump presidency is beneficial to them. Obviously they're likely to be wrong, but it's not hypocritical to have believed a lie and acted accordingly. Conversely, I think most leftists are people who will claim that government and voting shouldn't just be about self-interest, and that helping other people is a worthy end unto itself. And yeah, they should have known better.

If you're educated enough on the issues to have known all of Harris's shortcomings, how the hell do you not also know Trump's? If you know them both, how the hell can you conflate the two as equally bad?

We have this idea in the left that our systems are bad, and therefore we can never make progress until we destroy the systems entirely and build something new from the ashes. If you believe that, then please get your head out of the clouds because that's what Trump and Musk are trying to give us, and it turns out to be bad. We live in the system, we depend on the system, if we didn't then it wouldn't matter how many federal programs Trump is trying to abolish. Even if you specifically will be fine, you're writing everyone else off as an acceptable loss. It's not wrong to imagine and strive for a better world than this one, but unless you have viable alternatives ready and waiting, you won't get there by breaking things.

Maybe it's unfair to blame the current situation on people on the left who didn't vote for Harris. I don't even know how much blame matters at this point. And yet I think this is an important thing for all of us to keep in mind. Your moral clarity can be used against you. No matter how good and pure your ideals are, the real world has to come first. And right now that means acknowledging that a huge portion of our democracy chose Trump. And they don't care if you're hurt from his policies, or if I'm hurt, for a lot of these voters your suffering is probably just sugar on top. OP is absolutely right, they probably don't regret wishing leopards onto other people, but that doesn't mean it's not worth convincing them that we should stop the leopards before their faces are eaten. People are going to be poisoned by food which they voted to deregulate, and a part of me wants to think of that as justice. I feel angry. I feel spiteful. These people are taking human rights violations and touting them as victories, fuck them. But anger and spite won't fix anything, even from our side. And no matter how awful some of these people might be, together they're a hell of a voting block. I wish that I could force people to care about the suffering of others, but I can't. And so I hope that it's possible to at least get them to care about themselves.

And if you do think of yourself as progressive, and you still refused to vote for Harris, then I think OP is right, and you really do take a look at yourself. It is true that many of our problems are created and perpetuated by larger institutions beyond our control, but when it comes to democracy, it's not enough blame the system. You're a part of the system. If you don't want to participate, you need to have an alternative that is—crucially—viable, actionable, and realistic in the immediate short term. If you don't have that, which I guarantee you don't, then high-stakes elections are not the time for moral grandstanding.

Sorry for rambling here on your post, I'm probably a bit scattered. I've been having a lot of discussions with people about this sort of thing lately. Whatever strategy the left has for winning hearts and minds, it clearly hasn't worked if someone like that can still win the popular vote. I don't know how to fix that. But I think we all need to be a lot more comfortable ceding the moral high ground if it means making progress in the trenches.

Trump voters owe me financial compensation.

[a-man-in-the-crowd]

A Little Breakdown of the Will Misogyny Scene bc I Keep Laughing About It & Need an Outlet

this scene lives in my head rent-free like holy shit it had me in fucking hysterics 😭 AND LIKE I KNEW IT WAS COMING BC I WAS SCROLLING THROUGH TUMBLR BEFORE I GOT TO IT BUT IT DIDN'T MAKE IT ANY LESS HILARIOUS???

like genuinely there's so much i wanna talk about, it's both a really funny scene and also just like a super interesting scene that gives you a bit of insight into the dynamics of the characters, if that makes sense??

so here i am, going through this scene and 1) just fucking laughing my ass off bc i can never read this scene with a straight face and 2) trying to kinddaaa link it back to some sort of semi-meaningful analysis (though mostly this is just my excuse to ramble about a dumb scene that i am obsessed with for some dumb reason)

warning: non-sensical yapping about a short scene ahead

first of all the set-up to this scene

here, you can see a gay man decide, once and for all, he hates women!

okay but fr the way i see this moment is sorta re-establishing the competitive nature of ada and will's dynamic (at least in this section of the story where ada and monty are dating). obviously, this became apparent in the staircase scene where we see them constantly bickering, but i'd say this is the first we're seeing them genuinely compete for monty's attention/affection.

ada at first gets the 'upper hand' (in reality, neither can really, monty's too out of it to even pretend to give a shit about either of them) by doting on him like a loving girlfriend, tucking him in and everything, and will is just. idk. disgusted by straight people (same, will, same /j). he definitely sees this as ada trying her hand at stealing monty away — and he's kinda right. whether or not she actually is doesn't matter, because this isn't really about monty, except it is?? i'll probably talk more about this some other time, but both ada and will care more about the love that monty is dangling over their heads more than him.

at least, that's my take so far.

anyways, basically this is a game, and ada's just had her turn and she has the advantage of monty being awake. it's will's turn now and he decides to win monty's favour by...

that.

so outside of the very obvious comedy of will very awkwardly and randomly going "women ☕️" (like genuinely i don't think he knows what the fuck he's talking about), something that gets me about this is how CONFUSED monty is. there's a pretty high chance he's confused because of the painkillers in his system, but i'm of the belief that the funnier interpretation is always the better one so...

i like to imagine he's confused for the same reason the audience probably is — that being, will, what the fuck? monty's reaction definitely does have a similar vibe to when will told him he was praying, so i don't think it's a stretch. it'd also confirm that this is a really out of the blue rant for will to go on, something that can be inferred from how awkward and ada-specific his rant is. if he has beliefs that are even slightly similar to what he's saying, he's definitely never expressed them before judging by how nervous he is about it.

though, you know what is in character for will? spewing absolute bullshit, hence why monty's only response is 'sure, will' before going to sleep (that, and the fact he's really tired and barely has any blood in him, seriously it's a surprise he didn't die 😭)

speaking of which. notice how, despite being loopy from the painkillers and blood loss, monty still manages to remember will's name. i can't tell if it's because he's known will longer and therefore is more used to his presence, he cares a bit more for will than he does ada (and there is evidence he gives a tiny bit of a shit about will. though he might for ada as well, we haven't seen much of those two), or that will is a man and therefore worthy of a bit more respect in monty's eyes (something i am NOT ruling out when considering the differences between ada/monty and will/monty). i think it's an interesting detail, though i'm not sure how much it'll get elaborated on.

ada might have the advantage of being monty's most recent fancy (albeit, for reasons definitely related to ada's spectre) but will has the advantage offff... whatever the hell got monty to remember his name of all things

okay so i've already listed my reasons for believing will is spewing bullshit to suck up to monty but i just wanted to pipe in my own personal experience with this sorta behaviour.

i'm trans, right? specifically transmasc and hooolyyy shit did this rant unlock some EMBARRASSING memories of me trying to mimick how i thought men saw women ☠️ he's just like me in the WORST way possible and i can't help but laugh at it he is SUCH a loser

i don't think will is trans, that's not a headcanon i have of him (though i do have that hc for pluto bc well... look at him), but i DO think he's gay (one of the preview images for the locked episodes has him blushing behind monty and i am VERY confident in my idea of what he's blushing for) and at the very least tried to excuse his disinterest in women with shit like this. this is the exact kind of behaviour from a guy who is desperately trying to hide his queerness by being an asshole to women (newsflash, you don't have to hate women to seem more masculine, but will is likely from an older time, i get 1800s vibes though i think 1930s makes a lot of sense too, so i suppose that was never a thought that could've occured to anyone)

i don't think that is specifically the motivator behind this specific rant, in this case he is for sure doing it for monty, but i get the feeling he's pulling this shit from stuff he's maybe said in the past to hide his sexuality

another thing: i touched on this earlier but... most of the stuff will is saying is DEFINITELY directed at ada. i wouldn't be surprised if he's doing this on purpose, using this awkward forced misogyny as cover to insult ada (which isn't out of character, i wanna make a separate post about this but i find that will's 'real' method of meanness is less. outward? then, say, monty's. it's muttered, or condescending, or veiled behind something like what we see in this scene). judging ny ada's expression though, she DEFINITELY catches on.

i firmly believe ada wouldn't have been as aggressive had will not been insulting ada personally

oh yeah, a final little note on this section: anyone else feel like this has the same energy as when you're reading an old book and randomly get flashbanged with misogyny?? like lowkey idk if that was the vibe the creators were going for, but it definitely was giving those vibes. i got immediate flashbacks to when i was reading dracula and at least lime once a chapter they'd mention how mina was too ✨️ womanly ✨️ and ✨️ innocent ✨️ to be involved in the whole vampire situation. except worse bc will is just actively being malicious (which honestly makes this whole scene better, hate the misogyny but love me some will being mean bc it's hilarious every time)

and, how could i forget, the ABSOLUTE HYPOCRISY OF THIS STATEMENT I'M ACTUALLY IN HYSTERICS RN HOLY SHIT WILL 😭 big words coming from a guy whose main job is to copy other people like damn bro projecting much

i didn't mention it earlier bc it was cropped out, but further evidence of will purposely taking this as an opportunity to trash on ada is him looking DIRECTLY AT ADA I'M CACKLING THIS IS GOLD.

but this isn't where the goldmine ends because it all gets topped off by WILL REALIZING MONTY ISN'T AWAKE TO SAVE HIS DUMBASS AND THEN PROSPERO JUST NOPING OUT OF THIS WHOLE DISASTER

will, i love you, i am your number one apologist but... nah bro you did this to yourself you're on your own LMAO

i sincerely hope ada rocked his shit bc that was a hilariously pathetic display and will needs to learn the consequences of his actions (though, i was hoping getting beat by a crowbar would be enough to get it through his skull 😭)

anyways that's all i have to say about this scene for now, i feel like it's pretty easy to tell who my favourite character is. i swear i like the other characters, it's just that will had me in a chokehold the moment he appeared and the fact he has very little lore behind him makes me incredibly desperate for any crumbs i can get ☠️ i have wayyy more to say on will, but like i'd need to organize and gather myself if i actually wanna say anything meaningful

[bktempted]

Fitting rooms. I can't remember when this became our little ritual, I just remember you mentioning you needed a new outfit. "Please, come" you said, grabbing my hand, dragging me through the mall, "I need a man’s opinion." You know, that first time I actually believed it was about clothes.

Now I know better. The fitting room is empty except for a distracted attendant arranging hangers at the end of the hall. You slip into the last stall — our stall — carrying the dress we picked out. I hear the familiar metallic song of rings against rod as the curtain closes.

Before long, right on cue, you call for me. "Babe?" Your voice is like honeyed silk. "I think I need help with the zipper."

We've done this so many times now, but my pulse still races like it's the very first. I glance at the attendant, still distracted, before joining you behind the curtain. As I step through, this room becomes our very own private theater - the mirror our audience, the muffled store music our soundtrack.

You're standing there in the dress, already zipped, your eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "Liar," I whisper against your ear, hands finding your waist.

"You should know that by now."

You lean back into me as I watch you in the reflection - the way your eyes flutter as I brush my lips against your neck, the slight parting of your mouth as my fingers trace patterns on your hips.

"We should really find a new hobby,” I say, but you know I don’t mean it. Actions speak louder than words and my hands are already beneath the hem of your dress - searching.

"But where's the fun in that?" You catch my hand, guiding it to the damp wetness between your thighs. Outside, hangers scrape against racks, footsteps pass, life goes on. But in here, time suspends itself, just for us.

"You know, there’s fun that doesn't get us kicked out of department stores." I whisper against your neck, feeling you shiver as my breath lays on your skin. My fingers pressing against your swollen clit.

"Says the man who followed me in here," you tease, lifting the dress up, giving me full access. "You're not exactly innocent."

"I was innocent." I bite back, bending you over suddenly with a forceful push, my free hand unbuckling my belt. You brace yourself, both hands pressed against the mirror. "Are you proud of what you turned me into?"

“I little bit!” you say with a yelp, a little too loud as I press my cock against your dripping slit. "Shh, baby," I whisper harshly against your ear, slowly sinking into you. "We don't want to cause a scene."

You clench around me, biting your lip to keep quiet as I start to move. Slow at first, savoring the tight heat of you, but quickly gaining momentum. The dull thud of my hips against your ass echoes softly in the confined space.

You push back against me, meeting each thrust with desperate need. Your knuckles turn white as you grip the edge of the mirror, anchoring yourself against the sensation. I can feel your walls fluttering around my cock as you near the edge.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you gasp as my hand clasps around your mouth to keep your voice down. "Don't stop."

With a choked cry, you shatter, shaking and spasming around me. The feel of your release pushes me over too, and I bury myself deep inside you as I cum, muffling my groan against your shoulder.

Some couples have candlelit dinners and moonlit walks. We have fluorescent lights and fitting room mirrors. And somehow, it's perfect. A little piece of paradise we’ve carved out for ourselves in this ordinary world, where the only audience that matters is our own reflection.

[mimipolo]

Kim seo-wan x reader pt 2

Sorry for taking so long I fear my hyperfixation is dwindling💔

Pt 1

"Seo-wan?" your voice carries a hoarseness of disbelief that has his eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"[Name]...?"

"Seo! I can't believe you're...!" As you descend the few extra steps to come face to face with him your smile falters. He looks tired. Exhausted. Like it was too much to carry the weight on his bones. Your dimming excitement was clear and he couldn't bear to see it. It was the same face his parents made when they came to pick him up. Happy, relieved, and yet so afraid. Nervous that anything could send him back that downward spiral. He doesn't want to worry them, but what could he expect?

Looking at you felt like a dream, after so many months at the hospital it was like he was relearning the structure of your face. You look more tired too, but in the way it's shown you've matured, experienced new things. Effectively using the time he'd been away, away for far too long. His former mediator, his goal, you were everything he admired and more, so much it hurt to be near you and watch you bloom. Though it was all he wished. It just would've been better if he could stand beside you on that pedestal.

It was like you had everything figured out. You understood your own balance, able to handle change when exams didn't go your way and still were able to find stable footing. And from the sound of it from neighbours, still found a respectable job all in an entirely new country. You were unreal to him. Everything he wanted and wanted to be, but he just couldn't.

"[Name]." He mutters awkwardly pushing up his glasses in that familiar habit you adored.

He hadn't expected to be caught on the way up, he had told himself after Nurse couldn't go for tea if nothing else intervenes he's just do it. But of course you were there, as respectable and calming as you always were.

"It's been a little bit, hasn't it?" he says, forcing a smile you saw through immediately.

He knew his parents had told most people he went across the county to try studying somewhere else for the upcoming exam. Though it didn't matter whatever lie was fabricated as he still failed. Nodding lightly and accepting the condolences of his neighbours for another one of his many losses. He couldn't bear it.

But looking at you now that didn't seem like the story you were told, staring at him like he had come back to life a completely new person. Which was true in its own way, he felt a hollow copy of the person he was before.

"It has... want to come in for tea?"

And he felt himself gravitating towards your prescence, like he always had.

-

Inside your apartment you immediately knew something was off. You'd like to sum it to the classes in physcolgy and mental health you took a few years ago but the signs of it would pain you to even try to ignore. Fatigue was written all over his expression, the Seo-wan that was so stubborn about his goals seemed to be disappearing right in front of you. And you didn't even want to begin to think about why he's so many floors above his if not to visit anyone.

"My mum told you the truth I'm guessing?" your grip on the pot of tea stiffens but you eventually nod to which he sighs shakily, running his hands over his face like it'd get rid of the sour expression on his face.

He hated how he felt ashamed you knew, he hated how badly this has affected him despite his best efforts to go back to a normal life. He wanted to forget it all. Even now, the normal small acts of kindness you always gave him now felt out of sympathy as you handed him a cup of his favourite tea.

"How've you been holding up? You're not studying too hard right?

You really wanted to avoid bombarding him with questions but you couldn't help it. You sat side my side on your couch, you didn't have one of those pretty small tables with cushions his mother had so it was good enough.

He laughed bitterly at your words, he cradled the cup in his hands, despite the sweet aroma and warmth of his favourite tea surrounding his senses he couldn't bring himself to take a sip.

"I guess I have. No surprise I failed these exams too, after all that time I wasted..." Your grip on your own cup visibly tenses at his words, fully shocked he even took the exam in the first place, he had such a small time to prepare how could he expect to get a good result.

"You shouldn't have, look, you just got out the hospital more stress is not what you need." Not when it's what put you there in the first place, is what you'd like to say but you bite your tongue, already feeling yourself over stepping.

"I don't know... it's just embarassing, to think I spent all this time just living in this fantasy world-"

Your brows furrow slightly, not completely aware of the depths of his condition, it was something Mrs Kim didn't feel comfortable to explain to you and you understood that.

"Im sorry-um. I never realised it before but... you were my first mediator, always cheering me on despite it all. I never realised how much it meant till you left your apprenticeship..."

You're setting your cup on the table now, taking his still untouched tea too on placing it there as well. Attentively, you take his hands into yours, your sudden action inclining him to look at you. Your eyes softening when you see the lost yet unwavering gaze he has on you. He always seemed to look at you like that. What you failed to notice is how his hands stopped shaking from the moment you reached out for him, his body felt less jittery, that was just the kind of affect you had on him.

"You should've called, I didn't even know where you were until a week after I came back." His gaze wanders away from yours as you scold him, though he isn't fully upset, not when you're speaking so gently.

"It would be embarassing to, would it not? How else could you see me as someone reliable." For the first time you see the way his face contorts into such a deep hatred for himself, his grip on your hands tightening slightly.

"How could you see me as anything more than this...?" His voice shakes and you feel your heart drop. Your thumbs start to run over the back of his hands, unable to find the right words to stay but still wanting to comfort him. You knew what he was feeling, having felt it directly and from people around you. That weird sense of shame you have to carry, though whatever happened to you was far out of your control.

"Seo... There's nothing to be ashamed or worried about. You're still someone I admire and want to see grow."

His gaze meets you confused. You admire him? How could you when all he's done is fail since he met you. But you recognised features he missed in himself. His absolute focus, determination and thoughtfullness to his family were just a few.

"I truly admire how strong you are, so don't do anything stupid." You can't help the way your throat tightens up at the end.

His eyes immediately rim with tears at your words, he didn't expect you to guess why he was so many floors above his own. But it was clear, he wasn't on his way to see anyone else, more than happy to go to your apartment.

"I'm far from impressive [Name]." He mumbled with a small laugh, followed soon after with a short sob, tears involuntary falling as he holds your hands tighter.

Your hands leave his to wipe away at the tears as they fell, thumbing them away with a carefulness that made him shudder. Taking off his tear stained glasses for him, setting them aside. When your arms return outstretched he doesn't hesitate to fall into them. Letting out all the tears he'd refused to shed in the hollow walls of his house.

"Well I think you are, and I'm usually right so you should too."

He chuckled again against your shoulder and you laugh alongside him. For the first time since returning home he felt like he was alive again, whole. Maybe it was time to accept his friends were right and it was more than just admiration he felt for you. But that could wait another day. Another day where he'd like to see you again.

DID IT‼️‼️ Sorry this turned out more angsty than expected that happens when I'm tired.

Tag list: @kimseo-wan @keimitchy @rohjaewonlvr

[st4ytiny]

Cause I don't wanna be in love with another, even in another life

AN: I'm having ateez and stray kids brainrot rn. Rewatching all of skz code and wanteez... LORDDDD IM LEGIT SOBBING I LOVE THEM ALL <33333

Mentions of soft San, fluff with a sligth slice of angst and implied nsfw. Mostly teeth rotting fluff, self indulgent (sorry not sorry)

Sannie who is the kindest guy you've ever met. Many think he's tough and mean, but once you get to know him a bit more, he's actually just a ball of sunshine. He's warm, comforting, gentle, nurturing and healing. Somehow he always has something to say no matter your problem. He has the most gentle touches. Jokes and laughter is also a big part of your time together. He enjoys having his hair played with while he reads. Head in your lap while you do random stuff.

Sannie who loves poetry and loves writing for you. Even if he doesn't have the courage to show it to you. I feel like he's the type of boyfriend to leave you notes around the house with words he can't say in person. The type of boyfriend to crush on his partner, who goes above and beyond to make you feel better if life is shitty atm. He enjoys being your safe haven and feels safe being with you. The boyfriend who can't handle alcohol so whenever you two are out, at an event or dinner with his group, he ends up taking care of you. If he is drinking I have a feeling he's gonna end up in your lap, clinging onto you for dear life. (I feel like he cries alot when he's drunk? THAT ONE TIME HE GOT SCARED BY THE MEMBERS IN THAT WANTEEZ EP. AND CRIED. I LITERALLY SOBBED, MY SANNIE)

Sannie who needs a stong bond to the people he surrounds himself with. I feel like he's attracted to individuals who are older than him. Preferably if you enjoy working out, being outside or is a bit of a nerd. Love has no boundraries for him though. He likes feeling like he's stronger than you, just because he likes being protective. Even though you both know who's gonna be ordering for you two. He is the type of guy to act intimidating if someone approaches you when you're on a date. Then afterwards he's gonna be like "Woah, did I look intimidating just now?", "Woah, Hyung/Noona didn't I look totally badass?" (SOBBING I NEED A BF LIKE HIM, SORRY THIS IS SO SELF INDULGENT)

Sannie who loves being praised for small things. He thives of being helpful for you. ESPECIALLY IF HE IS TALLER THAN YOU. He enjoys watching you while doing the most mundane things. He enjoys the smell that your parfume leaves in the bathroom, or the fog on the mirror. He enjoys seing your favorite colour next to his favorite colour when he's out shopping. Sends you pictures of it with "This is us" attatched to it. I don't feel like gift giving is is biggest love language. BUT i do think he's the type of guy to give you a pretty rock because he thought about you when he saw it.

Sannie who gets stressed and insecure easily. Reassurance is important in your relationship. As well as gentle reminders that you think he is the awesomest. Joking around with him when he's stressed is something that makes him let go of the tension in his shoulders. He loves just sinking into your warm touches at the end of the day. When he's touring or busy, he forces wooyoung to cuddle him while he wants to cry because you're not there. If you're an idol aswell, i believe San would cheer you on alot. He'd be so proud whenever he saw you absolutely devour the stage. You two might also write lyrics/poetry together.

Sannie who can be rough when it comes to being intimate. But when he's stressed, exhausted, sad or insecure, he definatly enjoys you being soft, praising him and a tiny bit of body worship. He likes having his hair played with and i have a feeling that his some of his sweet spots are his arms, neck and thighs/calfs?? I don't know. He likes recieving but also giving. Definatly soft dom leaning though.

Songs I listened to DIMPLE - BTS, HURT - NEW JEANS, HEAVY - THE MARIAS, VAMPIRE EMPIRE - BIG THIEF, HEAVENLY - C.A.S

[peacockrulz]

I'm sorry to anybody who expected me to post smth normal but. /j

these doodles are entirely based off the text of the fic Cyn's Night Out. which is a part from a series of fics that I haven't actually read but!! this particular part of it I have so jdskfjsdkf

I dub these two,,, StillKicking (get it? because,,football?? and Cyn never fucking dies????) anway here slightly more sketchy doodles under the cut:

Your Honor. I need More Of This.

[residentialsinyomakai]

Yokai to Human Form Tidbit

Ok so there's human designs/ forms for Caspian's yokai friends 1, for fun, and 2, cause there's some situations where it's convenient/just better to have some in human forms (EX: Whisper coming to Caspian's choir concerts and conferences bc his parents are. fairly absent). Everyone has their own opinions on it and stuff and in this post I'ma talk about Baddinyan's!!

So fun little fact he does Not Like being human. This is mostly for body dysphoria adjacent feelings, like all of a sudden he has different hair, no fur, different ear placement, etc. The 'phantom limb' thing tends to happen with his tails, too, which is trippy and kinda uncomfortable. He also hates that a lot of his senses are dulled. smell, hearing, sight (especially in the dark), it makes everything feel kinda hazy and causes him to be a lot more stressed about everything.

Idk maybe I just think it's kinda funny to see a character thrown into a whole new form and reasonably be like. what. the hell this sucks. His easygoing (nice way of me saying his lazy ahh) and usually pretty chill/surprisingly level-headed mood is def worsened when he's constantly feeling skin that doesn't technically belong to him. A form he shouldn't really have.

As a result, he's oftentimes irritable and anxious in this form, with some days being better than others. He typically avoids having to use it unless he needs to though, and refuses to take his glasses off for anything. Has to be bribed with a Chocobar to enma forbid go out in public. He's also less used to it than most due to his extreme aversion to it. He just hates it and everything is physically gross and cloudy and nothing's in the right place and he can't explain why.

Badude, on the other hand, doesn't mind being human! It feels more similar to his body than it does for Baddinyan, and is kind of a fun change of pace every now and then. He's Baddinyan's like. closest friend besides Caspian in this AU, so he's typically who's convincing him to not kill everyone in the room and/or take off the stupid leaf in public lol. Their convos can sometimes go like

"C'mon, it's just until we get outta the store. Don't get your non-existent tails in a twist-"

"Shut up and do nyot remind me right nyeow."

"(Oh it's like. that kind of day whoopsies) Mbmb, we can ditch these nerds and go look at the candy isle or somethin' for a bit..?"

He stinks at comforting people or anything like that but tries. Sometimes. idiots

I'm working on references, but all I have to say about their designs for now is vitiligo Black-Mexican Baddinyan and Mexican-Japanese Badude CANON!!! See you for now! :) Have a radtastical day out there, don't implode or get rocks thrown into your inbox!! (again for some of you...)

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

men are so disappointing in so many ways i know i shouldn't expect most of them to be dignified humans but it's crazy. i need to get over this guy he's making my sense of self crumble even faster than it usually does. like he's just so unlike my usual type and i'm pretty convinced he's stupid and slutty and not discerning whatsoever. not to mention boring like i know even if i did have a chance with him he wouldn't Get Me at all so it's a bigger waste of time that usual and i'm actually pretty tired of men in general and definitely tired of parasocial relationships because they drive me insane for months typically. thankfully it's only been like 2 weeks if that at this point. idk. sigh. i know literally virtually nothing abt him as a person and ofc liking any public figure who you know nothing about is only setting yourself for heartbreak and disappointment to begin with bc you already know nothing is gonna come from it but. in a way it's almost addictive to become obsessed with someone and not be looked at with the same level of scrutiny. i don't think anyone in real life would ever try to get to know me as much as i try to get to know people who i'll never even meet. lmao! but that's the thing... idk... i have a lot of love in my heart and it consumes me and i reject my pride usually when i'm into someone. i want to know more... like VORACIOUSLY consuming anything with information about them involved simply because i think knowing someone is a very deep form of love but of course you can never truly know anyone. not completely. and that scares me i think which is why it's always probably been easier for me to never really TRY to be with anyone or have anything real. idk. this turned into me psychoanalyzing myself real quick but SOMEONE needs to bc i need to understand what the fuck is wrong w me.

[syrenki]

post depressive episode clarity like what the fuck do you mean they'll never disappear, just fade.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

Okay I thought I was done but apparently I'm not. I need to talk more about this banter you can get during the Legacy DLC between Aveline and Warden Carver because it makes me want to scream.

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

In my last post, I talked about how Aveline had no place telling the guard to refuse Carver's application, regardless of if he was "right" for the job or not. But I believe he would've made a great guard, and getting that job not only would've provided for him and his family during a desperate time, but would've prevented him from either fate of becoming a warden or a templar. He was unfairly robbed of a chance to prove himself because Aveline believed he wasn't right for the guard.

This is one of the banters I brought up but didn't go too in depth about. At this point, it's been between 3-6 years since Act 1, depending on if you decided to do Legacy in Act 2 or Act 3, and every line here is important.

Carver's response to Aveline saying she's glad he "found a place" with the wardens is so telling. Not being accepted by the guard is still on his mind after all this time. He wouldn't bring it up if it didn't still bother him, and implies that he still would've preferred the guard over the wardens.

Which... yeah. Listen, I'm a dedicated "Carver joins the Grey Warden" player. I don't like leaving him behind to become a templar, and I certainly don't like him dying. For me, the Grey Wardens are the best outcome he has. It’s where he seems the happiest and finds the most fulfilment, and it fits well with how I play my Hawke. But it obviously has some tragic issues.

Like the fact that becoming a Grey Warden only delayed his inevitable death within the Deep Roads. Eventually his Calling will come, and Carver will go back down there and fight until the darkspawn eventually kill him. I'm sure that's not traumatic to think about given he was a soldier at Ostagar and then watched Bethany die at the hands of an ogre. Oh, and there's the whole nightmares and voices thing.

Carver didn't choose this life for himself. It was either this or death, but a "what if?" still lingers in his mind about the city guard.

Something Aveline ruined for him.

And continues to ruin.

Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you.

You hear that? In the distance? That's me screaming.

I must reiterate; what makes Aveline believe it's her place to tell Carver whether or not the city guard was right for him? Why did she think she should get a say in whether or not the guard takes him? What's made it HER call?

And still, after all this time has passed, she believes it wasn't right for him and she's unwilling to consider otherwise. Maker forbid she do some reflection and question if she was in the right for interfering at all, too!

Carver is standing right there before her, proving everything she said about him wrong, and she just doubles down. There's no reason to say this to him unless she's trying to remind him of his place; he's a Grey Warden, and she's Guard-Captain of Kirkwall's city guard. But c'mon, Aveline, he's hardly a threat to your precious guard anymore given the whole dedication to killing darkspawn thing he has now.

Maybe if you paid more attention to the threats within your guard, Kirkwall would be a safer place with less murder going around? Just saying!

But isn't that how it's always been? Aveline putting him in his place, making sure Carver remembers she's always outranked him?

Carver: Did you approve my application? Aveline: I can't make you a guard, Carver. Carver: We were both soldiers. Why won't they take me? Aveline: I was an officer. And I follow orders. Carver: [laughs] No you don't. Aveline: I also think of others before myself. You seem tired of that, and that's dangerous. Carver: Just when it's not my choice. You told them not to take me, didn't you? Aveline: Yes.

That he should remember who he's talking to?

Carver: I'm surprised you still travel with us, Aveline. Aveline: Carver, don't. Carver: You're ever so busy with the guardsmen. It must be a burden to slum with the refugees. Aveline: It's oddly comforting that you insult me like I'm family. Carver: That wasn't... no, I didn't mean that. Aveline: I know. But you should be glad that's how I took it.

That she's in charge?

Aveline: Your form's sloppy, Carver. Stiffen up or the darkspawn will take your blade. Carver: Right. I'll keep that in mind. Aveline: And you're angry, why? Carver: You didn't fare any better than I did the last time we faced darkspawn. Aveline: If they take your blade, people die. That's not happening again. Stiffen up. Carver: Yes ma'am.

Oh, and she used to spy on him [and Hawke].

Aveline: I don't like some of the people you've been associating with, Carver. Carver: Talk to my brother/sister. He/She's the one in charge. Aveline:  Maybe, but I know you get around. This city's full of people who are dead set on ending badly. I don't want to see you end up the same way. Carver: Would asking you to stop spying on me help in the least? Aveline: No.

That's their banter.

But sure, she's glad he found a place in the wardens. I don't think she's being ingenuine when she says that, but I think it's a little more complicated than a mere "congrats on doing well, I knew you could do it."

But Carver's response? Oh Maker's ass. It actually hurts me.

Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

I... what can I even say?

He accepts it, but you can tell it hurts to do so. It DID cost a lot. More than Aveline will ever understand. And it doesn't matter now! He can't become a guard now anyway, so what would be the point in him disagreeing with her? Carver acts as the bigger person here because he does get it, even if Aveline doesn't.

But it's that last part... that last damn part... Don't be alarmed, that screaming you hear is still me.

Here's the deal; Carver acknowledges that he could be an ass back in Act 1. Hell, he acknowledges it IN Act 1. For example, when you talk to him after finding your grandfather's will, he's an ass to you about Bethany no matter what you say.

But y'know what? You can be the biggest piece of shit to him and have Hawke literally call him a "lazy brat with a chip on his shoulder," and Carver will still be the one to be apologetic for what he said and attempt to explain his feelings.

"Brother/Sister... I feel... I don't know. It's like Mother taking things out on us. She was just scared. I don't have a place in the life she's trying to bring back…"

Carver can be an ass, but he's aware of that and actively tries to change his behavior. If you bring him and Fenris with you on the Mark of the Assassin DLC, there's a moment where Carver says, "You still don't like me? I've tried to change." And if you bring Varric, he once again acknowledges that he used to be an ass.

BUT... that being said. If you don't remember, "I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I?" is referencing back to this conversation in the barracks of Act 1:

Hawke: This must be a very different pace from serving King Cailan. Aveline: It's just one more change, though. The real end for me was Ostagar. What about you Carver? You were there. Do you feel something similar? Carver: No. Aveline: All right, then. Bit of a tit, your brother.

Now, I've already expressed my beef with Aveline over insulting Carver in the middle of the barracks just because he doesn't agree with her view point on Ostagar... but consider the fact that Carver says nothing. He just lets her insult him without a complaint! Carver Hawke, who tends to complain! And he says nothing!

Not only that, but he actually internalized that insult enough that years later he's able to repeat it back to Aveline word for word, and all she has to say is, "Well..."

This isn't the same thing as him reflecting on his past behavior and acknowledging his flaws. This is Carver accepting a snide jab Aveline made that hurt him because apparently he was wrong for not wanting to discuss any trauma Ostagar left him with as openly as she does.

Oh, and don't forget that any other companion you brought along dogpiles on, too!

Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well... Varric: No shit. Fenris: Insufferable. Isabela: Legendary. Anders: Maker, yes. Sebastian: I've heard as much. [If Hawke has a humorous/charming personality] Hawke: Spoiled, annoying, thick-headed, brattish little nitwit of a... oh, have we stopped?

Y'all ever wonder why he's so on edge or hostile with the other companions?

Also, I have to point out that Merrill is the only companion who doesn't say anything in agreement if she's there. In fact, across all their banter, Merrill's never been rude or insulting toward him. All she does is ask him if he's talking dirty to her and compliments him on what a great sworder he is. It's pretty obvious why Carver develops a crush on her, c'mon.

But to wrap this up-

This banter strikes a nerve due to how telling it is about both characters involved.

Carver has grown and done what he can to improve himself, but there's regret that lingers, a longing for a better life he could've had if given a chance. Maybe he would've failed, maybe he would've succeeded. But there's nothing he can do now, so he looks forward, just as he's always wanted to do. He's a damn good Grey Warden who wants to do right.

Aveline remains stagnant. She hasn't changed, nor has she improved, and maybe she would if she could figure out how to dislodge her head from her own ass. She still believes she was in the right to tell the guard not to accept Carver's application despite knowing the Hawke's were desperate and that Fereldan refugees couldn't find work. She knew Carver's a skilled soldier who fought at Ostagar just as she did. The guard wasn't the place for him so she's in the right to deny him any chance. Aveline knows best.

And y'know what, I think all I have left to say is...

Fine, Aveline. You're right. It wasn't the place for him.

Carver was too good for your city guard.

[keelanrosa]

terfs when a study shows literally anything positive about trans people/transitioning: 'hm i think this requires some fact-checking. Were those researchers REALLY unbiased? Because if they were biased this doesn't count and if they weren't knowingly biased they probably were unconsciously biased, woke media affects so much these days. Have there been any other studies on this? Because if there haven't been this could be an outlier and if there have been and they all agree that's a bit odd, why aren't there any outliers, and if there have been and any disagree we really won't know the truth until we very thoroughly analyze them all, will we? Were there enough subjects for a good sample size? Did every single subject involved stay involved through the whole study because if they didn't we should be sure nothing shady was going on resulting in people dropping out. Are we 110% sure all the subjects were fully honest and at no point were embarrassed or afraid to admit they didn't love transitioning to the people in charge of their transition? Are we 110% sure none of the subjects were manipulated into thinking they were happy with their transition? In fact we should double-check what they think with their parents, because if the subjects and their parents disagree it's probably because they've been manipulated but their cis parents have not and are very unbiased. How many autistic subjects were there because if there weren't enough then this doesn't really study the overlap between autistic and trans and if there were too many then we just don't know enough about what causes that overlap to be sure this study really explains being trans and isn't just about being autistic. How many AFAB subjects were there because if there weren't enough this is just another example of prioritizing AMAB people and ignoring the different struggles of girls and women and if there were too many how do we know sexism didn't affect the results. Was the study double-blinded? We all know double-blinded is the most reliable so if this one wasn't that's a point against it even if the thesis literally physically could not be double-blinded. Look i'm not being transphobic, i want what's best for trans people! Really! But as a person who is not trans and therefore objective in a way they cannot possibly be, i just think we should only take into account Good Science here. You want to be following science and not being manipulated or experimented upon by something unscientific, right?'

terfs when they see a study of 45 subjects so old it predates modern criteria for gender dysphoria and basically uses 'idk her parents think she's too butch', run by a guy who practiced conversion therapy, 'confirmed' by a guy who treated the significant portion of subjects who didn't follow up as all desisting, definitely in the category of 'physically cannot double-blind this', completely contradicted by multiple other studies done on actual transgender subjects, but can be kinda cited as evidence against transitioning if you ignore everything else about it: 'oOOH SEE THIS IS WHAT WE'RE TALKIN BOUT. SCIENCE. Just good ol' unbiased thorough analysis. I see absolutely no reason to dig any deeper on this and if you think it's wrong you're the one being unscientific. It's really a shame you've been so thoroughly brainwashed by the trans agenda and can't even accept science when you see it. Maybe now that someone has finally uncovered this long-lost study from 1985, we can make some actual progress on the whole trans problem.'

[turtlemagnum]

when i was younger and hung out around my uncle a lot more than i do now, i remember whenever he referred to things regarding his native heritage, he always just called it "indian". called himself an indian, called the words he taught us indian, so on. since i was a little kid who didn't know any better, i didn't know that "indian" in the context of indigenous americans was a very broad, frankly bastardized term to paint a vast variety of cultures spanning two whole damn continents with one brush. it only occurred to me as i got much older than i was at the time that there'd be more than one "indian" language, and up until now since i had no idea what tribe(s) he even is i couldn't even begin to know where to look unless i found a download of every goddamn interlingual dictionary available and painstakingly checked every godddamn one for what their word for "thunder" is

the word he taught us meant thunder was hiloha. i didn't even know how to spell it until now, because he only ever said it aloud. literally just a few minutes ago, i decided to ask my grandma (his sister) if we knew what tribe(s) he belonged to. and apparently he's a mix of choctaw and makah. which gave me a lead, which led to me finding a dictionary on libgen, which led to me word searching "thunder" in the choctaw to english dictionary. it's the only word i remember him teaching us, and i'm unsure if he ever tried teaching us others. but it was his dogs name, and he was a damn good boy, so i remembered it clear as day. though, they normally shortened it to "hilo".

so, i guess what came out of this is that i now know a bit more about my uncle's heritage, and where to look for more research. so, if you're gonna have a takeaway from this, i'd appreciate it if you remembered the word "hiloha". it means thunder. and aside from being the name of a very good boy who deserves to be remembered, i think it's even more important to remember the histories, cultures, and of course the languages of all the indigenous folks who came before us and did their damndest to preserve their cultures in spite of it all.

[skrunksthatwunk]

found out that rascal's owner took him again while i was out, and he's probably not gonna be back since the semester's almost over. i don't even know if his owner's coming back next semester, if i'll ever see him again. if he'll ever see me again. why do they wait until im not around to do this? why do they never let me say goodbye to him?