#but there's something going on with these plot points

[embervoices]

I think there may have been two or more plots to begin with, actually, and we finally caught where they diverge!

Okay, backing up.

I don't have anything like your whole picture in my own head, even from what you've said in the tags, and it sounds like you're asking a question that requires more personal context than I can address from here - assuming I'd have a useful answer if I knew more, which... like... Quite possibly not? I'm not a mental health professional, I'm just some guy on Tumblr who happens to have experience living with anxiety.

I do want to clarify that I was never intending my answers to be personal to you. You added a totally reasonable question with general applicability to an open thread, and I gave an answer that applied to the question I thought you were asking for the sake of the broader audience. Making decisions about complex situations is challenging for a lot of people, especially if we have anxiety about it. There are some generally useful things to keep in mind about it.

Granted that they are things you already well know! Gods know DBT has piles of mnemonic acronyms to choose from! But that doesn't mean everybody else knows them, so I still point them out.

But I think it's also, in this case, that I was assuming a longer context for the thread than you were. It sounds like you were talking about in-the-moment situations to get out of physically, and I was talking about long-term situations to get out of socially/physically/etc.

Seeking advice is usually more for getting a reality check on repeating or long-term situations one is in - jobs, relationships, social contexts, etc. Therapists can be great for helping us learn to apply internal tools to those and other situations, but they're not going to help nearly so much for in-the-moment decisions unless you're allowed to have them on speed dial or something.

There's a very big difference between

"Should I quit my job? If so, immediately, or should I try to stick with it long enough to line up another job first?"

and

"I'm starting to feel weird. Should I leave the grocery store right now?"

In your specific case, I'm not sure I can help much. I will say, I'm not familiar with any model that ever places feelings and emotions outside? So, I'm guessing you mean outside stimulus? As in, are you reacting to something internal, or is something in the environment prompting the reaction?

Yeah, if that's hard for you to gauge, that's going to make figuring out whether you should depart a specific physical environment way harder, and you're not necessarily in a position to get an external reality check about it when it matters, because it's a problem in real-time. Fair point, and that's a really rough place to be.

Personally, I always aim for calming down first when I start to feel funky, before any other decision making. If I can't calm down enough to make a clear decision, then it's time to get out regardless of why I'm getting upset - whether it's a sensory problem that I don't have the spoons to handle that day, or I'm just having a really off day, or whatever. Many different things can make my thresholds lower for a day, such that sensory input I can tolerate today may be overwhelming tomorrow.

But - and I know this is important - I can almost always afford to just go home when I'm overwhelmed. I get that the same is not true for everyone else, and thus the risks may need to be higher before they make that decision.

I do wish you well, and I wish I had more foolproof answers - or at least more contextually relevant ones!

i wish there was an easier way to tell the difference between an "if it sucks hit da bricks" situation and a "sometimes being an adult means doing things that you dont wanna" situation

[idontevenlikedragonage]

This is just my personal issue, but I’m genuinely annoyed at how much of the criticism of Veilguard is just people hunting for plot holes or being deliberately dense about how fiction works. It’s that CinemaSins-style nonsense I absolutely hate. “Why doesn’t anyone grab Rook and tell them Varric is dead?” Well, I guess for the same reason no one kicks Solas in the balls and stabs him in the prologue—because otherwise, there would be no story.

At some point, you have to engage with a story on its own terms rather than treating it like a logic puzzle to be solved. Fiction isn’t meant to function like some perfectly optimized machine; it’s crafted for emotional and thematic impact. The obsession with “plot holes” completely ignores things like pacing, character motivations, and dramatic tension—all of which are way more important to storytelling than whether someone did the most logical thing at every possible moment.

And sure, if something actually breaks the internal logic of a story, that’s worth discussing. But most of the time, these complaints aren’t about that. They’re just demanding that characters behave like omniscient robots rather than people with emotions, biases, and limited perspectives. It’s exhausting. No story holds up if you go into it determined to nitpick every little thing—not even Citizen Kane.

[calebsangelbby]

・❥ CALEBS FAVORITE KINKS !!!

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: a list of what i think are calebs top 5 kinks !

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+, incest , oral sex , bondage , collaring , orgasm denial , porn w/ no plot

a/n :: these are not in order !! :)

1. INCEST :: now, this might seem a little bit overboard , but to caleb ? it's nothing new . after knowing you for so long ... growing up together , living in the same house , sharing everything with each other .. it's like a normal thing to him. so normal to the point where he'll call you his 'sissy' during different times of day . " sissy , could you grab my water from the table for me ? thank you, love . " it just rolls of the tongue !! especially during your alone time, too . it slips out more than you or him could count . when he first moaned it he never even payed attention to it , thinking of it as nothing . it was only when you gave him a look that he couldn't quite read did he notice what he accidentally said . "o-oh my god pips im.. im so sorry. that was fucking weird and i shouldnt have said it... im a damn pervert." shame flooded his face ... but he knew it would happen again , whether he could control it or not .

2. BONDAGE :: listen , he doesnt want to be tied up because hes horny , it's because he trusts you so much ... and that kind of turns him on . the fact he can willingly submit to you and trust you without having to worry about what you're doing . although he likes to be restrained , he'd never do it to you .. only if you asked him . he'd do anything you asked for (within reason) , whether thats strapping you to the bed with ropes , chains , a belt (his) , cuffs .. whatever you please . all he's worried about is them scuffing up those pretty wrists of yours . "nono wait baby .. your skin, it's red . do you need me to stop ? i'll stop right now for you , you look like you're in pain . let me kiss it better pips .." is what he'd say on any other occasion .. but the times when you didnt look so in pain , thats when his freak comes out . "you cant run away silly .. stop trying to run from me . i wont allow it , and neither will those restraints you begged me to use on you . i actually quite like the way you look right now... all tied up and cute for me ."

3. COLLARING :: i feel like this is the most canon you could ever get . he'd seriously be into making you wear a collar for him , wanting everyone to know who you belong to & to not try with his girl ! also , he'd want one with a bell .. just so you couldnt escape without being noisy ;) . buuuut he's up for wearing one for you as well , he also wants to let people know who he belongs to . i think he'd get one for the both of you regardless of you wanting one or not , his need to get people off of you is too strong, as he is alarmingly obsessed with you . the collar isn't just used as man repellent , it turns him on so fucking much . knowing that you're practically his property gets his dick hard to the point of ache , he'd definitely make you wear it during sex . mumbling incoherent sentences about how much he loves the way it looks on your gorgeous neck .. how he never wants you to take it off . "as long as you're here, with me, you aren't touching it . fuck , you're so good for me .."

4. ORGASM DENIAL :: hear me out . it's late at night and he notices your location isnt on ... he texts and calls you multiple times without an answer . eventually , he tracks you down and confronts you about going out without his knowledge / consent . after he's done scolding you , that night , he'd drag you into his car as soon as he could & not let you cum . he would adore hearing you beg for him , solely because it feeds into his desire for you to need him as much as he does you . he wouldnt be too fond if you ended up doing it to him ... maybe as revenge or something , but nonetheless , he would be in pieces . pleading , begging , writhing , all of the above just to feel your perfect cunt squeeze around him one more time so he can cum . he would never put his hands on you , but he would just get so desperate ... he might have to move you himself !! at that point , all he would manage were whimpers and prayers . "ohmygod pips please .. im sorry! okay! im sorry .. i can't take this anymore baby , i need to cum . i need it so fucking bad ."

5. FACE SITTING :: caleb takes "the best way to die is by thigh" way too seriously . he would happily pass away while in between your thighs ... he loves eating you out so much it's kind of concerning . the moment his lips are on your core hes not letting up until you've cum over and over again on his face .. hes addicted to the taste of you . his deep obsession with your juices is so bad that he has to have you suffocating him , almost breaking his nose , using his face as a toy ... he can't get enough . i think this roots from the fact that he jerks off to your voice all the time & that makes him so attached to all your moans . especially when you call out his name while you cum .. he thinks about those moments way too often .

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in conclusion :: caleb would really do whatever you asked , aka hes into anything , but these are the ones he really enjoys . <3

[sunflowersonatas]

Hey, beautiful. I’ve got another request.

On a rainy Sunday afternoon, James Potter is feeling particularly needy for affection, determined to steal the reader’s attention away from her book. What follows is a cozy, heart-fluttering moment neither of them will soon forget.

Female reader x James Potter. Probably female reader is in Ravenclaw? Fluff. Definitely tons of fluff and James being dramatic as always.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO IGNORE IF THIS IS UNCOMFORTABLE OR YOU DON’T FEEL LIKE DOING IT.

Love,

Della 🧸

Sunday, Interrupted: request

james potter x ravenclaw!reader / fluff / cozy & intimate / attempted blanket theft

summary: James Potter is bored. You’re trying to read. What follows is a battle of blanket-stealing, book-questioning, and one very smug Gryffindor making himself comfortable in your quiet Sunday afternoon. He’s annoying, he’s charming, and somehow—against your better judgment—you let him stay.

a/n: this was SO cozy to write!! i just really wanted to explore the quieter side of james—the part that talks too much when he wants attention but listens like it’s life or death when it’s about you. obsessed with the idea of a love that’s loud in the halls and soft in the silences. rainy sundays, sleepy boys, and stupidly soft jumpers. hope you love it 💛 sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1115

Let’s be honest: Gryffindors seem to get everything.

They’re lavished with praise from professors, handed extra house points for the bare minimum, and somehow manage to bend the rules without ever facing consequences. They get the spotlight in every corridor and the benefit of the doubt wherever they go. And you could complain for ages about the sweaters—soft, warm, perfectly broken-in, like they were made to be worn during triumphant Quidditch wins and cozy tower nights. Meanwhile, Ravenclaw jumpers? Itchy, stiff, and determined to reject every comfort charm you’ve ever learned.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. Maybe their sweaters aren’t actually better.

Maybe it just feels that way because the one you’re wearing right now smells like James.

Because yes, you’re currently wrapped in James Potter’s Gryffindor jumper. It’s oversized and threadbare at the cuffs, the fabric worn into something indecently soft. It carries his scent: broomstick polish and peppermint, rain-damp wool and a quiet sort of heat. The kind of smell that doesn’t just cling to fabric, but to memory—vivid and impossible to shake. Like laughter echoing through corridors. Like the echo of his footsteps catching up to yours.

You’ve got the sleeves pulled over your hands, fingers just barely visible as they flick through the well-loved pages of a Muggle paperback resting on your lap. Every now and then, you tug the cuff closer to your face, pretending you’re adjusting it when really, you’re just trying to inhale something familiar.

It’s comforting.

It’s absurd.

And if James saw you now—burrowed in his jumper for the third time this week—he’d be impossible about it. He already referred to you as his "walking love confession" the last time, and you haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Not because of the dramatics, but because of the way he said it: half-laughing, half-serious, like he meant it more than he let on.

The library is quieter than usual for a Sunday. Most students have retreated to their dorms to escape the drizzle outside, but you’ve taken up residence in your favorite hidden nook: wedged between two tall shelves and pressed against a window streaked with rain. You’re curled beneath a smuggled-in blanket, a steaming mug (kept warm with a charm) perched on the sill beside you. One candle flickers lazily on the table, casting golden light across the cracked spine of your novel.

Your book is an old favorite—creased pages, margin scribbles from years ago. A story that feels more like a conversation than a plot. You’ve read it so many times that the sentences live in your bones. And yet, somehow, it still manages to surprise you.

The rain is steady, more background texture than weather now. Somewhere nearby, an enchanted wireless hums a low tune—slow jazz or some crooning ballad, warped slightly by magical interference. It’s not quite music. It’s more like a memory in progress.

Enter James Potter.

He never knocks. He just blows in with the wind, his hair damp from outside, Quidditch jumper clinging slightly to his chest. His glasses fog as soon as he steps into the warmth, and he pushes them up lazily with the back of his hand, a grin already spreading.

"Afternoon, darling," he says in that infuriatingly pleased-with-himself voice.

You hum, eyes still fixed on the page.

He approaches with the unhurried confidence of someone who knows he’s welcome. There’s a brief pause—he always gives you that moment, as if silently asking—but then he folds himself into the loveseat beside you like he’s always belonged there. His limbs sprawl ungracefully, his socked feet nudging yours beneath the blanket. His head rests on your shoulder like it’s instinct.

He tugs at the edge of the blanket.

You tug it back.

"What’re you reading?" he asks, curiosity sincere but entirely lacking in patience.

"A book."

"Yes, I gathered." He cranes his neck to see the cover. "What’s it about?"

You sigh, clutching it to your chest. "Why do you care?"

"What do you mean, why?"

You tilt your head, suspicious. "Are you going to read it?"

He falters. "Maybe."

You give him a look. "You? Read? James, you skim your class notes like they’re cursed."

He gasps. "That is both offensive and inaccurate. Deeply insulting."

You elbow him gently. "You just want to know what it’s about so you can pretend to have read it and impress me."

"That is categorically false!" A pause. "Okay, partially false. But mostly—I want to understand what you like. And why you like it. That’s not a crime, is it?"

You blink. Of course he says something like that—genuine, disarming, impossible to argue with.

Something shifts—subtle, but undeniable. He’s still pressed against your side, still grinning a little, but his eyes are soft. Gentle. Watching you in that quiet, focused way he does when he thinks you're saying something important.

You lower the book into your lap. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not shutting up once I start."

He nestles in closer, his cheek warm against your shoulder. "Excellent. I’m all ears. And entirely yours."

You roll your eyes, even as your heart tilts dangerously in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"I’m in love with you, darling," he replies, tone light. "It’s a chronic condition."

You expect him to say more, to add another quip—but instead, he quiets. His hand moves beneath the blanket, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against your knee. You feel the weight of him settle. The warmth he brings soaks into your side, unspoken and steady.

Outside, the rain continues. Inside, your voice begins to fill the quiet space—talking about the characters, the plot, the moments that stayed with you long after the last page. James listens like it matters. Occasionally, he asks something—sometimes insightful, sometimes absurd—and you swat his arm with mock offense. Other times, he just watches you speak, eyes soft, like you’re saying something sacred.

You tell him about the first time you read it. How old you were. Where you were sitting. What line made you cry. You confess your favorite chapter and your least favorite twist. You ask what he would’ve done if he were the main character, and his answer is so on-brand it makes you laugh.

At some point, you feel his breathing slow. His grip loosens, though not entirely. His head grows heavier on your shoulder. He’s losing the battle to stay awake.

Still, you keep talking. Softer now. Just in case.

His hair smells like rain and something unnameably him. His fingers are still curled around yours beneath the blanket, even as sleep takes him.

You have a working theory that he dreams better when you speak.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[coryndoll]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── another flashback!! their first date but also a look into their subtle rich bf who loves to spoil n show her off x pretty gf who loves to get spoiled n get shown off LMFAOOO

authors note ── ik these r short but erm id rather faster updates w shorter chapters ngl, bc i take forever to update when i write too much (writing rly long chapters is my rly bad habit) but IF UD LIKE TO BE PART OF THE TAGLIST, feel free to lmk thru replies, dms, anons, or reblogs !!

main masterlist | ending vote | previous next

same parties, same people, same pull. it had been like that since the night at the gas station. somehow, you and rafe just kept ending up in the same places, running with the same crowd, brushing shoulders like it wasn’t a pattern. maybe it wasn’t at first, maybe it was just coincidence. but at some point, rafe started making sure it happened.

he’d show up, knowing you’d be there. knowing you’d already have a drink in your hand, knowing you’d be tucked into some circle of friends, laughing like you had no idea he was watching. and maybe you didn’t at first, but you caught on quick.

and then it became a game.

he was persistent, always had been, always would be. he had a way of making himself impossible to ignore, stepping into your space like he belonged there, sliding a drink into your free hand like it was a habit. “just take it, c’mon,” he’d say, cocky smirk in place, voice all smooth confidence. like you’d be doing him a favor by accepting it.

and you? you never made it easy.

you took the drinks, sure, because free alcohol was free alcohol, but that was about it. rafe would wait until you took a sip before leaning in, low and lazy, saying something like, “so when are you gonna let me take you out?” and every time, you’d just tilt your head, feigning consideration before smirking over the rim of your cup.

“i don’t do charity work.”

he always laughed when you said shit like that. full-bodied, head-tilted-back kind of laugh, because he knew you were just playing with him. and rafe didn’t mind a chase. in fact, he liked one.

so he kept showing up, kept offering drinks, kept asking. weeks passed, then months. different party, different night, same energy. he didn’t switch up his approach, didn’t try anything new, just kept making himself known, kept being there.

and maybe that’s what made you start to consider it. the fact that he wasn’t pushy about it, not really. he wanted you, yeah, but he wasn’t desperate.

he wasn’t in a rush. when you shot him down, he never sulked, never got pissed. just smirked, shrugged, took his rejection like it was temporary. “not yet, huh?” he’d say, sipping his own drink, like he already knew it was only a matter of time.

it wasn’t about playing hard to get. it was about making sure you actually wanted to be caught.

then one night, something shifted.

maybe it was the way you caught him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. something softer, something unguarded, something that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t like to acknowledge.

or maybe it was the way he just . . . stopped pushing. still made his rounds to you, still handed you drinks, still lingered in your space like he belonged there, but he didn’t ask, not this time. didn’t throw out the usual ‘let me take you out’ like it was muscle memory. he just leaned against the bar next to you, knocked his glass against yours, and muttered, “cheers, trouble.”

and you hated how that made your chest go tight.

so maybe that’s why, when he pulled out his keys to leave later that night, you reached out and plucked them right from his hand.

rafe blinked, watching as you twirled them around your finger, your expression unreadable. “oh, so now you’re stealing my shit?”

“just making sure you’re good to drive,” you mused, clicking the keys against your palm. your gaze flickered to his, then away. “besides. don’t you owe me a date or something?”

rafe went still for half a second, long enough for you to notice, but not long enough for you to comment on it. then he grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “baby, you’re the one making it a big thing.”

the poker table was lined with cigarette smoke and men twice rafe’s age, the kind of guys who had real money to lose but played like they didn’t care. it was exclusive, invite-only, the kind of room that sat above the main floor of the club, separate from the noise, the sweat, the bodies moving to the bass downstairs.

rafe had walked them in like he owned the place, a hand on your waist, low, the type of touch that said mine even though you weren’t, not yet.

you weren’t supposed to be here. no, not just here, this close to him.

“you ever played before?” rafe asked, pulling out a chair for you, casual like this was some first-date type shit.

you sank into the seat, thigh brushing his as he took his own beside you. he smelled like money, like the ocean at night, like expensive cologne and bad ideas.

“poker?” you shrugged, watching the dealer flick cards across the table. “only once, and i won.”

rafe smirked, tossing in a chip without hesitation, without looking at his cards. “then let’s see if you’re lucky or if you just talk a big game.”

you felt eyes on you. not just from him, but from the other men at the table, some amused, some annoyed. rafe wasn’t subtle about you, hadn’t been all night. he poured your drinks for you, let you lean into him when you laughed, touched your wrist when he wanted your attention.

when the next round came, he slid half his stack in front of you.

you raised a brow, “what are you doing?”

“you’re playing,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. “with my money.”

you glanced at the chips, then back at him. “you trust me with that?”

rafe leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, voice so low only you could hear it. “princess, i’d give you my whole fucking wallet if you asked.”

your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show. instead, you picked up the cards, glanced at them like you knew what you were looking at, and matched the bet across the table.

the next few hands blurred together, full of stolen looks and his arm slung over the back of your chair, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. you didn’t win every round, but you played smart, and rafe watched you the entire time, his knee knocking against yours under the table.

and when you did win, raking in a fat pile of chips, he just grinned.

“see?” you smirked, holding up a chip between your fingers, turning it over between the tips. “lucky.”

rafe took it from you, slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing yours.

“nah,” he muttered, watching you like he had you all figured out. “i think you just like taking my money.”

you bit your lip, tilting your head, feigning innocence. “is that a problem?”

rafe laughed, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. “not at all, baby,” he murmured, voice dripping with something darker, something dangerous. “not at all.”

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove @wtfisastiles @adoreeyou

[nodoubtily]

asking riki to touch my tits when I'm hot and bothered and feeling stuffy in my clothes

and that leads to go a good nipple sucking + fingering orgasm oh my 😻

aighttt

Thank you to @uzmacchiato for the dividers! Credits to you!

I’m feeling very motivational—must be birthday jitters.

warnings : smut so MDNI, fingering, nipple play, softdom!Niki, lmk if I missed anything. I’m using the middle picture as reference for minimal plot!

perm taglist : @jyikeu @goldenretrieverjakezgirlbaby

”Wanna see the tattoo?” You ask, a smirk playing along your lips. You stare at your boyfriend, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your shirt. “It’s finally healed. You can see it now.”

“Fucking finally. Where even is it?” Niki asks, completely in the dark. He doesn’t know what tattoo you got, where it is located, and why you got it.

“So you wanna see it?” You tease him, just to push his buttons.

“Babe, I swear to g—“ his sentence is cut off by surprise.

As soon as he starts, your hands lift your shirt, bunching it at your chest. His eyes don’t even see it, too distracted by the cushions either side of it.

“Do you like it?” You ask, excited for his response. A response you don’t get. “Baby?”

That snaps him out of his trance, and his eyes meet yours. “What?” He asked, confused.

“The tattoo. Do you like it?” You scoff, laughing. “You’re such a pervert.”

“I’m sorry, but you flashed me. And I’m just a man.” He shrugs before dropping his eyes to the small tattoo. “It looks nice. Suits you.” He nods before his eyes land back on your breasts.

“Thank you.” You don’t get to pull your shirt down, as Niki grabs your wrist, pulling you onto his lap, straddling him.

You seem to get even more surprised when Niki latches his mouth onto one of of your nipples. And he sucks.

His tongue swirls around the bud, teasing you. His hand glides to the other nipple, tweaking it. Sparks of sensitivity jolt you, and as you will shamelessly admit, it doesn’t take long for Niki to get you wet.

He switches to the other nipple, mouth sucking and licking all around the skin. He sucks hickies along your chest, decorating your collarbone with pronounced bruises that no one will mistake them for what they are.

“Need you, baby.” You rock your hips against his, earning a low groan from his chest.

“Yeah? What do you need?” His question only frustrates you, but you refuse to show that.

“Something, please.” Rocking your hips against Niki’s don’t give the relief you so desperately need, and your voice becomes more whinier the longer he stretches the seconds out.

“What do you say?”

“Please, baby. I need it s’bad.” Your words merge together in restlessness.

“Just because you asked so nicely.” Your hole clenches in excitement when you feel Niki’s hand dip under your short flow-like skirt.

His index finger glides alone your slit over your panties, pressing on your clit, causing a sharp whine to elicit from your throat.

“So fucking sensitive.” He pulls your panties to the side, sliding his index finger inside your greedy hole, stretching you slightly.

With almost no time, he slides in his second finger, creating a scissor-like motion with his fingers. He moves his thumb over your clit, drawing slow circles as he works you open.

“So fucking tight.” Niki sucks through his teeth, lips temporarily leaving your nipples. His eyes meet your clouded ones, and his mouth joins yours in a sloppy, messy, wet kiss. His tongue massages yours in a passionate sense, and your lips dance among his lovingly. Your hands find his face, resting over his cheeks as you grind against his fingers.

“Feels good.” You puff out, the surrounding area hot and stuffy. Your mouth latches onto Niki’s neck, sucking bruises near his pulse point as your hips work you up to your pending climax.

The lending climax which seems to be on its way much faster than you had anticipated. Not that you’re complaining, it feels too good.

“So tight around my fingers.” He mumbles, more to himself, than to you.

“Gonna cum.” You announce, focusing on the pressure that builds up in your lower abdomen.

“Gonna cum all over my fingers? Make a mess on me?” His voice is low, seductive. He knows what he’s doing. And he’s enjoying your reaction.

“Yes— make a big fuckin’ mess—yes!” You shove your head to the crook of his neck, arms locked around his neck, angling your hips to a faster pace that brings you even closer to your orgasm.

That, along with Niki’s thumb, is what gets you to the edge. It’s his words that get you though.

“That’s my good girl. Cum for me.” He coaxes you comfortingly to your very-much-needed orgasm, and your walls spasm around Niki’s slender fingers.

He praises you as you ride your climax out, tits jiggling slightly when you breathe hard.

Niki slowly slides his fingers out of you, and you swatch him as he brings them to his mouth, and his tongue laps it his fingers, licking them clean of your juices.

You rest, head leaning on his shoulder. Niki only laughs though.

“You tired?”

You nod.

“Well, don’t be. I’m not done with you just yet.”

[eviestardust]

I’ve been seeing a couple posts going around talking about how, in the latest episode, Arthur states he “doesn’t believe in anything after death” and how that doesn’t really make sense seeing as he’s been to the waylay. As an atheist, I’d like to put my two cents in if that’s alright!

Firstly, I’d like to talk about how important being an atheist is to Arthur’s character. After thinking about his past for just a bit, it becomes obvious that any sort of religious ideals Arthur vaguely followed was just to fit in (ie. marrying Bella). People like Daniel shoved religious values into to Arthur’s face for the longest time, and he clearly became resentful towards religion because of that.

Arthur’s lack in a religion, or even a belief in an afterlife, doesn’t necessarily come from a place of lack of proof. It comes from his own stance against a higher being. This is something I find quite relatable myself, as even if there was a form of irrefutable proof in a god, it wouldn’t change that I’m an atheist.

On the other side of things, even if Arthur needed to stop being an atheist after having irrefutable evidence, the waylay isn’t that evidence. He couldn’t remember it upon initial return, and when he eventually did, it’s not like the waylay couldn’t have been a temporary place after death or a circumstantial thing for Arthur himself. We as the audience may know that it’s not those things for the sake of plot, but Arthur wouldn’t.

As a sort of follow up, Arthur having proof that Faroe didn’t fully disappear also does not mean that he has to believe in an afterlife. Just because Faroe became a flame, does that mean everyone has somewhere to go after they die? To Arthur, probably not!

Again, while I think it can be argued that all of this can be evidence for Arthur to personally believe in the existence of an afterlife, I don’t think that’s the important thing here. Arthur’s atheism is a fundamental part of his character. For him to turn around, after repeatability finding his own meaning in his life by it lacking any meaning at all, and say “well hey there might be an afterlife there was that one time” would just be completely ill-fitting narratively. It’s the solidarity between Antoine and Arthur in this moment by not believing in an afterlife that makes the scene function.

I hope these points don’t come off as aggressive or patronizing, I simply want to put in my perspective as someone who finds Arthur’s form of atheism especially relatable and realistic ✨❤️

[lyinar]

The Mighty Nein are also focused on much smaller personal goals at first.

Caleb and Nott? Biggest ambitions and clearest 'endgame goals' of the group, but they don't bring those goals up easily and start out laser-focused on just one thing: survive long enough to be capable of actually working on achieving those goals.

Fjord just wants to figure out what's up with his powers, Jester wants to spread the word of her weird cult, and Beau's basically just along for the ride.

Yasha and Molly are carneys who just lost their home and have decided to wander around with the very interesting group of people they found themselves with. And neither of them even know most of their respective backstories at that point.

And enough of them have very good reasons for trying to avoid the kind of official attention they'd get if they jumped into the big obvious things like the Dynasty-Empire War that the ones who don't are willing to go along with it. Even nabbing an object extremely important to that war causes an immediate response of "Well, shit, we can't do anything with this without everything exploding in our faces, let's just hide the damn thing and try to figure out what the hell it even is."

They're a group that kept bouncing off the main plot for completely understandable reasons until it finally bit them in the ass and they had to do something about it. And it's AWESOME.

It's been interesting coming into Campaign 2 as a newcomer whose been hanging around in the fandom for a minute because it means I'd heard the criticisms of the early campaign as being "directionless", but eight episodes in it's really ringing as untrue? Like the Mighty Nein have had clear goals and motivations the entire time, even if they're as simple as "Caleb wants to visit a large city with a good bookstore" or "Jester wants to find her dad but in the absence of concrete leads (though she does have a ledger of her mother's clients, of which her dad was one) has decided to make it her mission to help Fjord reach and enter the Soltryce Academy" or "Beau thinks the Baumbauchs are dicks so she stole their mail and found herself fascinated by this one contact called 'The Gentleman'".

What I think people were clocking about these early episodes, and describing as "directionlessness" was actually the lack of a big central Plot Goal that all the characters were working towards. The Nein at this stage of their careers aren't working to stop any wars or cults or slavers or sentient cities, they're traveling together because being together is convenient and all their individual goals are pointing them in the same direction (or no direction in particular so might as well stay with the group). Whereas the early episodes of Campaign 1 had the Plot Goal of "find and rescue Lady Kima" and, once that was achieved, "help Kima recover the Horn of Orcus". The individual members of Vox Machina had their own personal motivations that intersected with this common plot goal, but it served as something the whole group was reaching towards. The early Mighty Nein episodes don't have the same sort of overarching plot framework, as Matt opened up the world after the initial run of episodes in Trostenwald and left it to the players to decide where the pursuit of their individual goals would take them.

But every character pursuing an individual goal did give the early Mighty Nein a direction; they were all pulling towards something and making choices in hopes of being brought closer to it, even if those goals varied between the group's members. The absence of a Plot Goal didn't result in the group having no direction. Indeed, as Campaign 3 would later demonstrate, the presence of a Plot Goal doesn't guarantee a group will have direction. It's the ability of the characters to turn motivations into goals and actions that creates this momentum.

[fullsunstrawberry]

Waittt you gotta continue with what happened after haechan dressed up as the pirate 🫣

Haechan Doppelgänger (part 2)

(Click here for part one)

word count: 1.9k

cw: Pure Smut! No plot (unless you read the first part), teasing, cursing, shitty pirate talk, cunnilingus, no condom mentioned, cumming inside, and more

authors note: Loooong overdue but you ask, I deliver MWAH 💋 here you go ;)

[nct dream masterlist]

Haechan stared at the text, heart pounding.

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Haechan was pacing in his living room. The costume had arrived thanks to express delivery, and he was now dressed as a pirate, feeling equal parts ridiculous and smug. The ruffled shirt hung open at the chest, the black pants clung to his legs, and the boots added a couple of inches to his height. He even put on a faux leather belt with a plastic sword tucked in for good measure.

When he opened the door, You stood on the other side, wearing a big T-shirt and pajama pants, expression shifting from skepticism to sheer amusement. “Oh my god,” you said, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. “You actually did it.”

Haechan leaned against the doorframe, trying his best to look cool. “You said you’d sleep with me if I dressed like this,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “So, here I am.”

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. Crossing your arms, your gaze sweeping over him. “You look ridiculous,” you said, though the slight redness climbing your neck gave you away.

“Ridiculous enough to follow through on your promise?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitated, confidence slipping as you realized you might have underestimated the effect of your teasing. There was something about the way Haechan looked in that costume—like he’d stepped out of a cheesy porno.

Haechan watched you closely, the corners of his mouth tugging into a grin as you hesitated. You were flustered—a rare sight for someone so quick with your comebacks.

“Cat got your tongue?” he teased, adjusting the plastic sword at his hip for dramatic effect.

You narrowed your eyes at him, the competitive side kicking in. “You think you have the control, pirate boy?” You shot back, stepping closer. “Let’s see if you’re as bold as you’re acting.”

The shift in the air was noticeable. Haechan’s grin faltered for a split second as you invaded his space, your chin tilted up. His pulse quickened, and though his teasing had been in good fun, he suddenly wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

“I didn’t buy this costume for nothing,” he replied, his voice softer but no less confident.

“Oh, I can tell,” you said, gaze flicking to the open collar of his shirt. Your teasing grin returned. “You even left the shirt undone. Nice touch. Adds to the…realism.”

Haechan chuckled, his confidence returning. “Well, is it working? Are you getting all worked up?”

You rolled her eyes, but the smile played on your lips. “Fine,” you said, crossing your arms again. “Prove you’re not just a guy in a costume. Give me your best pirate impression, and maybe I’ll follow through with it.”

Haechan’s brows shot up. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” You challenged, cocking your head.

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he stepped back, pulling out the plastic sword with a dramatic flourish.

“Aye, lass,” he roared, adopting the worst pirate accent you’d ever heard. “Ahoy there, love. Ye stand before the most daring swashbuckler to ever conquer the seven seas—and hearts. Careful now, or I might just plunder more than yer treasure tonight!.”

You doubled over in laughter, clutching your stomach. “Oh my god, Haechan, stop! That’s terrible!”

He pointed the sword at you, his grin widening. “Terrible enough to make ye surrender?”

“Surrender?” You managed between giggles. “Never!”

“Then prepare to be boarded!” he declared, dropping the sword and lunging for you. You squealed, trying to dart away, but Haechan was quicker. He grabbed you by the waist, spinning you around until they both collapsed onto the couch in a heap of laughter.

“Okay, okay, I surrender!” You said breathlessly, still laughing.

Haechan hovered over you, his hands resting on either side of you. The laughter faded, replaced by a silence that buzzed with unspoken tension. His eyes searched yours, the teasing glint replaced by something softer, more earnest.

“Still think I look ridiculous?” he asked quietly.

Your smile softened, hand brushing against the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “Maybe a little,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Haechan smirked, leaning down just enough to close the gap between them. “Good thing I don’t care what you think,” he murmured.

Before you could respond, his lips met yours in a kiss that was equal parts playful and demanding. You froze for half a second before melting into it, your fingers curling into the fabric of his costume.

When they finally broke apart, you both were breathless, faces inches apart.

“Guess the costume wasn’t such a bad investment,” Haechan said, his voice laced with victory.

You laughed, shaking her head. “Shut up, pirate boy.”

And for once, Haechan happily obeyed.

Laughter still hung in the air as Haechan's gaze searched yours, a silent question passing between you. Without a word, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss that was filled with a newfound hunger and desire. The playful banter was forgotten as the heat between you intensified.

With unspoken agreement, you both rose from the couch, lips never breaking contact as you made your way to the bedroom.

Haechan's hands were gentle yet firm as he pressed you against the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly lifted up your shirt. He let out a low groan as he saw you weren’t wearing a bra.

Your hands reached to finish umbutting his shirt.

“got to get this awful costume off you.”

Haechan chuckled, helping you tug the ruffled shirt off of him before pulling you into another kiss.

“Thought you liked this pirate costume?” He teased, between kisses.

You playfully swatted at his chest, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I like what's underneath it better," you replied, hands tracing the muscles beneath his skin.

Haechan's breath hitched at your touch, his eyes darkening. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the strings of your pants, slowly pulling undone and down your legs. You kicked them off, never once looking away from him.

Your hands grabbed at his belt in a hurry, fumbling with the buckle in your eagerness. Haechan's grin widened at your impatience, his breath was hot against your skin as he helped you undress him.

After most of your clothes were thrown on the ground, Haechan took a moment to look at you.

“Fuck…” He groaned “You look so fucking good.”

You felt a rush of heat to your cheeks as you met Haechan's gaze, knowing that he was referring to more than just your appearance. Your heart raced as his hands traced the curves of your body, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You have no idea how much I need you right now," Haechan whispered, his voice rough.

“Than hurry up and fuck me already!” You demanded, your voice shaking slightly. Haechan's eyes widened at your boldness, but he didn't hesitate. His hands gripped your hips as he moved to plant his face near where you needed him the most. Planting soft kisses on the inside of your thigh.

“Haechan…Stop teasing me.” You moaned out, your hands gripping his hair. “I need you right now!”

Haechan grinned against your skin, “Be patient baby, I’m going to make you feel good first.” He whispered, right into your ear.

You couldn't help but moan at the sensation, your hips bucking against his touch.

Haechan's hands grabbed at your thighs, pushing them apart. He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he traced soft kisses up and down your thigh. Your heart raced as you felt the anticipation build.

Haechan's fingers gently touched at your entrance, teasing you. Your moans grew louder as he continued, his fingers deftly preparing you for what was to come. Your hips bucked against his touch, desperate for more.

Finally, Haechan slid them inside of you. You cried out in pleasure, your hands gripping the sheets as he began to move inside of you, adding another finger. Each thrust sent waves of goosebumps down your, your moans growing louder with each passing second.

Adjusting your thigh for a better angle, Haechan trailed his lips over your most sensitive spots, teasing with soft nips and lingering kisses.

Haechan’s fingers moved in and out of you as his lips roamed, each touch sending shivers through you. You cried out, gripping the sheets while he kept teasing and pleasing you.

"Haechan… I can't take much more…" You whimpered, the pleasure building deep inside you.

"That's okay sweetheart," Haechan murmured against your skin, his voice deep and husky with desire. "I want you to enjoy this."

Haechan began to move faster, his fingers thrusting in and out of you harder as his lips continued to work their magic. You were on the edge now, every touch sending you closer to the edge.

"Haechan, I'm going to-" You cried out, your body trembling.

"It’s okay baby," Haechan whispered, his voice rough, "Let me see you cum for me."

And just like that, you let go. Pleasure washed over you in waves, your body shaking as you cried out in ecstasy. Haechan's fingers continued to thrust inside of you, milking every last drop of pleasure from your body.

Finally, he slowed down, pulling his fingers out of you gently. You collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily as you caught your breath. Haechan's eyes never left yours as he leaned in for a soft kiss, his hands gently tracing along your side as he did so.

"That was fucking amazing," you whispered against his lips.

Haechan laughed softly, his eyes soft and full of affection. "We’re not done yet." He murmured, gently kissing your forehead. "Are you ready?"

You nodded eagerly, “Please!”

Haechan’s eyes were full of longing as he slowly removed the rest of his clothes, leaving him completely naked. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as he moved closer, crawling on top of you.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, biting your lip as you felt him position himself at your entrance. “Stop teasing me and fuck me.”

Without another word, Haechan thrust inside of you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out in pleasure, your body adjusting to his size.

Haechan's lips crashed into yours as he began to move inside of you, each thrust sending pleasure coursing through your body. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as it built inside of you.

Your moans echoed around the room as he continued to thrust, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Fuck me harder," you pleaded, your voice shaking slightly.

Haechan's eyes darkened at your request, his movements becoming more aggressive. You felt a new wave of pleasure build inside of you, your body desperately needing release.

"Shit, I'm so-so close," you cried out, your hips bucking against his.

"Wait," Haechan gasped, his thrusts becoming more rushed as he tried to push himself deeper inside of you.

Finally, you reached the edge, your body trembling as pleasure washed over you in waves. "Haechan, I'm gonna cum!"

Haechan's eyes rolled back, his own orgasm building inside of him. "Cum for me," he urged, his voice deep and hoarse.

You cried out as your orgasm hit, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath him. Haechan's eyes were filled with desire as he watched you cum.

His name escaped your lips as each wave of pleasure crashed over you. Haechan's own release was close. He thrust hard one last time, groaning as he came deep inside of you. Your eyes never left his as he rode out the aftershocks of his own orgasm, his breath hitching in rhythm with his movements.

After a final kiss to your lips, he collapsed beside you. Both of you panting heavily. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he kissed your forehead.

"Express shipping was so worth it."

nct dream/general taglist: @johnnysuhbmarine @haechansbbg @chenlesfeetpic @lostinneocity @naqkja @anaisalive @jaeminnanaaa17 @zen00016

[stylesispunk]

fics I love on this app: Some march recs ✍️✨

i'm thinking i'm gonna start doing this to spread love and share the wonderful pieces of writing people share with us on this app. Please forgive me if this seems rushed but I did on my phone but with so much love for it.

I haven't had a lot of time to read the past few days but i'm sharing the reads I've enjoyed the past few weeks and days!

Writers on this app deserve love 💌 (i'm suck at words but i'm trying to not to say a lot to not spoil the stories)

p,s; please share your recs with me, too.

I must dedicate a special place for these two fics that have stolen my heart ✨💌

the boyfriend act (frankie morales x f! reader) by the lovely @capuccinodoll

I can't express how perfect this whole story is. Since the first chapter you fall in love with the characters, the story, the writing and i'm dying to find out more about what's happening. The characters are so unique in different ways, the tension is so well written that you feel like you're watching the best rom-com just right out from the 2000s' but so much better.

falling (Joel Miller x oc!female character) by @damneddamsy

Once again, i have no words. One day I just found this fic and I fell in love with it. The story is such an original concept and I love the way all characters are so complex and full of stories that reach a point in common. One of the best on this app.

Stories I have enjoyed the past few days:

Then send me a son (outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader) by @miss-oranje-disco-dancer

I found out about this one a few days ago and when I say It left me speechless, it's true. The story combines angst, fluff and smut in such a wonderful way just as a wonderful story itself. I think the plot is perfect and original

To go, please (harry castillo xf!reader) | part 2 by @lonely-ey3s This story fueled my desire to watch the materialists and to find my own harry to take. The story was amazing, and I love the whole story. I think it is a good read to spend time enjoying because is wow.

Be my guest (no outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader) by @aurorawritestoescape

I believe this was one of the things I enjoyed most these past few days. It got me kicking my feet and giggling the whole time I read. The plot was amazing, original and straight out from one of those perfect rom-com.

You in my eyes (Javier peña x f! reader) by my loooovely @greenwitchfromthewoods

You know I always love a good story of my man Javier peña and Aneta delivered as always. The story is the enemies to lovers type we all deserved to sit and read to enjoy a good time, And so far, this has it. I'm loving it.

Also by @greenwitchfromthewoods A white stone | from her short stories from life (Joel miller x f!reader) these stories are one of the best things you can come across with on this app, you should go and read them all.

Ace of hearts (Harry castillo x reader) @pedgito

I think you all must have read this one by now, but it's amazing. I love every single minute of it. I'm down for the stories where characters realize what they have in front of them and try to make all work. Also, this story got me kicking my feet and blushing the whole time. One of the best I've read ever.

The seamstress (marcus Acacius x fem!reader) by @yxtkiwiyxt

For all the Marcus Acacius girlies, this one here is a great read! I loved the emotions captured in this piece the written. Also love how the reader stands by herself all the time.

Amor Vincit (Marcus Acacius x f!reader) by @misguidedasgardian

When Jo came to me to tell me she had written something inspired by my "The soldier in the armour" fic, I felt flattered. This story is amazing! From the Bethroned prompt to love being a complex thing...give it a go I know you will love every single minute of it.

Don't give up on me (Harry castillo x f!reader) @punkshort

What can I say? This was so good to read. It was perfectly well written, and I enjoyed it very much. I love it when women make grown men cry haha.

[sundayenjoyer]

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖤𝖠𝖱 𝖮𝖥 𝖥𝖫𝖤𝖲𝖧 𝖨𝖲 𝖬𝖮𝖲𝖳 𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖠𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧 𝖸𝖮𝖴

You decide that your darling husband has been overworking himself too much, thus you decide to plot a whole day's worth of trouble for your lovely scholar.

—🎕 wc ; 2.2k

—🎕 CW ; Middle-aged ratio, transmasc ratio, written with both ratio and reader as old, but imagine what you want, nipple sucking, pussy spanking, fingering with gloves on, incorrect use of glove(used as a plug I suppose), semi-public sex, office sex, praise, sadist reader, hickeys on the top surgery scars(ratio receiving), edging(ratio receiving), breeding(attempt at your own discretion considering this economy), slight dacryphilia (if you squint), No gendered pronouns used for reader and can be read with a strap in mind, no beta we die like real men, writer is asexual, English is not my first language and ion mean that as a flex in grammar meaning this might be cooked. If I missed any, do tell.

—🎕 my first post is fucking smut I'm so fucking cooked bro like not even a hello?? I digress; this is best read with Southbound by Artemas in the background

Veritas Ratio was a smart man; most would consider him a paragon of intellect. He was an erudite scholar known for his knowledge in broad subjects, seeking to spread knowledge to the vast galaxies. So why was it that he was so easily dumbed down?

"Professor, Good evening," You spoke, a slight fondness in your tone, "Something the matter?"

As if you haven't been taunting him for hours. Like you weren't turning the already grey strands at the root of his scalp even whiter.

You've been taunting him for what felt like 5 system hours; A hard grip on his waist, nails digging into his waist here and there, kissing him a little too eagerly in some empty hall when his seminar concluded, and at the peak of your audacity, even pressed your thighs between his legs and pinched at his chest a few times with far too cold hands to be accidental under the pretense of 'Helping relieve stress'. Veritas was well-versed in these games you'd play. At the start, you'd go slow, pacing yourself so that by the end of it, he'd be furious, nerves lit on fire and more bothered than he'd like to admit. You knew to only tease when you were sure no one was there. Honestly, his age has gotten to him and made him far too lenient on fools who run on the dopamine rushes of sex. He was far too lenient on himself and seemed to mimic the behaviour of the individual stated, unknowingly becoming one himself.

"You know what you're doing." Veritas spat, a soft grimace though you knew it was not only light-hearted, and from the looks of the slight tremors of his hands, he was eager. Years of trained composure were lost to searing passion, simmering and boiling for hours, creating a complex flavour of confusion, irritation, and hesitant arousal. "Enlighten me."

So many years spent together, yet you get on his nerves all the same.

Veritas furrowed his brows further before pulling you close, reliving the same song and dance from earlier today and his past experiences with you. Sinking his teeth onto your lips as if you wouldn't bite back once he grew confident, a dance of who gets to outsmart the other was always how you both liked to play things to the point where even a simple kiss turned into teeth and tongue, legs between one another and to a fault, you both dumbed each other down to a level where compared to your everyday selves, would be an insult.

It didn't take long for you to win this game, as at this point, Veritas was too filled with need and eagerness to fight back, but that didn't mean he bit back his arguments any less. "Professor, such a shameless sight. Thighs spread on your co-worker's lap. Don't you have a reputation to preserve?" You'd taunt him as if that'd fluster him when all you've done all day is test his patience.

"For such an established man, you talk just as much as those who are all bark and no bite." He'd return, and that was your cue to stop talking. The formerly idle and gloved fingers dipping betwixt his thighs, trousers long forgotten in some part of your office and one leg held up by your other hand to give you easy access but even then, he was flexible but you can only do so much yourself when you're nearing your fifties. The soft fabric of those gloves of yours easily sinks in with an embarrassingly loud slick sound, soon joined by another finger due to how eager your husband has been. Cooing soft praises into his ear while you stretched him out, perfect cunt responding so well to whispered words into his ear that the scientific part of you sparked the greed of testing waters. Toying with certain keywords, kissing his reddened ear, and studying the reactions as though he was the perfect little toy. While you've done this many times before it's still a wonderful experience slowly coaxing surrender from your beloved Doctor that you can't help but try to make it a game for yourself, how loud can you make him whine, how wet can you get him without letting him cum, all of it.

It didn't take long for your deft fingers to get him to teeter on the edge, and it took even less time to notice his ticks. Reminiscent of the ticks of a countdown timer, for every second passed, a sharp click would sound; for every second inching closer to his release, his muscles would tense up, his thighs would shake a little more, and he braced himself to finish.

Unfortunately, you had other plans, and you swiftly pulled your fingers out despite knowing the consequences of your actions, potentially leading to an irritated husband in the morning if you fail to fulfil his expectations for such insolence.

"I apologise, my dear." You lied, and you weren't sorry for anything. You enjoyed breaking your husband, thoroughly. "The lights will shut off in a few minutes. Would you mind a relocation? Perhaps... somewhere well suited for this?" You asked, feigning a sweet tone and when you heard the soft grinding of your husband's teeth and the opening of his mouth that'd likely release a few whines at best and less than pleasant words at worst. Before your husband could hurl curses on you, he felt a sharp sting. His watery eyes had more wetness from the hot pain, while he could only uselessly let out a strained moan as he was in the middle of a rebut.

You softly massaged his clit, giving the area a bit of respite before landing a couple more hits while you circled the soft bud in between. "Try again," you ordered. "Y-Yes. It's alright." Your husband spoke, adopting a more docile response due to his mind still reeling from the mix of pain and pleasure.

"Good boy, so good to me, only me." You cooed whilst slowly switching places, letting him sit on your desk while you took your stained gloves. The pristine white had now turned greyish and slightly see-through. But that didn't matter; you didn't need to dispose of it now when you had the perfect place to hide the evidence of your passion. "Shhh, my love, my love, settle down. Don't finish just yet." You insisted as you slowly stuffed the satin gloves inside, keeping your beloved Doctor full and warm. At the same time, you licked the excess off, the slick wetness on your tongue to savour the fruits of your labour tasted ever sweeter. At the same time, you watched the expression of your beloved while he panted and tried to desperately look presentable enough to walk out.

Hc start | Time skip start

His chest is super sensitive. Like if you have cold hands, he'd come so fast. Like the added sensation of cold and if you were feeling nice and sucked and bit on his nipples he'd start whining from how sensitive the temp shifts are. If you don't have cold hands, dip them in ice water and rub your fingers softly onto his nipples, then when you mouth on them with your warm mouth, he'd go crazy.

Speaking of temp play, he'd likely be really sensitive, even tho he's at the age of mid-life crises. He'd love it if you used cold fingers to scissor him open, the contrast of his warmth and your cold hands and possibly your cold tongue on his clit would drive him so insane, poor thing.

Hc end | Time skip end

By the time you both got into your shared spaceship, you both couldn't keep your hands away from each other. Depravity in the way you both could hardly walk without caressing the other and dragging both of your feet. You two could be mistaken for drunks from how poorly you two could keep your balance.

Soon enough, you two arrived in your bedroom, a brief moment of separation from your kiss to shed your clothes, most of it anyway. Veritas had removed his slacks and anything that could prevent your access to his entirety and only left his button up on.

After you laid your husband onto the bed, without even bothering to remove your clothes. You spread his legs, reverence in the way you slowly removed the soaked satin from his noisy cunt before immediately placing kisses on his inner thighs, allowing a small moment of respite that was surely appreciated.

When you received the go-ahead and the proper safety precautions were set in place you finally latched your mouth onto your lover's clit, mouthing expertly on the bud while your ungloved hand, the same one you used to torture him earlier, stuffed him full again earning a more free sound. Inhibitions now long forgotten Veritas freely expressed himself, calloused hands, dry from years of sterilisation and soap now sit clammy on your head, gripping so tightly and lifting his own slightly to grind into your mouth, you allowed him to take control of this, getting off on his own pace as a reward for enduring the walk from your office to here.

You worship in the way you reciprocated Veritas' fervour, not letting a single drop go to waste when he finally came into your mouth, and you lapped it up like it was a gift from the Aeons, like a man in the desert with ambrosia. You switched your mouth for your fingers and vice versa, your mouth savouring the taste while your hands rubbed tight circles around the bud, prolonging the orgasm until your lover let go of your hair and you could properly rise.

Veritas had a fucked out expression, chest heaving so wonderfully and with a head tilted to the left. He could feel the faint pulse of his climax along with the beating of his heart, hammering against his ears from the adrenaline. He bonelessly reached out for you, kissing you and tasting himself on his tongue while you buried yourself deep inside of him, a slow pace despite the preparations made beforehand not to stimulate your beloved thoughtlessly. You instead allowed him to adjust while you parted from his lips and tenderly sucked on his chest, resting him for a bit without ceasing completely.

You nipped softly at the scars on his body; some were bites, teeth, and bruises from previous times spent loving each other, but the ones you paid special attention to were the ones you knew made Veritas cry out. You teethed on his top surgery scars, canines scratching tenderly against the healed flesh and making new hickeys on the scars, decorating it with your marks of affection like verbatim from how often you do this, how much you love this, how you both enjoy this.

Soft whines came from Veritas' lips, what was once a stern and cold professor now laid a boneless mess, mind-reeling from the pleasure, especially when you rubbed at the sensitive and delicately bruising skin, touching just a few inches shy from his nipples and slightly scratching your nails against his flesh, alternating between the pads of your pointer finger and the tip of your trimmed nails until you suddenly pinched and tweaked at the bud on his chest, the delightful squeeze only making his eyes watery and a slight grimace form on your darling professor's face.

You saw a sharp glare get shot in your direction, clearly Veritas' way of warning you to stop playing with him, but it certainly just felt like a far cry from the typical expression your beloved wore that made students nervous. No, you couldn't be afraid, not when you heard the soft whispers of his voice, when he panted, when you saw the way his blush extended to his ears and bridge of his Greek nose.

Situations like this reminded you how beautiful your husband was as if the very sight of his wasn't reminder enough; you thought how lucky you were, having someone who was equal parts the magnum opus and the begetter. It just solidified something for you; if Veritas was an art piece, his artist must have loved him dearly.

His breathing hitched when you began to move, tantalising with the slow pacing you rewarded(tortured) him. Lithe fingers expertly rubbing tight circles against his clit while providing a soft and slow pace, like tired mornings awoken so sinfully with desire and spent together a lazy and yet almost too stimulating pace that had him feeling like cotton stuffed his head and static filled his ears.

It wasn't long until the two of you were coming, hips stuttering. The loud sounds coming from Veritas were growing loud as desperate pleas along the lines of begging for more and not to stop fell from his lips like shrill whines. At the same time, you could only shush him, reassuring him you're not that cruel just yet until you both came, sticky fluids and a pleasing warmth grew in your husband's stomach, breeding him so well while his overworked head grew empty and hazy. At the same time, you continued soothing him while you rutted your hips, slowing down until you were just barely grinding and prolonging both of your orgasms.

—🎕 Hey chat, I don't really know how to end this, but I really hope you guys liked this, and I'm rlly lonely you guys should deff msg me>, <

[overfedvenison]

There are scene-based RPGs with little failure chance which build themselves around something akin to the Critical Role vibe, where the plot will go in a specific direction and a lot of it is improvising a scene within that framework For example, Cartoon Action Hour - A game where you construct scenes in the plot of a saturday morning cartoon. It takes you from a pitch package, to individual episodes, to even commercials and PSAs. The plot is expected to be angled out roughly, ahead of time, and then the players sorta improvise within that. The feel seems to be similar to an actual creative process, and you even have to work around things like inserting playsets and dealing with network censorship (Ie, a character with a gun can't kill people with it) This is also common in a number of Japanese Tabletop RPGs - Ryuutama, for example, lays out how to do this and plot out a sequence of scenes. Here's it's Event Planning Sheet:

It's a very different way of playing, and apparently lends itself to shorter and more focused game sessions. Here it plans stuff out as an explicit mechanic - What is the purpose of the scene? What do you sense? What does the event entail? And then the players sorta improvise within this framework. A campaign is a lot of these hooked together, so in one scene you might meet a troublesome neko-goblin, and the point of that scene (Whatever happens) is to give you information to lead to the next scenario, etc. Ryuutama is also notable for having classes for the DM, which have mechanics that lend towards particular stories. For example, one of the DM classes leads players toward tragedy, and has mechanics for this. It's an interesting take. As a method of interaction, it's not inherently bad. Just something with different goals which must be understood, and which can be fun in it's own right But I think you gotta take a game for what it is. D&D is not a scene-based game built on open RP, and a D&D game is better with challenges and failstates.

Big gleeblor:

It isn’t and shouldn’t be the GM’s job to tell you a story and continually override rules and dice rolls to ensure that story goes in a particular direction and follows a perfect movie three-act structure

D&D5e and Critical Roll play culture has turned GMing into a performance, an unpaid magic slight-of-hand act, instead of a dude who plays the game from the other side of the screen.

This isn’t an entirely new problem, the seeds were planted for it all the way in the 90s, but recent market forces in the past 10 years have accelerated it by like 10,000%

[clevercorvidae]

bringing jayce/viktor back in canon would be sooo incredibly difficult.

first of all, most postcanon fic authors struggle to give jayce a compelling motivation/arc bc hes VERY tightly written. he outright says that his goal in their final scene has shifted from bringing magic to the world to getting viktor back. and by staying with him, he gets viktor back and faces the consequences of his actions throughout the show. everything is wrapped up pretty neatly for him.

(viktor isn't AS difficult. It's pretty easy to create a new story arc for him out of the consequences of the glorious evolution and transforming his outlook and actions based on his realization at the end of the show. most fics ive read go this route, with viktor dealing with a lot of guilt and reflection and finding a new purpose and sense of self.)

So the first thing they'd have to do is come up with an arc for jayce. but also, said arc still has to heavily involve viktor. the nature of their story basically requires they remain together for the most part. jayce getting viktor back at the end of arcane is the catharsis for his story. if they separate (even if it's realistic or good for them or whatever else) it makes that conclusion lose a LOT of its impact and meaning. likewise, retreading on that conflict also dulls the impact, so even if their new goal was to reunite after being separated youd run a HUGE risk of repeating arcane's plot points and themes, making them feel stale.

(I've seen some people theorize that jayce may get separated from viktor and join mel in noxus. unfortunately this is even worse imo. youre risking either retreading old ground TWICE or a mix of retreading plus making the ending lackluster and making jayce act ooc)

so we need a new arc for jayce AND we can't separate him and viktor in order to accomplish that. thats already hard. but that leaves a new question, why bring them back at all? what do they have to add to the future storylines in runeterra and how do potential new arcs for them support the themes of these stories? and why bring THEM back instead of introducing other characters from league lore that haven't gotten a chance to be explored yet?

these new spin off shows are going to be focusing on different regions of runeterra that already have so many characters and stories to pull from. and yes they'll definitely tie the events of arcane into their stories and we will likely see some of the characters again. but bringing back jayce and viktor isnt as simple as having a caitvi cameo or having jinx show up in bilgewater or something. it would require a lot of set up and precedent and theyd need to contribute more to the story to justify that.

it just doesn't seem very likely unfortunately. and id be worried for the story quality if they were to go this route. i still think the best choice is for them to haunt the narrative going forward, either literally or metaphorically. characters could mention them and what happened to them as a cautionary tale or if they still exist within the arcane maybe theyll be ghostly figures that literally haunt swain if he tries to use the crystal that his raven stole. theres a LOT more potential and safety in that writing choice imo.

[kiarst]

Little late night thought (I am not a writer, my portrayal of the character may be off and I apologize. Don't smite me):

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader but Reader is Yuu from Twisted Wonderland. So how I imagine it would go is how every neglected!reader fic begins, the biological father (Ol' Brucie) picking them up and passing them onto Alfred or Alfred picking reader up. Either way, reader lives at the the mansion and has seen all of the Batsibs at their worst and at their best.

They were brought in maybe around the same time as one of the Batboys in their robin era, most likely around Tim's cuz students at Night Raven College are usually around 16-18 (20 if you count Leon and don't get me started on Malleus and Lilia). Anyways, plot ensues. Reader does their best to get attention, Batfam ignores them or pushes them away or in Damian's case, terrorizes them.

It's a nightmare for you but as the years go by, you slowly get used to being on the sidelines and just waiting until they can legally get the heck outta Gotham. That plan goes to shit when one rainy day, Alfred is too busy with the boys so you get stuck waiting until it starts to get dark and begin walking. Just as you begin crossing the road, you hear the galloping of hooves before your vision begins fading. Last thing you see is a black carriage pulled by two black horses that holds an eerie and mysterious aura.

Twisted Wonderland shenanigans go as usual. Grim, Ace, Deuce, nearly getting killed by overblotted dwarf, so on and so forth. Back in Gotham, Batfam is unconsciously feeling the effect reader's disappearance has. First to grow worried shortly after you had disappeared is Alfred, as the person you spent most of your time with when he could of course. Next is Damian, surprisingly, because he is the second person you have spent time with due to the one-sided fighting and bullying. He approaches Alfred before approaching Bruce, who is now very much distraught that he hadn't noticed you were missing. Dick is in denial for a bit before shortly facing reality, Jason is blaming Bruce but is also mad at himself and is kinda lashing out, Tim regrets ignoring and pushing you aside. Basically, Batfam is going through several stages of emotional distress, grief and mental breakdowns and is spending half, if not most of their time looking for you or any clues as to where you are while learning about your life in the mansion while you are (trying to) living your best life in NRC with your besties and people who actually care about you while trying not to die from a crashout at every new dorm. Dunno if twisted wonderland guys would also be yanderes, normal, one or two maybe or if there would just be one but they aren't that bad (more soft yandere than anything).

Thoughts?

edit: forgot to add that maybe they slowly get transported there at random at some point in the story (starting with Damian first most likely) or they have constantine do something with magic to find them and batfam splits up, half to go get reader and half to protect gotham.

[revelboo]

With so many ff’s or short stories going, how do you not loose overview and forget about one or another? Lists don’t help me. At some point I forget to update the list 😭

Honestly, I absolutely do until people ask about stories in the inbox that I haven’t remembered to update and then I bang my head on my desk a bit. I’m very easily distracted

Y’all are good at reminding me, though 🤣

True Romance Pt 19

Starscream x Reader, Thundercracker x Reader, Skywarp x Reader

• Kicking out a leg, there’s a heavy arm thrown across you as you come awake, a warm frame against you. Pinned flat on your back, you open your eyes and Skywarp’s face is inches from yours, his optics shuttered. That’s right. At some point, he’d dragged you away from Starscream and curled himself around you like a very needy space heater. Head turning, you spot Thundercracker sprawled on his back, an arm outstretched and his servos tangled in your hair. Where’s Starscream? Head lifting, you see him sitting on the edge of the berth, his back to you and full size. “Hey,” you whisper and his head turns, making you realize he’s watching the door. Like he’s worried about someone coming in while his brothers are mass displaced and vulnerable.

• “You should be resting,” he murmurs, wings flicking tiredly as he turns his attention back to watching over his trine and you. Too tense with how vulnerable all of you are right now. Understands wanting to recharge with you in his arms, but it’s too risky. “I can feel you still staring at me,” he adds, lips twitching despite himself. Leaning a palm on the berth, he twists and he’s right, you’re staring up at him, frowning. “Don’t give me that look.” Reaching he gently touches a servo to your head, nudging you affectionately.

• Reaching up to catch at his servo as Skywarp whines in his recharge and mouths your jaw, arm tightening around you, Starscream’s optics soften for just a moment before his expression blanks. “I’m awake if you want to recharge.” Hear him softly vent at your offer, wings flaring slightly and you wonder if you’d offended him. “I can scream if someone tries to come in the door.” And his servo slides to rub against your cheek as he chuckles softly. Like you’re joking, not serious. But he looks so tired.

• Not sure what to make of the fact that you’re worrying about him, wanting to take care of him even though he’s so much bigger than you are, he shakes his head. “And I can shoot them in the face,” he counters, servo sliding to brush your bottom lip. Smiling crookedly when you huff at him and Thundercracker lifts his head with a rumbling noise, rolling over. Optics brightening as he looks around before easing back down. Appreciates the offer, though he can’t actually admit it out loud. Can’t be weak even in front of his own trine. Pulling his hand away from you, he turns back to his watch.

• Staring at his back, your chest aches. To be so paranoid, he can’t relax, can’t rest even now. And from the stories his brothers have told you, he has every right to be worried. The other Decepticons seem to always be plotting, scheming for more power. Always ready to betray each other if they can gain something from it. Murder not that uncommon. “Recharge,” Skywarp whines, sliding a leg between yours, pressing his face against your neck. But you just watch over Star as he watches over you and his brothers, because someone needs to look out for him.

Previous

[burningwitchinsalem]

"why do you care if it turns out that yellowjackets is supernatural it doesn't really matter"

The thing is that I think the change the show is going through, steering towards the supernatural idea, discounts the narrative intention entirely. I've always viewed yellowjackets as a take on the effects of extreme trauma and how doing horrendous things to survive can trick the brain. The idea of the supernatural not only defies this idea but also discredits the girl's bad deeds, something that I believe is essential to accept narratively.

These girls are not good people, but that is the point. It is shown whether through plot holes or otherwise that many of the things they have done where not essential, some of them being trauma responses, others bore of fear, but several others are just their own twisted decisions. This is especially shown in the adult timeline, where many of the things they have done where caused by their own hand and their unaddressed trauma.

The phycological aspect is what sets the show apart, what gives it the nuance other disaster shows so severely lack. The complexity of this narrative, and the characters is so well crafted, that with how the show is leaning into the supernatural, I believe that it could be a discredit to it.