#but...the fucking 'no one wants to work' of it all is such bullshit

[cbeargyu]

Getting ready to go on a date with dom! hyuck but you cant find anything that makes you feel pretty and then you spiral down and hyuck punishes you for even thinking badly abt yourself

brat

summary: it’s your third anniversary with hyuck, but insecurity gets the best of you — until he reminds you exactly who you are and who you belong to.

pairing: dom bf!hyuck x fem!reader

genre: smut, established relationship, dom!hyuck, emotional comfort.

warnings: spanking, degradation + praise, fingering, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, aftercare hint, explicit language, mention of body image issues.

wc: 1,7k

notes: omg i’ve been so busy lately and this fic was the one thing stuck in my head 😩 i had the whole scene imagined already and i was so scared i’d forget it 🫠 i actually had a little draft saved for days but work made it impossible to focus the way i wanted 😭😭 today’s labor day in my country tho so no work for me and i finally got to finish it 🖤

it was supposed to be perfect.

your third anniversary — a milestone in itself — and hyuck had made sure everything would be just right. he called in favors, got a reservation at that impossible-to-book rooftop restaurant downtown, even made sure the date landed exactly on the day, no “weekend-after” bullshit. he showed up to your apartment early, dressed in black slacks and a silk shirt half unbuttoned, smelling like oud and vanilla and effort. his hair was styled just enough to make it look like he hadn’t tried. cocky and beautiful. all hyuck.

but you weren’t ready.

when he rang the doorbell, the apartment was still filled with the sounds of your panic — drawers yanked open, zippers half-stuck, hangers clashing against each other like metal nerves. you called out a “give me a minute!” as he walked in, and he just chuckled, collapsing on your couch with his phone in hand.

the first time you came out to show him your outfit, he actually smiled.

“baby,” he said, eyes flicking up and down your body, “you look fucking edible.”

you didn’t believe him.

so you turned around, muttering something about the skirt feeling weird, and went back in.

second outfit. shorter skirt. a blouse that made your shoulders look sharp. he gave a low whistle.

“you wanna make me lose my mind before we even get there?”

you frowned. the mirror was cruel today. you didn’t feel pretty. everything hugged you wrong.

you went back in.

he was still patient by the third one, but there was a small sigh. a tap of his finger against his thigh. he didn’t say anything when you came out a fourth time, just looked at you, head tilted, brows barely raised. his silence made your stomach twist.

by the fifth time — when you stood at the edge of the hallway and whispered, “maybe we should cancel. i feel gross. none of this looks good on me” — he didn’t say a word.

instead, he stood up.

slowly. deliberately.

you felt it before he touched you — that low heat, the warning. and when his hand closed around your wrist, firm but not hurting, your heart dropped.

“sit down,” he said, pulling you toward the sofa.

“hyuck—”

“sit.”

you stumbled as he pushed you gently but firmly down, sitting beside you. his eyes were darker than before. that lazy glint was gone.

“you wanna cancel?” he asked, voice low. “you wanna ruin a night i planned for us because you think you’re not pretty enough?”

you opened your mouth, but the words never got to form.

“do you even fucking hear yourself?”

his hand found your jaw and tilted your face up to look at him. you hated how glassy your eyes were getting.

“you think i did all this so you could stand there and tell me you look ugly?” he shook his head, disgusted. “you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever fucking seen. and you walk out here, in this tight little dress that’s making me hard as hell, just to call yourself gross?”

“hyuck, it’s not like that—”

“shut up.”

your breath hitched.

“no, really. shut the fuck up,” he said, and now he was straddling that line between anger and arousal. you knew that voice. it always meant trouble. “you’ve wasted over an hour crying about skirts and crop tops when i should’ve had you on my lap, fucking moaning.”

his fingers slipped under the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly.

“you’re lucky i love you. otherwise i’d leave your bratty little ass right here.”

“hyuck—”

“what did i just say?” he growled.

your mouth snapped shut.

“i’m gonna teach you something, baby. next time you wanna say dumb shit about yourself, you’re gonna remember this.”

before you could respond, he tugged you over his lap. your breath left you in a rush as he adjusted you, one arm braced across your lower back, the other smoothing over the curve of your ass.

“five,” he murmured.

and then came the first slap.

sharp. hot. the sound echoed in the room and your body jolted.

“for wasting time,” he said, voice calm, almost gentle.

another slap, firmer.

“for not trusting me when i say you’re beautiful.”

the third one made you gasp, thighs pressing together.

“for calling yourself ugly.”

the fourth left a sting that bloomed sweet and painful.

“for almost canceling our night.”

the last one lingered, heavy and final.

“and this,” he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, “for forgetting who you belong to.”

your body was trembling, more from heat than shame. your dress was bunched around your waist, panties damp and clinging. your heart beat wild against your ribs, mouth parted as you breathed through the swirl of emotions.

“now,” hyuck whispered, shifting you so you sat on his lap, straddling him, “you’re gonna thank me.”

“w-what?”

“thank me, baby. for reminding you who you are. how fucking sexy you look. how much i love you.”

you swallowed. cheeks flushed. and whispered, “thank you.”

“louder.”

“thank you, hyuck.”

he kissed you, rough and hungry, swallowing the last of your doubt.

“you still think we should cancel?”

you shook your head quickly.

“good,” he said, fingers trailing under your dress again. “because we’ve got two hours before that reservation, and i’m gonna spend at least one of them making sure you never fucking say that shit again.”

he shifted beneath you, letting his hands slide back down to your ass, which still throbbed from the spanking — not from pain, but from the way it had lit something inside you. something shameful and warm. and when his fingers curved under, brushing the soaked fabric of your panties, you flinched.

he stilled.

“oh?” a smug grin tugged at his lips as he pressed his fingers more firmly over the wet patch. “what’s this, baby?”

you tried to close your thighs.

“are you—” he laughed darkly, “you’re wet from getting spanked?”

“shut up,” you muttered, hiding your face against his neck.

“no no no,” he said, dragging your panties to the side, middle finger slipping through the mess between your folds. “you don’t get to be embarrassed now. this is what you get for talking shit about yourself. your body knows better.”

your hips jerked when his fingertip found your clit and circled it, slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. your breath stuttered out, and you bit into the side of your finger to keep from moaning.

he noticed.

“get your hand out of your mouth.”

you looked up, dazed.

“i said i want to hear you,” he growled, and the sudden weight of his command made your cunt clench around nothing. “don’t hide your sounds from me. not when you’re dripping like this.”

then his finger pushed inside — slow, deep — and you let out a choked gasp. he groaned lowly at how tight you were, adding a second finger almost immediately, fucking into you with a rhythm that made your thighs tremble.

“fuck, baby,” he whispered, eyes fixed on your face, “you’re squeezing my fingers like you’re desperate.”

“i am,” you whimpered, grinding down onto his hand without shame. “hyuck, please—”

“please what?”

“i want you inside me.”

“yeah?”

“fuck me,” you said, breathless. “please. i need you to fuck me.”

that was all he needed.

he stood abruptly, lifting you in his arms like you weighed nothing, carrying you to the edge of the couch and tossing a pillow down before laying you on your back. he tugged your panties down your legs, not even bothering to unfasten your dress. just pushed the fabric up and out of the way.

he undid his belt with one hand, pants half off before he was fisting his cock, already hard and leaking.

“you ask so nicely,” he said, lining himself up, tip sliding against your soaked entrance. “how can i say no?”

and then he pushed in.

slow only for the first few inches. the stretch made you cry out, and he groaned deep in his chest as he bottomed out.

“this pussy missed me, huh?” he muttered, starting to thrust, slow at first — letting you feel every inch. “gripping me like she knows who she belongs to.”

you couldn’t even respond. your mouth was open, moaning freely now as he picked up the pace, hips slamming into you over and over, hands gripping your thighs wide open. you reached up, clawed at his back, needing more, more, more—

“look at me.”

you blinked up, eyes wet, lips parted.

“look at the man who’s fucking you,” he growled. “look at the man who calls you beautiful every fucking day. that’s who you listen to. not that bullshit voice in your head.”

you nodded, frantic, as his cock hit something deep that made your back arch. your legs shook around his waist. he leaned down, kissed your mouth hard, then your neck, then sucked a bruise into your collarbone that made you whine.

he could feel you getting closer. your walls fluttering around him, that desperate way you clawed at his shirt like you might float away if you didn’t hold on.

“go ahead,” he whispered against your mouth, “cum for me, baby. let it all go.”

and you did. eyes rolling back, body clenching tight around him as waves of heat crashed through you. he cursed loudly, barely holding himself back, thrusts losing rhythm as you milked him. he pulled out only at the last second, panting as he came across your stomach in thick, hot streaks.

you both laid there for a moment, breathless, skin slick, hearts pounding.

then he glanced at the time on his phone and groaned. “fuck. reservation’s in thirty.”

you laughed weakly, covering your face.

“don’t even start,” he warned, grabbing some tissues to clean you. “we’re still going.”

“you came on my dress,” you muttered.

“you deserved it.”

you glared at him.

he leaned down and kissed your cheek.

“get up, princess. we’ll be late. and next time you even think about calling yourself ugly,” his eyes narrowed, voice dropping back into that low warning tone, “i’ll make sure you can’t walk straight for a week.”

you blushed, but obeyed, smoothing your dress back down.

he pulled his shirt on again, still unbuttoned, and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“happy anniversary,” he added with a wink.

you couldn’t help but smile.

“happy anniversary, hyuck.”

[valentinedrifter]

Snippets with Ningning: Pink

Ningning x Eunha

~2.8k words

A/N: Prompt by @woollypoison, Thanks for hosting, much love!

Enjoy.

Yizhuo doesn’t know why the fuck you’re dating that stupid bitch.

Like, seriously? Out of everyone, you’re in bed with her? The fucking pink-haired bitch with the most kissable Goddamn lips, thighs that could pass off as fucking earmuffs, and tits she could just squeeze like lemo-

Okay, so maybe she sees what you see in the bitch, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. And what the hell does the slut have that she doesn’t?

She’s got a pretty good pair of lips that she knows could take your soul away if she ever got the chance to go down on you—nine out of ten recommended—and while her tits aren’t as big as the bitch has it, Yizhuo still has quite the set that can most definitely wow you when you get a hold of them. Oh, and her ass, her fucking ass can honest to God choke you out if she ever decides to sit on your face.

Shit, she had pink hair too for like, two months, so why didn’t you try anything with her? 

If she tried hard enough, she can be the cover girl for some fashion brand out there. She has class. Standards. Self-respect, dignity if she wants to push it, not like the bitch that everyone wants to bend over their desk.

Yizhuo’s smarter than the stupid idiot that can’t even do inferential statistics to save her life. She gets As on average, and she can talk your ass off about anything that wasn’t just about getting fucked on the daily.

She helped you understand what derivatives and limits are for calculus. And where was Barbie from Temu? Getting railed in the clinic, that’s where the hell she was.

Like, damn, she can cook real food. Not the instant noodle bullshit at the local convenience store or the quick sandwich that doesn’t even count. Yizhuo can cook the good shit. Hot pots, grilled pork, she can make salmon if you were into that. Food that’s made with love. Food you damn well deserve.

So what in the fuck is she missing?

Did she need to go back to dying her hair pink just so you can notice her? Did you like bigger tits? A fatter ass? Did Yizhuo need to make you lunch every damn day?

Was it because the free prostitute won the genetic lottery, because damn if the slut didn’t need makeup to look that fucking hot. 

It was bullshit. She should be the one bragging all over campus, not the dumb bitch that stole you under her nose. Stupid whore doesn’t even treat you right, because if that wasn’t enough, she’s also a toxic piece of shit.

Yizhuo knows the rumors. About how the slut sleeps with practically everyone, from the math nerd, the volleyball star, the history professor, the fucking janitor. The campus mascot even got lucky, while wearing the fucking suit. She doesn’t know how the logistics of that would even work.

Yizhuo heard from Lia that a teacher caught Pinky and the Dean with the door open. Not closed, not locked. Open. Judging from the fact that nothing happened, she probably slept with the teacher too.

There’s even that one time where the dumbass set off the fire alarm in the middle of a quickie. How the hell does that even happen?

Speaking of alarms, Pinky’s a walking red flag, a red alert, a tactical nuke type of danger that screams typhoon siren sounds out of her ass, and she wears it like a medal. Why she’s proud of it, Yizhuo will never know. She gives props for confidence though.

And don’t even get Yizhuo started on all the exes that the bitch got bored of, or cheated on, or destroyed a perfectly happy relationship for a quick fling. Bitch is playing eenie-meenie-miney-mo at this point with how high her body count is. She’s a certified cum dumpster that’s free Twenty-Four-Seven.

She’s surprised that the slut hasn’t gotten a disease from the amount of people that’s gotten in and out of her. 

You know all about it when she asked—totally not because she isn’t curious as to why you would try and date the walking condom—and all you had to say was-

“I don’t think she did all that.”

What the hell do you mean you don’t believe them, Yizhuo thinks, because everyone and their mother knows about what the hell the tramp’s done. Shit, the motherfucker has most likely fucked a mother too, if the rumor about her and the librarian was true; It probably is.

Was that it? Were you into bad bitches? Did you have that ‘I can fix her’ kink that always went wrong because this isn’t some movie that gives you those silly happy endings. 

Then again, you were optimistic like that. So innocent, so sweet, Yizhuo could just pinch your cheeks because of how cute you are-

Hold on, does she need to do that too? Start wearing tight tops, start fucking everyone she sees in a five meter radius, holy fuck does she need to fuck the janitor? 

She sure as shit wasn’t petty about it. Nope. Nada. No ma’am. She just doesn’t understand why you would look at someone like Pinky and not like her. 

She’s been with you throughout everything, the highs and the lows, the in-betweens, the break ups—which, your relationship with that bitch will definitely end up on—yet, you don’t even see Yizhuo as something more.

She’s trying to be supportive about it like she always did, but that whore is really making it hard for her to root for the both of you. But as your best friend, your confidant, she would endure.

But if she sees you with that bitch one more damn time, she’s getting a flamer somewhere—she’ll make one herself if she has too—and turn this campus into a fire hazard.

Truth be told, it needs the cleansing after everything the human fleshlight has done on every surface imaginable. Desks, doors, public benches. She probably needs to burn the statue in the middle of the main hall too.

Okay, so maybe Yizhuo’s going off the deep end, but she swears that this is an extremely reasonable crashout, cause at this point, the campus wants to be burned. After everything its witnessed, she can consider it consensual arson, and she’s just there to get it started. 

It would be so easy too. That Gauel chick from chemistry made some sort of homemade project last year, and she could probably make a copy-

“Hey!”

The shout made her snap her head so fast she got whiplash. Her mind’s still mentally noting all the things she needs before it registers who called her.

You. Standing there, all cute, that cheeky smile filling your face that makes her want to squeeze your face out because of how adorable you are. 

Yizhuo has to dig her nails into her notebook to stop herself from just grabbing you and shoving her tongue down your throat.

And you don’t even know that you’re using that smile as a weapon because damn does that make her filthiest fantasies overwrite everything that she was thinking of from the last ten minutes. Shit, that smile’s enough to get her in the mood when her thighs unconsciously press together.

It would be so damn easy to just, like, take you right here, in the library where anyone can hear and everyone can look. Yizhuo sees the vision forming inside of her mind. 

The way you’d wrap your lips around her pretty little fingers, throating two, no, three of them down and you’d fucking take it like the throat GOAT she imagines you are.

Then she would fuck your mouth with them while you’re on your knees, and you’d have your hands on her thighs, tears and spit spilling down your chest, messing up that snug little t-shirt you’re wearing.

God, Yizhou would suck the life out of you. First with your mouth after it's been thoroughly used by her fingers. She’d explore every single inch of that mouth, and she’d get sloppy with it too. Nip at your plump fucking lips, lick the spit that’s dripping down your chin. 

She’s getting wet at the thought of you moaning out her name.

She’d bend you over the table and spank that absolute dump truck of an ass you’ve got. Yizhuo wonders how much that juicy flesh would ripple every time she’d give each cheek a hard slap. 

She would even get a handful of it, and she’d burn the feeling of that big, fat ass into her memory if she could.

She’d yank those jeans down your legs, give you another hard slap on that bare ass, and she’d go to town on you. But she’d go slow. Use her hands to get you all worked up, make you beg for her to use her pretty little mouth. And when she does, Yizhuo’s gonna savour the look on your face-

Wait. Since when did you have pink hair?

That threw her out of her daydreams, because last she checked, you had blonde hair. Now suddenly it’s this light pink that’s oddly similar to the slut you’re dating.

You’re still looking at her. Blinking, smiling, like you don’t have a fucking clue what was going on in Yizhuo’s mind, full of intrusive thoughts and debauchery all because of two completely different women.

“Eunha!” Yizhuo tucks a strand of hair back, giving you—her—a timid smile. “I…thought you had class.”

Jung Eunbi. Eunha, to those who know her. Yizhuo’s best friend. Also known as the love of her life.

“The prof got sick, so I got some time to kill.” Eunha plops down the chair in front and crosses her arms. “And you have been avoiding me.”

“No I haven’t.” Yizhuo lies, smooth as hell, cause she’s done this too many times in the past few weeks, fiddling with the pen on the desk that she was supposed to be using to write math equations. “Professor Roh’s been swarming us with work. I swear she’s at that time of the month.”

Eunha laughs, giving Yizhuo those tingles on her stomach that she seriously cannot be having right now. “Everyone’s swarming us with work. Even professor Myoui, and she barely gives anything out.”

For a while, it was normal again. Yizhuo and Eunha, messing around as always. No problems, no avoiding, no reminders of who Eunha was meeting at the end of the day.

Well, except for her pink hair which-

“When did you dye your hair?” Yizhuo pretends to be curious but she’s really just fishing cause she knows that Pinky’s involved in it somehow.

“Like a week ago.” Eunha’s twirling the ends of her curls, and fuck if Yizhuo really just wants to tell her that she really shouldn’t be doing that in front of her, because even though the color’s a stark reminder of the slut she’s dating, she looks even prettier with it.

And Yizhuo really shouldn’t be imagining the things that she wants to do to Eunha again.

“I would’ve asked my best friend,” Yizhuo can’t help but look to the side for that. “For help but she hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.”

“Your girlfriend might get angry.” That was the shittiest excuse she could’ve given, Yizhuo lets the stray thought cross through her mind, but she might as well commit to the bit. “I was trying to give you space.”

“She doesn’t care.” Eunha says, shaking her head, chuckling. “She knows that nothing’s going on between us. And she knows we’ve been friends for like, forever.”

It felt like Yizhuo got shot and left dead in a ditch somewhere when she heard those words. Nothing, Eunha says. Friends since forever, Eunha says. Yizhuo’s been trying to get something going but she keeps pussying out of it.

Her fault, really. She’s let so many chances slip by and now this happens. Eunha taken away from one of the worst people Yizhuo can imagine.

The bitch not caring really did sound like her, to be honest.

Yizhuo was about to say something along the lines of ‘Why she’s still with her’ again but she didn’t have to, because the stupid idiot decided to do it for her.

“Baby!”

And there she is. The Queen Bitch of the campus strutting into the library, dressed like a cheap whore. Boxy glasses that had no lens, ponytail held up to the side, the school girl outfit with the short skirt and the top that showed off how big her tits are. That same shade of pink coloring her hair, just a bit darker than Eunha’s.

Uchinaga motherfucking Aeri. Giselle, to those who know her. And everyone fucking knows her.

“Gigi!” Eunha stands up, giving Aeri—Yizhuo is not going to call her Giselle for fuck’s sake—a hug.

Aeri wraps an arm around Eunha’s waist like it was supposed to be there, like she’s done it so many times. And she has. Just not with Eunha.

Yizhuo did not feel her eye twitch. 

Not at goddamn all.

“Miss me already babe?” Aeri leaves a kiss on Eunha’s temple, and Yizhuo really hates how it’s making Eunha blush.

“Just a little bit.” Eunha lets out this shy giggle that makes Yizhuo want to bang her head on the desk. “I-uhm, I dyed my hair pink.”

“Looking like a snack.” Aeri pulls back, enough to get a good look at Eunha, who’s looking down on the ground, cheeks becoming rosy. “Pink suits you.”

Yizhuo’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“I wanted to try something new.” Eunha replies, glancing up to Aeri, quick, hidden. That one little gesture was enough for Yizhuo to realize why Eunha dyed it.

She looks away, her own cheeks reddening from anger, shame, insanity. Were they seriously flirting in front of her? It’s like she wasn’t even there, and the fact that she feels replaced by Aeri is like a punch to the damn gut.

What she wouldn’t do to be in that bitch’s place.

And suddenly Yizhuo hears alarm bells go off.

At first, it was a glance. Aeri’s eyes move away from Eunha to her, then her entire head turns, and she hears those sirens go off louder in her head.

Because now Aeri’s eyeing her up like a snack, licking her lips, eyeing her from head to toe. It is seriously making her feel unsafe in the quiet working environment she calls her second home.

She is not thinking what Yizhuo thinks she’s doing right now. Hell no. She’s seeing things.

Aeri’s gaze stays on her, tilting her head, bedroom eyes landing on her chest. Yizhuo should’ve worn a jacket.

Please, do not let her be serious, Yizhuo is hoping, praying that any deity out there can answer her. She knows it’s useless, but it’s worth a try anyways.

“Hey, Yizhuo.” Aeri starts, lips tugging upwards, slow, predatory, unsafe. “Can I call you Ningning? Eunha always calls you that.”

No. “Sure, I guess.” Yizhuo knew that was a mistake pretending to be friends with this bitch because Aeri’s smile got wider. 

She sees Eunha smile too, leading her and Aeri to sit down on the table, completely oblivious to the fact that her best friend is being eye fucked by her girlfriend. “Found Ningning here studying for Professor Roh’s exam and figured we could catch up.”

“Is she now?” Aeri drawls, hand on her chin, still giving Yizhuo that fucking look. 

“Lots of things to do, you know.” Yizhuo replies, looking down at her notebook, really hoping that Aeri can fuck off. Her prayers were…not answered.

“You think she’d be down to help tutor us?” Aeri asks her girlfriend—that’s so gross to think about—but her eyes are staying with Yizhuo.

Oh fuck no, is what Yizhuo would love to answer, but Eunha, sweet, innocent Eunha, makes that response impossible. 

“That’s a great idea!” Eunha beams and nods at her, excited at the prospect.

“I know, right?” Aeri grins. “I think it’ll be very educational.”

No it will not, Yizhuo thinks, but the words don’t come out. What does come out makes her want to throw herself out the window because she’s a sucker for making Eunha happy. The pout Eunha’s sending her way is killing Yizhuo inside too.

“I think I’m free on the weekends to help you guys out.”

Eunha starts going off about where they’re all going to meet up, what food they should get before studying, after studying. Yizhuo’s stomach is doing backflips at how adorable she is.

And Aeri? She’s smiling, joking, playing along, all while looking at her with this dangerous glint in her eyes. Yizhuo’s stomach wants to throw up at the idea of what Aeri actually wants to do during that day.

Yizhuo feels like she just got locked into a route inside of a dating sim. And she did not like where it was going.

Yizhuo also needs a shower. A long, cold, soapy shower.

And a very lengthy, in-depth discussion with Gaeul about fire.

[revelboo]

Could I beg for a little more Lifeless Ordinary? Pretty please? 🙏🙏🙏

Spin got his turn but what about the rest? I hope that Misfire is last to get some, it would serve him right for being such a little shit.

💜As always, thank you so much for everything you do! Take care of yourself!💜

Sure! 🔞 🌶️

Lifeless Ordinary Pt 24

Scavengers x Reader

• Yawning lazily as you bundle deeper into the blanket Krok had produced from subspace, you smile remembering his attempt to explain how it worked in terms that made it clear he didn’t really know himself. But he was endearingly awkward trying to bullshit his way through it anyway. Turning, you study him as he pours over a datapad looking for jobs or opportunities. And his red optics narrow slightly before he looks at you like he could feel your stare on him. “I’m not much entertainment, am I?” He asks.

• Considering the rest of them are probably still brawling for no apparent reason, his calm probably is more than welcome right now, but he knows he’s not the fun one. “I like the quiet,” you say with a shrug and he clears his vents in amusement. “I love the others, but sometimes this ship reminds me of a frat party,” you add, nose wrinkling and he has no idea what a frat party is, but he nods anyway like he does. “You give serious dad vibes, though. Like you’re everyone’s dad. It’s sweet.”

• “Dad vibes?” He repeats and your face reddens as you weakly shrug. Will he take it as an insult if you call him the responsible one? You’re pretty sure most guys would, equating responsible with boring, but with the chaos of the other four? A little stability is really nice. Optics taking in your flustered smile before dropping back to his work, you relax. “You can call me that if you like, then,” he mutters and you go even redder. You’re absolutely not calling him daddy even if he doesn’t know what it means. At least, you think he probably doesn’t. Do alien robots have daddies? “Why exactly did you agree with Misfire’s little proposal?”

• And your face gets even redder, unable to look him in the optic now. Embarrassed as you fidget with the end of your blanket. Maybe it’s as simple as curiosity. Or you’re just horny. Pretending to be engrossed in his datapad, he waits. “I like you guys,” you mutter, still refusing to look at him. It makes him wonder about your species, about humans and how little they know about you. Maybe social coupling is normal as a way to show affection? Maybe humans don’t form long term mate bonds? Or they just frag as a form of play? It’s not like Cybertronians don’t frag for fun or stress relief, too. Or maybe you go into heat and need to be fragged regularly to ease it? Maybe they’ve been neglecting your needs and you just didn’t want to ask? Swindle had said humans were fixated on fragging, so maybe there’s a reason.

• He’s not even flirting shamelessly like Misfire does, but somehow his questions have you much more flustered than Misfire ever gets you. And you know it’s weird to be interested, to want all of them, but they’re yours. That realization sinking into you as you wonder what exactly is wrong with you that you can’t be satisfied with just Spin, but want to claim them all as yours. “If you need to be fragged regularly for your health and wellbeing, you need only ask any of us. None of us want you to suffer in silence,” he says and you have no idea how to respond to that. Did he somehow get the impression that you need to be fucked to survive? Know you need to correct him, but just like with Misfire’s question about sharing, you can’t make yourself do the responsible thing.

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[fkevin073]

take me like you do in your dreams (excerpt)

so this is a little Mel/Frank thing I've been working on. it's been so long since I wrote a long one-shot and did not get impatient and divide it into chapters so I'm trying to curb that urge by posting a little bit of it hear. so much more to go!!

Summary: It surprises people to learn that Mel King is good at sex.  People in this case being, of course, Frank Langon. 

It starts, of course, on a Tuesday, because everything in his life seems to go to shit on Tuesday’s. The shift from hell was a random Tuesday. Abby told him to fuck off out of their house on a Tuesday, he started rehab on a Tuesday and left on a Tuesday. He even fucked up his back on a Tuesday. 

Frank forgets, every so often, about this random pattern in his life. Enough good things will happen, or he’ll be lost in the rush of kids, dogs and work that his world will seem stable and then something fucked will happen and he’ll remember like a punch to a chest this phenomena and think I must have murdered a bunch of people in my past life on a Tuesday to get all of this fucking karma. 

What happens is this: 

Frank doesn’t have many friends. He used to in college, even in med school, and then the more pills he popped the worse his emotions seemed to be and the more he rotted on the inside the more people could sense it, even if they couldn’t quite put a finger on what his deal is. 

That, and he’s also an asshole. 

The point is, he doesn’t have many people. After the pills, after the divorce, after moving into an embarrassing two-bedroom apartment that screams of divorced dad vibes with enough furniture to make it functional but not enough to make it feel like a home. 

He’d like to think that after all the shit he’s been through the past year he’s started to appreciate the people in his life a lot more. Cared more for their happiness and wanting to do right by them. It’s all part of his 12 steps and all that bullshit. 

But then one day he looks across the Pitt and sees Mel bent over a patient, some young dude with floppy blonde hair and an easy smile, and he’s saying something that makes her laugh, that nice floaty laugh like she’s about to glide through the clouds, a laugh Frank thought he had dibs on, and he’s staring so intently Dana has to clap her hands three times before he looks away with a jump. 

“Got an interesting case in South 2,” she says, looking at him weirdly. “You want in?” 

“Yeah,” he says, trying not to look at Mel. “Yeah, sounds great.” 

Blonde fucker, he thinks later, as he tries to remove a dart from this bartender’s ass. He keeps thinking about Mel laughing, even though he didn’t get to see her face. Maybe she was just being polite. Mel is always polite, even when she’s telling someone off. He remembers one time where she lost her temper at Santos – as close as losing her temper as Mel has ever gotten to the best of his knowledge – and told her to please not speak to me for the remainder of the day as I’ll only say something I regret, which I don’t want to do for when you feel bad about this later and Santos had seemed guilty enough for once  that she shut up and did as she was told. 

She was just being polite, he tells himself. But he’s not quite sure why it would bother him either way. It’s just that Mel is one of the few good things he has in his life. He can admit that to himself, if not to anyone else, including of his several mandated therapists or the fucktonne of NA meetings he’s forced to go to. 

Mel had visited him in rehab, which no one else from work had done besides Robby, who Frank had refused to see. They gave him that luxury in rehab – deciding who he did and did not have to leave his room to go and speak to from the outside visitors. Robby had never come back again, but he’d been surprised enough when he heard Mel’s name that he went, quite numb and blank faced, and found her sitting there with a myriad of candies. 

“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” was the first thing she said to him. “So, I got a lot.” 

And it was so normal, so earnest, that he almost burst into tears right then and there. 

“I’m a KitKat guy,” he’d grinned instead, when he was certain he wouldn’t cry. 

They’d sat there for the full fucking hour, talking about their favourite candies and desserts. She went on a fifteen-minute-long tangent about how she used to suck on so many gumballs that her tongue used to change colour every day. 

“I tried to make it into a schedule,” she’d told him. “Blue on Wednesday, yellow on Sunday, that kind of thing. Purple on Monday’s were my favourite.” 

“Any reason for the schedule?” He’d been smiling as he asked it. He could only imagine a little Mel with her mouth full of fucking gumballs, her tongue changing to one outrageous colour every day. 

“I was reading about colour theory at the time,” she admitted enthusiastically. “Henri Matisse, that kind of thing.” 

“How old were you again?” 

“Around ten or so.” 

Frank had laughed, because of course he had. Of course, she’d be the kind of ten year old to read about Henri fucking Matisse, which he only knew about because Abby had minored in Art History at college and liked to drag him to art exhibitions before they’d had the twins. 

Mel had apologized after a few minutes for rambling, but Frank had assured her it was fine. In fact he was the one who felt guilty, not just for being a regular ole fuckup who landed himself in rehab, but because he suddenly remembered all the times she had begun to ramble during the shift from hell and he’d just walked away like a dickhead. 

But she hadn’t held it against him. 

Before she left when the visiting hour was done, he’d been so overwhelmed that he’d reached down and hugged her without asking, which was shitty. She’d stiffened but let him, as if sensing that he needed it. 

“Sorry,” he’d told her, wiping his eyes. She was kind enough not to comment. 

“It’s okay,” she’d replied, a little awkward. Her arms were still stuck half-out from the hug, like she was a robot and needed someone to force her arms back down. “I’m trying to become better with physical affection.” 

Mel hadn’t made it back to visit him again, as his program was only for thirty days and she had a life outside of him, but on his first day back he found a KitKat taped to his locker. Mel had already finished her shift, so he couldn’t thank her in person. But he kept the chocolate bar in his pocket and would reach for it whenever someone would look at him sideways, frowning whenever he prescribed some form of medication that couldn’t even get someone high, not that it mattered much to anyone. 

He only finished eating the KitKat when he made it back to his car. It was half-melted and kind of mushy, but he still cried a bit anyway.

But yes, Mel is an important part of his life now. Since getting out of rehab, he spends most of his time with her outside of work, when he doesn’t have his kids. She can do better than a blonde fucker fratboy, he thinks rather viciously. 

He wiggles the dart out of the patient’s butt. 

“No offence, dude,” the patient drawls, sleepy with anesthetic. “But I really don’t trust you holding that with that look on your face.” 

Well, fuck. 

-

Mel finds Langdon in the breakroom, sitting on the floor. There’s no dog to pet this time, but he seems content enough. She goes to the fridge and finds her water bottle. Langdon had gotten this one for her birthday. Stainless steel that she could put in the dishwasher without it melting or affecting the taste. 

She’d complained to him once about how she hated the taste of plastic in her water. She kept on rotating between different containers – wasteful, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. One time in med school she couldn’t get the taste of something sweet out of her water bottle no matter how hard she scrubbed and so she threw it out and didn’t have time to buy a new one because she spent an allnighter on campus and then she fainted in the cadaver lab from dehydration. It’s why she had a small little scar at the nape of her neck, which Langdon had asked her about once when she was pulling her hair into a ponytail at the end of her shift.

She meets Langdon on the floor, and he smiles that little-half smile of his when he’s thinking about something. 

“Is that a dart?” she asks, nodding towards the object in his hand. She takes a long cold sip of water. That was another reason why she loved this one so much – it kept the temperature just right. Not too cold and not too warm either. Becca loved hers too. (Langdon had gotten a matching set). The nurses at the care center told her it made keeping Becca hydrated much easier, because her sister only liked to drink certain liquids at certain times. No water before 8am and no fizzy drinks between 5pm to 7pm for some reason only Becca seemed to know. 

“Patient let me keep it. A souvenir from his ass.” 

“That sounds uncomfortable.” 

Langdon chuckles lightly. “Yeah, apparently an ex-girlfriend of his showed up to the bar and saw him flirting with the coworker he told her not to worry about and went a little nuts.” 

Mel tries to imagine throwing darts at someone in anger and shivers. “Infidelity is no excuse for violence,” she says lamely. She feels Langdon look at her. 

“You okay?” he questions measuredly. 

“I feel well,” she replies. 

“Well?” 

“Fine. Adequate. Suboptimal. Sufficient—” 

“Okay, okay, I got it Miss Encyclopedia.” 

“I think you mean Miss Dictionary,” Mel corrects, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “That better suits the purpose of your reference.” 

Langdon laughs again, wiping a hand over his face. “You’re spicy today.” 

“Spicy?” Mel frowns deeply. “I had wasabi with my sushi a few nights ago, but—” She stops. “Ah. A joke.” 

“Yes, I do tend to make those.” Langdon nudges her leg with his foot. “I missed sushi night?” 

“Sorry,” she apologizes sincerely. “Becca was having a bad day, and I thought it would be better if we were alone. We’re having Pizza Sunday though, if you want to come.” 

“What show are you watching this time?” 

It’s been over a week since Langdon joined them. His ex-wife got down with a bad cold for several days, so he had the twins all to himself. Mel had driven him to their school once, where he apparently liked to take them for ice cream at the truck nearby. She hadn’t joined for that. Last time he was with her and Becca, they’d been finishing up their rewatch of The Vampire Diaries, but only until the end of season 6, because Becca hated it after Elena left the show. 

Langdon had been intensely into the love-triangle of it all. Becca liked to wear her Damon Salvatore t-shirt as they watched. 

“Blue-eyed boy team,” Langdon had joked, reaching out to Becca for a high-five. Becca had cackled, wheezing with laughter. Mel could appreciate the resemblance. She’d always hated them on Damon’s actor though – she cringed sometimes at the sheer colour present in them. But she never felt like Langdon. Not really. 

“Mel’s always been a Stefan girlie,” Becca told him loudly. 

Mel had flushed to the roots of her hair at Langdon’s surprised look. “He treats her with respect,” she’d defended weakly. “And he’s the better brother.” 

That became a hot topic of debate for several minutes before they piped down and watched as Elena struggled between the two brothers for the hundredth time that episode. 

“Gilmore Girls,” she replies absent-mindedly, remembering how Langdon had fallen asleep with his head against the arm of her couch, his snores softly filling the room. The way his Adam’s apple had been exposed. “Becca likes starting at season 2 though.” 

“Any reason why?” 

“Dean annoys her.” 

“Huh. Understandable.” 

At her skeptical look, Langdon grins. “My sister made me watch the show as it was coming out.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah. No blue-eyed boys to root for on that show, though.” Langdon then elaborates, “we need to stick together and all, you know. Solidarity.” 

“There’s Luke,” Mel can’t help but point out. 

Langdon pauses, then shrugs, as if realizing he’s been outmatched. “Touche.”  They make plans for him to come over in the morning on Sunday, since they both reliably have those days off now that the kids are back with Abby. 

Mel takes another sip of her water, grimacing. 

“You alright?” 

“Slight headache.” 

A pause. She can feel Langdon inspecting her with his eyes, which has always been a peculiar feeling. 

“That guy earlier wasn’t bothering you, was he?” 

Mel frowns again. She should stop, she knows. She once had a tiktok influencer patient who kept pointing out whenever she did it, which was often enough she jumps a little now when she frowns as if expecting someone to bark at her to quit it because of the ‘wrinkles.’

“Which guy?” she asks, picking at her cuticles. 

“The blonde dude.” A sour look flashes on his face, then changes as Langdon clenches his jaw, as if he’s putting a considerable amount of effort to hide how he’s really feeling. “Frat boy looking fucker.” 

Mel is confused. “Weren’t you a fratboy?” 

He’d told that to her once, even showed her a picture on his phone. It had been a bad day – a little girl dead after pushing her brother out of the way from an oncoming car – and he’d found her out on the roof kneeling, head between her knees as she struggled to breathe. The picture had been old, but she’d been able to make out Langdon with his backwards cap and wide grin, wearing a tight blue t-shirt with Greek letters on it. He was holding – somehow – five beers in his hands along with a bong. Fratboy through and through. 

She’d spent several hours later after Becca had gone to sleep researching the initiation/hazing process, and by the time the sun had risen had texted him at least five articles talking about the danger of swallowing a live goldfish and how a few first-years had done to the hospital to get their stomach pumped because of it. 

How did you know about that???? Was what he’d texted.

Mel wrinkles her nose thinking about it. She’d never judge anyone for their dietary habits, but swallowing something alive gives her the heebie-jeebies.

“That’s not the point,” Langdon says quickly. “He looked like he was bothering you. Flappy hair, red face, unattractive—” 

“You mean Hunter?” 

“Of course his name is fucking Hunter,” Langdon mutters. “Wait, you know him?” 

“Not really,” Mel replies, trying not to sound nervous. Perhaps seeing Hunter had affected her more than she thought. “He knew someone I… was once familiar with.” 

Langdon’s face grows blank. “Once familiar with?” 

Mel blushes deeply. “We were uhm – intimately acquainted.” 

“You dated a frat boy?” He sounds mortally offended on her behalf, which Mel doesn’t know what to make of. 

She takes off her glasses, giving her an excuse not to look at him, and reaches in her pocket for the wipe so she can clean the lenses properly. 

“Mel?” he prompts. 

“He wasn’t a fratboy,” she says. “He was in marine biology.”

“He?” 

“Leonard,” Mel answers. She takes a little longer to clean her glasses than normal. “We dated when I was in med school for around a year.” She hadn’t seen or spoken to Leonard in years. She hadn’t seen the point beyond engaging in pleasantries when they bumped into each other. 

Langdon repeats the name as though he’s disgusted. 

“He was a nice guy,” Mel protests. “Really, we just weren’t best suited for each other, is all.” And that was mostly true. Leonard had an older brother who lived in a care home from when he was very young, so he understood Mel’s responsibilities to some degree. He always brought her flowers and never yelled at her or pressured her to do something she didn’t want to do. Perhaps that was the bare minimum, but Mel had appreciated it nonetheless. 

She relays this to Langdon, who makes a deep grumbling sound in his chest. 

“He sounds like a dick,” he says. “Who the fuck names their child Leonard?” 

“Many people,” Mel replies, puzzled. “There’s Leonard Cohen, Leonard Nimoy, Leonardo is the root name, of course which there are Dicaprio—” 

“I get it,” Langdon says. “What happened, then?” He nudges her again with his foot. “You know all about my shitty divorce.” 

That was true, except also not really. She knew that Langdon and Abby met in college in his last year of undergrad and fucked around – his words – for a few years on and off while occasionally seeing other people before they seemed to just click in his second year of med school. They married by the time he was an M4, and she was already four months pregnant. Then, according to Langdon, things began to implode when she found out about his addiction. “Final death bell of my marriage,” he’d sighed. He’d looked so upset while trying not to be that Mel waited until the end of their shift before she corrected him, “death knell.” 

Things had been falling apart before that though, according to him. He never spoke a lot about that though. Mel knew the timeline, but the intimate details she suspects he only tells his mandated therapist and maybe the group sessions in NA. Or maybe to his sponsor, McKay, who had stepped up to the challenge without missing a beat. 

“Nothing, really,” she says, flushing yet again. She feels oddly embarrassed thinking about Leonard. He had been sweet and kind and nice and yet—

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” 

Mel laughs a little. She feels dizzy suddenly, like she’s just bumped her head. Langdon reaches for his own water bottle – he always kept a plastic one in his lower leg left pocket for some reason, even squished it together so it would fit better – and takes a sip. 

It’s only when he looks away that she finds the strength to respond. 

“Well, he made me think I was asexual.” 

Langdon spits out his water. 

[kleptomaniakrow]

hi, i'm back on my brainrot bullshit so you know what time it is. B)

hear me out, (some) KorTac men (specifically König, Krueger and Nikto), dating an artist. normally i often see most drabbles or thoughtfully crafted pieces delve down the writer route (go figure), but hear me out!!

tried my best to keep it gender neutral but like, there might be one femme-leaning pet-name + the use of "little one" for Nikto's bit! i am not a russian-speaking native so i hope the one i grabbed is gender neutral as well (feel free to correct me if it isn't)! also idk about yall but personally i'm running with his government first name being "Andre," idk why it just suits him imo!

overall this was just another idea that fucking possessed me as i was working on some art! i am taking it upon myself to shove this idea out of my brain and into the ether of tumblr dot com! so enjoy my fluffy brain rot!

if they're a little ooc uh... i'm still figuring out how to write these three idiots (affectionate) so bare with my bird brained self!

not proof read btw. so if you see typos... no you didn't.

enjoy these little pebbles of purely sickeningly sweet, silly fluff under the cut! :)

♚ König. . .

✦ he would fucking love to see your drawings i will die on this fucking hill! this fact about you was one of the most exciting thing he ever learned about you and by god was this man like a child in a candy store witnessing all of your art pieces, new or old! ✦ this big, burly man gets so soft and proud seeing your sketches become finalized pieces. the art of creation is always such a wonderous marvel to behold, seeing you turn out the rest of the world when you fully submerge yourself into the motions is a marvel. ✦ honestly, let's be real, he would take this chance to just stare at you (affectionately). because you're too deep in your own little world, likely with headphones on or music playing, perhaps even a podcast of choice as you pen your ideas to paper be it on actual paper or on a more digital medium! ✦ if you ever, and i genuinely mean EVER, take the time to draw his portrait (with or without his face coverings ofc), i think this man would full-on bawl like a baby. pathetic snot dribbling from his nose, horrendously tearful but it's all for good reasons, please don't worry! ✦ "Mein schatz..." / "Do you like it?" / "I've no words that would do it justice... it's... incredible, maus." ✦ i bet fucking money he'd save that to his phone, keep a copy of it in his pocket of a kevlar vest, something tangible that you earnestly made for him with intents of capturing your muse onto parchment. between photos of you he keeps to himself, little traces of your existence just make his heart sing. parchment long since creased from how many times he's opened it and closed it, weathered and worn but it's something you made for him to keep. these items that were made or owned by you are invaluable, no amount of money could every buy these off of him. you and anything you make are treasures he'd protect indefinitely. ✦ in the sense of a long-distance relationship, or perhaps he's away on work such as deployment, you'd often share what you're working on, be it still images or (stable internet, be willing), you lull him to sleep with vague humming whilst screen-sharing projects you're determined to see to fruition. ✦ if you're ever insecure about your work, this big ass goof (affectionate) would stumble over his words but he'd want nothing more than for you to constantly be up his ass about what you do, side-hustle or hobby otherwise. ✦ König is your number 1 supporter, and he'd sooner turn in his premature grave before he'd ever slip up on an opportunity to let you think otherwise. even if you find your talent lackluster by comparison, he'd perish atop mountains shouting how talented his beloved schatz is! the way you breath life into such fictitious subjects always drew him in, especially with how you drew eyes and expressions (especially when he noticed you often mimic the facial creases yourself when focusing on expressions, but he'd never tell you. it's too precious to point out so brazenly). ✦ frankly, if this passion of yours is important to you, it's important to him, and he will not budge on this. what sparks you joy will be a wonderous experience for him too, and what partner would he be if he wasn't supportive of your interests, hobbies or line of work?

♜ Krueger. . .

✦ see, Sebastian would be a bit interesting because you'd think at first he'd pay little to no mind. ✦ his steps are so quiet around the house that half the time you're just ignorant of his presence for several minutes before the inkling of someone behind you ever crossed your mind. ✦ it's not that you'd mind (not unless he scares the proverbial piss out of you, of course) but he just can't help but be curious. maybe he's not one for the modern arts (perhaps more classical?) but... you're his darling little liebling, he isn't so much as a fool to be ignorant of your interests. ✦ however he's not too partial to being seperate from you; krueger gives me the impression he's partial to physical touch... when he wants to be that is (frankly he's no better than a cat in my eyes). ✦ "Schatzi?" / "Hmmm~?" / "Come, bring your little drawing things with you if you must but I need you here," ✦ he now fully sees a character design you've been working on and admittedly... curiosity does get the better of him and he begins inquiring what you're working on whilst your form settles into his. ✦ "Oh! This is a commission for someone who paid me illustrate a character for their indie game!" he just nods along, allowing you space to involve him into this little world of yours. revealing to him the various concepts tossed back and forth between you and your client. ✦ Sebastian is (quietly) fascinated by how your creative little mind works. keenly taken notes, exhibiting your perceptive attentive to rather pedantic details―it's so annoyingly endearing. he's come to find himself enamored by entertaining your eccentric interests, ones that vastly differ from his. but these are distinctive traits he's come to adore you for. ✦ he jokingly threw out the idea of how he'd look in such a world of whimsy given your subjects of focus is often fantasy. oh boy he shouldn't have said that because now you have ideas and that is dangerous to give one's partner with only their imagination as a limiter. ✦ he'd be physically unable to admit to it, but he'd likely have saved the drawings that poured every ounce of love into when imaging him in a knight's garb rather than tac pants and kevlar. the idea of you seeing him as such a regal-looking protector makes his heart do that fluttery, frantic-caged-bird sensation that makes his cheeks and ears warmer than normal.

♞ Nikto. . .

✦ see there's just something about Nikto that gives me the impression he wouldn't even ask. however, don't mistake this as disinterest! baby boy is so fucking curious what his little one is doing! he's just unsure how to articulate such a.. loaded question(?) and you seem so focused on what you're doing! ✦ i kinda see him doing that animal-thing where he just quietly observes every subtle movement, noise or expression that catches his eye‒ you two more often than not just kinda "co-exist" together in the same shared space, not always needing to talk verbally; comfortable, silent company is more than enough between you two, such a peaceful life is more than he'd ever ask for. ✦ instead, i can see him bringing you sustenance and fluids, you're keeping yourself so, so busy but you need to eat and drink at some point! things he knows you like! things that he's memorized by heart! it's always the quiet bitches like him /pos who have an internalized backlog of information when it comes to you. and you appreciate it immensely when so engrossed in the process. ✦ little did he know, you were working on a passion project of the indie development. working along side a few other individuals, tasked design characters for a game jam! the protagonist was concepted to have a build that you're not exactly familiar with drawing (bulky, trained, fit, think professional dead lifter types which distantly remined you of Nikto). ✦ he couldn't help but notice that the usual focus is now tightly knit with frustration. the quiet concern he conveyed with but a glance went unnoticed, far too deep in your own thoughts to really pay any heed to the brewing worry. he had to say something.. anything to snap you out of this mental loop. ✦ "любимый?" ("beloved?") / "Huh?" / "Something troubles you...?" / "Trouble me?— oh! No, no I'm okay!" / "Your expression tells me different... will you allow me to listen? To.. help?" ✦ eventually the big brutish bear cuts through your thoughts to source the root of your worries! it'd cause you to wrinkle far earlier than you mean to! as prompted, you're airing out your grievances with this project being out of your comfort zone. it's hard to come up with a concept that you're happy with and you've deadlines to meet for this project. he listens to you diligently, even if he may not understand the full weight of your plight; it matters to you, then it matters to him, bottom line. ✦ you don't know how exactly, but eventually, somehow, you ended up enlisting Nikto's assistance! his figure is close enough the character pitch the head of your team passed onto your inspiration board! ✦ somehow, that incorrigible art block just... magically vanished! it was mind boggling even to you. Nikto didn't really understand given all he did was slide you a few photos or posed for your creative use. but the creases on your brow line were softer if not gone entirely, so he'd consider his intervention a success. ✦ you find yourself looking at the game's protagonist (whom you coyly suggested he be named "Andre" for no suspicious reason at all), and you're elated! proud of it, too! it's evident that he bears Nikto's likeness in some aspects! aside from the build, of course. Nikto has been watching you work your magic throughout the entirety with silent reverence and seeing you in your natural habitat of creation was.. breath taking. however he couldn't help but notice his heart thumping against his ribcage a little harder seeing his likeness in something you made. it was... flattering almost, seeing how you took characteristics that elicit hardship or grief but you captured his image with calm, quiet confident air. was this how you saw him?

[fuck-customers]

I realize this is a me problem not something I should actually fantasize about, but I do anyway.

When I'm not fantasizing about killing rude customers, I fantasize and hope for a day to come where I'm a customer in a store and I see another customer being rude/disrespectful to an employee and I step in an go off on them and tell them to stop being a dick.

Sure, this is an egotistical fantasy, but mostly I want that to happen to me. Every fucking day, I have rude ass customers treating me like I'm lower than dirt, and all the other customers around us will just silently observe. Grow a spine and say something! I especially dislike the ones who watch the first customer yell at me/demean me and then come up to me like "wow that was crazy. They shouldn't talk to you like that" Gee, thanks. Maybe you should have said something to them while they were yelling at me.

Obviously, I'm not hoping that an employee gets screamed at and mistreated by a customer, but I know that's the sad reality of working in retail and as someone who has been the employee getting screamed at and called names and being bullied, I was always silently begging customers to stand up for me, because I was in a position where I was unable to stand up for myself and it never once happened. Sometimes it would go as far as other customers ganging up on me who were completely unrelated to the first customer/incident.

Idk. I'm not a perfect person by any means, but one thing I like about myself is that I will stand up for what I believe is right and I know myself well enough to know that I will tell another customer to knock it off if I'm a customer and I see another customer being vicious to an employee.

I've heard some argument once before about how customers won't stand up because they're afraid of getting the employee in trouble. I think that's 100% bullshit. I think most customers won't stand up because they're either spineless, also want to yell/have yelled at the employee, or both. I also don't see how the employee could be penalized for a customer talking to another customer. That doesn't make any sense.

Posted by admin Rodney

[imomnba-x07]

https://youtu.be/id1rfFTkhY0?si=en_reHe2lME3sAkc the director of thunderbolts confirmed that he didn't film the post-credit scene.. it was the russos just a month ago (which could be wrong because a month ago sebastian was already bald and busy in norway) however, it is from this year and it is the russos doing so we're in for more fuckery regarding sam in doomsday🙄😒😒😒

Oh god we’re never catching a fucking break jfcccccc

This just makes it WORSE because it confirms they are trying to do a civil war 2.0 which is unnecessary!!! Why are the russos just trying to recreate infinity war?! They have no fresh ideas and now just have to piggy back off nostalgia for no reason when they have the perfect opportunity to show that this new wave of avengers is BETTER and more in sync because they have been doing this for so long and no one has an ego to prove this time around.

Sam at the helm of the avengers would have shown that this team knows how to work like a team as a fucking team. Everyone behind Sam and following his example of communication, effective strategy, mutual respect, and trust would have been infinitely better than them trying to pull some split team bullshit all over again. No one wants to see that.

God I can’t stand the russos, nothing but slop machines and soyjacking brainless fanboys

[firstelevens]

in light of the thunderbolts pcs, angry kisses for sambucky pls

My brain is apparently so DnD-pilled that I stared at this for ten minutes trying to figure out what a thunderbolts player character was supposed to be before realizing you probably meant "post-credits scene." I have not in fact seen the film, but I have long since made peace with ignoring the proverbial Council's stupid-ass decisions and I will continue to do so. Here's a sequel to this fic, sorry if you were hoping for something more tied to canon!

56. angry kisses

The thing about Sam's relentless goddamn professionalism is that he has to find ways of clinging to it even when it's the very last thing that he wants to do. He's exceptionally good at it by now, years of facing off against scheming politicians and soliloquizing villains honing a skill that he'd already cultivated as a teenager. It's seamless enough that most people don't even realize when it's happening.

Maybe that's what makes it so fucking infuriating when he watches Bucky cross the room to have a few quiet words with Joaquín, who stands up a minute later and says something about having some food while everyone waits to debrief with the authorities. Like magic, the rest of Team Cap and all but one of the stupidly-named Thunderbolts file out to take the elevator to the Compound's kitchen.

Sam waits for the distant ding of the elevator to sound before he turns to Bucky, struggling to keep his voice even. "You giving orders to my team now?"

Bucky scoffs. "Please. Torres would never listen to an order from me."

"Yeah, the way I hear it, there's a lot of that going around these days."

"Is there?" asks Bucky, in the blank voice that he only ever uses when he's trying to provoke Sam. In a few strides, he crosses the room to stand in front of Sam, close but not quite in his space. "Seems to me like it's just you."

"I've never taken orders from you," snaps Sam. "And I'm not about to start."

"No one's telling you to," says Bucky. "But it used to be that when we were in the field together, you'd at least listen to what I had to say."

Sam crosses his arms, scowling. He can feel those threads of professionalism slipping away, and he tries his best to snatch at them. "If you want to start a conversation about who was listening to who, we can do that, but I don't think you're gonna like where it ends up, so maybe we should stop right here."

"Don't try to make this about me not sticking to protocol when we're talking about you putting your life on the line," Bucky says. "And Christ, stop using your press conference voice on me. If you're angry, just be angry."

He clenches his jaw because he can't clench his fist, keeps his tone as measured as he can. "You know I don't do that."

"You don't do that in front of strangers," snaps Bucky. "Whatever we are or aren't to each other anymore, I know for damn sure we aren't strangers."

"What do you want me to say, Buck?" Sam asks quietly. "You want me to tell you how tired I am? How much I dreaded coming here and having to work with a team that was built to spite me? How much bullshit gets thrown my way every day, how much easier that would be to handle if I still had a partner at my side?"

"I want you to say what you actually want to say," says Bucky, and there's something pleading in his face. "Whatever it is that you want to say. Be tired, be worried, be furious at me. Just don't be...that. That persona that you had to build just so you could get a foot in the fucking door. Not in front of me."

There was a time when Sam didn't have to be that, not with Bucky. There was a time when he could be that version of himself with the rest of the world and then come home, tuck his face against Bucky's chest and let himself be held as he raged at the whole rest of the world. Even now, Sam's hands itch to reach out to him, to pull him close so Sam can rest his aching head in the crook of Bucky's neck.

Sam keeps his voice even and pretends he doesn't see the hurt in Bucky's face, focusing his gaze on the windows behind him. "You tried to die today," he says, and feels the anger spike in his chest even as he says the words. "You told me to trust you and then you tried to put yourself in the path of something that would have killed you."

"It would have killed you," corrects Bucky, and Sam is torn between wanting to cry and wanting to punch him in the face. "It might have killed me. I was better equipped to handle it."

"It wasn't your call to make," Sam says, instead of don't you know that that would've killed me, too? "I had a plan. I always do."

"And that plan was what? You dying instead of me?"

"That plan was to make things safe for everyone else."

Bucky steps into Sam's space, his chest brushing against Sam's crossed arms. Sam tries not to notice that, either. "And you really think that a safer world exists without you in it? You really believe that any good would come of that?"

"Nobody makes sacrifices because they're easy, Bucky," Sam bites out. "People make them because it's the only way."

"Good," says Bucky. "Then you understand why I did what I did."

"I'll never understand anything you do, Barnes. I'll never understand why you're here, and I'll never understand why you work for the people you work for, and I'll never understand why you-" Sam cuts himself off, trying to calm his breathing. "Never mind."

"No, say it," says Bucky, right up in Sam's face now. "Say whatever it is. I'm tired of Customer Service Cap. Say what you need to say."

Sam sets his jaw. "Why? What do you need to hear so bad, huh? What's gonna change if I say it to you?"

"Hell if I know," says Bucky, "but whatever changes, it can't make things worse than they are right now, can it? You won't even fucking look at me, Sam."

"What do you need me to look at you for, huh? You have a whole team for that now, right? News cameras, too?"

"I have a team now because you sent me away, Sam. You ended things and you all but kicked me off the team. What was I supposed to do, fuck back off to the forties like Steve?"

"You were supposed to be safe," roars Sam, before he can think better of it, and the rest comes spilling out like water behind a broken dam. "They wanted to use you for wetwork and infiltration. They made a whole entire proposal about it. The Joint Chiefs approved it and everything. It was going to be a condition of you staying on the team, of them upholding the terms of your pardon."

Bucky's eyebrows knit together. "Sam..."

"They wanted to use you, and I sent you away to stop them, and you just ended up working for them anyway," says Sam, softer, and he can feel his face flushing, can feel the tears gathering behind his eyes. "So now you're gone and you're not safe."

Their time apart hasn't changed how clearly Sam can read Bucky's face, and he sees a flurry of emotions pass over him before his jaw takes on a determined set. "That wasn't your call to make," growls Bucky.

Before Sam can argue it, Bucky's hands come up to hold his face, palms against Sam's jaw while his thumbs wipe away the tears that Sam hadn't noticed escaping.

Half a second later, Bucky's lips are on his, bruising and desperate, and Sam can't help but reciprocate, uncrossing his arms so he can clutch Bucky closer, backing up until they ram into a wall, picture frames rattling precariously from the impact. He fists one hand in Bucky's shirt to keep him from going too far and slips the other underneath, trailing up his stomach until it reaches the center of his chest. Bucky's heartbeat thuds away under Sam's palm, familiar if a little faster than usual, and Sam feels the universe right itself where it had been knocked off of its axis.

He doesn't know what tomorrow looks like, or even three minutes from now, but he knows that he has Bucky in his arms again, both their hearts beating steady in their chests, and that's as good a place as any to start.

[koosluvvs]

"Crossing Lines."

➤ Pairing: best friend's male friend!jungkook x virgin f!reader

genre: mature, smut, college au

➤ W/C: idk but it's not that long.

➤ Warnings: dom!jungkook, sub!reader, smut, mention of suicide, nipple sucking, boob play (jungkook loves reader's tits), eating out, bigdick!jungkook, mentions of dating the opposite sex, swearing, unprotected sex (!!), petname kink, slapping kink, mild degradation (names like bitch, whore, slut), overstimulation, porn with little plot, jungkook is 20 and reader is 19, dorm sex, mentions of virginity loss, andd aftercare.

Summary: Recently you went through a massive heartbreak which leads you to having all of your friends, including your best friend, worried. Yet her male friend somehow finds a way to distract you with his care and unreasonably attractive looks. You knew that it would be insane to start swooning over some guy right after a break up, but you being a person who doesn't know how to control their heart, and most probably their pussy, how could you not?? It's hard to avoid the fact that he looks like he could ruin you yet make you feel safe. Like hello??? A sharp jawline, dark eyes that could make you fall to your knees with a single glance, lip piercing, big arms that make your panties soaked, a tattoo sleeve, dark messy hair, and a voice so deep, comforting, and also manages to make you wet. He's all a girl could dream of. You want to be respectful since he is your best friend's friend, but at another point you want him on top of you in his bed.

A/N: This is my first ever fic I've done, and I am trying my best to write explicitly after a while so bare with me! Please be respectful as it takes me effort to make these, thank youu, love ya!

→ written by @koosluvvs

“(___), come on, you’ve been crying for the past 2 hours. You know how I've always said, if one relationship doesn't work out then that just means you're one step closer to your soulmate, no? Please don't cry over him it's not worth it.”

Serena, your best friend ever since 7th grade, was now in your dorm trying her best to cheer you up after your dramatic break up with your boyfriend.

“How can I not cry? First of all he tells me that he’s loved me for months, hugs me, gives me stupid nicknames, and then all of a sudden he breaks up with me? It’s all fucking dumb and it hurts.”

Your best friend sighed, knowing that it would take more than just simple hugs and telling you how it’s gonna be alright. After all, she knows how much of an absolute lovesick girl you are, who also turned out to be naive no matter how much of a tough exterior you had tried to put down, which she considers a dumbass move, but all of the crying and other bullshit ended right after-

Incoming Call.

Caller ID - Jungkook.

“Give me a second.” She said before picking the call. 

You glared at her like she had robbed you of your last piece of sanity, which you aren't totally wrong about. The name on her phone almost made you swear out her entire bloodline if it wasn't for your love for her.

Jeon jungkook. A monstrosity you consider, even if in general he wasn't that terrible, it's just that all of the teasing, that intimidating aura. You can't quite find a word that sits right with how you feel because of it.

Jungkook: “Where you at? I haven’t seen you ever since you ran off to the dormitories.”

Serena: “Sorry kook, I’m with (___), she kinda crashed out in the middle of a lecture and sprinted to her dorm like she was running a marathon.”

“Kinda”? You wanted to fucking jump off a cliff and die if you had the priviledge to even do that. You really wish you had dated a girl at least, it would've been somehow better, according to you.

Jungkook: “Oh what? Is she alright? Would it help if I came over? As a type of support of course, no pressure though.”

You would've said no, but it seems like you're too caught up in your own world to understand what they're fully saying.

Serena: “Don’t you think you’re asking the wrong person? It ain’t my dorm, ask (___).”

“Um…yeah I guess, it wouldn’t hurt to have another person over, right?...”

It had been 15 minutes since Serena hung up the call and fate just had to make her leave your dorm for whatever group project she had going on, which she had considered much more important than your mental breakdown.

“What a best friend, she just left me here alone for a dumbass project.”

Guessing the world hated you for sure after you heard knocking on your front door, and you being an idiot ran to the door thinking it was Serena.

“Serena, why would you leave me here when I’m going through a heartbreak!”

Silence played for a few seconds.

“Darling, I’m not Serena.”

You had thought your soul left your body when you looked at the figure leaning against your doorframe, a small, playful grin playing on the corner of his lips.

“I…I’m so sorry I thought you were Serena and I just-”

He cut you off before you could finish.

“Started yelling because she went out for her project leaving you here with me?”

You paused for a second, shamelessly checking him from head to toe without realizing you even were in the first place. A loose-fitted grey shirt with black sweatpants, it wasn’t even much yet you were convinced you were soaked. And god those eyes…you were definitely eye fucked right then and there. Yes you were a virgin, but that didn't mean you didn't have the mind of a slut.

“You done staring, love? If you really want me that badly you could’ve just told me y’know.”

Those were the last words you recall before he had your back against the wall while devouring your mouth.

————————————————————

His hands went to your hoodie, pulling it off with ease, making you drenched in your panties, you're sure you'd be dripping on the floor within a few minutes. He broke the kiss to look at your tits, round and full, your pink, lace detailed bra making them look amazing.

"Fuck." His voice hoarse, dripping with lust "You don't know how long I've wanted to touch these perfect fucking tits, they're even better than I imagined."

His hand groped your right tit, gaining a whimper from you due to the unknown sensation, your titty fits perfectly in his hand. He reached out to the clasp of your pink bra, having the straps slide down from your shoulders and fall to the ground, your nipples hardened due to the cool air hitting.

His thumb reached out for your left nipple while his mouth abused your right nipple, making it swollen and puffy, he then moved to your other nipple abusing it like he did before. Whimpers and soft moans coming from your mouth, making his cock twitch inside his pants, begging to be freed.

"God, fucking love your tits, so round and perfect, just for me, and look at you, moaning like a little slut begging to be fucked."

His hands moved down, pulling down your shorts to reveal your pink lace panties that were paired with your bra. His fingers lightly grazed your clit, making you cry out due to lack of contact.

"Such a needy little bitch, aren't you? So desperate."

His fingers moved near the damp center of your panties, letting him know how wet you are.

"So god damn wet, and for me too. You're such a slut for someone who's a virgin. Fuck, I can't wait to be inside of you."

His fingers went near the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your thighs, making your glistening cunt and swollen clit visible to him. He rubbed light circles on your clit making you whimper, basically begging him to fuck you.

"Tell me what you want, (___). Tell me how much you need me, how desperate you are to be fucked by me. Say it."

You tried your best to get your words out of your mouth, making them sound strained and breathless.

"P...Please kook, f-fuck me. Please. I need you."

That's all it took before he slid in on of his fingers into your pussy, you hissed at the burn and stretch, a few tears dropping from the corners of your eyes due to the pain. He let you relax before he started moving his fingers. It didn't take you long until you were moaning his name, begging for more.

"M-More...p-p-please...fuck-"

He slid another finger in, getting a gasp from you, his fingers stretched you so well—thick and long, it didn't take you long until you felt heat building up in your core.

"I-I can't...need t-too...p-please..."

"Yea? You wanna cum, baby? Cum for me. Be a good little whore and cum on my fingers."

He started sucking on your clit to stimulate you even more, making you see stars from the amount of pleasure you were receiving. Just within a few minutes you came, holding his shoulders for support as you felt like your legs had lost consciousness. His mouth and fingers coated in your cum, which he licked off willingly.

Letting you calm down from the aftershocks of your orgasm, he held your hips to make sure you don't fall. You thought it was over until he started eating you out, his hot mouth against your cunt, licking off any leftover cum. His tongue licked long strides over your slit, his lips around your clit sucking and making your legs shake due to sensitivity.

You felt your second orgasm building up inside of your core, his mouth devouring your sensitive cunt like it's his last meal.

"Fucking hell, you taste divine, I could eat you out all day."

Having him in between your legs, spitting out dirty words, all of it pushed you to the edge, it wasn't long until you were shaking violently while asking for permission to cum.

"K-Kook, need to so bad–"

"Yea? Wanna cum? Cum for me baby, cum on my tongue."

That's all it took before you saw your vision turn white. Legs shaking, cum on his mouth and cheeks, all of it was filthy. Your jaw would've dropped if you ever saw how fucked out you looked.

"f-fuck... faster k-kook!" Both of you in your bed, having you on your knees, back arched, and your face buried in a pillow while he was behind you. His cock deep inside of your pussy, so deep that you could feel every vein of his thick cock. You're sure that once this is finished you're gonna end up with a bruised cervix.

His cock was around 8 inches long, the girth of it making your eyes almost fall out. You had fully convinced yourself that you couldn't handle him but he cooed you with some sweet talk saying-

"You can handle it, baby. You're my good girl aren't you? You can take it."

"Goddamn. You're so fucking warm and tight, and you're taking my cock so well. Your perfect little cunt was made for my dick, my pretty little whore."

The speed he was using on you was insane, you knew how athletic he was but this speed was gonna ruin you entirely.

"p-please." you pleaded, clenching around his cock, tears falling from the corner of your eyes due to the amount of pleasure.

"Please what, sweetie? I want words." He said while slapping your ass from behind, making you jerk and let out a muffled moan against the pillow, your walls clenching.

"f-faster...I w-want you to m-make me cum."

He sped up his movements, having a wave of warmth hit through your body, and within a few seconds you were cumming all over him. His thrusts became sloppy, trying to chase his own high.

"f-fuck. I'm gonna c-cum. You're so tight." He groaned out.

Hot ropes of liquid shot through you, his thrusts became slower, having you milking his cock till every drop was slurped up by your greedy cunt.

None of you spoke for a few minutes, the only sound audible in the room was both of you trying to pace your breathing into a calm state.

He then stood up and headed to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel in his hand. He climbed back up onto the bed, first cleaning you up.

You slightly jolted at the contact of the towel against your sensitive folds, which he noticed and tried being as gentle as he could.

After cleaning both you and himself up, he threw the towel into a laundry basket that sat on the ground next to your nightstand. He pulled a blanket over both you and him, his body pressing against yours, tatted arm wrapped around your waist while his face was in the crook of your neck.

"You feeling alright? Does it hurt?" His voice soft and soothing, making all of your nerves calm.

"I'm okay, just a little bit of pain, but it'll fade away soon." Your arms were wrapped around his torso, he was almost as warm as a furnace, making you cling to him as it was quite cold in the dorm.

"Do you think that...you know...that all of this is, okay?"... You questioned him, a sense of anxiety lingering in your chest, having you worry about the relationship between you and Jungkook falling apart, thinking that he might leave you after all of this.

"Wanna know something?" he said, putting it out as if he has nothing to worry about.

You nodded, curious.

"When it comes to you. I enjoy Crossing Lines."

Extra: Hii, so I have read through the fic myself and must I say that it's really cringy but hey, it's all for fun and some time pass, no? I really hope the next one isn't as bad as this one, but I actually quite enjoyed writing this, other than one restless night of working on this fic all the way from 11 pm to 7 am, crazy ain't it? I previously planned on giving more of a plot to this but as you may know, I'm impatient sometimes and I just gotta get the story somewhere you know? Ok anyways see you soon!

I Do Not Own Any Pictures, Fonts, or Any Other Sort of Resources Used In This Story. Only The Storyline, Dialogues, Character Traits, and Setting Are Mine. All Rights Go To Their Respectful Owners. Pictures Are From Pinterest, Dividers Are From Tumblr. (current app)

[tawked]

I find it annoying when people hate Alan Moore for different reasons than me.

For example,

Take I dislike: actually he's a rapist who gets off on harming fictional women, just look at The Killing Joke.

Take I like: The Killing Joke uses sexual violence as a language to communicate the concept of harm as the trigger for a person becoming violent (either sexually or otherwise), reacting to a popular 1980s narrative that, building on evil cultural concepts like homosexual reproduction ala "Boys Beware," framed trauma and especially sexual violence in this way.

The fact that both Barbara and Jim continue to be good people after their One Bad Day (Jim especially rejecting The Joker's worldview is essential), that Joker's One Bad Day might even be imagined (he tells the audience directly numerous times that he might've just made up his sad backstory in his head), and that Batman is famously also the product of One Bad Day and not an evil character, is supposed to be a rejection of the concept that our trauma is what makes us evil, that the cycle of violence as a concept is permission to reject the humanity of victims.

Anyway, if this reads as bullshit and your reaction is rooted in a response to Barbara Gordon in pain or being disabled, well, this is an appropriate and acceptable reaction. All media criticism is down to our emotional responses, writing like this is just an attempt to express those emotional responses in a way that becomes coherent to others. If you thought Barbara being victimized like that was so horrible and offensive and disgusting that you cannot even engage with the text further, good. That's the text's thesis and by rejecting the text, you're proving that thesis, imo.

Take I dislike: actually he has fascist leanings / gave permission to fascists in the comic space by making Rorschach like super cool and a badass.

Take I like: the problem with Alan Moore's critique of fascism is that it exists without meaningful humanity extended to the truly poor. Moore dislikes authoritarianism, he dislikes sexism, racism and homophobia as abstracts. However, he uses poverty as an explanation for how Rorschach became not only a fascist, but a smelly socially repugnant little weirdo everybody should hate.

Rorschach is raised in a slum by an abusive sex worker. This is the only childhood backstory we are offered for Rorschach. It is his two gunshots and a broken pearl necklace. In the language of superhero comics, we are therefore led to believe Rorschach is a superhero partially because of this origin. Alan Moore also characterizes him as a fascist as a result, and a mentally ill extremist because of his experience with The Panties & The Dogs. Simply: Rorschach is so poor he's barely hanging on, unable to work or socially integrate due to a disability, and Alan Moore wants you to realize this makes him a loser and fucking hate him as a result lol.

This is contrasted with Ozymandias, who I believe we are invited to like in a kind of bright and shiny liberal Scrooge McDuckian way. He attains wealth and opulence based on his Bill Gates-like intellect and willingness to market both his and his friends' superhero identities, but he's not shown hurting anybody or being a miserable asshole, unlike everybody else. Ozymandias' childhood is conversely not shown but he is buried in the signifiers or wealth, class and sophistication - essentially, "what if Frasier Crane were a superhero?" Ozymandias is racially colourblind and shown as a white man who idolizes a black culture (this is before "cultural appropriation" was understood in the way white people understand it now lol, it's supposed to show he's not racist), he employs women whom he does not sexually harass, etcetera, but he is also the primary villain of the text. The rug-pull is supposed to be the nice guy, the only one who moved on from being a superhero in a "healthy" way, actually never moved on and is now supervillaining.

Ozymandias is the primary villain of the text. This is essential to the framing, I think. For Alan, in Watchmen, evil comes from both extremes of the wealth ladder, which is not how leftism works. Alan, buddy, you've fucked up. The reason fascists embrace your text is that you have their exact idea of a liberal elite - a rich hyper-educated weirdo who fucks men and emulates a non-white identity - presented as morally inferior to a weird little Nazi. The Nazi conversely was created by victimhood in a context where no one in society cares about his victimhood.

This is how Nazis understand the world, Alan. Jesus Christ the only thing missing is Ozymandias saying "oy" and "mazel tov" lol.

But what I want to zero in on more than that is that Rorschach's poverty and abuse as a child is written as the thing that makes him a loser. He's a smelly socially inept, isolated little weirdo because of poverty, child abuse and subsequent social isolation. And to be clear, child abuse does actually make a lot of people into smelly socially inept, isolated little weirdos. It's not the majority of victims but lacking a serious support network that can be how one ends up. Alan Moore identifies this as one potential reality of the poor and abused.

However, he does not understand that most people find this kind of thing sympathetic. We're supposed to reject Rorschach as a loser because of the realities of poverty, abuse and mental illness that he deals with. Moore creates this magical realist world where superheroes are people, and invites us to reject the signifiers of human suffering that one would ordinary empathize with. When we see someone suffer for reasons beyond their control, we feel bad. We want to help them. That's normal. It's why every adventure movie for kids is about a lil guy who stwuggles ala Ms. Brisby.

Alan instead, according to interviews, wanted us to notice that Rorschach is a smelly little loser who isn't getting any pussy, and shun or reject him.

Anyway after saying all that, I don't actually hate Alan Moore.

I think he was one of the best writers in the medium and find it pretty hard to really see or vibe with a lot of the criticisms of him as some kind of sexist monster or whatever. I think he's just a middle class English dude who's spent his whole life hating the Tories and fashioning that into some kind of image of an anarchist artist, but he's a smelly boy of the 1970s and 1980s, and struggles to really use empathy effectively in his writing.

He doesn't understand that by giving Joker a sad backstory, even if he is telling the audience that he is lying or perhaps hallucinating, while giving us nothing to latch onto in the suffering of others (namely Jim and Barbara), then he's inviting people to empathize in the incorrect place and to dismiss his conclusion, that one bad day does not make you a monster. We've seen too much of the Joker's one bad day for everybody to reach that conclusion.

[hangmanbradshaw]

🤝 and 👁️ for wolfy please xoxo molly

@tornadeoqueen hi bestie, your wish is my command <3

🤝 physical sensation

Finally, Rooster spoke into the silence, voice gravely and as emotionless as always, like it was nothing more than facts and politics they were discussing rather than their private lives, which Jake no longer had control over. “It would help if I marked you.”

“Of course it would,” Jake grumbled. Stupid wolves and their stupid possessive, power play bullshit. There was a reason he’d never let a wolf mark him before, but it was just another thing he’d have to give up. Still, it was the easiest thing he could hand over to get Cain and his minions off their damn backs. It’s not like it mattered; everyone would assume anyway. “Whatever, go fucking wild.”

A second passed, and then that heat pressed against him tighter once again. Rooster placed a hand on his upper arm- to keep him still or situate him how he wanted, he wasn’t sure- and nosed at the skin above where his neck met his shoulder. 

A stab of heat ran through his body, and Jake fought the urge to shift. He cursed at himself. Having a stupidly attractive, annoying, thick-headed alpha nosing at the spot a mating bite would go shouldn’t phase him. It was Rooster, for Christ's sake. 

👁️ visual sensation! my, my, what do we see

He grumbled to himself as he swatted another branch out of the way, continuing his march deeper into the forest. If Rooster wanted to find him, he’d make him work for it. The thought of the irritated little scowl on his face when he had to waste his time on this, an activity he probably deemed superfluous when Jake was technically already his, made the day incrementally better. 

Strange markings of a distorted triangle lined a nearby tree. At the base, a bright blue flower caught his eye. The color was so vivid it was almost glowing. Brow furrowed, he crouched and ran a finger over a petal. He thought he knew every plant, flower, and animal possible in Lupa, all their uses and attributes, but he’d never seen one like that. 

A bird flapped from the tree. In the distance, he heard the faint snap of twigs getting closer. Shit. Rooster. He’d gotten distracted. He glanced down at the flower one last time, but in his hand was nothing more than a purple wendling. 

He stood and took a quick step away. It was…it hadn’t been a wendling, he was sure of it. He looked at the tree and found the markings gone, the bark nothing but normal, moss-covered brown.

“I’ll admit,” a familiar voice rumbled, surprising him. He cursed himself for being caught off guard. He was usually more aware than that. “I thought you wouldn’t get bored for at least another mile or so.”

Jake turned. Rooster leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused. 

[johanna-swann]

A few words about Eddie (bold lie, it's many words)

I used to really enjoy Eddie. I was never a huge fan of him as an individual character, but I always thought he had incredibly interesting relationships. With his parents, his son, his wife, his best friend, his aunt, ... and since a lot of his story lines are centred around his family I obviously enjoyed those. But all of that aside: Even when I actually dislike a character I get upset when their plots are bullshit.

Like, I absolutely cannot stand Captain America in the mcu (Steve Rogers, not Sam. Sam is cool, I love him. I also respect comic book Steve.), but he deserved so much better than whatever the fuck Avengers Endgame did with him. And just like I got upset over the ending they gave Steve in the mcu I'm upset over what 911 did with Eddie in season 8.

I was not enthusiastic about the Kim plot to begin with because I'd hoped we were finally ready to let Eddie move on from Shannon. But at least it was still fun right, in a ridiculous telenovela way. Sure, the dead (sorta ex) wife's doppelgänger shows up and he has a platonic affair with her. Why not.

Then before going into season 8 they escalated that situation, got rid of Marisol and split Eddie and Christopher up. I know there were behind the scenes reasons, Marisol's actress was transphobic, Christopher's actor was not available for a bit there if I remember correctly and since Eddie has in large parts always defined himself over his role as a father I thought: "Hey, maybe they can make this work in Eddie's favour. Do something interesting with him by isolating him a little." I would've thought it more logical if Christopher had stayed with a relative in LA like Tía Pepa or if he had come back sooner, but if the actor isn't available for a big plot, what can you do?

So yeah, I was okay with Christopher not coming back until 8b and with him living in Texas. Because it gave the show an opportunity to look at Eddie and figure out who he is outside of a father and a widower. What does he do with himself and with his free time when he suddenly has no distractions and has to confront parts of himself he hasn't looked at in years, maybe ever.

I thought we might get a deep dive into Eddie's early adulthood. Maybe we'd see him go to therapy again. They were so happy to have Shannon's actress back on board in season 7, how about some flashbacks? Because I always thought that this great romance, love of Eddie's life, magical soulmates thing was a lie he told himself. Eddie was a high schooler who fell in love with the girl he knew from middle school and then suddenly they had to make it work in the real, grown-up world because she was pregnant. They got pregnant on accident, they married because they had to, Eddie immediately joined the army and was gone for the next 4 years, then they switched and Shannon left without a warning. In between they argued constantly, barely lived under the same roof at the same time, struggled with money and got additional pressure from Eddie's family. Which part of that was so magical that Eddie is still yearning for it?

I would've loved for Eddie to finally take off the rose-coloured glasses and realise that while he loved Shannon their relationship was anything but perfect and if he ever wants to have a healthy dating life ever again he can't keep putting their marriage on this pedestal. He needs to make his peace with Shannon, accept the ugly parts of their shared history, forgive her, forgive himself and truly move on. We could've had all of that.

What did the show do with Eddie in 8a instead? Glad you asked. You see, they had him grow a mustache, act out a hilariously contrived juice metaphor (that scene was written so so badly), come out as straight to a priest, shave the 'stache and dance in his underwear in that one scene. Yeah, powerful interesting stuff.

But okay, 8a was a dumpster fire for all characters start to finish, surely 8b can only be better and we're finally getting to the part where Eddie actually does something to work on his relationship with Christopher. It can only go uphill from here, right?

Right. So Eddie BUYS a house in El Paso. Never mind that he rented in LA for 7 years, he buys a house in El Paso immediately. He arrives in Texas to work on his relationship with his son. The last two times we saw Chris he barely wanted to speak with Eddie, so this will probably be difficult. But wait, what do you say? Christopher isn't actually upset with Eddie anymore? They don't even need to talk about what happened with Kim? The real problem was actually Eddie's evil mother all along even though she had nothing to do with the fight between Eddie and Chris? Sure, that makes sense! Glad we cleared that up!

Like. Right when it seemed like they were FINALLY getting to the part where they process the season 7 finale they skip over that whole mess and also leave Eddie out of 3 entire episodes. And I'll be honest, those were 3 very good episodes, I didn't exactly miss him. Especially with the lab two parter it would've been difficult to involve him in a meaningful way. But I hoped we'd get a GOOD Eddie story line in 8b. Instead we got. That.

Now Eddie's back, but instead of getting a scene where they show (don't tell) us how Eddie feels about losing Bobby they just give him one line where he flat out states that he "should've been there" and that's it. That's his only scene this episode other than the funeral montage.

Again, I'm not a huge Eddie fan, I didn't miss him per se, but even I very much noticed his absence (it was not sublte) and as far as I know he's still a main character, yes? Like, I'm upset on behalf of the Eddie fans. They've done some interesting stuff with all the other characters in 8b or at least they're about to.

Maddie got serial killer plot plus aftermath and is about to have a second child. Buck reconnected with Tommy, that relationship is still going back and forth a bit and I think he might have a breakdown before the season is over. Chimney has survivor's guilt and has to figure out how to live with that while he's also becoming a father again. Hen had an admittedly shitty B-plot about people forgetting her birthday, but now she might become Captain. Bobby literally died. Athena has to cope with that and there was something about keeping her tethered to the 118 coming up?

What did Eddie get? He got sidelined. And a repeat of the fight he already had with his mother in season 2/Eddie begins. We have no idea what's next for Eddie, he had nothing important to do in season 8 and they completely retconned what the Texas arc was supposed to be about.

[mo-ok]

If you had to make a Sentai made up of only red rangers, who would be on the team and why?

OKOKOKOKOK so this is a mix of favourites and guys that I think would have an interesting dynamic

Number 1 will suprise no one I'm gonna say Tsurugi Change Dragon. He's one of the more mild personalities, being a soldier he's good at taking orders and wouldnt be cut up about not being in charge. He IS pretty good at not doing things he doesnt want to do these days but largely he's an agreeable team player

2 once again shocking no one is gonna be Sosuke Go On red. His shit head fireball personality would rub everyone the wrong way and it would be great.

Similarly, number 3 is gonna be Matoi Go Red mostly because he's an asshole and i want to watch him butt heads with everyone in a desperate attempt to be in charge

For 4 i want my Chief Bouken Red. Beloved man. He's the type to happily let others take the reigns but also not one to put up with bullshit. He'd be a good mediator, i think he and Tsurugi would work well together.

** ToQger spoilers ahead but **

Looking at these four I think for 5 it would be really really funny to have Right ToQ1. His whimsy is the perfect kind to piss Matoi the fuck off. Chief would love him to absolute pieces. Right would LOVE Matoi and Sosuke, a fireman AND a racecar driver???????? Thats literally a kids fuckin dream. Finding out the truth about how old he really is would boil Tsurugi's blood. What do you mean a child was made to go through all this? He was a grown man and could hardly deal with it who the FUCK let a bunch of kids get caught up in war games????????????

Anyway thats my delightful group of fellas i hope you like them 😌

[kyoodledoodle]

I am kinda obsessed with a what if scenario where Kalina decided play "cool aunt" or "imaginary friend" with Riz.

Like jeez Kalina, you dunce. You could have been manipulating that goblin from day 1. Wasted opportunity.

Like oh my god I'm obsessed with this idea. If she took the time to 1. Drive a wedge between Sklonda and Riz and 2. Be a friend who could teach him how to do cool shit and praise him a lil bit he could have been such a fucking asset.

It would have been EASY like Kalina pushing the envelope. "Why doesn't she ever talk about your dad? Well if she can't and won't I don't mind sharing a couple of stories since we worked together for a few years." Probably embellishes the stories a lil bit and Riz absolutely eats that shit up. His dad was cool and blah blah.

Riz is very good at the rogue shit and he's so eager to be of service. He probably wouldn't question Kalina because she's built up this idea she cares for the kid and would make some bullshit up about "Woah buddy that's some super secret stuff I can't go spilling my guts. Stop digging. " And he'd be like okay okay I'm sorry.

In freshman year Kalina would just be a ghost. I truly don't think she didn't need to do anything but let the dragon do as he wants. All he had to do was spread the coins around so he did that and took care of that 'one' problem a couple years back. ( She's not gonna tell Riz she's indirectly responsible for his daddy's death. That would just ruin all the time and energy she's spent on nurturing this relationship. ) plus other people's were responsible for collecting the crown of the nightmare king so she just sits tight.

I also like to think there could be a moment where Riz starts to get a lil too close to figuring her shit out and starts with the questions. Kalina does not want her efforts wasted so she spins a tail and shows him his dad is in hell. Maybe he liked the hunt a little too much. Maybe he was a whore. Maybe he was just a bad person who continued to do bad things because it was fun. And kalina spins the narrative ensuring Riz he doesn't turn out like his parents.

Wait parents? What's his mom doing? Well according to Kalina she might be a crooked cop. Who knows..he won't until he can't get a chance to talk to her

Anyway I just god, the potential here I feel like is limitless and I'm just this gremlin that feeds off dramatic angst.

I also love the idea of Riz just choosing blind faith and trusting some entirely only for it to be the wrong fucking person and he finds out waaaaay too late. And I also like to believe that he would struggle so hard when being made to confront his friends. He would try so hard to be diplomatic about getting them to just stop chasing after Kalina. They can take the F and try again it's not that important. Just a grade.

Adaine ask Riz why Kalina is working with her parents then. They are probably doing something evil. It's called the CROWN OF THE NIGHTMARE KING!

And poor riz is just like "sometimes you have to work with shitty people's to get results. I know your parents suck! I'm SORRY I DIDNT GET TO PICK THE TEAM! If it helps I thought about pushing your dad off a cliff."

"I appreciate the sentiment, really. But I wish could see that you are being manipulated and lied to."

"No I'm really not. I won't ask you to join your shitty parents on a lackluster adventure but c'mon can't you leave the forest? At least until we fix shit?"

"Ughhhhshshhs your being SO ridiculous! I can ot believe you of all people are believing the plague, THE DISEASE, over your real friends. She's been giving us nightmares! Horrible ones. Why would she need to give us nightmares to save the world? Why does she even want the crown. The nightmare king is BAD news!"

"We have to bring the nightmare king back so we can kill it! Otherwise it will just be a forever thing in some capacity! It can't die unless it's killed in one clip. It's- ITS A WHOLE THING OKAY? YOU WANNA HELP OR NOT?"

"Oh my fucking god." Adine facepalms so hard. "you are so much better than this man..what the fuck did she even- ugh. Are we fighting?"

"technically.... This has been a very unsuccessful fight on both our ends."

"You know that's not what I mean. I don't really want to fight you. None of us do."

"please don't fight Kalina. She's capable of scary shit."

"NO FUCKING SHIT!"

--- I just really love the thought of this.

Curious what you think of the general idea, if that's cool

IM ONLY GETTING TO THIS NOW BUT OOH???

OOOOOOOOOH!!!??!!!!?!?!

HOLY

SHIT

I DONT NNOW WHAT TO SAY THIS IS INCREDIBLEEEEEEE

THE POTENTIALLLL

and junior year when Kalina comes back “good” everyone’s super sus but Riz is just completely gung ho about having her on their side

and just imagining his mom listen to her son believe all these things about his dad, and Pok SEEING HIS SON BEING MANIPULATED BUT NOT BEING ABLE TO DO ANYTHING ABOUT JT

[tanobatcher]

hi!! would i be able to request either exes back to lovers or fwb with wolffe? i crave pain 🤍

daylight

wolffe x gn reader

summary: you and wolffe have been occasionally hooking up with (supposedly) no strings attached after you parted ways as lovers. on the night you intend to cut him off for good, he realizes how difficult it is to run away from his true feelings for you despite struggling to express them aloud.

warnings: mainly angst

a/n: idk how i feel about this, but i think in general for this kind of prompt u can't rly expect verbal redemption from a character like him, which is lowkey so hard to work with sometimes!! but i ate it right the fuck up i luv him sm this hurt me so good :(

⋆♡⋆.˚ 🐺 𝜗𝜚 ࿔

“I think you should find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

The room falls to a lethal silence, so quiet that you turn your attention to your window, where you can see the city wide awake at this late hour. You feel much better when you’re not looking at him, especially when he’s already looking at you. The angrily twisted knot in your stomach hopes that your words hit him where it hurts, especially because he always told you that you needed to stand up for yourself more. Perhaps he was advising you against his own self. You see that now.

He sounds displeased but also disbelieving when he replies, “You’re asking me to leave?”

“No,” you blow out a breath and lay back in your bed, which is now all yours again, “I’m telling you to.”

His figure draws closer, and the knot tightens. Still, you stand your ground, ignoring his questioning glare as he crosses his arms over his chest. He’s barely even dressed, clearly not taking your request seriously.

“I’m not in the mood for your bullshit right now.”

“Neither am I,” you snap, sitting up so quickly that you’re embarrassingly reminded of how easily he can rile you up.

He raises his eyebrows at your sudden retaliation, still trying to figure out where all of this change is coming from. Nights with him are supposed to be simple because they’ve been like this for a while. He comes without notice, despite telling himself to stay away from you. You let him inside, knowing you should just shut the door on his face instead of holding onto the hope he might change his mind about a relationship that’s long gone. He takes what he wants from you, and you feel as if everything is like old times again. You feel perfect during that temporary bliss, bodily and soulfully intertwined with someone who couldn’t care less about the days you spend alone and wondering why. Why he left you. Why he stopped loving you. Why he’s always still here, even though he’s really not.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” His gaze hardens, “Or are you expecting someone?”

Your lips part in surprise at the interrogation before you regain your composure, wanting to take advantage of this…interest. Whatever it is. You’ve always seemed to care more than him, so you’re not sure what to call the look on his face as he stares you down.

“That’s none of your business,” you reply coldly.

His expression twitches with impatience, but you’re not afraid of his anger. You wish he would feel something around you instead of putting on this mask that makes you believe he can’t spare any emotional investment toward you. You wish the scowl in his eyes would burn hotter instead of remaining so silent and frigid, as if you never meant anything to him at all.

“Then I’m going to assume the answer is no,” he moves closer, and you catch yourself instinctively leaning into his proximity.

“It doesn’t matter what it is,” you whisper, “You’re not staying.”

“Says who.”

“Me. I don’t want you here.”

He scoffs, shaking his head until a humorless smile briefly crosses his face. It’s not the type he’s shown you when your days spent together were much happier, but also shorter. It’s the one you recognize when he tries to make you appear small for feeling so much. When he’s laughing at you, since you’re such a fool.

“I can leave. But I don’t think you really want that.”

The low volume of his voice doesn’t ease the intensifying ache in your heart that suffocates you deeper and harder the longer this uncomfortable in-between remains your reality with him. Averting your gaze from his, you look down at your lap and squeeze your trembling hands into fists. Nothing helps, though. You’re shaking, and you think this is your breaking point after tolerating his bullshit for so long.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Your voice breaks, “What am I doing wrong?”

Your vision is dark, suddenly blurring from tears you didn’t know had formed, so you don’t notice the shadowed fall of his expression. His hands flex at his sides, contemplating whether or not to reach for you. But they remain stagnant for the time being, simply observing your pain like the rest of him. He’s always been helpless in that way, never knowing how to love you. Only how to hurt you.

“You come over,” you spit venomously, “And you fuck me like it means something, and then you’re just…gone by the morning. You don’t have a problem with leaving me, Wolffe. Don’t act like this is so hard for you to understand.”

He’s silent yet again, letting you steady your breathing with a few inhales before tugging your hands away from your face. Holding onto your wrists gently, but not weakly, he says, “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You meet his eyes, trying to prevent your face from crumpling into another frown, but reality quickly replaces the illusion of his comfort. His arms fall back to his sides when you pull away, not even able to muster the words, “Don’t touch me.” He hears them loud and clear, though. And he knows he’s the last man in this galaxy who deserves to touch you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sniffle while curling your legs and blankets into your chest.

“Can’t do what?” But he sounds like he already knows.

“This,” you look at him with so much anguish that he’s stunned, “I should’ve stopped it before—I shouldn’t have even let it happen, but…”

You exhale, dropping your face into your knees. “I thought you would change your mind about us. About me.”

The confession lingers in the air, hanging heavy on his hidden guilt and your growing exhaustion. Lifting your head, you stare straight at him and find that he’s now refusing to look at you.

“But you’re not going to,” you conclude softly, “You never will.”

If the room weren’t so dark, you would notice his flinch. Nonetheless, he’s stern when he says, “I have never changed my mind about you,” and you don’t realize what he really means by this. You assume the worst of him, for that’s all you know now.

The taste of salt kisses your lips when more tears squeeze out of your eyelids. “I know.”

“You don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you sigh, “I’m leaving soon. I’m tired of this place.”

The real reason remains unspoken. He’s far from unaware of it, though. Because he knows you, no matter how much you wish he didn’t. Everything would have been so different if you had never met him—if he were just another estranged face in that endless crowd. He’s not, and that’s your curse.

Now his face really falls, along with his entire body as he sits on the bed in front of you. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” you scowl at him, “And I’m not telling you where I’m going.”

He scrubs a slow hand over his face, trying to maintain his composure. You watch him closely, willing away the warmth in your chest when your eyes roam over his moonlit skin.

“Were you going to tell me at all?” He finally asks as his fingers catch on the blanket near your feet.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, “I’m telling you now.”

Sucking in a breath, he tentatively brings his hand up and cups the side of your face when you don’t move away. His thumb finds your bottom lip, caressing the way he always does after kissing you. Sometimes while making love to you, too. It’s all so dizzying, and you’re never sure where you land when it’s all over. Which is why you have to shut it down before you get too lost. Maybe you already are, though.

A quiet sob wracks through your body, struggled and hoarse as if your pain is already well spent. You surge forward at the same time he opens his arms, landing yourself in his embrace that he weaves around you like he’s trying to keep you here forever. He doesn’t know that you haven’t exactly made up your mind just yet. He only knows you want to go somewhere so far that he can’t follow, not when his life is so distantly separated from yours. It’s the reason why he can’t love you the way he wants to—the way you deserve. It’s also the reason why he can’t do anything but hold you to his chest, absorbing your tears the same way he longs to absorb your pain.

“Do you want me to stay?” You hear yourself asking without thinking.

He tenses, slowing his hands that he’s running in calming lines up and down your back. “I can’t stop you from leaving.”

You nearly laugh at the incredulity of his statement. “I wish that were true.”

“You can go wherever you want…as long as you’re safe.”

“But what about what you want?” You insist, pulling back even though you feel odd about him seeing your tear-streaked, swollen face, “Will you…”

“Will you miss me?”

His stern expression softens to your surprise as he cups your face with both hands this time, wiping some stray tears away from your cheeks. You hold your breath, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes that are waiting for his honesty.

“I miss you now. I think about you all the time.”

You can’t respond with anything but another sob that sinks his heart down even further. You never thought this is how you’d react to hearing something like this from him. It doesn’t make your decision any easier, though.

He tugs you closer, burying his face in your shoulder while inhaling deeply. “But don’t stay here for me.”

“Why not?” You reply, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly in case he decides to let go, “It’s a good enough reason for me.”

His expression is blanched with surprise when he lifts his head to look at you, leaning closer until your foreheads are touching. You run a few fingers down the side of his face, resting upon his scar. Even now, you’re the only one he allows anywhere near this painful reminder of the past. You’re not sure who initiates the kiss you find yourself falling into just a few breaths later, but it doesn’t feel like the last. It never does with him.

“Just tell me what you want,” you whisper when he pulls back with a sharp gasp, “Tell me the truth.”

He closes his eyes, suddenly hyperaware of your hands trailing across his face. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”

“You can. I’m right here, Wolffe.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

You lean into his chest, pressing your cheek against his strong heartbeat. “I want it, too. Whatever you’re thinking.”

“You should want something better,” he scoffs bitterly.

“You’re all I want.”

He shakes his head, bringing his lips down to the top of your hair. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

You smile halfheartedly. “So are you.”

Wordless, he shifts you out of his lap and into bed, not missing how you keep your hold on him despite your request from before. He lays you down the same way he always does, sliding under the covers beside you so that you’re face to face under the same blanket of impending slumber. He can’t read your mind, but he’s watching your eyes closely as you stare at him with a decision lingering back and forth. And at that moment, you tell yourself you’ll stay if he’s still here in the morning. Which means you’ll leave if he does first.

You fall asleep quickly, but he doesn’t. His arm is draped over your waist, holding you close as he lies awake throughout the night. He glimpses the sky change colors with the passing hours behind you, never once looking away from your peaceful figure. This is the only time you’re truly free from him, he believes. He doesn’t know that he follows you into your dreams because he simply exists everywhere to you. No matter how far you go, he’ll be right there. You know this. You can’t run from it.

When dawn kisses the horizon, peeking between the tall buildings surrounding your home, you wake from the sun shining upon his embrace. Your instinct is to sit up and roll out of bed, this time with the immediate thought that it’s truly time to go. The disappointed sense of farewell is short-lived, though, when you realize you’re pinned down by a nostalgic pressure—one that hasn’t been in your bed at this hour in a while. And when you look at him, seeing him sleeping under the daylight for the first time in a long time, you wonder if he knew he nearly risked you forever. His arms are around you as if he did.

Running a gentle hand through his hair, you kiss his forehead and whisper, “I love you,” not expecting a response. But he surprises you when he pulls you even closer, pressing his face into your chest.

“I'm sorry.”

Your heart seizes as you rest your chin on the top of his head, delicately caressing his back. He feels so warm with the hopeful promise that he’ll stay to make things right, picking up the pieces that broke across the long way between your distance. But time is hardly of the essence when he’s right here, slowing the world down to this very moment. So, you think about how much time you have to forgive him. How much time you have to love him, while letting him catch up. And how much time you have to remember it all.

[lucifaron]

Honestly the responses in defense of Rita on this confession's reblogs (and that one time I debated with one of her fans in a priv discord) is why I don't bother with her in fandom.

(the rest is under read more for major character salt)

(sorry if any of my followers are fans of the character. i have this under a read more for a reason.)

"you can forgive it cause it's stupid anime tropes??" / "it's just sibling stuff, i hit my siblings all the time".

Let me tell you that as far as anime goes, I don't find Raven perving on the girls funny either, and that too is a "stupid anime trope". Karol has a flinching animation for whenever Rita raises her hand at him or looks at him like (^_^) because it's supposed to be funny, but it didn't get me rolling around, that's for sure. And I'll be the first to say Karol is far from my favorite in Vesperia. So it's certainly not that I'm defending Karol cause he's a fave. It's cause I just don't find this gag amusing and I don't like how this unlikeable trait from Rita is conveniently forgotten in fanworks (and yes, I mean fanfics).

Like don't lie to yourself and say that if the genders were reversed, you'd be twisting yourself to make excuses for male!Rita's abuse. The thing is: Rita doesn't hit anyone else in the party. She only hits Karol cause... why? Cause he's smaller than her? Cause "girls hitting guys is hilarious" as far as anime standards go? You are aware that's what bullies do, right? They target people smaller than them cause they know they can't fight back.

Rita doesn't hit the other characters cause it just "wouldn't be as funny". Or maybe cause if they wanted their characters to be IC, very few would put up with her bullshit. I guarantee you Yuri would not take being smacked or punched by a 15 year old brat lightly. But again: It's not funny to see a tsundere (esp a female) have the tables turned on them.

While Rita does have SOME (ie: rare) pet the dog moments for Karol, most of them are overshadowed by her punching him in the face, hitting him in the back of the head, or tricking him into getting paralyzed by a wild plant. Not to mention the amount of times she puts down Karol's guild like calling it stupid or criticizing him for not knowing what the Purpose is with said guild. The whole "she grew up isolated/has no social skills!" may be a reason for why she acts the way she does, but it's not exactly an excuse.

I've said this before, but the reason why a "bratty" character like Luke fon Fabre is more tolerable than Rita despite both being genuinely unlikeable when you first meet him, is that Luke is constantly called out by the party for his attitude. It actually gets to the point where you start to feel bad for him because it's clear they don't take him seriously and just write him off as some "ignorant noble" when in reality, he has every reason for questioning things. We also know that if Luke ever got physical with a human (cause Mieu don't count), like Tear, for example, the fandom would be flipping tables and in an absolute uproar. But no one calls out Rita. No one sticks up for Karol. And that's where the "dumb anime tropes" start to ruin the character.

I'm fully aware Rita has a very... passionate fanbase, but you can't tell others to "be critical of their faves" and not be critical of your fave. I'm sorry I don't see her as this sad uwu babey with abandonment issues and think that in comparison to the other characters, she absolutely did not get dealt the worst hand. I'm sure Flynn, Yuri, and Karol would have loved having a roof over their head and a meal on the table every night of their childhood, never mind a fucking job (she's employed by the empire, remember?). And no, Karol was isolated too, so the "had no family/friends" excuse doesn't exactly work for Rita in this case.

...Also, there's a difference between "play-hitting/fighting your siblings" vs. "smacking them and calling them stupid in a not-so-teasing tone"... Just saying.

So yes, OP is absolutely fucking right that if the genders were reversed for ANY of these characters, no one would be excusing them because it's "not funny for men to hit women, but it is for women to hit men". I only picked out Rita cause it seems in the responses, she was getting defended the most, and nah, fuck that. I will not hesitate to call out poor character writing when I see it.