#dodged a fucking bullet honestly

[nerdynanny]

them: hey can you write with my oc? we're mutuals.

me: do you have a character sheet?

them: no-- but you should write with us anyway!

me: yeah I don't interact with ocs with no sheet. i don't know anything about your characters.

them: [blocks]

me: ok?

[the-acid-pear]

Money Heist is kinda funny bc their whole thing was that they wanted to NOT hurt the hostages because they wanted to appear LIKEABLE but both tokyo and berlin fucking raped someone, well, for tokyo it was more like sexual harassment, but she was a FUCKING MINOR, so you know. Like imagine getting out of this whole situation and these ppl are being painted out as heroes i think i'd become the joker or something man.

[otterloops-old]

Barely more than two months ago, my husband and I started the homebuying process, found a perfect little house that checked nearly every box we could ask for, and it was in close proximity to my work. We closed in the middle of October, and that same day I found out about upcoming job cuts. We moved in on the 21st of October, and I was laid off the following Wednesday.

However, I'm not letting this cloud how I feel about our new place. It truly is a beautiful little home, and we're so excited to make it even more our own. I wanted to commemorate it with some art, even though it's been a total shitshow both good and bad the past couple of months.

(And it's my golden birthday today! New decade!!! 🥳)

[kittlyns]

A hard pill for me to swallow lately has been that, despite everything, I'm probably the best version of myself that could've existed. And that's not really a comforting thought.

[andellaheartz]

omg did u also use g+ back in the day?

No 😭😭😭 but i did hear abt the shitshow that happened there from yt vids and a friend, the experiences were kjnda similar to amino LOL

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3| PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 4

Your frustration over his broken promise melts away as soon as he calls, and you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his voice, more than you anticipated.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Phone sex, mutual (and guided) masturbation, dirty talk ~4.7k words

A/n: this is just me wishing he was on quinn😔 anyway enjoy part 4, this mini series is not dead (i don’t even know how long it will be but let’s just celebrate that I’m finally updating)

All men do is lie, you thought as you flopped onto your bed.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault—but you weren’t in the mood to be reasonable. You remembered that car ride vividly. He had promised you more time together, a moment to finally be alone. Instead, what did you get? A new case, then another, and amidst all the chaos and dodging bullets (literally and metaphorically), you two somehow managed to drift apart.

The past few weeks had been the busiest since you started working at the BAU, and that was saying a lot, considering there was never really a moment of peace when you worked for the government. But this time was different, it seemed even more chaotic than usual. Every time you thought of bringing up the conversation with him—or maybe sneak in a little make-out session—something urgent would come up. 

There was never the right time, or the right moment. It felt as if the universe had other plans for you, and none of them involved the two of you getting a moment alone. And before you knew it, you were caught in this maddening cycle of missed opportunities, and the worst thing was, you were sexually frustrated.

This time, you had no one else to blame but him. Ever since he came into the picture, your carefully maintained self-control had started to slip, and now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the growing need between your legs. It was aching, throbbing, and even the thought of him was making you hot and restless.

How did he manage to do that? He wasn’t even trying. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way he moved or spoke, and yet every glance, every accidental touch, seemed to affect you. Spencer. Just his name made your breath hitch, your body betraying you. You weren’t proud to admit this, but the mere thought of his fingers brushing your skin had you feeling that first rush of arousal slipping into your panties.

You huffed, considering digging out your pink silicone toy hidden somewhere in your drawer. And while you were contemplating this, knowing it had been a while since you last used it because nothing could compare to the feeling of his touch now, your phone on the bedside table rang.

Maybe the universe was really testing you, because his name flashed across the screen and it took a lot of self-control for you not to pick up on the first ring and demand him to fuck you right there and then, which sounded too crass when you weren’t in the middle of straddling his lap like the last time. So instead, you decided to wait until the sixth ring before you answered with a curt, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Could he tell? Of course, he could. He always had an uncanny ability to read you, even over the phone. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I can almost see you rolling your eyes.”

“I never roll my eyes,” you shot back.

“You rolled your eyes last week when Luke tried to tell us that his dog could sniff out bodies better than our trained ones.”

You suppressed a smile, surprised that he even noticed you giving Luke a once-over at that particular moment. “That was because his dog chases its tail more than it chases leads.”

"And I'm not worthy of an eye roll?"

“Honestly, you deserve more than an eye roll,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"So you are mad,” he stated, growing quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

And now you felt bad. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to clear your thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any less better.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame him. Serial killers, unfortunately, didn’t come with a schedule, and now Spencer was already on his leave. You recalled the excitement in his voice when he told you about the seminars Emily had arranged for him to teach. He had spoken with an enthusiasm you hadn’t heard in a long time, his eyes practically lighting up every time he mentioned it.

How could you be upset about that?

"I'm not... mad.”

There was a slight teasing note in his voice as he replied, "Just annoyed then?"

You held back a smile. "Maybe a little."

“Anything I can do to help with that?” His voice softened through the phone. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Your thoughts immediately went to the sticky situation between your legs, and you felt a flush of embarrassment. Technically, he could help with that. But could you say that? Should you? 

"I don’t know, depends on what you have in mind,” you replied, trying to steer your mind away from the direction it was heading. There was a pause, a silence that hung in the air as he carefully considered his next words.

"I could… start by telling you how much I miss you?”

Now that, you didn’t expect. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Spencer had never really acknowledged his feelings with words when his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it out loud made the emotions between you feel undeniably real. It was as if his words shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you had built over the past years.

Although you knew your friendship had fundamentally changed the moment he had you pinned on the desk that fine afternoon, it didn’t stop you from questioning about where you truly stood.

"You miss the idea of me," you corrected him, unable to resist yourself.

“You know that’s not true,” he replied gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you know me better than that,” he insisted. “You’re a great profiler, you can tell if I’m not being honest.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, despite trying to stay mad at him. "You hate being profiled.”

"That was before I realized how useful your skills are in deciphering my feelings.”

“You know I’d rather you tell me how you feel.”

“I did, I miss you, and you chose not to believe me.”

Your cheeks actually ached from smiling too much. You couldn’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. “Fine,” you sighed, finally giving in. “I believe you.”

“And?”

You rolled onto your side. “And what?”

“Do you not miss my absence at work?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He prompted.

Now how could you tell him you missed more than just his presence? How could you admit that you missed the way he made you feel, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, without sounding obvious or too needy? Because you missed everything about him. His hands, his lips, his tongue—oh dear god, his tongue.

Spencer suddenly called out your name, and you forced yourself to focus, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you cleared your throat.

“Yes, I—I miss you,” you finally admitted.

There was a pause, then his voice came through, lighter, teasing. “Why do you sound like that?”

“…like what?”

“Like you’re out of breath.”

You gripped the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers. How could you even begin to explain this to him now that he was onto you? You felt like you were on the verge of a full-blown emotional meltdown. God, if he knew how many times you’d replayed every kiss, every touch, in your mind, he’d never let you live it down.

It was almost laughable, really. Here you were, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. “It’s just… I really, really miss you.”

“You really miss me? Are you trying to say something?”

You hesitated, your mind scrambling for the right words without revealing too much. “No…?”

“Mhm,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not telling me everything.”

You gripped the phone tighter. “I’m just saying... It's hard without you here. You know, in every way.”

“In every way?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling both embarrassed and mortified. “I just... I miss how you make me feel. Physically.”

“Physically?” he pressed. “Can you elaborate?”

“I’m... you know, I’ve been... missing certain things. Certain... activities.”

“Certain activities,” he repeated your words once again. It was then that you realized he was teasing you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “You mean like... talking?”

“No. More like... the other stuff we do when we’re alone.”

"I don't understand."

At that point, your embarrassment was gnawing at you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “God, Spencer, don’t make me say it,” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

“Come on, I need a little more than that.” He sounded both amused and curious. “I’m just making sure I understand you right.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear.

“Actually, I don’t think I do. You could be missing so many things, you have to help me out here.”

You turned your head to the side, exasperation coloring your tone. “Spencer…”

"Yes?" he responded innocently.

"You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

"I find precise communication to be very important.”

You let out a groan, feeling the last of your restraint crumble. “Alright! Fine!” you snapped. “I’m horny, okay? And it’s all your fault!”

His laughter rang through the phone, and you could almost see the grin spreading across his face. “My fault?"

"Yes! I feel like a deprived, horny teenager here, and I just…”

You trailed off, hardly believing you had actually said that out loud. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on forever and you wondered if you had gone too far.

He finally broke the silence, breathing out your name in a way that made your skin tingle. "You could've told me from the start."

You could, but you’d rather not.

"I didn't want to sound desperate."

"You can be desperate with me,” he said softly. “Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at, it was getting under your skin. He really shouldn’t be saying those words, not now, not when it was making you crave him even more. You swallowed, feeling a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach. The part of you that always played it safe wanted to retract, to laugh it off as a joke. But then there was that other part, the part that craved his attention, the part that was tired of holding back.

“Tell me, what do you want now?”

You took a deep breath and laid on your back, the words catching in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken.

“I want… you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Your fingers trailed over the sheets, your touch light as you imagined it was him beneath your fingertips. “Spencer…”

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. You could almost imagine him right in front of you, staring at you with those beautiful brown eyes that always managed to make you melt, coaxing words from you that you barely dared to think, let alone speak.

Just say it. He's waiting. He wants to hear it.

Your hand began to move.

“I… I want your hands on me.”

“Where do you want my hands?”

“Everywhere,” you whispered, your fingers grazing your body as if they were his. You closed your eyes.

“Everywhere?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“On my hips…”

Your hand danced across your hips.

“My stomach…”

Your palm slipped under your shirt, moving slowly up your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your own touch and wishing it was his.

“Between my thighs…”

You paused at the hem of your panties, the only barrier beneath your shirt, hesitating as a flush of warmth spread through you. The line was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his breathing—a soft, heavy rhythm that matched the pounding of your own heart.

“Where else do you want me?”

Your fingers dipped inside the fabric. “I want you lower…”

“Tell me exactly where.”

“Where I’m most sensitive,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them.  Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. “Spencer… please…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I…”

“Are you?”

“No…”

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You licked your lips, your breath coming faster. “Maybe.”

“Then do it, no one’s stopping you.”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were having this conversation with him. "This feels so naughty.”

"Naughty can be nice, though, right?" he assured you. "Don't think about it too much. It’s just you and me.”

There really was something about his voice, the way it effortlessly wrapped around you—smooth, coaxing, almost hypnotic. Despite the hesitation that tugged at your mind, your hand began to move lower, and your legs parting involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds. You were already wet, and you began to spread your arousal towards your clit.

“Spencer…” you whined, feeling the sudden rush of sensations.

“Keep going,” he urged. “Tell me what you feel.”

You closed your eyes. “It feels… good…”

“Describe it to me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “It’s warm and wet… and…”

And you wished he was the one touching you.

You let your mind drift to your fantasy. You imagined it was his fingers circling your clit. You imagined his lips against yours, the way they would move together. You imagined him whispering these words right in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you writhed beneath him. The fantasy felt so vivid that for a moment, you could almost feel his weight pressing down on you, his presence enveloping you completely.

Your imagination urged you to move faster, but you felt limited by the fabric in the way. You called out his name. “Can I… can I take my, um, underwear off?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “Of course you can.”

You put your phone down, and with trembling fingers, you slid the fabric down your legs. You discarded them quickly and turned the call to speaker before you settled back on the bed. Your hand returned to your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. You parted your legs even wider, and as your fingers found their rhythm, a moan escaped you.

“Better?”

You sighed in relief as you continued to rub your clit. “So much better.”

“Keep it slow, okay? We don’t want to rush.”

His voice was low and soothing, and you couldn’t believe how just by his voice he had gotten you so worked up.

“Now press a little harder.” You complied, applying a bit more pressure on your clit. "Right there. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your back slightly arching off the bed.

“I wish I could see you right now," he murmured. “I'd kiss you where you're touching.”

You let your imagination take over. You pictured him with his head right between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours with those intense, pretty eyes. You imagined his mouth moving over your clit, sucking gently while his fingers explored between your folds. The thought was so vivid, so real, that you could almost feel his warm breath against your skin.

The mental image of him looking up at you was almost too much to bear. “Spencer…”

"Keep going. Are your fingers wet?" You could simply moan back a reply, not trusting your own voice. “Now slowly slide in one. Can you do that for me?”

You did as he said, sliding a finger into your wetness. You could feel how tight you were, the slick warmth of your arousal enveloping your skin. You looked down between your legs and watched as you pleased yourself. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You had done this countless times before, but never with the voice of a man guiding you, especially Spencer—the last person you’d imagine doing this with.

Yet look at how much effect he had on you.

"You're quiet," his voice suddenly came through. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," you managed to whisper. "It's just... a lot."

"In a good way, I hope?"

“Very good,” you assured him.

You could practically picture the corner of his lips twitching into a proud smile. “Good,” he recited. “Now try adding another finger.”

You couldn't help a moan escaping your lips as you pushed in your middle finger, the sound louder than you intended.

"How does that feel?"

"Full," you breathed out, adjusting to the sensation.

“Yeah? I bet you’re so tight.”

You were, awfully so. Your walls clenched around your fingers, almost swallowing them as you started to move them in a steady rhythm. The pleasure built in your lower stomach, a warm, coiling tension that made you desperate for more. You needed his voice, you craved his guidance, even from afar.

“Spence…” you whined. “Keep talking, please.”

“You want me to describe how I’d touch you if I were there?”

You moaned in response, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, urging him to continue.

“If I were there,” he began, his voice low, “I’d start by kissing you slowly.”

You could almost feel it, his lips on yours, his tongue probing inside your mouth.

“I’d move lower,” he continued. “Kiss your neck, your collarbone… while my fingers would move along your hips, your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need me most.”

You whimpered, your fingers moving faster as you followed his vivid description, imagining his touch guiding you.

“I’d tease you, brush my fingers right at your entrance,” he whispered. “Then, I’d slip them inside you, just like you’re doing now.”

Your breaths came in short gasps.

“I’d spread your legs wide,” he continued again, and you heard a faint rustling noise in the background. “I’d move my fingers in… and… out...”

Your legs fell further apart.

“I’d curl my fingers the same way I did that day,” he went on. “Do you remember?”

How could you not? It never truly left your mind. You could picture that day clearly, the feeling of his fingers and mouth working on your sensitive spot seemed to linger in your memory.

“I’d do the same thing that you like,” he proceeded, and you focused on his voice. “I’d lean in close… licking you… sucking you.”

You moaned loudly as the image of his mouth on your clit flashed through your mind. You could almost feel the way he would sloppily lap at you, drinking in every drop of your arousal with each eager flick of his tongue.

“Go faster for me,” he urged. “I-I want to hear how wet you are.”

You followed his words, and the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet around you as you imagined him there, his fingers replacing yours. You could hear more noise through the line, the subtle rustle of clothes moving, the faint sound of his breathing growing heavier before he let out a low grunt.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he breathed out. “Now add another finger.”

Your eyes narrowed into a frown, trying to slip a third finger in but the stretch was too intense for you to continue. “I-I can’t.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Just take it slow. Try to relax.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. You slowly eased in another finger, feeling the awkward stretch but the initial discomfort quickly faded into a deeper pleasure, and you moaned softly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“There you go,” he encouraged. “Feel that? Feel how full you are?”

You hummed a reply.

“That’s how I want you to feel when I’m finally inside you.”

A whine left your lips. In your head, you saw him, his body poised above yours, his cock sliding smoothly into you. You imagined the slick, rhythmic motion, the way each thrust would fill you, stretching you, overwhelming you. You cried out a filthy moan at the thought, unabashed and desperate, as you began to pump your fingers inside your cunt.

“Push deeper for me… I know you can take it.”

You gasped, pushing your fingers as deep as they could go. “I can’t… I need… oh…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You need more. You need me inside you, don’t you?”

“Spencer, please…” you begged, your voice breaking into desperate, choked sobs.

“You want that? You want to feel me stretch you?”

“Yes, yes…” you managed to moan out, your movements became more desperate.

“God, you’d be so tight around me… I’d have your legs spread wide so I… I-I could see how perfect you’d take me.”

You could almost feel his hands on your hips, his body pressing against yours, filling you completely. Your fingers moved frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you felt the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“You’d pull me closer, wouldn’t you? You’d ask for more, like you always do, and I’d give it to you,” he promised. “I’d give it to you so hard… s-so deep…”

And that was when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of wetness, like skin sliding over slick, damp skin. The sound was filthy, making your pulse race as you wondered what he might be doing on the other end of the line. Your voice trembled as you slowly asked him, “Spence, are you…?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end before he let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, as if you had caught him red-handed. “I… yeah,” he admitted, his voice breathless and strained. "Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?"

Your fingers subconsciously quickened at his confession, their movements becoming more urgent as you imagined him laying on his own bed, hand wrapped around his cock. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as you whispered, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breathing grew ragged, his words coming in clipped bursts. “I’m… I’m touching myself…”

You tried to focus on his voice, but the sound of his sloppy strokes began to echo louder. “Tell me more.”

“I’m… I’m rubbing… my fingers over the head,” he gasped, and you curled your fingers deeper, using your palm to grind against your clit. The way he sounded so lost in his pleasure, unable to hold back, had you imagining him stroking himself. You pictured yourself doing it for him, remembering how it felt that day when you had his cock in your hand—the weight, the warmth, the way he looked at you through intense eyes.

Your breathing grew heavier, louder, and his voice cracked with a strained moan as he whispered, “Can you lower your phone?”

You fumbled with the device, bringing it closer to where your fingers worked tirelessly between your legs. “Like this?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, the sound of his strokes growing faster and more urgent. “You sound so perfect.”

You let out a soft cry, your fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt frantically as you imagined him watching you, listening to every sound you made. The wet, slick noises filled the room, so intense and filthy. You looked down to see your juices spilling over your fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sheer sound of it was enough to drive him crazy.

“I—f-faster, please,” he panted into the phone. “I need you to go faster.”

Your eyes widened for a moment as the desperate plea slipped from his lips. But you didn’t have the mental space to think about it. Your focus was solely on reaching your release as you ultimately sped up your pace. Your body began to tighten up, feeling so much pressure and pleasure building up every time your fingertips hit that deep spot inside you.

"Oh—fuck!” You exhaled sharply as the familiar sensation took over you. “I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—”

With a cry that was both a sob and a shout, your pussy fluttered around your fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure through your body as you gasped and shuddered. Your voice escaped in broken moans and whines, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Spencer… oh, God, Spencer…”

The sound of your climax drove him to his own release. His breath hitched, his movements faltering as he let out a harsh sound from his throat. It was raw and unrestrained, downright filthy, and you listened intently, your fingers slipping out only to circle and rub your clit, drawing out the final waves of your orgasm.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand fell away, and you lay there, breathing heavily, your body relaxing into the bed. Your room was quiet afterward, the only sound coming from was the sound of your own breathing. Then you heard him calling out your name, checking in. But through the post-orgasmic bliss, all you could manage in response was a giggle.

“You’re… laughing?” He mused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no,” you replied, still catching your breath, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “It’s just… I can’t believe we did that.”

A gentle laugh escaped his lips, a warm, soothing sound that calmed your racing heart. "Did you like it?"

You liked it a lot. "Can’t say that I didn’t.”

"So I take it you're not mad at me anymore?"

You let out a soft, contented sigh. “I wasn’t even that mad to begin with. Just… frustrated,” you confessed. “But I think we handled that pretty well.”

“Maybe a little too well,” he agreed softly. “I can't believe I need to take a shower this late.”

You looked down between your legs at his words, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you noticed the patch of wetness on your bed. It wasn't small—it spread across the fabric in a noticeable, damp stain. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I also need to change my sheets.”

Then you heard a low, almost pained groan from his end of the line.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He paused, and you could almost hear him struggling to find the right words. "I'm now picturing you on your bed."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Well, yes, but now it's… different."

You couldn't help the amused grin that spread across your face. "Different how?"

"Let's just say the image in my mind is a lot more detailed now and it's not helping me calm down."

A burst of laughter erupted from your chest as you gripped your phone closer to you. “Is this your way of blaming me because you still have a hard-on?” you taunted. “I mean, I’m simply stating the facts.”

“But you’re painting a picture in my head.”

“Of me drenching the sheets just by hearing your voice?”

He made a low, strained sound. “Stop.”

“I can send you a picture if you like,” you offered slyly. “Help you visualize it better.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on his end before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“But if you insist…”

You laughed softly. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Wait—You’re hanging up?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully. “I thought you needed a shower.”

He made another frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, before reluctantly agreeing. “Fine, fine. Good night.”

And that was it. You ended the call with a satisfied smile. But as you stared at your phone, a rush of thoughts began to swirl through your mind. You were well aware of the potential risks of what you were about to do—how it could be traced back to you. You could almost hear Penelope lecturing you about online security and the dangers of leaving a digital footprint.

But when your mind kept circling back to Spencer—Spencer’s breathless voice, Spencer’s prominent veins on his hands, Spencer with a freaking hard-on in his bed—it was hard to think rationally. Before you could stop yourself, you propped your phone on your pillow and posed for the camera. Legs spread wide, your nipples pressing against your shirt, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips. The shot looked like it came out of a porno movie. You quickly sent it to him.

It took exactly 7 seconds before your phone rang again.

“Yes, Spencer?” you answered, trying to sound innocent.

You heard shuffling and a muffled grunt, and then, faintly, the rustling of fabric. It sounded like he was fumbling with his phone, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the frustration in his voice.

“How do I turn this into video call again?”

[a-b-riddle]

You're not her...

I've been seeing a good bit of fics where the reader is left for another woman and people around them are encouraging it. While I do love a good angst, I would simply pass away. Your girl, Riddle, is weak.

Especially if it's my baby boy Simon.... I can't. I love the idea, but as someone who is an absolute crybaby, I wouldn't survive being reader...

So what if that happened to nurse reader's partner left them for a fellow recruit and when everyone starts being like "good for him", the 141 isn't having any of it?

The others on base seemed honestly happy that your heart had absolutely been broken. I mean, you weren't exactly around him as much as she was. You couldn't see the undeniable chemistry there was. You had tried to put on a brave face. But when John had come in for some ointment for a burn and you were falling apart, he gathered up his boys.

Something needed to be done. A point to prove not just to you or your ex or that woman who had chosen to pursue a very much taken man, but to the hold damn unit. Your ex didn't leave you because there was someone else. He left you because he didn't deserve you in the first place.

In hand to hand, Johnny doesn't hold back. Not only does your ex absolutely get his ass handed to him on the mat over and over again, but does it in front of his new girl and everyone else. How embarrassing. Doesn't exactly help that Kyle is on the sidelines talking so much shit that she begins to get the ick. I mean, could he not honestly win one match? Wonder what that says about a man who can't even hold his own? It even gets cringier when your ex tries to place the blame on the drills from yesterday with a certain Ghost.

Simon is already hard as a lieutenant. But add in the factor that the recruit he currently has running drills is the same recruit who hurt his favorite little nurse? The boy would be lucky to crawl out of there. The second an exercise or drill is not made to absolute perfection, Simon has him running it all over again. It almost

John is already starting the transfer papers the first time he catches your eyes the least bit misty. You don't have to see that rubbish and since the prick and slag couldn't have the decency to wait until he had broken up with you properly instead of telling you that even though he was with you, he had fallen for another woman, then they'll be sent to completely different units. John lists the reason for transfer as a liability. If they were so proud of their "love" before, let them keep that same energy.

And Kyle.... Sweet shit talkin' Kyle. Who plants seeds around the entire base. Nowhere are these two lovebird safe from judgment. All of the female recruits have ostracized their fellow female soldier while receiving lewd looks and calls from the males. I mean if she was easy enough to fuck a taken man, then she must be an easy lay. And here comes Kyle, telling your ex 'man-to-man' about seeing his girl with other officers. Kyle is the most gentle when it comes to the 141. But the motherfucker knows a thing or two about psychological warfare.

After your ex and the girl are suddenly, very mysteriously sent elsewhere, everyone starts flocking to you. Offering reassurances on what a bullet you dodged. How, from what they heard, they had broken up shortly after being relocated to separate bases. The boys see your confidence creep back in. Your smile is a little brighter. A little more pep in your step.

You wouldn't tell anyone how your ex had e-mailed you. Complaining about the new base. Explaining how he had ended things and just wanted you back. How he regretted ever letting her get to him, as if she were the only one at fault for kindling the relationship.

It also didn't help that a certain member of the 141 had come by your station, wondering if you wanted to grab a drink when you were off of your shift.

[sweet-honey-fruit]

Wanted

Boothill x reader

Synopsis: Boothill has a wanted poster with your face on it

This is a snippet from what I was going to do. I might turn this into a series.

Warnings: boothill typical violence, cussing, boothill’s substitute cuss words, use of guns, mentions of splattered brains (but doesnt happen)

Masterlists: xxx

Out of bullets. Out of backup. Shit shit shit. You’re normally better than this. You are better than this. You wouldn’t have secured a job to personally work beside the Ten Stonehearts if you sucked at it. So why now? When it truly mattered, why start losing grip now?

The hallway on the space station was long and agonizing. It’s slim but somehow you still feel like prey in an open field. The grip you have on your gun is tight despite the blasphemous thing being out of ammo. How the metal is digging into the palm of your hand is the only thing keeping you grounded and focused. Focused on making it to the safe room. Focused on sending out that distress signal. Focused on the little hope you have left. Just focus.

The distant sound of gunshots urges you to run faster. Each round of shots fuels not only your need to escape but your overwhelming guilt as well. Normally you stay back and handle the threat. You stay back to help your agents and get them to safety. That's what you wanted to do. Yet the sight of seeing bodies upon bodies being thrown to the side by him, you started to, selfishly, second guess if you should.

What pushed you to get out was Jade's voice speaking through your earpiece. She specifically ordered you to run and to get to the safe room. She all but hinted that this was surely a fight you couldn’t win and you needed to get out now. She's normally calm and collected, tactical and calculating. Jade isn't one to order you to retreat for she has trust in your abilities. So when she told you to run, you ran like hell was after you.

For once, you prayed to the Amber Lord. Praying that your colleagues will make it out alive. Although, you doubted that.

The weight of your conscious is almost enough to weigh down your speed but once the familiar doors of the safe room enter your sight, all weight is washed away and it’s replaced with relief.

Finally, after minutes of running and dodging bullets, you’ve made it. You take deep breaths to calm your breathing as a shaky hand swipes your keycard over the mechanical padlock. With a loud beep that makes you internally cuss it out, you slip into the room. The moment the door shuts you collapse to your knees.

“Holy fuck.” You mumble, letting out a nervous laugh. Your gun clatters to the floor beside you as your hand loses the strength to continue the death grip. You run your hand over your uniform to try and soothe the ache that replaces the cold metal. What a shit show.

You have faced an astronomical amount of enemies throughout your line of work. Anywhere from the Anti-Matter Legion to Galaxy Rangers. All of them were a pain to deal with, sure, but this? This is something different. You have never seen someone so precise, so quick with a gun, and so cocky. Recalling everything just made your blood boil. It’s not even because he ambushed your crew. It was more of the fact that he was moonwalking while doing so. Honestly, who acts so casually in a fight?

Pass it off with humor all you want, but you know exactly why you’re left shaken. This was the work of one individual. The same individual that made eye contact with you in the lobby. His grin widened when you locked eyes, and his bullseye pupils seemed to have made you the target. It was chilling. The way your body tensed and the hairs on the back of your neck stood was foreign to you. You’re normally the hunter but in the moment you felt like prey. That feeling was followed up by Jade's command and it felt too much like an omen. Like all of this was for you. All of this was because of you.

You shake your head to get rid of those thoughts. No. There’s no reason why you should dwell on the situation. Only doing so will drag you down. With weakened legs you stand, stumbling over to the command terminal to send a distress signal out. You hesitate for a moment as you stare down at the screen. The blinking red of the button haunted your memory.

The bodies of your coworkers. The blood of the agents you were supposed to watch over on Jade's behalf. The screams of pain and terror as they tried to take down the threat that snuck onboard. No matter how hard you try, you can't push down that culpability. Your mind races at a million miles per hour, from one thought to the next, all about your irresponsibility. You tried to save who you could. You tried to take down the threat yourself. You shot so, so many bullets all for naught. Then he looked at you. Made a beeline for you. Was he here for you? Was this all your fault? Where did you go wrong? Why didn't you try harder to save the agents that were trusted to your care? Are you even worthy of saving?

Your breath hitches at the last question.

'Am I worth saving?'

Even so, that decision isn't up to you. It's up to the Ten Stonehearts. With reluctance, you press the button. There's a gentle ping that was supposed to reassure you that the distress signal was successfully sent. But all it did was make your gut twist with anguish. It shouldn't only be you in this room.

Your sorrowful eyes stare out the window with a glaze. In all of your times of need, it has always been the stars that brought you comfort. Always a shining, shimmering light in the dreadful place of your mind. For the first time since this morning, your mind goes quiet as you imagine yourself walking among the stars. You enjoy the tranquility of the safe room, taking the opportunity to worship the silence. No screaming, no commands, no gunshots.

Wait.

.

.

.

No gunshots.

Your moment of peace is ripped out of your hands and replaced with your heart dropping. Your breathing stops and slowly, ever so, you turn your head to look behind you.

Oh fuck.

There he is in all of his cowboy glory. The barrel of his gun is pointed right between your eyes and there isn’t a hint of hesitation on his face.

“Don’t tell me ya hidin’ from my welcome party.” His thick southern accent lays on thick at the realization of it all; you haven’t been fucked like this in a long time. Your gun is left on the floor. Even if it is out of ammo, you still could’ve potentially used it as an empty threat. You quite literally backed up against a wall. Alone. The only exit is being blocked by the blood-thirsty cyborg man in front of you. There’s no one left to provide backup.

That feeling creeps up your spine again as his eye pierces through you, just itching to pull the trigger on you.

"Is this what they consider southern hospitality?" You sarcastically ask, a glare settling into your eyes in hopes of masking that premonition deep within your bones.

There's a skip of a beat in your heart when there’s silence. A thick, heavy silence that only grows louder the longer you stare down the barrel of the pistol. It’s only broken by his boisterous laugh. A laugh that feels mocking. A laugh that makes you feel offended that you opened your mouth. You go from scared, to confused.

“Oh shucks! You got me gatherin’ tears in my eye! Holy fudgin shirt on a rag! It’s been a while since I had someone tell me a one-liner like that. You’re a hoot and a holler!”

He finds this humorous. He has a gun pointed between your eyes, eager to splatter your brains across the window behind you, and he finds this funny. You go from scared, to livid.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Ha! At least one of us can say it-“

“Are you fucking serious? You murdered my coworkers, you’re threatening me, and you’re laughing?”

“Don’t go actin’ all high and mighty now, you IPC scum.” His mood switch gave you whiplash. What was once a lighthearted tone was turned into a low growl. He took one step forward, then another, and another until his chest was pressed up against yours. His breath fans over your face. Your back presses up against the command terminal. The soft red blinking of the distress button reflects off the shiny metal of the gun as he presses it against your forehead. Even so, the indignation coursing through your body is enough to fuel a stellaron.

“You shouldn’t be acting all righteous either. Wanted criminals don’t deserve to act so pompous.” You snap back, huffing out a breath.

“So ya know who I am?”

“Unfortunately.”

Boothill might as well be a cursed name among the IPC. A name that brings both fear and a migraine. You never had the courtesy to meet him until now. His wanted poster has been sitting on your desk for a while along with his list of crimes. The stack was so big that his crimes were used as a paperweight for a while. While he was annoying, the Ten Stonehearts put you on missions that were ‘more important.’ His information served more as a warning rather than a task.

Now you regret not going after him when you got the chance.

“It appears my ruckus has paid off.” He whispers, lowering the gun. You had a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, that that was a sign he was leaving. That the distress signal wasn’t needed after all. He only allowed you enough relief to let out a shaky sigh.

The tip of the gun is pressed under your chin, tilting your head back to fully look up at his smug smirk.

“It’s a shame your wanted poster says wanted alive.”

Your eyes widen in his swift movements. With harsh movements, he slams the grip against your temple. There’s a burning, aching pain that spreads throughout your head and down the back of your neck. Your body falls to the floor with a harsh thud. You couldn’t help but think this is what you deserved for failing them all.

‘Am I worth saving?’ It appears the universe made that decision before your higher-ups.

Boothill kneels beside you, placing his gun back into his holster.

“Don’t ya worry. Ima take good care of ya.”

[vivziepopcriticalconfessions]

I'm scared Lucifer and Lilith will become a less problematic version of Stolas and Stella.

In HB Stella is used a shortcut to make Stolas into the gay sad boi victim Viv is desperate for us to see him as, Stolas cheats on her and it's treated as a, "LOLLLLLL GET REKED BITCH DIVORCE PARTY!!!". She doesn't have any character besides being Stolas' screaming abusive ex wife he was forced to have intercourse with. I know a character doesn't need to be multi dimensional to be good, but it's clear she's badly written.

Stolas is the creator's pet who ruined the show, alongside his ship. He never takes accountability for his actions, and consequences are dodged like bullets. He'll always be treated as a victim when he's the complete opposite. Octavia will always be forced to forgive him, Blitz will always be a monster in their conflicts and so on.

I'm scared Viv will repeat history using Lilith and Lucifer.

Ever since the final scene of the final episode, the fandom was livid with Lilith. The fandom was convinced Lilith was a terrible person who made poor luci sad. They treat this as canon and use it as an excuse to make Lucifer a depressed victim. At this point I'm starting to fear Lilith won't even be a character, just another ticket to victimize Lucifer.

What's worse is that we don't know the full story. Everyone sewed themselves to the thought of Lilith being pure evil and babied Lucifer to the max.

And if Lucifer ends up being at fault for Lilith leaving/Lilith had every right to leave, the fandom will go blow up and the show will gaslight everyone into thinking Lilith is the monster who made Lucifer sad.

This is feeling familiar to me. Viv isn't a good writer, and when she has a favorite, everyone suffers.

Viv may make Lucifer dodge accountability like angelic steel, Viv may demonize Lilith/anyone who wrongs Lucifer no matter what they do.

I'm honestly scared.

ANOTHER ANON THESIS LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO! :D

[essentiallyleaf]

day 01. titfucking. with. yel.

1709 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, college classmates, subby(?) reader, cutie not-really-dom-but-not-really-sub-either yel, i know that doesn’t mean anything but that’s kinda how it is, public, handjob, blowjob, some spit, fondling, self-fondling i guess, masturbation, titjob, titfucking (are they the same thing?), actually it’s probably just softie dom yel, idk how to do this, barely edited, it wasn’t supposed to be this long.

notes.

i accidentally opened a google doc and this is what happened. if you read this, i love you and i’m sorry, and if you don’t, i also love you and you might be dodging a bad-writing bullet, so congrats, reader. or, non-reader, i guess. lovingly, leaf.

You need to get your shit together. The first day of college was always going to be hard, but the combination of you waking up half an hour late, of your ancient, rectangular-spectacled professor blabbering for an hour, no, an hour and sixteen minutes, about derivatives and limits, and your ponytailed deskmate’s disproportionate tits almost popping out of her tight white t-shirt, begging for your attention, well, that made it incredibly harder.

So as soon as the lecture ends, you take your tired, bored and horny ass off the chair and go to the restroom to try to freshen up.

“Do you like them?” A voice pops out of one of the stalls behind you, making you jump on the spot. You see her face in the mirror, it’s the pair- or, the girl who was sitting next to you in class.

“Sorry?” You turn around, startled and confused.

“Do you like my boobs? You've been looking at them for the whole class, do you like them that much?” She asks again calmly, on her face the same bright smile she had when she entered the classroom. Guess her rack wasn’t the first thing you noticed about her. Probably the second though.

“I’m so- I wasn’t look- I’m sorry.” You can’t hold eye contact for more than like, a second and a half straight.

“You didn’t answer” She tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms, pushing her breasts together even more.

“I- Did the professor ask me anything? Sorry, I’m still half asleep from-”

“My question. Do you like my tits, pretty boy~?”

Wasn’t that a rhetorical question? Besides, how did she get in the men’s room? Before you, nonetheless. She even hid in a stall, like a ninja, hiding in the trees before jumping on her prey. Is this part of a conspiracy, an ambush orchestrated towards you? And why is your dick getting hard at her calling you pretty?

“Answer honestly. I won’t get mad” She really looks like she won’t. She has the smile of a person who’d never hurt a fly. Her head swings lightly from left to right and back, making her ponytail dangle with it.

“I- Yes” You look away awkwardly and try to fix your pants so your hard-on doesn’t show.

Then, like she’s not in the middle of a public bathroom of a public university, or maybe like she knows that she is, and finds the whole thing that much more intriguing, she goes:

“Hehe~ Wanna see them?” What the fuck?

“Yes.” You don’t even say that. The word just leaves your mouth of its own accord. And while you’re wondering how it did, she’s already taking her t-shirt off and reaching behind her back for the clasp of her bra.

Click.

She takes two steps towards you while removing the straps from her shoulders, now only holding her cups with her palms, still smiling like this is a game, and she’s winning by a landslide, playing with you at this point. And now you can’t look away.

She slowly lowers her hands and lets her bra fall to the floor, revealing a pair of magnificent, big, round breasts. You’re now fully erect and don’t give a shit about hiding it.

She lets you stare for a couple seconds, then attacks your lips while holding your head. Your tongues meet and wrestle for a while, your hands still awkwardly holding the sink behind you.

“You can touch, you know~” Your hands grip her wide hips tight, then move up her back while you’re still kissing her and reach to the front, finding her soft boobs. You fondle them with both hands, your thumbs playing with her nipples. She moans softly.

One of her hands leaves your cheek and darts down towards your shaft, stroking up and down through your pants and making you growl in her mouth.

Then she detaches from your body in a flash, like she just had an epiphany, and heads towards the stall she came from.

“Come here, I think you’ll like this” She’s not asking this time, so you don’t answer. You simply smile back, follow her in and let her take the lead.

The girl gets on her knees and starts unbuckling your pants, her stare not leaving your eyes. She pulls your pants and boxers together down to your ankles, your cock plopping down right in front of her face. She looks at it with hunger, licking her lips, while she starts stroking it. She knows you don’t need her to, you’re already fully erect, she’s just playing with it for her own pleasure, and you’re ok with that.

“You’ll need some of this, hehe~” she says as she spits on your dick, spreading her saliva around with both hands now. She then does the same on your balls, and just to keep you busy in the meantime, she wraps her lips around your rod, slowly inserting more and more of it into her mouth.

“Fuck!” You know you’re still in a public bathroom, but her mouth is too good to care about that.

She takes more than two thirds of your cock, you almost touch the back of her throat before she retreats, drooling a little.

“Hehe~ You having fun, pretty boy?” You shudder slightly at the pet name. “Don’t cum so soon though, this is not even the best part~”

She spits again, this time on both of her hands, then begins fondling and massaging her own boobs. She’s staring at you when she starts, but she slowly gets more and more immersed into her own massage and closes her eyes halfway through, high-pitched whimpers occasionally leaving her mouth as she flicks her nipples. She licks her lips, like she’s longing, waiting for something, so you instinctively reach towards them with your finger, which she accepts into her mouth. She coats it with saliva and licks all around it, even bobbing her head on it a little, still smearing saliva onto her breasts. Your dick is hanging there untouched and you just stare at her pleasured state in awe. After what felt like almost a minute she breaks out of her trance.

“Oops! Sorry, I got a little too into it, I do that sometimes” she shyly remarks. You give a doting smile.

Then she immediately wraps her tits around your shaft and starts bobbing them up and down in a frantic rhythm, causing you to seek support on the wall behind you from the sudden pleasure.

“Hehe~ I knew you’d like this, you’re so cute”

This girl will be the death of you. You know that when she casually throws compliments at you, you know that when she puts that giddy smile on, but more importantly you know that when she does all of that while squeezing your dick between her boobs and bouncing on it.

As your hand reaches for her now slightly messier ponytail, she lowers and opens her mouth, letting her tongue out. With each thrust your tip now meets her soft, wet tongue, adding more stimulation to your shaft. She even gives it a little lick once in a while, and now you’re silencing your moans. You feel your orgasm building, so you take things into your own hands.

“Fuck, wait a second”

The girl only mouths a cute “Okay~”, simultaneously taken aback and amused at how you take the lead. You grab and place her back against the wall, then reach for her tits. She’s still on her knees, but she’s quite tall, so you only need to bend your knees slightly for your dick to be right in front of her breasts. You then place your shaft between her mounds and press them together before you start thrusting up slowly.

She can now keep her eyes on yours as you gradually pick up the pace. Both of her hands are free, but you only feel one wrap around the back of your thigh, both slowly stroking it and slightly supporting you. She reaches up towards your butt, helping your hips’ motion and now almost guiding your rhythm as you speed up and feel yourself getting closer. As you thrust between her breasts, you start squeezing them like stress balls, and at this point there’s nothing other than you, her boobs, and your impending orgasm. So when she starts fondling your balls from behind, the moment the pace of your thrusts reaches its peak, you know that’s the last bit of stimulation you needed.

“I’m about to cum. Where do you want it?”

She doesn’t even speak, just takes your dick and wraps her lips around it, licking all around it while spurts of white hit the back of her throat again, again and again, as you feel her mouth vibrate on you like she’s moaning on your girth. She keeps up the tongue work while bobbing her head up and down slightly, and as you release the last few drops, you’re just spent.

It takes a minute with your back against the wall for you to even be able to say anything.

“Are you okay?” She nods cutely and you notice she seems to be storing something in her cheeks. She opens wide and shows you the pool of your cum still in her mouth, not a drop wasted, then swallows it in one go. You stare at her mouth agape, she just chuckles.

Then you realize. “Shit, you didn’t- Do I need to-”

“Don’t worry, I got my share” she says while taking her still wet and sticky right hand out of her panties, then licks her fingers clean. “Yummy~” You bet. You’d love to have a taste, next time. “Thanks for offering though, you’re so cute~”

This girl will be the death of you.

The two of you put your clothes back on and wash up, trying to look as presentable as possible. When she’s ready, she turns towards you.

“My name is Yel, by the way, nice to meet you!” She extends her arm for a handshake like it’s the most normal thing to do after giving a titjob in a public bathroom. And in the awkwardness of the situation, you find that endearing.

“See you at class tomorrow?”

-

footnotes.

so, i'm trying this kinktober thing. i don’t know how many days i will write, maybe 31, maybe 10 , maybe even just this one, but i’ll try. some of them will be shorter, some longer, some softer, some kinkier, most of them probably very sucky. for now, just thank you for reading. have a kith and a good day <3. hopefully, leaf.

[qqueenofhades]

I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable answering this, but my mind is spiraling out of control and you’re the only person I know with the level of knowledge to where I can feel comfortable asking this without getting some form of “bla bla we live in a safe state don’t worry.”

I’m sincerely wondering if I need to be making plans to leave the country in the event of November bringing the most horrible of outcomes despite our best efforts (and yes I’m planning to vote blue in everything I can); as a AFAB in CA?

I know about project 2025. I’m terrified. Forgive my pop culture reference, but I feel like a version of Princess Zelda staring down a barrel of possible doom while everyone around me is like “nah that future you literally had a nightmare about where they made it illegal for a woman to have a bank account without a guy co-signing it and took the money from everyone who didn’t comply by a certain date isn’t even a possibility!”

I’m just confused about my life and am trying to take it day by day, and exercising every right while I still have it to prevent this outcome, but it feels weird making plans and retirement accounts and just general Setting Up Adult Life And Future Things™️……while wondering if I even have a future in this place at all and I’m just making it harder to escape if need be.

I’m sorry I’m rambling, and I guess I don’t know what I’m asking since no one has a crystal ball.

But I guess, it’s stuff like how much can the feds effect state’s policies? Is it possible for them to immediately block international travel for all women practically upon inauguration? How much time would I even have to gtfo if the worst begins?

Bc honestly this whole thing feels like the lead in to a very nasty chapter of a history book, and even though I have hope we’ll have another blue tsunami, it can be hard to try and figure things out when it feels like there’s barely any historical precedent for any of it.

Welp. Okay. First of all, I am giving you a comforting hug, I am walking with you to your favorite coffee shop, I am paying for your favorite beverage and also a baked goodie of your choice, and we are sitting down in a corner where we can talk honestly. So that's where I want you to imagine us having this conversation.

To start with, yes, I completely understand this feeling of utter, paralyzing doom, where I am trying to go about my daily life and make plans for my career and carry out daily tasks and Be Responsible while there's still just this total void beyond the end of the year, the utter impossibility of knowing if we will have dodged an absolutely massive bullet and finally be safe (since if Trump loses again he is 100% going to jail in the next four years) or, well. You know. That is a very hard way to live, when you're wondering if anything is going to matter and you can't see beyond that black cloud of fear on the horizon. It sucks you down and tells you that nothing is worth doing now in case it just gets so much worse. I am not going to tell you not to feel that. We all do. We are all scared. That in and of itself is a perfectly normal way to feel.

However, there are things you can do both now and if (I repeat, if) God absolutely forbid, the worst was to happen (again). First of all, we have already lived through a Trump presidency once. It was terrible and scary and awful and demoralizing as fuck, but we can do it again if we absolutely Goddamn fucking have to (once, again, God forbid). Second, you are currently about as safe as you could be in California. Newsom has proven himself to be smart, tough, able to run rings around Republicans, and unwilling to comply with their stupid performative-cruelty directives. He's not a saint or a magician, but you don't need that; you need a shrewd politician able to fight back, and he has proven himself willing and capable of doing that. So as long as he is governor, you're going to be more safe than not, and I'd also like to ask all the shrieking Online Leftists if, should the shit go down, they would rather live in a state with a Democratic governor who will fight Trump 2.0 every step of the way, or a Republican governor who will just roll over and obey. (But that would destroy their BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME talking point, so you know.)

Next of all, even if the Republicans are doing their best impression, America in 2024 isn't Germany in 1934. There are different tools, different ways to fight back, and different awarenesses/social media/visibility factors. I also need everyone to remember that just as Biden can't just sign an executive order and fix everything everywhere, Trump can't just sign an executive order and fuck everything everywhere, just like that with no more discussion ever. He tried that last time, it generally didn't work, and trust me, at least this time nobody is sleeping on the danger he poses. His candidacy in 2016 was dismissed as a long-shot joke that nobody took seriously until it was too late, and for better or worse, people aren't doing that this time. He will be sued instantly, incredibly, and repeatedly with everything his band of wannabe fascists try, and since we have had four years of Biden fixing the courts from where Trump trashed them, that does mean something. There is no scenario where even if he does issue some outrageous order against women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, etc (which to be clear, I'm sure he would try) it would just be carried out completely, immediately, and with no feasible way to stop it. Evil is evil, but it is also stupid, clueless, determined to hurt people just for the hell of it without any regard for what is possible or which will be allowed, and there's a lot more grey area in there than just "Trump says something terrible and it's instantly done, the end."

Once again, I'm not going to say that the worst-case scenario is not possible, but I don't think it's likely, and even if that does happen, there are ways for us to survive and fight back (again). Nobody wants it and it should not have to be asked of us due to the utter collapse of the social, civic, political, and intellectual fabric of this country thanks to the TrumpCult, but once again... these people are so loud and dangerous and cruel and stupid because they are in the minority. Etc. etc. polls are garbage, but we did just have an interesting piece of empirical data from the Iowa caucuses. Trump -- in one of the whitest, most rural, most conservative, most religious, most Trump-loving states in the country -- struggled to break 50%. Almost half of a rabid Republican fully-Trumpized electorate, among the diehards sufficiently motivated to get out and caucus in extreme freezing weather, voted for someone else (Haley and DeSantis took about 20% apiece). Now, no, we don't know how that will translate to the general election, and if registered Republicans will flock back to the nominee even if it's Trump, but as almost half of Haley voters said they would vote for Biden if it was a Biden-Trump matchup in the general, there is some sense that Trump is an aberration to their otherwise ironclad party loyalty. Now, Republicans are the fucking worst and nobody should be relying on them to save us; we still need to get out and vote for Democrats with all our might. But Trump is no longer barn-burningly popular even in core Trump heartland, and it'll be interesting to see how things go in future primaries.

My point is: I know the feeling that evil is awful and unstoppable and all-powerful, and will crush our lives and our futures no matter what we do to resist it. I really, really do. But Trump is a terrible candidate, he's running literally only to keep himself out of a long, long prison sentence, and if he had crushed the Iowa caucuses regardless, we might be having a different conversation. However, we need to remember that it is possible, again (God forbid) in the worst scenario, to resist, to live, and to win. Everyone who is motivated to work for a better world will still be here. Everyone who can help you and all of us will still be here. And there are more of us than there are of them. Yes, I do understand the feeling that we need to have contingency plans in place, I do absolutely know that it could get very bad, and all that (as you say, nobody has a crystal ball). But for now, I want you to take a deep breath, try to take this day by day, and remember that this is not a crushing and inevitable future that will sweep over you and destroy you without you (or any other person of good will) having a say in the matter. You still have agency, you still have the ability to protect yourself, and you still have others who will protect you in turn. You're not alone. The bad guys want you to think that, because when you're isolated and terrorized, you're easier to pick off and/or recruit into their cult. But you're not.

In conclusion: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

[modelbus]

Have I ever mentioned I’m a Greek mythology nerd? If not… here’s a good time to drop that. This is HEAVILY Orpheus and Eurydice inspired!!

This is just a little writing EXERCISE, I know it’s not good :) I will be posting an actual writing thing on WEDNESDAY!!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Gn!Reader

He Doesn’t Look Back

You’d follow your lieutenant through fire if he asked you to. And he never did ask, but you still did it. Bullets pinging at your feet, all you can do is grip your gun and keep your eyes trained on his back.

Ghost doesn’t look back.

Hesitating for even a second would get you both killed, and he knows it. Glancing back at you, even just to confirm you’re alive and following, would end with a bullet in his head too.

It’s not far from cover, a building you two can duck into to reload and go back at it. Call Price for an evac, inform him the mission went sideways.

Damn intel leaks.

This was your mission, technically. You were sent out alone, collecting information on a mobster from afar. It was simple, safe.

Until the Task Force servers were hacked and your mission was leaked.

Being disconnected from the team unless you called them left you unable to know what happened. When the mobster suddenly went into hiding, you searched the city high and low, trying to figure out what had triggered it.

Ghost was the one to come into the city to tell you, to save your ass. And now he’s the one helping you get out, helping you live, continuously saving your ass.

Despite what everyone says, Ghost is hardly callous or emotionless. If you chose, you’d liken him to a tragedy. For all intents and purposes, he’s the makings of a hero: strong and brave, loyal enough to dive into hell to save you. But he’s got the air of a dead man walking, someone who has so many ghosts that they’ll drag him down. Ironic, considering his Callsign.

You let out a muffled curse as a bullet zings past you, barely missing. Ghost doesn’t turn, too busy dodging his own bullets.

There’s just a few more paces, then you’ll be in the safety of cover. This is the last time you’re letting Price put you on undercover work, you swear. Soap will probably tease you for days for needing Ghost to come rescue you.

Your hands tighten on your gun instinctively, glancing over as you catch a glimpse of fabric. Honestly, you’re not sure you’ve been in a worse situation. At least in other times you had all of 141 to back you.

Finally, Ghost ducks into the doorway of the abandoned house, looking back at you before he’s even fully in. You can see his eyes through the mask, relief clear as he reaches back to haul you through with him.

You lower your gun, stretching to grab his arm, eyes only on him and the prospect of safety.

Neither of you ever sees the grenade.

It flings you back, the ground seeming to erupt beneath your feet as you fly. You slam against someone’s abandoned car, scrabbling for purchase as you’re sent tumbling across its hood. Glass tears through your sleeves and gloves, piercing through to your skin.

Ghost shouts your Callsign, but you can’t even hear it past the ringing in your ears. Like everything is muffled, you can barely get yourself to focus on pushing yourself to a sitting position.

Pain shoots through your body, but you ignore it. You have to get up, you have to get to Ghost, you have to fucking live.

You look up, right into the barrel of a gun.

A man you’ve never seen before stares down at you, sneering. As you watch, his hand tightens around the grip.

Ghost is nowhere in sight. He came back for you, but at what cost? He looked back to help you, to make sure you were still alive, and you were a fool for dropping your gun to reach for him.

The man above you squeezes the trigger.

Ghost’s name is the last thing on your lips.

[anonymous-dentist]

A snippet from the Star Wars AU:

-

Cellbit, first off, doesn't even know what the Force is. It's an abstract concept, like childhood. Or peace. Or the moons.

Cellbit's home planet of Favela had five moons. By the time he was launched across the galaxy into the war, Favela was down to three.

Now, as Cellbit slits yet another throat under the too-warm Favela sun, there is only one moon left, and it's set to be demolished by the Empire in a week's time.

Grimacing at the smell, Cellbit powers off his knife and tucks it away. He drops the corpse unceremoniously, wrinkling his nose at the way its fingers limply cling to the front of his jacket. He brushes them off; gross.

The job was supposed to be a simple one: meet up with Forever and drop off a ROM for him to deliver to the Resistance he definitely isn't part of. From there, Cellbit would pick up Richarlyson and get him off-planet just in case the Empire's laser causes more destruction than anticipated.

But, well, news travels fast, especially when it comes to Cellbit. Because everybody on Favela's heard all about the young Jedi apprentice who went to war a child and came home a Sith Lord, and Cellbit really doesn't know how to tell them that he's never even held a lightsaber. Honestly, he doesn't know how the rumor started, but it's fucking annoying because he can't so much as breathe in his home planet's direction without getting a laser rifle pointed at his face.

Cellbit picks up the dead man's rifle off the ground and slings it over his shoulder. It's empty, but Forever's a bit of a collector; if he doesn't want it, his "friend" The Demon will.

There's a rustle from behind a nearby building. At the same time, Cellbit's comm rings.

A simple man, Cellbit opens the call in his earpiece.

"Gatinho!" he hears, and he smiles despite the gun starting to peek its way into the street aimed towards him.

Cellbit pulls his knife back out and powers it back on. It hums in his hand. His fingers start to tingle; he needs to get Mike to reseal the handle again, the laser's starting to leak through.

"Guapito," he cheerfully responds, "how are you?"

"Fine, fine, I just had a question about the flowers."

The flowers, right. For the wedding.

In two months, Cellbit is going to get married to the love of his life. He and Roier already have the venue booked, and now they're working on the rest of it. Cellbit has a suit fitting booked for a week from now, and Roier supposedly already has his picked out.

The color scheme is red and white. That being said...

Click!

"What about amaranths?" Cellbit suggests.

He ducks just as the rifle fires. Its bullet singes his hair, fucking asshole.

Scowling, Cellbit charges the bastard and swings at them with his knife. They just barely dodge out of the way. The knife cuts through their pristine white helmet, revealing a scarred smile and blank, empty eyes.

"I mean, yeah, obviously," Roier scoffs. "But what else? Roses, maybe?"

The soldier butts the end of their rifle into Cellbit's stomach and pushes him away, and then they pull their rifle back and level it at his face and they pull the trigger and-

"I don't know, aren't those kind of cliche?" Cellbit asks, tumbling to the side and just narrowly avoiding a laser to the face. He falls into a roll and ducks behind a wall. "Like, they're fine, but I think your dad would kill me if we went with something cheap."

"Roses aren't fucking cheap, man. In this economy?"

Cellbit lets out a labored breath, and it's just a bit too loud because Roier goes deathly quiet on his end of the line.

"Fine," Cellbit pants. "Roses are fine. I said they were fine."

Another volley of bullets pepper the wall behind him. A few go right through the wall and mark the building opposite with smoking black dots.

A beep from the comm marks the end of the call. Fuck.

Cellbit adjusts his grip on his knife.

"You know," he calls, hoping the Empire soldier can hear him, "you're going to want me to kill you now."

No response. Figures. It's kind of hard to speak when you were born without a mouth.

One more round of gunfire, and now they need to reload their gun and-

Cellbit leaps out from behind the wall with an animalistic snarl, pouncing upon the soldier and knocking them to the ground. They twist in his grasp, kicking and punching with the hand not holding their rifle.

He presses his knife to their throat, and they freeze.

"You know who I am," he says. "Nod for 'yes'."

The soldier nods. Good. So they can hear.

"You're one of Cucurucho's," Cellbit says. It isn't a question; he could recognize one of Cucurucho's personalized clones from a light-year away.

Another nod, this one more frantic.

"Is Cucurucho on-planet?"

A shake of the head.

"Did Cucurucho send you?"

Nothing.

Cellbit presses the knife in enough for it to start cutting through the soldier's armor, melting it. No response. Seems they've accepted their fate, then.

There's no higher honor for a soldier than to die in the heat of battle. Cellbit may not respect the Empire worth a damn, but he respects the art of war enough to let a soldier die the way the universe intended.

Cellbit drags his knife across the soldier's throat and watches the little life left behind drain out of their eyes. Once they're dead, he stands, and he pulls out his comm to call his fiancé back, his back turned to the dead soldier.

Roier doesn't pick up, but-

PEW!!

Cellbit gasps a scream as a laser shoots through his shoulder. Instinctively, he drops his knife to clutch at his arm, spinning around to face the soldier he had just killed with wide confused eyes, what the fuck?

"You're dead," he tells them. This is new. "You're- hold on."

Entirely disregarding the rifle pointed at his chest, Cellbit struggles to pull out his camera from off of his belt. He could use this! Maybe it's just a fluke, but maybe Cucurucho finally-

"Get away from my husband, you piece of shit!"

Cellbit looks up just in time to watch a red beam of light stab right through the soldier's chest. Over their shoulder, he can see the messy, annoyed face of his very handsome fiancé, who was supposed to stay on the ship to finish getting it ready for Richarlyson.

Roier pulls his lightsaber out and spins it once in his hand before powering it off and tucking it away. He spits on the soldier's corpse as it falls, and then he kicks it for good measure. His eyes almost seem to glow gold for a moment, for just a second, but then he looks up at Cellbit and his face melts into a smile.

"Gatinho!" he cheers.

He jumps over the body and tackles Cellbit in a hug, picking him up and spinning him in a circle before setting him back down and proceeding to lightly smack the back Cellbit's head with a frown.

"You said you would be fine on your own," he pouts.

"I was fine!" Cellbit protests. But he can't hide the wince as Roier's hand brushes against his shoulder, and he can't hide the scent of burning flesh.

"Uh-huh," Roier flatly says.

Cellbit rolls his eyes and shrugs his way out of his fiancé's hold. He bends down to pick his knife up and frowns at the new dent in its handle. Mike's gonna kill him...

"I guess you'll just need me to protect you from now on," Roier sighs.

"My knife..." Cellbit whines. He looks down at it sadly.

"Fuck your knife, it couldn't even kill that guy!"

"It tried its best!"

"Just get a new knife. That way you won't get shot like an idiot the next time you go out on a job by yourself."

Roier grumbles and swoops Cellbit into another hug, this time not letting go as Cellbit squirms in his arms. He mutters loving insults into Cellbit's hair and pinches his ear once before letting go and taking his hand, allowing Cellbit to put his poor dented knife away.

It's only then in that moment of quiet that Cellbit realizes something.

He looks down at Roier with a wide grin. "You called me your husband."

Roier's cheeks redden just slightly. Just slightly, barely noticeable under the red Favela sun.

"I was just practicing, you know?" he says. "For later."

Cellbit's heart skips a beat. He can't help it. He kisses Roier, and he laughs into Roier's mouth as Roier starts swearing at him about PDA and not kissing in front of dead bodies.

"I love you," Cellbit whispers.

Roier pulls his face free from Cellbit's and puts his lips next to Cellbit's ear: "I know."

And that's all Cellbit needs to know.

[baenyth]

Undertale Yellow Fucked Me Up, and I Like That.

Honestly, when I was a dumb idiot teenager playing Undertale I wasn't too connected to the characters. I felt bad to kill anyone for sure, but I didn't feel too bonded to the characters, and when it was done, it was done.

Yellow, on the other hand,

I want Ceroba to adopt me and become my mother. Yes, I do have mommy issues. No, I don't want Toriel as a parent. She's more like a grandmother to me, and I already have a mother that's old enough to be a grandmother. But that's enough about my personal life. I want an Asian fox monster mom that would protect me with the sheer power of a mother's love. Maybe if she and Starlo are up to it they can marry. Either way Ceroba and I are marching right up to Alphys' lab to free Kanako and the other amalgamates. I know Undertale canon and lore, damnit.

I want to become the sixth member of the Feisty Five. Yes, we will have to change the name to something more alliterative, but I'll help because that's the cost of being a member of the gang. Maybe if Kanako's here she can make it seven if she wants to. I just wanna be part of the gang. I'll add in flickering between blunt reasonability, analytics, and some of the most insane crap you've heard in your life. Also more card games because Pair-a-Gone is fun, but what about more?

As for the others, Martlet is chill and very helpful with Clover (not to mention I love creations and puzzles,) Dalv is cool and I like his interests (organ-playing, writing children's books, Balloony, etc.) and El Bailador is El Bailador. Good friends there. Axis can go do his own thing.

Also I feel like Flowey is chronologically out-of-place in Yellow but his boss fight and actions are so cool that it makes me want to look past that. Like sure, Clover could've fallen into the dark ruins because the ruins switches were getting crusty and the wrong switch was probably intended to drop the player but Toriel made it not do that only for some monsters to fix it as a prank, but who cares! CGI that looks like claymation! Dodging the bullets! The Flowey Roulette!

[auspicioustidings]

Poor Soap, getting the C4 out might be worse. First of all, the road wasn’t well maintained. So many potholes Price didn’t even try to dodge. And then the removal. Everyone HAD to make sure everything was out, taking turns reaching in to feel around with their fingers and hands. I mean, if the chemicals in the C4 leeched out it could do serious damage. A miserable day for Soap.

You understand, you totally get that his team are actually the kindest people and just want to look after him. Like honestly he's so lucky to have them!

Stop fucking squirming Sergeant, if you can take a bullet you can take a damn fist now open your legs and stay still

[halfthebrain]

No but really, honestly, look me in the eye and tell me Harvey wasn’t a fucking douchebag to the women he was supposedly in love with.

Scottie? She risked her whole career for him (got fired bc of him) and he sends he back to London?? Just to then take her back so he can keep his Big Secret (Mike is a fraud) from her, not even manage to say “I love you” to her and then be sad that she breaks it off? The way he said “you mean something to me” is giving emotionally challenged (god bless him) at best and at worst fuck boy behaviour to keep a woman hooked and warm at worst.

Paula his goddamned fucking therapist????? I’m- no comment. The way he was yelling at her for just standing up for herself. Unbelievable.

Donna… what really is there to say. It’s even worse than Scottie and Paula combined. Her yearning for him for years… him clearly knowing about it but since he needs her “professionally” he keeps her around. The fucking wedding that wasn’t even their wedding in the first place??? For a woman who clearly has very high standards and deserved a big ass reception of her own??

I guess Zoe was the only woman who dodged that bullet. Hope she’s having a wonderful time with her niece.

And I’m saying all this while very much loving Harvey Specter and knowing that his heart is at the right place, still doesn’t excuse the abysmal behaviour lmao.