#either he's not the one or it's not the right time or i'm supposed to be forever alone but what's meant to be will be!!!

[gangstalkerbarbie]

Yes, you don't owe anyone your time and intimacy. These things are freely given to people whose company you enjoy. They're not a reward for performing the mechanical actions of courtship correctly, they're a logical consequence of two people mutually liking one another on a profound human level. Courtship is a game between two people who already like each other, and the thing is that there is no reward, the reward is getting to spend socially sanctioned time together that could lead into nesting and raising children. The win condition of dating is a pair bond capable of weathering life and maybe sustaining childrearing, which for most people involves sex because it's fun, bonding and is what leads to children. The win condition of dating is not mechanical sex for mechanical sex's own sake.

The thing that progresses dating into greater seriousness is therefore also not a kiss, not a handy, nothing — you can do all of that with whoever you're dating, I don't care, but call me a boomer idk, the period of time that you're in love is supposed to be safe and fun for both parties. The progression of a relationship is about trust, which dies instantly the second dating is no longer both fun and safe.

If feeling safe and having fun does not, in your heart of hearts, include being alone together or handies or head for you (and let's be honest with ourselves, it often doesn't, no one really thinks these kinds of risks to her reputation and human value are fun and safe; when girls engage in these behaviours it's because they live in a bizarro world where for some reason horny boys are allowed to set the rules of mate choice and girls are taught to value being wanted above anything else), that should be respected. If it isn't, stop dating this person.

Lack of willingness to respect women's nonconsent (and telling you not to be a prude is, in fact, disrespect) leads to rape, which used to often lead to children out of wedlock whose lives were doomed to be miserable, which is why so many patriarchal cultures wrote not being in private with unwed women into ritual or customary law and usually tied in metaphysics.

Even back then, people knew that rape can be a profound sociological trauma with very far-reaching consequences and wanted to keep their children from experiencing it, and their grandchildren from living whatever life these circumstances gave them. Not everyone alive in a prevailing social climate agrees with it, but they do all know what the consequences are for acting like it doesn't exist.

And after marriage too, you may not always have the right to say no, but on principle you deserve it just by existing as a human being. No still means no even with a ring on it.

I would (and I have) stop talking to a guy even at the implication of any entitlement to sex; in my culture it's normal to be a virgin until 24 or older nowadays, because marriage is a very long commitment, and sex is always a risk for the woman, and no shit she has the right to discretion. If he wants to gently try to wheedle or pressure you into sex while you're still reasonably in the public eye as a distinct person now, imagine what he'll do when you're married, you're in private together with no witnesses all the time, and his grandma thinks he's entitled to it!

He's not entitled to fuck or damn, but marital rape is much harder to get any recourse for than rape, comma, vanilla (which itself is the farthest thing from a picnic), and not everyone who blogs on the internet has a right to no-fault divorce. Universally applicable advice: either the man you're with is capable of understanding that no means no, or you just don't get into that position with him to begin with. If he has bad vibes, don't give him a chance, leave. If he says or does some weird shit, don't give him the benefit of the doubt, leave. You are always morally in the right for leaving and telling everyone about why.

There may be very little you can do once you're too far in — I'm not saying you shouldn't have the right to leave a bad marriage, I'm saying a lot of people wake up one day to find they don't — so if at all you can choose whether you end up in that position, do everything in your power not to.

There should, also, in principle be standards you should be able to hold men to. Leave if they refuse to be held to standards; they do believe in standards even if they claim not to, just standards only for you. You want the guys that believe sincerely in standards for everyone that you also believe in.

They will be hard to find because their path is thankless and often also considered to be cringe or even juvenile (because very young boys don't know they're supposed to want to hurt women yet, not wanting to hurt women is widely perceived as naive, feminine or infantile among men), but it's the only way to safely be heterosexual. If you need a man (I'm a lesbian but I have brothers I love who feel they need women, and I know full well that it is possible to feel you need a man), pick a good one.

You may be waiting until you're 30, even 40, but the good news is that gives you time to make nesting money and learn who you are, so, you know, different time periods, different priorities.

Secrets of the mothers of Israel or whatever, special for Tumblr: make good choices about your box and hold the men in your life to standards. Otherwise they will make up bad one-sided standards to hold you to and make your stupid box choices for you.

The social coercion women face to date people they’re not attracted to is fucking insane. I remember distinctly thinking “well, I can just force myself to be attracted to him…”

Films, books, etc, all show the trope of beautiful woman and unattractive man. There is still the myth that an unattractive man will treat you better than an attractive one (more women are waking up to this, but still). Even now the left thinks that activism happens between the legs of women.

Don’t date people you’re not attracted to. Don’t feel guilty for not giving them the time of day. No means no.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Cho Sang Woo X F!Reader: A blast from the past

a/n: this was originally supposed to be a Gi hun x Sang-woo X reader but it became something else.

Warnings: smut, kissing, Sang woo being an ass, fluff, jealousy, fingering, penetration (p in v), mentions of attempted suicide, domish Sang woo, fighting, no use of y/n, not proofread, female reader

Word count: 3656 (holy moly)

Fate is a funny thing. Here you were, trapped inside a game of death with none other than your childhood best friends. You hadn’t seen them in ages but the moment you laid eyes on the two men you recognized them instantly. You raced over to them, a smile on your face as you watched the men's eyes widen in recognition.

“Oh my god! Sang-woo, look who it is!”

Gi hun wasted no time, immediately pulling you into a warm embrace. He smelled different then you remembered. The sugary scent that he had when he was a child was completely gone, replaced with a metallic scent that reminded you of coins. Gi hun pulled out of the embrace, his arms holding onto your shoulders as he turned to glance at Sang-woo with an easy smile. The other man gazed at you with an impassive expression. He had always had a sober look, even as a child. You smiled at him but he didn't return the gesture, opting instead to push his glasses up.

“What are you doing here?”

The emotionless tone in which he asked the question made a twinge of anger shoot through you. He sounded like he was judging you. 

“I could ask you the same thing, Mister SNU Business School graduate.”

Gi hun looked between the two of you, noticing the obvious tension. In a desperate attempt to stop this conversation before it became an argument, something that often happened when you and Sang-woo had any sort of interaction, Gi hun placed his hands on either one of your shoulders. You looked at him, your belly warming at the sight of his goofy smile. 

“Looks like we’re going to be playing some games. Should be fun right?”

You glanced at the doll at the edge of the room.

“I was always quite good at red light, green light.”

Sang-woo shrugged Gi hun's hand from his shoulder before silently moving away from the two of you. You scoffed at the action.

“What’s up his ass?”

“I think he’s embarrassed that you saw him like this.”

“But I'm in here too. And so are you.”

“Yeah well, I never had a promising future laid out for me.”

Your brows furrowed at his words but Gi hun just shrugged, as if he knew the affirmation was true.

“Plus, he always wanted to impress you. Even as kids.”

Before you could question Gi huns words a voice rang out through the room, telling you the games were about to begin. 

Your hands shook as you walked back into the dormitory. Blood stained your face and clothes. You looked like a zombie, stumbling around in silence until you reached your bed. You knew the boys had made it too, you’d gotten a quick glance at them as you walked back to the dormitory but you were far too out of it to do anything about it. Luckily you didn’t have to search for them. They found you instead.

You raised your head as a sudden darkness filled your field of vision. Sang-woo stood before you, his face covered in sweat. Somehow he’d managed to keep his glasses on during the game. He didn’t say anything, his eyes moving over the blood on your body. A shrill call of your name rang out from behind you, causing you to look over his shoulder. Gi hun raced towards you, pushing past Sang-woo so he could get to you. He kneeled before you, his hands moving to hold onto your face. 

“Are you okay?”

His eyes seemed to notice the blood for the first time, eyebrows raising with horror.

“Are you hurt? Did you-”

“It’s not hers.”

Sang-woos voice made the two of you look up at him.

“What?”

“The blood Gi hun. It’s not hers.”

Your lip started shaking. Before you could stop them the tears began flowing from your eyes. A small sob made its way from your lips, causing Gi hun’s head to snap back to you. He watched you with wide eyes for a moment before his hands moved to tug you into him. He pulled you to the floor, holding you in a fierce hug. 

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Sang-woo watched the exchange with a heavy heart. He watched the way your hands clawed at Gi huns jacket, desperately trying to cling onto something. He wanted to move but he didn't feel like he should. You were probably angry at him, he’d been a dick to you after all. He thought of moving away, leaving you and Gi hun to your tender embrace. But before he could turn around your voice ripped through the silence. You called out his name in a rough whisper, voice a barely contained sob. You hand moved from Gi hun’s jacket, extending it to him in invitation. Gi hun unclinged himself from your body, allowing him to look at Sang-woo. Sang-woo looked from your tear stained face to Gi hun's wide eyed expression and before he could stop himself he was sinking to the floor before you, allowing you to pull him into a tight hug. 

You were sitting on your bed, one of the boys on either side of you. Gi hun held one of your hands in his lap. Sangwoo’s gaze drifted to your hands ever so often, a small twinge of jealousy making its way into his mind. He didn’t know why he’d suddenly started caring about your caresses with Gi hun. Even as children you’d always been closer to the other boy, a consequence of Sangwoos cold nature. But now he wished you’d cling onto him the way you clung to Gi hun. The thought was ripped out of his head when the alarm sounded. 

During the whole voting process your hand remained glued to Gi huns. You watched player after player vote until finally it was Sangwoos' turn. You gave him a small smile as he walked over to the buttons. Your face dropped as you watched him press “O”. You could feel Gi hun's disappointment beside you but he pushed it down to whisper in your ear.

“It’s okay. We still have a chance.”

You nodded, eyes never moving away from the back of Sang-woos head. 

Your body crashed onto the harsh ground with a thud. You groaned as you tried to lift your body up. You couldn't see a thing and your body was bound at an awkward angle. You felt a pair of hands move against your face. You twisted away, a small shriek leaving your lips.

“Stop wiggling around.I’m trying to help.”

You recognized his voice instantly. A small part of you wanted to keep wiggling just to make his life harder, but the cold air on your body was becoming very uncomfortable so you stayed still. The moment both of you were free Sang-woo made his way over to his bag, pulling out his clothes. You stared at him in disbelief. He seemed to notice your eyes on him because he turned around.

“You should get dressed. You’ll get sick.”

You let out a scoff.

“Like you give a shit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You voted to stay!”

You’d made your way over to him, hands moving to tug the bag out of his hand before throwing it at the floor. Sang-woo gave you a tired look.

“I’m really not in the mood-”

“Oh! I’m sorry! You’re not in the mood to listen to what a shit person you are?”

Sang-woo bit into his lips in anger, his head moving to look at the road.

“Don't look away from me!”

You hit his chest with all your might, something you would do when he’d pissed you off.

“What the hell were you thinking huh? People were killed! We were all going to die and you wanted to keep playing? For what? Some extra cash?”

“Extra cash?” 

He was angry now. You could tell from the look on his face, the way his lips became a small line as he spoke.

“That money would get rid of my debt!”

“It’s blood money Sang-woo!”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t think about it. I saw your face when they started to fill the piggy bank. You wanted it.”

You shake your head at him.

“You don't know anything about me. You never bothered to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means!”

Your face was so close to his that he could feel your breath on his skin. You were looking up at him with a scowl, your brows furrowed so intensely that the line on your forehead became very predominant. You’d only ever looked at him with such anger once before. He didn’t want to remember that day. His eyes shifted over to your body, gaze catching on the bare skin.He couldn’t help it, he’d always found you rather beautiful. He wanted to keep arguing but he was cold and tired. He knew you would keep this up all night if you had to. You were stubborn like that. So he did the only thing he knew would shut you up. He kissed you.

He tasted like cigarettes, his hands were cold as they grabbed onto your waist, pulling flush against his body. Your brain stopped working for a moment, the feeling of his lips was intoxicating but then you seemed to remember that you were mad at him. You shoved him off of you. Your face was flushed, chest rising and falling as you stared at him.

“You’re such a dick Sang-woo.”

With that you’d turned on your heels making your way to the bag that held your clothes. Sang-woo watched you rip it open, removing your clothes from inside before beginning to get dressed. He waited for a moment before beginning to get dressed too. 

Your shoulders shook as you walked down the road. You’d been giving Sang-woo the silent treatment ever since you’d both decided you would walk to the nearest convenience store so you could charge your phones. You kept up with Sang-woos pace but it was obvious you were having a hard time with the cold, not that you would ever admit it to him. Sang-woo stopped abruptly. You turned around to look at him.

“What are you doing? We're almost there.”

You watched him take off his suit jacket. He put his hand out to you, offering you the garment. You glanced at the jacket and then up at him. What was his deal? First he treats you like shit, then he kisses you and now he’s giving you his jacket.

“Take it. I know you’re cold.”

You're about to say you’re fine but a strong gust of wind blows causing you to shiver.

“Oh for fucks sake.”

Sang-woo makes his way to you, placing his jacket over your shoulders. You stare up at him as he drapes the jacket over your body. His glasses are slightly falling down his nose so you raise a finger to his face and push them up. He looks at you for a moment, surprised by the action. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re still an asshole.”

With that you start walking again, leaving Sang-woo behind with a shocked expression. 

It had been a day since you’d left the games. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that place. Or about Sang-woo. You hated to admit it but even since you’d seen him you’d been plagued by memories of your childhood. You had a crush on Sang-Woo when you were younger. It was hard not to be attracted to him. But as you two grew older he seemed to become more and more distant. One night you had a big fight. It was right before you’d gone off to college and neither one of you had spoken since then. That is until the games brought you back together. 

You stood in front of his door, a bag of takeout in your hand as the other moved to ring the doorbell. When there was no sign of an answer you rang again. You waited for him to come to the door but it seemed he wasn't home. With a disappointed sigh you began moving away. Your head snapped back to the door when you heard the lock click. 

Sang woo stared at you, his eyes moving to the bag in your hand before moving to glance at your face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought maybe you’d like some company…”

You looked at him, noticing the water that dripped from his pants.

“Did you fall into the bathtub?”

Sang-woo moved out of the way, not bothering to answer your question. You entered his apartment, being careful as to not slip on the watery floor. Sang woo trailed behind you in silence. He watched you remove the food from your bag, placing it on the table before turning to look at him. 

“You should probably change. You’re all wet.”

He looked down at his feet, watching the water drip from his pants. You watched him, worry filling your chest. You made your way to him. Sang-woo lifted his gaze from the floor as you approached him. The pitiful look you gave him made him feel pathetic. 

“Do you want me to help?”

He nodded slowly. 

“Okay.”

You moved your hand to his chest, slowly beginning to unbutton his shirt. Once you've managed to get all the buttons you reached beneath the cloth, pushing his shirt and jacket off in one go. The wet fabric landed with a dull thud on the ground. Your hand moved to his waistband, eyes gazing up at him through your lashes. The tension filled the air, making it hard to breathe. You moved slowly, afraid that any harsh move would make Sang-woo react negatively. You began to work on his belt but his hand stopped you. You looked up at him, searching for discomfort in his face. 

“Everything okay?”

He nodded, his hand moving to rest on your waist. You gasped as his cold hand made its way beneath the fabric, fingers skimming over the bare skin. He tugged your shirt up a bit, stopping only to look at you for confirmation that this was okay. You nodded at him, not trusting your voice. You lifted your arms, allowing him to tug your shirt off. He looked at you for a while, just talking in the sight of your flushed expression. One of his hands moved to trace your collarbone and you let out a breathy sigh. 

“Sang-woo.”

“Hum?”

“Please don’t tease.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

He was. But not on purpose. He was trying to remember every inch of your face. He needed to go back in time, even if just for one night. He wanted to feel like a teenager again. Young and unburdened. His hand moved to hold onto your face, fingers tracing your lips before he leaned down to kiss you. The kiss was gentler than the one he’d given you the night before. Your hands wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer. Your pants began to drench up the water from his as the two of you kissed. You pulled away to breathe and Sang-woo took it as a chance to kiss your neck. You gasped as his tongue moved over your skin. Your hands fumbled against his belt, tugging it off in desperation before moving to pull his pants down. His own hands found their way to your bottoms, pulling them off as well.

The two of you broke apart for a moment, panting as you took in the sight of each other. Your eyes traced over Sang woo's body, you’d seen it hours prior but the circumstances had been very different. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together as your eyes caught onto his hard on. Sang-Woo's throat was suddenly dry. He’d been planning to kill himself moments ago, if you hadn't knocked he’d probably gone through with it. He pushed the thoughts down, trying to focus on the task at hand. There was a beautiful semi naked woman before him. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. 

With one long stride Sang woo made his way to you, kissing you with a newly found hunger. He pushed you against the wall, his lips swallowing your gasps. His hard on rubbed against your clothed cunt and you couldn’t help but moan. His hand moved down your body, fingers rubbing over your underwear for a moment before pushing it to the side. You gasped as his digits entered you, nails digging into the muscles of his back. The sound your pussy made as he fingered you was down right shameful but you couldn’t get yourself to care. Not when your body buzzed with your upcoming orgasm. Your mouth went slack as Sang woo shifted his hand, allowing him to enter his fingers even deeper. 

“I missed you.”

“You’re the one that didn’t keep contact.”

Sangwoo grumbled at your words, fingers curling into you.

“I- ah- had to find out how you-shit- were through your mother.”

He was moving at a rapid speed, his motions making the air leave your chest. 

“Gi hun was all over you.”

“What?”

The words caught you off guard. Here you were,in his apartment, with his fingers inside you. And he was talking about Gi hun.

“In the games. He was all over you.” 

“He was excited to see me. Unlike some people.”

Sang-woo stilled his movements at your words, making you whine.

“Why’d you stop?”

“You’re mine.”

“What are-”

“Say it.”

You looked up at Sang-woo with wide eyes. The pathetic puppy dong you’d found when you walked in was completely gone. Sang-woo was back and he knew exactly what he could do to you. Your walls clenched around his fingers as he waited for you to say what he wanted. 

“I’m yours.”

Sang-woo's neck twitched at your breathy voice. He crashed his lips onto yours, fingers moving inside you once again. Your moans became more and more high pitched. You were so close, your eyes began to roll back into your head, mouth becoming slack. Just as you were about to tell Sang-woo you were going to cum he removed himself from you completely. You wanted to yell at him. He'd brought you to the brink only to rip it away at the last second.

You moved forward, fully prepared to hit him but you stilled when your gaze fell to his boxers. He was incredibly hard. There was a small stain on the fabric you assumed was pre cum. You watched him place his fingers on the edge of his boxers, thighs rubbing together in anticipation.  In one smooth movement he tugged his boxers down, his dick slapping proudly against his stomach as he removed it from its continents. Sang-woo hissed at the feeling of the cold air on his dick. You stared at him without a twinge of shame. 

“Take your bra off.”

You didn’t even question it, immediately moving to unclasp the garment. Sang-woo made his way back to you, his hand moving to caress your breasts. You whined as he kissed your neck.

“Sang-woo please…”

“What is it, hum?”

“I need you inside me. Please fuck me.”

You could feel him smirk against your skin. This cocky bastard. You grabbed at his dick causing him to let out a moan. His head snapped up to look at you.

“I’m starting to lose my patience, Sang-woo.”

The look he gave you was comical. He was always in control but he’d forgotten just who he was dealing with.

“Either you fuck me right now or i’m leaving you to deal with this alone.”

“Oh yeah? And what about you huh? Gonna deal with this yourself.”

He grabbed at your cunt and you keened. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’m sure Gi hun would love to help.”

A growl left Sang woo's lips. In a blink of an eye he’d dragged your underwear down, his hands pushing you against the wall as he inserted himself in you. He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, his dick beginning to bully into you. All you could do was whine as his dick rammed into your pussy. You grabbed onto him, legs moving to wrap around his waist.

“Think Gi hun could fuck you like this? Think he could even compare to me? Answer me!”

“No! Sang-woo only you can fuck me like this. Please!”

“Good girl. You gonna cum? Gonna cream all over my cock?”

You were a babbling mess, your head nodding eagerly as your orgasm approached. You half expected Sang-woo to pull away again. It’s not that he didn't think of punishing you, the idea did cross his mind but the feeling of you wrapped around him was far too irresistible. And then if it couldn’t get any better you came. A shrill screech of his name made its way out of your lips as your juices counted his dick. Your body sagged into his, head resting on the crock of his neck. His hands moved to grab at your ass, allowing his thrusts to quicken. You whined into his neck, a slight feeling of overstimulation beginning to come over you. Sang-woo gave one last harsh thrust before his body stopped moving. You felt his side spill into you, coating your walls with ease. 

You removed your legs from his waist slowly. Sang-woo continued to pant, trying to recover from his orgasm. You pushed some hair off his face. He looked at you, his eyes full of an unexpected tenderness.

“Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sang Woo. I’m right here.”

As if to prove your point you placed a loving kiss to his lips, forehead resting against his as silence filled the room.

[iguessitsjustme]

When It Rains It Pours Ep 3 & 4 Thoughts

Listen. I am currently at work and not about to watch this show (for at least a few more hours) but I after deciding to wait to watch the next episode and sleeping on it, my little brain wheels started turning and I have some thoughts to get out about the first two episodes before I start the next one. So this time there is more than just a liveblog under the cut:

I wrote that and then immediately had to actually do work. Alas. Anygay

So I was thinking about why the relationship between our boy and his girlfriend felt off to me and I think I puzzled it out. She takes immaculate care of his nails. To the point that other people notice. But his nails are where her care starts and ends. He is initiating all of their conversations basically. She will engage with him but she won't start anything. Except the nail thing. It's why he wants her to be jealous. Because then he will have some sort of proof that she cares. Cause at this point it doesn't feel like she cares about him as a person. She cares about his nails and their appearance because if they look bad that is a poor reflection on her as a girlfriend. But his actual well being and how he feels? She's not present for it. Sure, she'll turn around before she leaves and asks for a hug, but it's so out of character and out of place that our boy doesn't even realize that's what she's asking for at first. He needs to communicate his needs with words, but he has definitely been indirectly communicating his needs and she's not paying attention. Or she is and she doesn't care. And she is not communicating anything either. Their beds have separated to the point there is a table between them. A clear indicator that what they had before is changed. It can easily be moved back to how it was but neither one of them is doing it. No one is even making an attempt. Who put that bedside table there? Because my bet is that it was her. A signal to him that something had changed, but she doesn't have the guts to actually say it. Or even to admit it to herself probably. Anyway I still think she's cheating.

And now I want to talk about Sei and his boyfriend (?). It seems like Sei has made an awful lot of compromises. Does Sei have any say in anything to do with that relationship? How much of himself has he given? Way too much. And I'm not saying his boyfriend (?) needs to compromise on having sex with him if that's not something he wants. But he can compromise on other things. That's what a relationship is. He gets jealous of Sei having someone else to talk to. But Sei can't be in the apartment because of an interviewer coming over. Sei is obviously a homebody but his boyfriend (?) seems to go out a lot. Does he ever make the time to stay home with Sei. Sei has proven he is willing to leave the apartment for his boyfriend (?). So why not invite him to something. Even if it's just the two of them. Why is Sei supposed to give up all of himself and have no control over anything at all?

Okay. That's a lot of words and I haven't even started episode 3. I didn't even mention the plastic umbrellas. Lord jesus.

OKAY. The fact that she TOLD him he has rice on his face instead of removing it for him. Something is not right. She doesn't love him. At least not any more. They don't have any sense of domesticity.

Oh so not boyfriends. Best friends. Okay that tracks. Except the jealousy thing. Also Sei has still given waaaayyyy too much of himself to this dude. He needs to be free to be himself. There's something there about being closeted.

I am watching. I am listening. I am learning. *hyper focuses on arms full of umbrellas*

Man I really wish I had the spoons to talk about the music in this show cause it is phenomenal. Someone remind me this weekend. That is if anyone wants that.

Something something framing. My brain is currently hibernating.

They are about to find out aren't they? God bless.

THEY BOTH EMAILED ABOUT THE STATUE. ARE THEY NOW GONNA LOOK AT EACH OTHER?

God bless.

Episode 4 time? Episode 4 time. (but only if this truck goes away it's shaking my whole apartment.)

Truck is gone. I am free. Episode 4 let me look at ya with my eyeballs

…have I mentioned that I haven't been getting much sleep lately?

Something something going down an escalator. He's going down. Towards hell? Making poor decisions cause he's gonna cheat on his girlfriend? Going to hell because he's going to learn about his attraction to men? And obviously gay people go to hell? I need a shot of those two together going up the escalator or I'm gonna scream.

Oh he's me. This is the literal exact thing I would say to my friend in this situation.

Okay I get it. I get it. I'm gonna be thinking about this scene for a while. The way Sei thought the messages as knew them were over. The way instead he was asked out to dinner. Because both of them need each other. They understand each other in a way no one has understood them before. They see themselves in each other. I'm fine. I'm totally and completely fine. Where are the umbrellas.

Oh the toe.

DID HIS FRIEND DESIGN THE CARD HOLDER? IS THAT WHAT THE SOMETHING IS. Or one of the somethings. Everything is connected.

"When he shows his masculine side it kills the mood" girl WHAT. Are you even attracted to him? Do you even like men? Girl. Be so fucking for real right now.

So I hate both of their partners. The girlfriend and the best friend. They are both keeping these two trapped and I HATE it.

Should I watch episode 5? *looks at the time*

[theleavesofwesteros]

love hearts (Loki x F!Reader)

A/N: I'm back already with another oneshot (yay)! This one is shorter and it's a valentine's day one, something fluffy/smutty in honour of me thirsting over loki again (and him being my only valentine this year). anyways, i hope you all enjoy and are doing well!

PS: happy birthday to tom hiddleston! <3

PPS: thank you again to @cafekitsune for the divider and the permission to use it!

AO3 LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62925667

She often wondered how she'd even gotten into this situation. Dating a god wasn't just something that people did. People, human ones, especially. Moreover, dating a god who'd been forced and tortured into trying to destroy New York City was even more of an unusual case. How could she even bring that up to the people in her life? She didn't, actually. She and Loki acted like he was a mortal (much to his amusement) and he simply charmed everyone with a well-timed grin and any possible contradictions about their supposed story were forgotten. However, one bad thing about their romance was how unpredictable his appearances could be. His own habits had to do with that, of course. He liked keeping people (especially her) on their toes. But he was also a royal prince to some kingdom on another planet that she'd not yet seen. He seemed keen not to take her just yet. "Mother would love you," he often insisted, but he didn't say as much about his adoptive father. She didn't think she'd be quite fond of the man either, from what she'd heard. 

Loki had been gone for two weeks now. On Asgard, or maybe even one of the other Realms at this rate. He tried, but communication was somewhat hard to maintain inter-planetarily. She understood, but she missed him. Her life was rather particularly mundane, and especially during the colder months, he was the most exciting thing about her. He always regaled her with stories of his centuries of life, or simply got her to do things she would've never thought to do on her own. 

It was February now, thankfully. After a particularly long January, she found that the second month of the year was going by in a flash. Today of all days, happened to be Valentine's Day, the day of love and friendship. She'd never made a big deal of it, or had big expectations for it, but she'd still opted to wear something of the pink/red variety to work today. She'd gotten in touch with the important people in her life and they'd thanked one another for being in each other's lives. She'd even received a small package of love hearts at work from one of her colleagues (everyone had gotten one). With no warning from her lover, she felt it was safe to assume that his business (whatever it was), had not yet been concluded and that he would not be joining her tonight. She was alright with it. Even if she wasn't, there wasn't much she could very well do about it. 

That's why she found herself making a casual meal for herself, something not too complicated, and then pouring herself a nice drink. It was a day to celebrate, after all, and it had fallen on a Friday, so she felt she could indulge a little and welcome the weekend. Even if she was alone to celebrate it this time, she still had herself, and that was an important person to thank and cherish, indeed. 

What she did not expect, was to hear the telltale woosh of magic, rather, of seiðr, that usually preceded the arrival of someone with a far longer lifespan than hers. She'd just finished washing and putting away the very few dishes she'd used for both the preparation of dinner and the cooking of it, when she turned to see just who had teleported into her apartment. She hoped her guess wasn't wrong. 

And it wasn't. He stood there, waiting for her to set eyes on him. When she did, in his (always) dramatic fashion, he spread his arms wide and grinned with pride at himself. 

"I... am back," Loki said dramatically, nearly waiting for applause. 

She approached him and wrapped her arms around him right away, smiling into his chest. 

"I can see that. Welcome back," She says, her entire demeanor seemingly softening in his presence. 

It was impressive how they did that to one another. 

"... Is that all? No tears of relief at my unexpected return? Darling..." He frowns, placing a hand to his chest. "I'm offended. I might just go back to Asgard for a redo."

She shoots a heatless glare in his direction. "Don't." 

He groans and moves to flop somewhat gracefully onto her couch, long legs spreading nearly automatically and giving her a great view of his thick thighs. She moves her eyes away before he can catch her and tease her for it. He was still dressed in his Asgardian leathers. The ones she loved so much, the ones that were black, with some gold and dark green accents and all those clasps and flaps and added (unecessary) parts. No helmet, though. She moved to him, sitting next to him, her thigh touching his. It earned her a nearly rakish grin, his eyes already glinting with a particular kind of mischief she'd come to recognize (and cherish). 

"I wasn't expecting you back just yet," She says in the comfortable silence. "Did you forget to send a message?"

"No. Did you miss me, love?" He asks, reaching out to place his arm on the back of the couch. He was teasing.

He could touch her so easily, move his big hand just a sliver and touch the back of her neck. But he wouldn't, and they both knew it. She wanted it too much. 

"Of course I did. I always do." She reassures him. 

He hums, considering her words and being seemingly pleased. 

"And... am I wrong in recognizing today as a mortal holiday?"

She falters for a beat, surprised that he considered that to be information worthy of being stored in his mind. 

"I... well, no. It's Valentine's Day, yeah." 

"Mm, as I thought, then. Good." He says, before conjuring up a small, green cloud of seiðr, which left only a rose in its wake. 

She seemed openly surprised at that. He grins and cocks his head. 

"What? Did you want twenty instead, my sweet?"

"No... I just didn't think you'd be back today, and I also didn't think we'd be doing this."

"Doing... this?"

"Yeah, you know... celebrating Valentine's together."

He seems offended at that. 

"And why the Hel not? Have we become lifelong enemies in my short absence? Have we had a falling out?" He gasps dramatically, looking at her with wide eyes. "Have you... found another?" He asks, knowing full well she hasn't. His facade of shock was already faltering, his eyes gleaming with mirth, and his lip twitching ever so slightly. 

She groans, rolling her eyes.

"No, Loki."

"Then... whyever shouldn't we celebrate this, pet? We are a couple, yes? And not a couple of friends, either..."

The final few words he says are lost to her, mind getting caught up in what he calls her. He only really calls her that when he has particular intentions with her. It makes something deep inside of her warm up. 

"We are a couple... of course we are. I just didn't think you'd care."

"Well... my lover is a mortal, and I assume that she cares for such a popular holiday in her world. I am trying to be nice, you know..."

"And I appreciate that... but I didn't expect my immortal boyfriend to even pay attention to what day it is on Midgard, much less make the effort to gift me a rose." She says, resting her cheek on his arm resting on the couch in thanks. 

He turns up his nose slightly at her calling him her boyfriend. He didn't much like that term, least of all for himself. He found that lover was better.

"Well, dearest, I am trying to be romantic. And nice... nicer. For you." He declares, still holding that damned rose. 

She smiles, and takes it, inhaling the scent of it. It was addicting, and so very fresh. Clearly magical. His doing, of course. It was the most perfect flower she'd ever seen. Its red petals smelled fresh, like dew and earth, but also of their expected rose scent. However, there was something disctinct at the end of the scent... a sort of aftertaste. An aftersmell? She practically sighed in relief at the smell of it. Loki grinned, her reaction and thoughts surely being obvious. Most of all to him, with his mind reading powers (that he swore he didn't use on her unless explicitly told to).

"That's ambrosia," He says in that low, soft purr that makes her insides feel all hot and molten. 

"Ambrosia? I thought that was only for gods to have." 

"Mm... in food and drink, yes, I suppose so. But no one said anything about smelling it, hmm? A simple enough enchantment, pet. Now..." His hand finally, finally moves, moving to touch the back of her neck ever so gently. "What is it you smell, hm?"

She focuses on that smell, trying to name it for him (he seemed to be after her answer like a cat after the cream). 

"It's... sort of woodsy.. minty, I guess... and leather-y?" She speaks carefully, naming the scents out with careful consideration, her eyes closed to make sure she is smelling it all properly. 

Her eyes open, and she finds him looking all smug and proud, his hand now rubbing her neck softly. 

"It's you. It smells like you. This isn't ambrosia." 

"Oh..." He purrs proudly, leaning in. "But it is, my love... ambrosia tastes, or smells, like ones favourite things. I suppose that just means..." He moves in further, pressing the lightest kiss she's ever felt to her neck. "One of those things for you... is me,"

Her pulse flutters both at his words and at the touch of his lips to her skin. God, she just wanted to absolutely devour him sometimes. Okay, all of the time. He was all long limbs, and he was lean, but he was also so built. He was strong, and those shoulders... and that ass. And all the other, more salacious parts of him, and all they could and had done to her. 

"I've missed you," She says and she finds herself breathless in his presence. 

"Oh, pet... I've missed you, too..." He grins, his voice getting lower, the last few words nearly a groan. 

"I want you to kiss me..." She whispers.

"I'll kiss you... and then I'll kiss you everywhere... and then I shall lick you everywhere." He vows, pressing a kiss to her jaw, this time. 

She groans, hand moving to brace herself onto one of his biceps. 

"I want you to take me... or I can take you..." She says, unable to stop herself from getting closer, from trying to sit in his lap, from simply trying to make herself one with him. 

He laughs softly, even as he pulls her closer, half of her in his lap by now. 

"We've time enough for both, my heart... the night is yet young, and we've a fortnight to make up for, hm?"

"Plus, it is Valentine's Day." She reminds him softly, pressing the first of her kisses to his neck, and then his sharp jaw, and then those damned sharp cheekbones. 

He moans softly at her attentions, holding her closer by the waist. 

"Oh, yes, it is indeed... the day of love, and lust... we must do our best to celebrate it, yes?"

And celebrate it, they do indeed.

[nightingale-prompts]

The thing in the graveyard was called "The Lover" (Harlot it too mean)

Despite what the stories say he rarely appeared. Tourists and armature ghost hunters have tried to capitalize on the popularity of the trend. A sort of fandom formed for those who guessed about the appearance and origin of the supposed ghost.

Truly to only people who saw him were lonely. The lover would appear to them as a young and beautiful young man. He didn't attack and only sometimes did he try to convince you to leave with him. Other times he'd just sit with you and listen. He'd lean on your shoulder. He'd cry for you. Anything that could ease your pain.

You couldn't film the encounters and no one could describe him in detail.

Tim wanted to investigate this. He researched every story he could find of the ghost. Some stories said he was the spirit of a man abandoned by his partner and others said he was a demon that seduces mortals to drag them to hell. Tim gathered that The Lover only comes when you are alone, arrive after midnight and come on a moonless night.

Tim chose the right date and time as he entered the iron gates.

It was a desolate walk, like walking into nowhere. Until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. They were cool to the touch. A weight pressed against his back.

"You finally came for me." A warm voice echoed in the silence.

The sounds of wings fluttered and beat in the distance.

Tim stilled. It's him.

Tim pulled away and turned to see the fabled "Lover". And he was everything described and more. He seemed to glow in the lantern light that Tim had prepared.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

He steeled his nerves whatever happened next he shouldn't let the ghost use him to escape. Every time so far the victim has run away.

"You are one of her knights. You must be here to free me." He said with a soft smile as he hugged Tim tightly. "I'm so glad it over. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"I don't know what you're talking about who's knight?" Tim asked unhooking his arms and feeling how solid they were and not ghostly at all.

Tim wreaked his brain to figure out if this ghost was mixing up something from hundreds of years ago. Maybe during the rule of the queen in colonial times? No, that didn't make sense either.

"It doesn't matter. You're here now. And we can leave." His smiled only faltered for a moment but it soon returned as he excitedly grabbed Tim's hand.

"Where do you plan on going?" Tim asked trying to ignore the way the boy looked at him like he was his savior.

"Home...I want to go home." He said sadly. "I don't belong here."

"You're a ghost. Shouldn't you stay here and rest?"

"I'm not dead!" He yelled pushing close to Tim "I'm alive! I swear! Can't you feel me?! I'm real!"

Suddenly Tim felt a pain of lips on his. They were cold but...soft. I'm pushed the boy away quickly.

"Stop that! What are you doing?" Tim yelled.

The ghost boy clenched his jaw as he was shoved away. His eyes were wide as he was caught off guard.

"That...usually worked. Guys usually listen when they think they will get something out of this." His voice was cold and bitter.

"So you really think I'll let you leave if you kiss me?!" Tim said incredulously.

The ghost's expression twisted in confusion.

"I don't have anything else to give. I just...want to leave. I'll do anything. No one will listen to me." Tears filled his eyes as he spoke.

The graveyard was deathly quiet again.

"Are you going to leave me here too?" A sob broke out as he spoke. "I can't last much longer. And she let you come here. So she must have forgiven me. She'll let me go if you let me out."

Tim saw the pain in the ghost's eyes and he did something stupid. He reached out and hugged him. A real hug. The kind his emotionally constipated family rarely gave. It was probably the only affection the ghost boy was given that wasn't forced or initiated by him.

Tim was still unsure if he should go through with this. He wanted answers but now only one question was on his mind.

"What's your name?"

"Danny....my name is Danny."

Kiss of Death- DCxDP prompt

A valentine horror.

Didn't matter why you were there or why you didn't run.

There was a graveyard older than Gotham itself. The names on the grave are weathered and unreadable from hundreds of years of exposure. The only reason one should come here was if you had managed to track your heritage to this gravesight after searching museum archives for burial records since the city wouldn't keep ones so old in the government building.

Unless...

You came because of the legend.

It's a new one. So it's more of an urban legend.

The story goes that the graveyard is haunted and a that anyone who comes here late at night will die. It's a simple legend, a very cliche and uncreative one at that.

But here you are. What was your goal? Ghost hunting? Graverobbing? Or perhaps your curiosity had consumed you and you had to know.

The air was thick. Like you are slowly choking on the darkness around you. Have you ever been in a room so quiet it was deafening? Like you are sure you must have lost your hearing because not even the wind would greet your ears. It was just empty space that wordlessly told you that you are alone. But that was just a room. A room that you leave and find solace in a trip of a light switch. This however was no room. It was the wide expanse of the outside world. In a place where streetlamps were not even a flicker in the minds of the residents that rest deep below your feet.

You chose a bad time to come. Perhaps you would be spared the wondering in the dark if you had the forgiving light of the moon on you. But such things were an afterthought, wasn't it? No tonight the moon was shadowed and the light of the stars would be your only salvation...but this was still Gotham. Could their light even reach you with the distant city lights over the horizon? Could the clouds mercifully move out of the way to give you some hope that you were not abandoned?

Now you were ill-prepared but you must have had some sense to at least charge your phone before you came. It's flashlight might be enough to get you back. But you're come this far. Brave or foolish you continue forward.

Until someone approached. You couldn't see them, only hear the muted footfalls of something coming near. Your ears so starved for sensation drank it like water in a dessert.

And in the light of your torch, a face appeared. A pair of baby blue eyes simmered in the light. A relieved smile on a pair of soft pale pink lips. A young man with tousled black locks appearing holding a small arm full of lilies and tulips.

"Finally, someone else. I thought I'd be here till morning." He said in relief as he came closer.

"What are you doing here?" You ask surprised that you weren't the only person here.

"I was cleaning the graves here and I must have lost track of time. Can you lead me out of here?" He asked softly and you'd hit yourself if you said no.

He clung to your arm as you walked him down the path.

The air began to get colder.

Where there was once silence you hearabout d the sound of crows beating their wings and making their wretched calls.

He clung harder to you.

That horrible curiosity got the better of you and so you began to speak.

"Why were you out here cleaning graves anyways." You asked.

"I was...helping. I come here alot." He said simply.

Nevermind the fact he was not dressed in clothes fit for cleaning. His white button-up shirt and dress pants were not something you get dirty. In fact, he didn't have a fleck of dirt on him.

"Where are your supplies?" You ask.

"I left them behind. I'll come back for them." He said curtly.

His grip on your arm tightened and it got colder.

"Just stay close please. I don't want to lose you in this darkness." He cooed.

You begin to feel lightheaded. The cold damp air made it hard to breathe.

You hear the crows...no ravens call out again.

"Never leave!" They repeated

"Trapped!" They called.

You hear a growl come from those pink lips, only they weren't pink anymore.

You look down at your companion and see a pair of bloody lips and a smile curled into a cruel but somehow sweet smile. A pair of glowing acidic green eyes that narrowed into pinpricks like a bird locking onto its prey. His once soft ebony lock now as stark white as snow caps.

You try to pull away but their grasp crushed your arm, hands like icy claws dug in.

" Where are you going?" He asked calm his eyes baring into yours.

Suddenly he did look very scary. No, he looked...so sad...so helpless and lost. His eyes where so warm and inviting.

"Don't leave me here. Help me. I promise I'll make it worth your while." His smile was so warm and inviting.

"Leave!" The ravens screeched.

"Run!" They called.

Even the screaming of the birds where drowned out as he pressed his lips to yours. It was too late. The sickly sweet scent of death and flowers filled your senses.

Why though, was his lips so cold? Why did they fill his mouth with the coppery taste of blood? Why did you feel so empty in the space you had hoped he'd fill in your heart?

But then a sharp pain struck your head and the warm trickle of blood flowed from your wound as a bird flew over your head.

You pulled away from the cloying embraces you perked in pain. And then you saw it. His face half half-rotted and skeletal. The once handsome man was a monster.

You sprinted away from him trying to frantically call someone for help on your phone. But foolish one had you forgotten. Your phone is also your flashlight and as you tried to use it you could only run blindly in the dark hoping you were still on the path. The sound of wind slicked the air behind you as you felt his icy breath on the back of your neck. You could only guess what was behind you as you heard no footsteps behind you only the feeling of being chased.

You dared not stop not even a moment and prayed that you didn't stumble. But mercy had found you as you saw the gate come into view and the solitary streetlight just beyond the boarder.

"You said you'd get me out! You can't leave me here!" A bloodcurdling screech rang out.

But you had already won as you made it out just barely with the graze of clawed fingertips at the back of your neck.

You closed the gate behind you and as you gazed into the dark abyss beyond the metal barrier you half expected it to be there. For it to snarl at you in anger watching you leave or slamming itself at the gate. But there was nothing. Not even the wind.

[lcvebuckley]

mornings with you

written for @bucktommyfluffebruary

prompt : day 5 - mundane chores | word count : 672 | rated : G

i'm back! i took a quick break hence i missed a few days but i will be catching up slowly,, i'm planning to post two (usually shorter) fics per day until i catch up to the daily prompt and hopefully get back on track before valentine's!

enjoy! ♡

Mornings used to be simple for Tommy. His alarm would go off, he'd roll out of bed, shower, brush his teeth, grab a protein bar, and head out. Efficient. Quiet. No distractions.

And then Evan happened.

Or in which Tommy's morning routine is not the same anymore.

full version below or read on ao3

-------------------------------------------------------

Mornings used to be simple for Tommy. His alarm would go off, he'd roll out of bed, shower, brush his teeth, grab a protein bar, and head out. Efficient. Quiet. No distractions.  

And then Evan happened.  

Now, mornings were an entirely different experience. Starting with the fact that Tommy didn’t just wake up anymore. No, he was woken up—either by Evan draping himself over him like a human blanket, mumbling something about "five more minutes," or by Evan pressing half-asleep kisses to his shoulder, his face buried against Tommy’s neck. If the younger woke up before him (which wasn’t often), Tommy would find himself being watched, Evan grinning like he won the lottery.  

And then there was the bathroom situation. Tommy had been used to peaceful solo time, but Evan had no concept of personal space. If Tommy was brushing his teeth, he would squeeze in next to him, arms wrapped around Tommy’s waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder. It was like trying to get ready with a very affectionate, overly large koala attached to him.  

“You’re making this very difficult,” Tommy would mutter, spitting into the sink. Evan, still clinging, would grin at him in the mirror. “You love it.”  

Tommy did love it. That was the problem.  

On some mornings, when Evan was extra groggy, he’d try to brush his teeth with his eyes half-closed, inevitably making a mess. Tommy would chuckle, bumping Evan’s shoulder just to mess with him—causing the younger to get toothpaste all over his cheek and waking him up almost immediately.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Evan would groan, while Tommy would try his best to bite down a laugh. Of course, Evan didn’t let that slide. He’d poke Tommy’s sides in revenge, their sleepy morning routine briefly devolving into laughter and playful shoves. Eventually, Tommy would sigh, grab a washcloth, and wipe the toothpaste off Evan’s cheek and chin while Evan smiled at him like an idiot.

Breakfast was another adjustment. Tommy used to be fine with a quick meal—just enough to get by. But Evan had decided that wasn’t acceptable. “We’re living together now, Tommy, you can’t just survive on caffeine and vibes.” So now, breakfast was a whole thing.

Sometimes it was eggs and toast, sometimes pancakes, sometimes just fruit and yogurt. Evan, being the better cook, usually took the lead, while Tommy handled the coffee. Except Evan insisted on being a distraction—hovering and wrapping his arms around the older’s waist as he poured their coffee, murmuring a sleepy, “Mmm, warm,” like Tommy was a damn space heater.  

“You do realize we have an actual heater, right?”  

“Yeah, but it’s not you.”  

And what was Tommy supposed to say to that? Absolutely nothing. He just shook his head and let Evan cling to him, because, well—he didn’t mind it. Not one bit.  

By the time they both had to leave for work, their routine ended the same way every morning: Evan stealing a kiss at the door, lingering for just a second too long, making Tommy roll his eyes playfully but also kissing him back just as much.

“Be safe,” Evan would say every time either of them had to leave for shift, and Tommy would do the same. It was something they’d said to each other from the very start of their relationship, a small reassurance in the face of their dangerous jobs. Having someone to come home to made all the difference.

Even on mornings they didn’t spend together due to different shifts, they found ways to keep the routine alive. A quick FaceTime, a “Good morning, handsome” text, a picture of breakfast even if they weren’t eating together. They love keeping each other company no matter how far apart they were and it was a quiet sort of intimacy, the kind Tommy never imagined he’d experience.

Yeah. Tommy’s mornings used to be quiet. Peaceful. Simple.  

Now they were warm, messy, and full of Evan.  

And he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[midnightwind]

gods, do I try to dig up any info on the city of Salle in Antiva or do I just make up a bunch of shit and hope no one else tries to fact check me

[floral-comet-whump]

slept well!! I was supposed to have a field trip and it got cancelled cause of the weather so I'm not sure what I'm doing now but basically I'm at home. I'm here to do the thing you (fenris) do with destroyer cause it looks rlly fun! my commentary might not his the spot but I'm trying :D

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

AAAAAAAAAAAA IT'S REAL!!! IT'S HAPPENING!!!! this is a really strong start I can already feel the like. yearning

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar.

yearning!

Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

I REMEMBER THAT FROM THE CYRUS & WALENTY RP THINGY!!! that I'm not sure if will be posted but it happened in tumblr dms.

when you asked it there I assumed you were asking cause cyrus can use his magic via any skin contact :0 now I'm wondering if it's that or habit or both...

aaaaaa he's so feared and sad :( I'm gonna read the comfort asks after this. OH can the emoji for the one I sent be changed from 🌺 to ☄️ please?

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

are the protection barriers making him nauseous??

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

ohhh so he's allowed to refuse food??? damn. did wilson also suspect he wouldn't keep it down or is doing things that make him less powerful allowed

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE LW TROPES OH MY GOD. when. when whenw when the weapon is expected to look scary and is not but WILL be scary... I don't like underestimation much in other stories tho for some reason which is weird. oh well!!!

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

ohhh :( he makes me sad I'm definitely gonna read the comfort ask

That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being.

good shit 👍

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

:( he knelt fast then. man...

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

oooo did wilson whisper that or say it outright?

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

ANOTHER GIFTED!!!! also that's rlly interesting how his restraint is tied to another person's magic

Unlike Cyrus.

yeah I know </3 man this is a bunch of info I know cause I've already been exposed to bits of this story but for future newcomers this is probably necessary clarification

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

ugh he's so well trained

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

I'LL GIVE YOU ALL THE GRASS EVER SWEET LOVELY BOY </3

The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

aw man :( yeah he really cares like that! it's genuinely remarkable tbh

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

aaaaaaaaa? wilson my beloved he's so cold

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

ooooooo :D I remember wondering why the art of him showed him with blue lines in his collar when he was a threat level red!!! fascinating :3

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

the description of the withering magic is amazing and also pretty long so I don't wanna paste it. but man it's good

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

going back to this chapter from wilson's pov, you said it's a fan ver of the tangled hurt incantation? "wither and decay, cease this misery. break this earthly chains, and set the spirit free. bend it to my will. steal the sunlight's glow. take their final breath, and let the darkness grow"

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

veins in his eyes!! last time they went black taking cyrus out of the euphoria took 3 days 👍 I rember >:3c

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet.

(from wilson pov chapter) The weapon knows better than to complain or move without being told to, but Handler gives it a warning electrical shock at the almost pouty whimper. It flinches and goes dead quiet.

aaaaaondonfbofnof sobbing he got shocked for whimpering and didn't even realize until it

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

I remember you mentioned his species is way better suited for warm climates :(

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to.

YESSSS THAT WAS THE ORIGINAL INTENT OF THE PROMPT RESPONSE I DID!!! you changed it from "okay" to "yessir" :000

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

you did say this is unreliable narrator! in the wilson pov he still says "okay" so now I'm curious if he did misinterpret his own informal wording to formal wording

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

the thehthehthe

He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

poor metallokinetic whumpee :(

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out.

oooo so he has gloves on when not working got it got it. leather! I assume it's to avoid skin to skin contact? or his hands are the most effective conduit and the higher-ups don't want him touching anything with his hands?

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

feared whumpee my beloved

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

yeppp you said he's used to being guided blindly in the rp we did. also den??? anyways here's the link to said capsule cause I wanna look at it

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight.

!!!! he gets a mattress <:D

Cyrus hates the cold,

ough I know </3 poor baby

Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

>:( wilson when I fucking get you

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

oooo is his collar nullifying it? or the gloves? capsule??? I think it's the collar

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

the euphoria narration thing is. so fucking good man. but why'd he get shocked?? this isn't in the wilson pov chapter 😔

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

someone please give him a blanket istg. I know this is a different kind of cold but can he have a blanket :(

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

!!! sneaky :0

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

a

also love that. “his handler always sees everything.” !!! love love love that love the sheer amount of fear and expecting danger

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly.

HE'S NOT EVEN ALLOWED TO MOVE WITHOUT PERMISSION??? I mean I expected that but damn. also gloves again. is it a military thing or is this the skin contact thing

That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

pfft I love those moments of like. passive caring about everyday stuff in whump. they're funny but then they're not funny

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

HEY DON'T CALL HIM SNEAKY I DID IT FONDLY >:(

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

ough.. he's so scared poor baby

He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

HE SAID IT!!! HE SAID THE LW LINE!!!!! HE SAID ITTTTTT

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

:(

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. These were people.

People you killed.

D: man I don't even know what to say this is just rlly fuckin good. guilt my beloved

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

YEAH I THINK SO!!

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

okay what is the white den?? is it his usual cell with nothing in it?

...swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

huh??? how come he didn't get physically close to any of it

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

is this unreality?? eh

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

WOW!!! love the logic and treating cyrus like so much of an object wilson can just talk out loud while he's there. also lemme go get a thing from the wilson pov drabble

As always, it's an active effort to not show any discomfort. If Whumpee sensed uneasiness from its handler, then everything would go to shit. This type of weapon needed a constant, firm, and steady structure.

YEAH!!! this. this thing

man. I love cyrus. I love wilson. I have so many feelings about them both... I rlly love handler whumpers those are so neat I love cold whumpers that are professional. wilson has such a presence in this chapter. cyrus is so cute I wanna wrap him in blankets...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA ME WHEN HIM ME WHEN HIMMMMM

I loved how this was like. stractured eith the euphoria and conediwn and everything. I also love how despite everything cyrus is still so caring towards others it's so. ough </3

I think that's all I have to say rn pjdondnod I might make a repost with more but probably not

Sweet Creature

Content: magical living weapon, dehumanization, "it" briefly used as pronoun, dangerous whumpee, magical euphoria, shock collar, sensory (visual) deprivation, manhandling, military whump, implied institutionalized whump, magical slavery, heavily implied mass murder, hallucinations.

(chapter 1) | next chapter ->

(Curse of Withering masterpost)

Cyrus wishes to at least have a look around while outside. It would only be a military camp, soldiers walking around, tents set up, maybe some horses on one side. Not a very pleasant nor interesting view.

But at least he would be seeing the sky, and the grass, and people.

He's not. He's seeing pure black from behind his nullification glasses, being guided by an unrelenting hand on his neck, just above his heavy collar. Not even allowed to feel skin, only the tough material of a glove.

Around Cyrus, talk dies down, and muttering comes to life, as he's used to. It never stops making him feel ashamed.

Also not allowed to curl up or hide in any way, he's just dragged forward to keep walking.

A strong sensation of nausea hits him when they enter his designed post tent of this campaign. It feels like the protection barriers put around the tents are getting stronger each campaign.

Being on an empty stomach doesn't help, either. Regret fills him from refusing breakfast, but he's sure his stomach wouldn't have kept it down anyway.

"... This is it? The rumors made it look spine-chilling, not... this." A voice from his right side says, a bit far back. Further into the tent, then. Cyrus doesn't recognize the voice, but the words are familiar.

The gloved hand on his neck squeezes, and he stops after a second of trying to figure out if it was out of frustration or a command to stand still.

No scolding comes, so it must have been a command. Or both.

"Wait until you see it destroying a whole military camp while laughing like a maniac," Mr. Wilson says. That voice he does recognizes in the very core of his being. And by the coldness of it, his handler is audibly used to that question as well.

Cyrus doesn't have time to feel ashamed of the words before a pressure on his neck commands him to kneel down. Even with the knee pads, a mercy not chosen by his handler, the impact hurts a bit.

"Behave." Is what reaches his ear before the leather gloves are unfastened from his wrists.

Magic wraps around the metal gloves that were beneath the leather ones and bend it open. Cyrus didn't even hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do that. Maybe this gifted doesn't have a handler, he knows there's some free Gifted that serve the military willingly.

Unlike Cyrus.

He obediently waits with unmoving hands until his handler applies pressure on his head in another silent command. No one speaks as the nullification glasses are unlocked from his bowed head, nor when his half-necrotic fingertips find the floor beneath him.

It's not grass, it's rocks. He suppresses a disappointed sigh.

Cyrus knows better than to look around or shift from his position, but he's still able to see a bit of the tent's inside. The metallokinetic does in fact have a handler, and a black eye. He can't see anyone else, they're all behind him for safety.

That black eye must hurt, there's probably more bruises under the clothing, it never stops at just one.

Cyrus shouldn't care that the gifted was hurt. But he did. They deserve someone to care.

Mr. Wilson blocks his vision of the gifted by crouching down. The direct, practical delineation of where the enemy camp is sinks into his mind easily as his handler speaks. It's easy to map in his head exactly where he needs to focus on.

"You have permission to use your power, Wither." An uncomfortable eagerness blooms in him at the words.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus whispers and his collar beeps, its blue lights turning red as magic comes to life under his skin once again.

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Pain doesn't even register in the sea of feelings building up in his body. The rocks puncturing the palms of his hands aren't nearly enough to ground him, not after years of the magic slowly numbing his nerves.

The tent disappears and all he can see is colors erupting from the blackness, like thousands of little roots travelling through the grass. Ignoring the surrounding life had become easier over the years, and the withering knew to travel until it's closer to the delineated area than to him before branching to reach all soldiers of the other side.

It took less than a minute for him to spiral into euphoria this time.

Faintly, he knew his lips were moving, in that same eerie murmur of always, singing words he couldn't understand, but also couldn't forget. An incantation that breaks the laws of nature. A chant that was never created... only repeated. The echo of something that always existed.

And so he repeats. From the words, waves of withering magic follows the colorful branches and pushes it forward.

His hands crack and dug further into the ground, and he repeats the chant again. Again, again, again...

𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

Cyrus could see, or in a way feel, the life bursting out of the enemy's camp. It was hard to separate what was greenery and what was people, but it didn't matter in the end.

Wither magic fills the entire enemy camp with thousands of black ramifications that only he sees the colors of. Growing, rotting, decaying.

Every cell in his body beams with giddy energy.

A warm mist swirls on his arms pleasantly. Something similar started filling his eyes, and Cyrus's head was pure delight. His chest shudders with a bubbly feeling as a smile grows on his face.

And then everything goes black. The cold, painful reality crashes down on him, harshly taking all the cheerfulness away and leaving behind an itch, a hysteric uneasiness. A faint beeping of his collar tells him he's done today, it had turned blue again.

Cyrus didn't even know he had made a noise until the collar beeps again with a warning electrical shock. With a flinch, he goes dead quiet. An argument was happening over his head.

Cyrus wants to keep using his magic, why can't he? It's so warm and happy-

"It was fucking smiling, it is fine to keep on! What is the point of having a weapon that can't be used?!" A man behind him almost yells. Not the same one from before, a slightly more familiar one. It might be the general, but without seeing it's hard to be sure.

Yes, Cyrus was fine to keep going, he was! It's been less than a minute with the nullification glasses back on, but he misses the colorful cheerfulness already, his body is taut with the need to move, to do something, anything.

But Mr. Wilson is right there, so he stays obediently still.

"I'm not telling it to launch an attack again! The magic would consume it's head and-" Mr. Wilson pauses, and Cyrus recognizes his temper rising. It's an effort not to flinch. "Ugh, you have no idea how bad it gets. Wither. Up, we're leaving."

"Mmn?" The order takes a second to click. "Oh... yes, sir..." To speak was hard, his tongue didn't move the okay he wanted it to. Cyrus could hear the ecstatic smile on his own voice, and he almost winces at it, but without knowing why. To smile was good, wasn't it?

Should he even be speaking, actually? Wilson doesn't usually like him speaking. Did he say "Sir" as he was supposed to? He doesn't think so... but no shock comes. Perhaps he did. It's hard to remember.

The floor seemed to spin beneath Cyrus when he stood up.

A gloved grip squeezes his arm and Cyrus knows to stay completely still, despite the dizziness. Magic envelops his hands as the metal gloves are bent to fit them again. He still couldn't hear the metallokinetic's handler telling them to do it, maybe it had been a silent command.

He feels the leather gloves being fastened on his wrists, too, before Mr. Wilson grabs him by the upper nape and guides him out. The sound of many boots around them tells him the escort team is here already.

On the way back, there's no longer any murmuring. Even blinded, he knows everyone is just staring. There's only the sound of heavy steps and the wind slowly bringing the smell of death into the camp.

The heavy metal door shuts with the escort team outside, and the only steps that echo inside the container are his and Mr. Wilson.

Blindly, he's pushed to sit inside his resting capsule. Oh, that's right, he's at a campaign, his den isn't here... the sad longing only lasts a second.

The thin mattress is cold, and the restraints are too tight. Cyrus hates the cold, but it feels so weird, he can't help but giggle. It sounds off, but he can't pinpoint why.

"Quiet," Mr. Wilson scolds sternly, fastening his legs securely inside the capsule. Cyrus flinches and tenses from the upcoming shock that doesn't arrive.

What a silly thing, to flinch from something that didn't even happen. He suppresses another fit of giggles.

The pressure building up behind his eyes and neck is getting harder to ignore. His fingers twitch with the need to use his magic again, but the nullification doesn't let him.

The pressure gets worse.

𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜, 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎.

Now the shock comes, and Cyrus's flinch is not so funny this time. It wasn't just a warning shock, but he doesn't know why he has been punished. Mr. Wilson doesn't clarify it, either. He's scared of not knowing.

The twitches are getting worse. He wants to move. The cold is starting to creep in again, and he wants the warmth back.

His hands move slowly under the temporarily loose restrictions, trying to relieve some of the painful nervous energy without grabbing Mr. Wilson's attention.

It doesn't work. His handler always sees everything.

"Did I say you could move, Wither?" Cyrus freezes from the gelid tone. His shoulders go up chastened just before a gloved hand fists his hair harshly. That'll form a knot later... he wants to wash up and detangle his hair already, before it gets too bad.

From how harsh Mr. Wilson's grip is, he doesn't think he'll be allowed that so soon.

"Stop trying to be sneaky, that's the only warning you'll be given." Cold and firm as always. Frightening as always.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus answers quietly. It's weird how he still feels afraid and sad even when he's feeling giggly and euphoric.

Euphoric. Didn't that word mean something important? The headache is getting worse.

Mr. Wilson's grip only grows even more painful. There's more to be said, but Cyrus's head is not working well. He doesn't want to talk, he wants to move.

What weapons want doesn't matter.

He tries again. "I'm... I won't be sneaky again. I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson," he tries. The hand leaves his hair without any further words.

The need to move only gets worse in the silent. He knows Mr. Wilson knows. Cyrus's body is so tense it hurts.

He needs to use his magic, he needs to. It hurts, it's bad, he wants the giddy energy back, and not this nervous, restless cold creeping in. Everything is still pitch black, and the restraints are too heavy, and he wants his magic free again-

So you can kill more people with it?

No. What? No, no, no-

Your handler stopped you before the euphoria truly took place. Where is your gratitude, you vile thing? Why must others die just so you can smile?

That's not what he wants, he just... he just wants the colors back, the happy feeling of-

Of killing.

The memories of colored forms change. Those were people.

People you killed.

"Are you crashing already?" Comes the distant, cold voice. It takes long seconds for Cyrus to recognize it's Mr. Wilson's.

Crashing. Yes. Yes, he's crashing, and he's still on war camp, so he doesn't even get his white den-

Images strafe his mind. People died. People were killed. By him. And he was just smiling. He giggled to people losing their lives. Not only soldiers, there were medics, and servants, and-

A cold, sharp thing runs his arm and he flinched away, swallowing hard. He tastes blood. He knows it's not his.

Vile thing. You're a plague on earth that should be eradicated.

Cyrus's back presses against the capsule mattress, and he can barely separate what is real touch and what isn't. Sharp goosebumps run up his arm, his hands are being held, there's a pressure on his chest and a numbness on his left leg.

"It's euphoric state was pretty fast this time, it was a good timing to retrieve it," Mr. Wilson's out loud thinking reaches his ear along with a faint noise of screams that mustn't be true.

They're true, you're just hearing them too late.

"Today will be easy, then."

Cyrus couldn't disagree more with his handler.

-

-

-

Want to see Mr. Wilson's pov? This is the drabble this series began as. You can consider it a loose version of this chapter, but in Mr. Wilson's view.

Taglist: @whump-till-ya-jump @floral-comet-whump @paingoes @bonbonbobomb @inhurtandincomfort @half-duck @scoundrelwithboba

-

[pa-pa-plasma]

i don't think i'll ever get over how people treat kids that aren't good in school as worthless no matter what. "oh it can't be that bad" my guy idk how to tell you this but the last time i went to a normal high school the principal called me into his office to brag about how he failed me in all of my classes before the semester was even finished & i should quit while i'm ahead cuz i'm too stupid ("officially" diagnosed as such by a school counselor & a psychiatrist!!) to succeed. & this is considered normal

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[unbeatable-champ]

That is true. I don't know ow what I'd do with myself, if I couldn't do this. It's because such a big part of my life now. And to think, once upon a time all I'd been was a kid growing up in Postwick, Galar. The people I've met doing this, the ones that I actually do remember haha, really are.. fantastic people. Raihan is one of my closest friends now, and a man I'm happy to call my rival. I don't think any of this would've happened, had I not met him. He pushes me to improve, something I hope I do to the region as a whole. That's really what the job is anyways, isn't it?

It really is horrible, how they're so willing to play up anyone who interacts with one another, so long as it's a man and a woman. I swear. Even when we were kids, the entire time, anyone either had to be dating the person they were hanging around with, or obviously they must be siblings, because why would a girl want to be friends with a boy otherwise? And now, the joy of being a public figure. Sonia doesn't even bother to keep it down low, she's very clear about the fact that she's dating Nessa, and the tabloids still don't believe her, I think. Nessa's too pretty to be interested in women, obviously. Oh, and of course, she's dated men in the past! Nevermind the fact that she's also dated women. Ahh, thank you, haha. Not a lot of people do, really. I think the only thing about it if you really look for it online is a footnote saying "Leon (born Paislee Laventon) dah dah dah." I don't usually go around reading my own Wikipedia article, though. Sounds like an awfully facetious thing to do.

It is. There are a lot of things even now I wish were different, here. Galar is a fairly accepting place, but it's also very much something you keep to yourself. If you've no reason to go around telling people that you're queer, you don't, simple as that. I think Piers is a bit of an outlier there, but he's never much cared for sticking to the norm. Of course, there's still always someone who'll gasp and clutch their pearls and say it isn't right. And don't go around saying thay, you're a right peach to talk too, and anyone with any sense would say the same thing. It's never too late to put yourself put there. If you feel do inclined, I say go for it.

I don't think I'd ever be able to fully give up battling. Even if I never had been Champion, it's such a bug part of my life. Something I've done since I was old enough to be standing on a court. And right, right, of course. It's incredible, in some twisted way, how people like that can sneak in right under your nose, and you'd never even know it. It's sad. But anyways! I suppose it helps that the whole thing has long been a public affair. A chance for even the low of the low to become the high of the high.. it drew everyone's attention. Though not without some bumps in the road, I'll say! Mustard, an old mentor of mine, certainly has some stories he's told about that. It's fairly dialed in, now. The minor league runs during the off season, and is much more akin to a traditional Gym system. There's still no Champion, though. Those that make it through receive an endorsement for the proper thing. I'm only lucky that Chairman Rose went out of his way to sponsor me, as a child, that I never had to go through it.

Oh yeah wait you're too old to know what inkay games is my bad

Oh, please, I’m only twenty-three.

[ he’s not old. don’t make that mistake again. ]

—💎

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Dorian Pavus

[guinevereslancelot]

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

I watched 2x14 of the Originals tonight and when Klaus told all the assembled werewolves at Hayley's wedding that Hope was still alive after killing his own father just for finding out the very same thing a mere handful of episodes ago, it made me think of this moment in this Studio C sketch -- "she knew, so naturally, she had to be taken care of! Of course, I didn't realize I'd be revealing that secret myself just a few hours later, but at the time it seemed very important to keep her quiet." Like. I guess I get his reasoning and can sort of see why it changed. But for a guy who killed the biological father he'd been so curious about just a few days ago to keep his secret, he sure did just announce that same dang secret to a roomful of strangers. If I was his biodad hanging out on the Other Side (or wait I think maybe that's gone by now? But if it was still there) I'd be trying my darndest to slap that idiot upside the head for that.

[ceramicbeetle]

this series' batshit production makes it impossible to figure out what the fuck is going on at any time ever....

Does it make sense that Deluge is supposed to be taken at face value and that totheark does know that Alex is watching the channel? Does it make sense that Advocate is a warning that Brian is in immediate danger from Alex? I'm trying so hard to fit the pieces together and they will not fit. I hate to keep coming back to the "totheark is completely full of shit" conclusion but I'm struggling to make it make sense any other way.

for one, WHAT is totheark waiting for in S1 if they already know where Alex is and are watching him closely enough to know that he's started watching the Marble Hornets channel? If the whole point of them antagonizing Jay is that they need Jay to lead them to Alex, then how could they know that Alex is watching the channel? Are we supposed to take this at face value and believe it? Or is it just totheark playing mindgames with Jay in order to get what they want?

for two, again, if totheark already knows where Alex is and are watching him closely enough to know that he's about to make a move against Brian, then what are they waiting for??? The moment Tim/Brian cross paths with Alex in S2, they are starting physical confrontations with him left and right -- if they know where he is and know he's a threat in S1, then why are they fucking around and sending videos to each other instead of kicking Alex's ass? Do we know for sure that this video is intended to be warning of a threat against Brian himself? Is this video supposed to be telling Jay that if he doesn't pony up and follow the tip he got to Brian's house, the evidence he's looking for won't be there anymore? Jay's constant recurring conflict in S1 was that he wanted to go out to these locations to get answers but also he didn't, because that's scary, so he kept hesitating and hemming and hawing until totheark put the pressure on him and he caved, so maybe that's it? Or maybe it's just more of totheark fucking around with Jay -- "framing" Alex to make it seem like he had some hand in something happening at Brian's house?

Like, I keep trying to make the first two seasons of Marble Hornets make sense in line with the third. Alex's whole goal is to kill everyone and then himself, right? And it's common interpretation that that has been his plan from the very beginning. So if he had a gun by Entry #16, why doesn't he use it against Tim in Entry #35? Why doesn't he grab it to use it in Entry #45? If he lured Jay out to the Rosswood area with the 04-04-10 tape in order to kill him, why doesn't he do so immediately in Entry #35? Why does he let Jay stalk him for months before finally trying to kill him if that was supposed to be his plan the whole time? If totheark had been watching Alex from the beginning, then why do they spend so much time fucking around with Jay instead of Alex in S1? Why don't we see any footage of Alex filmed by totheark? If Alex and Brian are already squaring up with each other in S1, then why is anyone bothering with Jay at all? i don't getttttt ittttt!!!!! make it make sense to me!!!