#every action has a consequence or reaction

[luulapants]

If you see a post talking about problems related to a behavior you do (or problems related to not doing something) and your first and only reaction is to rant about how the post is insensitive to your very specific circumstances which make changing your behavior impossible, consider:

Not everything is about you and this might just be one of those things.

That is also the reaction of every person in the history of humanity who simply didn't want to change their behavior. Everyone has extenuating circumstances. The worst person you know has internally compelling reasons for their behavior. The challenges that you personally experience will always feel like a reasonable excuse for your behavior because they're the things you personally are experiencing. The consequences of some behaviors are mild enough that extenuating circumstances can excuse them (see #1). The consequences of others are bad enough that it is necessary, if one wants to live a decent life in this world, that you figure out a way to change regardless. It is your personal responsibility to figure out the difference between these and take the appropriate actions. Here's a hint: the more emotionally attached you are to your excuse, the more likely it is that it's excusing a behavior that needs to change.

Insisting that OP needs to provide explicit instructions for how to start or stop the behavior for someone in your very specific circumstances is unreasonable and probably annoying.

[secriden]

ok OK HEAR ME OUT THO-- what if... because Liu Qingge was never meant to survive past the qi deviation in PIDM, he's the only non-transmigrator character who can see the influence of the system on the world?

i'm thinking it plays out something like this: lqg emerges from the Ling Xi caves to find he can see these... strings of what looks like energy flowing around. he can't really tell what it is, and at first he thinks its a new quirk of his latest breakthrough but when he rushes to help defend Qiong Ding Peak from the demon invasion, he realises that certain people have these auras of energy around that are especially pronounced. like he's mostly preoccupied with fighting off the demon invasion but distantly he notices that lbh has this golden glow (ie. protagonist golden halo) around him although its threaded through with dark red energy. curious. sqq also has this inexplicable dark energy around him that occasionally flashes bright blue when he seems to freeze and go absent minded. even stranger.

when mqf comes along, lqg asks about possession and mentions the strange energy but mqf assures him that they'd already tested it and that there's nothing wrong aside from the new poison in sqq's system. yqy also acts as if everything is normal even though everything is clearly NOT normal because sqq is acting very weird. but also all his weirdness happens around these pulses of blue and lqg starts wondering sqq's being forced into acting the way he is.

(yqy also has a dark aura about him although its different from sqq's. it's also very reactive towards sqq like they're tied together somehow and lqg finds it very disturbing.)

in this situation, i think sqq and lqg would have way more interactions because lqg's suspicious of sqq but also worried?? cuz he can tell that sqq is being manipulated/affected in some way. he starts hunting for monsters/beasts that help with fighting off possession or curing curses but none of them seem to have any effect. he notices the almost unnatural way sqq will act in contrary ways and how they're always attached to that same pulse of blue that only lqg can seem to see. he notices the weird way the aura's clash when sqq interacts with lbh or yqy and starts feeling protective because he can tell sqq is trying to cause as little harm as possible.

he starts wondering why no one else seems to care that something is clearly not alright with sqq. even if they can't see the aura and the energy bursts, surely its obvious just from what they know about sqq. he starts to become angry. then he becomes determined. because if no one else can see that some unknown entity is hurting sqq, then its just going to have to be lqg that saves him.

[the-haunted-office]

📱: Thursday, tell me if you remember anything about your friend *****. What the- Let me try again. *****. Okay, that is... very messed up. It's not letting me say his name. You probably can't guess who I'm talking about just from that, can you?

Thursday reads the message on her phone from Oleander and frowns. It is... odd, to say the least. But no, she doesn't know who they are talking about.

"No," she says, needlessly shaking her head as Oleander can't see the gesture. "Why? Who is that? Does this have to do with the Retcon?"

She has a sinking feeling that it does. Moments later that sinking feeling is confirmed by another message from Oleander.

It does. I don't know how much you really want to know, or how much I should tell you. It might cause some adverse effects due to the whole Retconning process, and I don't want that to hurt you. I'd rather not risk it. Don't panic, okay? But I think it did take some of your memories with it. It wasn't just an attitude adjustment.

...Quite naturally, after being told that, Thursday panics.

"What? What do you mean, some of my memories were taken?! It took some of my memories?! Again?!" she practically hyperventilates, pulling her phone closer even though she doesn't need to in order to read the messages. "Why?! What all did it take?!"

I don't know. I don't know any of that yet. Try to stay calm, Thursday. It's going to be all right. I'll hold onto your memories for you. I've got everything right here. That's what I do, remember? I collect data. Your memories are not lost. I just need to figure out a safe way of returning them to you. It's going to be okay.

Thursday nods, even though she doesn't feel very comforted. Some of her memories are missing. Even though she knows the Retcon took them from her for a reason, it's still a terrible feeling. It's harrowing to know that a part of her was taken away without her knowledge, without her knowing precisely why, without her knowing precisely what, and without her knowing precisely what it all adds up to. She'd been happy enough to know how much it had changed her at first, happy to embrace the positive changes, but now?

What all did it take...????????

[hoshifighting]

Seventeen reactions when reader is squirting with no permission after hours of edging please?

Seventeen reaction when you squirt without permission after hours of edging

Warnings: Smut, edging, overstimulations, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, fingering, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving) body fluids (squirt), pusnishing.

Seungcheol

watches you closely. he wonders if he has edged you too much this time, the concern flickering in his eyes. when he finally lets you rest, your body still trembling, he leaves the room to fetch some gatorade. "drink up," he says softly, pressing the bottle to your lips. you gulp it down, the cool liquid soothing your dehydrated throat. just as you begin to feel a bit more relaxed, you hear the hum of the vibrator starting up again. "baby–" you begin to protest, but he cuts you off with a stern look. "i didn't give you permission to cum," he says, his voice commanding. hot and cold, just the way he is.

Jeonghan

eyes light up with a wicked gleam when you finally lose control, your body convulsing as you squirt all over the bed. "oh, did i push you too far?" he asks, but the smirk on his face tells you he loves every second of it. he turns the edging into overstimulation, his fingers and mouth working as partners to make sure you soak his bed again. "wet it all over again for me, baby," he murmurs, his voice dripping with arousal.

Joshua

joshua's eyes light up with fascination as he watches you squirt. despite your embarrassed protests, he joins his fingers, moving them just right to make you splash more, coaxing even more liquid from you. "joshua, please," you whimper, but he ignores your plea, his fingers relentless. "just a little more," he says softly, his voice soothing despite the intensity of his actions. he wants to see you fall apart completely, and he's not stopping until you do.

Junhui

his fingers press tighter on your clit, circling it with precision. the sensation is too much, and you can't help but squirt even more as your hips twitch uncontrollably. "good girl," he praises, his voice low and soothing. "give me everything you've got." his shooting sounds like a trap, because you know he's going to make you pay somehow.

Hoshi

soonyoung's hands press one hand on your stomach down as his fingers dive deeper inside you. you gasp, feeling his fingers tremble against your g'spot. "you didn't wait for my permission," he says, his tone almost scolding. "now you have to deal with it," his fingers move faster, punishing you for losing control. the sensation is overwhelming, your body convulsing as he pushes you further than you thought possible.

Wonwoo

wonwoo's reaction is immediate. he slams his cock inside you without warning, making you squirt in little spurts as you moan, your sensitivity heightened by the edging. he growls, his movements rough. he loves seeing you like this, on the edge or sensitive, and completely at his mercy. he doesn’t give you a moment to breathe, each thrust pushing you closer to another climax.

Woozi

you hold his wrist to keep his fingers still inside you, hoping to stop the flow. but it only makes things worse, his fingertips pressed on your sweet spot, making you roll your eyes as your body continues to convulse, everything getting drenched, him, the couch... "i told you it was a bad idea edging me on your studio's couch," you manage to scold him between moans. he slaps your thigh, his tone scolding. "stop scolding me, and i didn't give you permission to cum," he says, his fingers flicking your clit fast. you curse him, your puffy clit throbbing on his fingers every flick.

Minghao

minghao remains unbothered, watching you with a calm expression as you squirt. he starts to overstimulate you, his fingers and the vibrator working in tandem to push you beyond your limits. "these are just your consequences," he says coolly. "you knew you couldn't cum yet." your body convulses non-stop, the vibrator buzzing inside you. he doesn’t let up, determined to make you pay for breaking the rule.

Mingyu

mingyu’s dominant image falters for a moment as he watches you squirt. it’s hard for you to do this, but then he regains his posture, turning off the vibrator and coupling his mouth on your wet pussy. a strangled moan leaves your mouth as his tongue works you over, mingyu’s determination to finish what he started evident in every movement. his mouth is relentless, and you feel another orgasm building quickly. "sorry," he murmurs between licks, a sly slime playing on his lips.

Seokmin

seokmin forgets for a moment that he didn't give you permission to cum. "it's okay, baby, just let it all out," he coos, his voice gentle and soothing. but then it clicks, and he slams his cock inside you again, making you pull against the handcuffs in desperation. "wait... you're not done yet," he says, his voice firm.

Seungkwan

he slaps your clit, making you splash all over him again. "who. said. you. could. cum." he emphasizes each word with a slap, his tone firm and totally strict. the sensation is overwhelming, your body responding to his punishment with more squirts. he’s relentless, determined to teach you a lesson.

Vernon

vernon's fingers pinch your clit, making your body convulse hard, gushing on his sheets, as you clench around nothing. "baby, you're so sensitive, oh my god..." he murmurs, his voice filled with awe, like he had just discovered something new. your legs tighten around his torso, trapping him in place as he continues to tease you.

Chan

chan's hand presses down on your shoulder, his cock pushing even deeper inside you. "you're not escaping this," he says, his voice low and commanding. you feel his tip abusing your cervix, and you have no choice but to gush all over his pelvis. "there you go," he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction. his control over you is absolute, and you know you’re completely at his mercy, leaving you craving more even as you try to catch your breath.

[galahadwilder]

I think the brilliance of Ricky September is not just to show that Lindy Pepper-Bean has no empathy. Ricky September’s role in “Dot and Bubble” isn’t just to die, or to show that not everyone in their society is terrible.

Ricky September is the Doctor.

He’s a handsome, flamboyant weirdo who drops out of the sky to save the female lead who is a stranger to him because he’s noticed she’s in trouble.

He’s confident, more confident than makes any sense for his situation; he’s observant, investigating and picking apart the actions of the mantraps the way the Doctor would. He knows history better than anyone around him (though for different reasons than the Doctor would). He’s clever enough to hack a computer that Lindy had just failed to even turn on—sonic screwdriver much?—and then immediately, well. What’s rule #1? The Doctor lies.

The subsequent scene of him trying to open the door? He’s completely undaunted by the unnecessarily complicated code, just fascinated, as he gets down to business. The scene is practically straight out of “42,” the one with the living star and the complicated locks, and he and the Doctor both have the same reaction to the puzzle.

Like the Doctor, Ricky disdains the vapid and self-obsessed society he is part of (though Gallifrey and Finetime are very different), and he grabs the first chance he can to find a companion and run the hell away. He uses a fake name, and his real name is such a terrible secret that its revealing has disastrous consequences.

Hell, watch the mannerisms. He and Gatwa even move their hands the same when they’re in “performance mode.”

In short, Ricky breaks every single standard set by Finetime the exact way the Doctor does, and what does Lindy do? She idolizes him. She treats him like he’s an unparalleled genius, the greatest moment of her life.

If we leave aside the murder for the moment, Ricky’s purpose isn’t just to say, “look how sociopathic Lindy and the rest of Finetime is.” Ricky is there to say, “this is how Finetime would’ve treated the Doctor if he were white.”

[wlfchnlv3r]

DRIVE

Hyunjin x Bangchan x Fem reader

Synopsis: you are in big trouble after a night out with friends, your boyfriends are mad at you for flirting with a random guy and now you are going to confront them.

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: 🔞, mdni, vaginal sex, anal sex, smut, cum eating, blowjob, handjob, masturbation, literally porn with plot so, please if you are a minor do not read this.

Note: that was pretty difficult to write, I mean- what the hell.

You go downstairs after a night with friends, where you have been drinking too much, causing you being excessively gentle with a random guy you can’t even remember the name.

You know there will be consequences for your actions and when you make your way to the living room you find your two boyfriends, Bangchan and Hyunjin typing at their computer with a somber expression on their faces.

As soon as you enter the room Bangchan looks up and sees you standing there, leaning back on the sofà.

Hyunjin glances at you and continues writing, seemingly unphased by your presence.

You stay silent for a moment before speaking in a guilty tone “are you mad at me…?”.

Chan stands up and walks towards you. He seems amused by the question "What makes you think that?".

“Ok ok you guys are mad at me…I got it” you admit.

He chuckles, grabbing your chin with his hand and lifting your face to make you look at him "You're too cute. Of course we're angry at you.".

You want to explain the situation “ I wasn’t flirting with that guy, we were just…taking, I mean it”

Bangchan narrows his eyes and Hyunjin looks up from his work and watches the scene.

"Yeah, just talking." Bangchan says, with a sarcastic tone of voice "You really think we're dumb enough to believe that?".

“I would never do that, I promise”

Bangchan let's go of your chin and shrugs.

“Hmph. Whatever. You better not be lying to us."

He steps away and goes back to sit at his desk. Hyunjin has turned his full attention to you now.

Your gaze passes from bangchan to Hyunjin, he holds your stare, his face expressionless. He seems to be watching you intensely and trying to read you.

“I’m so sorry” you apologise slowly.

Bangchan is typing away on his computer, still clearly pissed at you and Hyunjin continues staring at you, still trying to make sense of you.

"You should be sorry" Hyunjin finally speaks.

“I- please can we just forget yesterday night? It was nothing I- what can I do…to make amends?” You start to be tired of this situation and try to go upstairs in the bedroom.

Bangchan looks at you with narrowed eyes "Where do you think you're going?".

Hyunjin watches you, curious to see what you'll try to do next.

“Chan please-“

“stay there until we say so. Understand?” Hyunjin leans back on the sofà starting to lose his cool.

You stay in place for what it feels like an eternity while both of your boyfriends finish their stuff glancing at you every now and then.

“What can I do for you to forgive me…?” You finally speak.

That question draws Bangchan out of his work. He looks over at you with a smirk.

"What're you willing to do?"

“Uhm- I don’t know…please-“ you plead

Bangchan looks over at Hyunjin, who chuckles under his breath.

“So desperate to make it up, huh?" Bangchan says, amused and curious about your response.

While Hyunjin is intrigued by your answer as he listens in and watches you closely to see what you'll do.

“Yes… I’ll do what you guys want” Hyunjin can barely hide his amusement while Bangchan stands up and goes behind you, his eyes watching every little reaction you make now.

"Anything hm. So If I told you to kneel on the floor for me, you would do it, right?" Bangchan says, in a commanding tone, before speaking again “kneel for me, now”.

You watch him and then Hyunjin, but you give up, kneeling in front of Chan.

Hyunjin is now looking at you and Bangchan. There is a small smile on his face from the satisfaction of seeing you kneel for Bangchan so quickly.

Bangchan reaches for you, but doesn't touch you, his hands hovering just a few inches away. He stares deep into your eyes, analyzing your reaction "Good girl".

Chan starts to unbutton his pants lowering them with his boxer, his hard erection is a few inch near your face.

He can't help but smile. His eyes never move from yours. He takes his hand away from your chin and gestures for you to get closer.

"Go on, and suck my cock till I say so, like the obedient girl you are" Bangchan says.

You close the distance and start to lick his tip, already wet with precum.

Bangchan inhales sharply. He glances back at Hyunjin, who is looking quite satisfied now "Go on princess, you look so good with chan’s dick in your mouth” he is now smirking, his eyes glued to you.

You take chan’s dick in your mouth starting to suck on it slowly but your boyfriend tangle his finger in your hair and start to pull you closer making you shuts your eyes “you are so good for me…” he says with a smirk on his face.

Tears start to run down your cheeks as he keeps pushing your head closer and closer to him.

You let out a choke whine, hearing chan’s groans.

Meanwhile Hyunjin is enjoying the view and star to unzip his jeans freeing up his erection. He grips the base of his cock and start to move his hand giving himself some relief.

Bangchan sighs heavily, enjoying the entire experience "S-such a good girl.." Bangchan keep praising you as he finishes in your mouth and slowly steps back, pulling his pants up. His eyes find yours, a slight smirk on his face “you know how it works princess, swallow it” he commands.

You swallow his seed, and stand up looking for a few minutes at Hyunjin soft expression before he comes undone on his shirt.

He open his eyes and stares at you with a smirk.

Bangchan interrupts the moment “you know…maybe we’ve been to hard on you, what about a reward for our princess, Hyunjin?” He asks with a soft voice, the two men exchange a quickly glance.

Hyunjin approaches you and lowers your panties, before finally making you straddle on his lap “we will take good care of you princess, I promise”.

You feel the thick tip of his cock sliding into you slowly making you squirm.

Bangchan smiles before caressing your ass, and moves his middle finger in your ass gently, starting to prepare you for his dick “I know you can take it, mh? Just relax and let me stretch you a little”.

After a few long minutes he pushes his dick in your ass, fitting perfectly into you.

You are already a whiny mess, and when they both start to move in sync deep into you, your eyes shuts and you feel like crying from the pleasure.

Your hands instinctively grab hyunjin’s hair.

The air fills with the distinct sounds of wet skin on skin, panting breaths, and purring moans.

Hyunjin groans loudly, increasing his pace "God, you're so fucking tight. So warm, I don't wanna pull out of you-“ he praise you looking at your expression of ectasty.

You are so overwhelmed that you don’t even hear him. It’s chan the ones who brings you back to reality, with a slap on your ass that follow a rough squeeze of your tender flesh.

“ you are doing so good princess, tell us how much you want to be filled up… say you want it”.

You whimper a quick “please- I want it- please”.

You three are enjoying this intimate moment together so much.

You are the first to fall, your walls tighten around hyunjin’s cock, making a mess.

Hyunjin’s cums right after you, with a few deep thrust, his breath unsteady and the grip on you hips still firm.

Bangchan continues pushing in your ass for a few moments before releasing into you all his seed.

You are a mess, a complete mess but you smile after hearing Hyunjin says “you just did so good princess, now lay down on the couch and let us take care of you”.

Taglist: @felixleftchickennugget @kiwininja35 @sweetpickledjins @slmnheart @elqivxstxr @catffeinexo-xx @multistancheck @justwonder113 @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @hello-stranger24 @raptorbait529 @cocofia143 @minniesverse

(comment to be added to the taglist🎐)

[alex51324]

Now, more than ever, we need to be careful about spreading misinformation and rumors

I can guarantee that over the next few months, we'll be hearing about a lot of alarming things going on here in the US. Some of those things will be true, and some won't. (And some will have both true and false or exaggerated elements.)

It's going to be absolutely vital that important information is not drowned out by misinformation, rumors, and ragebait.

That means, when you see something that would be important if true, before sharing, you check whether it's actually true.

In library world, we use the acronym SIFT:

STOP: Don't spread the information, or get caught up in your emotional reaction to it, before you've checked it out. INVESTIGATE: Who is saying it? How do they know? If there are links or sources in the post, do they actually say what the person is saying they do? FIND other coverage: Do an internet search for key details: quotes, people's names, specific locations. If something major is happening, there will normally be a lot of coverage. TRACE claims, quotes, and media back to their original context.

Usually you don't need to do all four things: just STOP and then pick what makes sense from the other three. If you decide to share the information, you can also say what you did--"This is a firsthand account from XYZ protest; it lines up with what the local TV station is saying, but has a lot more details about what the cops did," or whatever.

The more urgent the information seems, the more important it is to make sure it's reliable.

If we're hearing every other day that this or that vulnerable group is in immediate, life-threatening danger--but 49 times out of 50 it turns out to mean Trump rambled somewhere about something which, if actually implemented, could end up having the described consequences at some point down the line--then people aren't going to know the difference the one time in 50 when the danger really is immediate.

Think, here, things like immigration crackdowns, CPS investigations into parents who affirm a trans child's gender, or demands that health care providers report miscarriages to law enforcement. We all know that these are things Trump World talks about a lot and would like to be able to do, in some form. For the sake of the people affected by these topics, we need different ways of talking about, "Here they are, back on their bullshit," versus, "This is a policy proposal for a real thing that could happen," versus, "Holy shit, grab the kids and run."

We cannot go to "Holy shit, grab the kids and run" every time Trump, or someone in his inner circle, decides to bloviate about something that could disastrously affect people lives. The people who are most in danger can't stay at DefCon 5 every day of their lives, and when they do really have to grab the kids and run, we need that alarm to be heard over the constant background hum of dread.

The same goes for action items--whether protests, ways to help, or little things people can do to stay safe/sane. There's going to be plenty going on, and nobody is going to be able to do everything, so do your part by passing along those things that you can vouch are true and important, and skipping the things you aren't sure about.

I'll leave you with an example. Remember how a few years ago, we were all-in about hand hygiene and disinfecting surfaces? And then it turned out that those were not actually very important in terms of preventing the transmission of COVID-19, and what we really need is better air filtration in public spaces--but, at my work at least, we still have canisters of surface-disinfecting wipes sitting around, and tattered old signs up about hand hygiene, and no air filters.

At the time, early in the pandemic, we were sharing the best information we knew about how to stay safe, but people got a little too fixated on that initial advice--remember how people would wipe down their groceries? And those little sticks for pressing elevator buttons?--and then when the advice changed, they didn't want to hear about it.

Distrust, fatigue, superstitious attachment to the old grocery-wiping ways--there were a lot of reasons, but the key thing to take away is that attention, energy, and goodwill are all finite resources. Try to avoid wasting it with grocery-wiping--or worse, shilling for the guy selling little sticks to press elevator buttons with.

[santsukii]

oh, how i love you (yandere! stellaron hunters)

cw: all characters separate, spoilers for penacony quest, violence, yandere, stalking, obsession

currently listening to -> shut up, we don’t care - syris

KAFKA •

her love is something violent and horrific hidden behind a pretty mask. she knows she’s a beautiful woman, but she’s already got such a large bounty over her head that it barely matters to her anymore. what’s just one more kill to bring you closer to her? she’s a traditional type of yandere, obsessing over even the smallest detail related to you, memorizing everything from the exact tone of your hair and skin to every single reaction you’ve had to everything she’s ever said or done. everything you like or dislike, she has it memorized. she’d send gifts to your location, though deranged in nature. she’d send you severed and bloody, half rotted limbs torn from her victims with hearts carved in them and your initials together. she knows she’s dangerous, as if the multiple guns and katana she keeps on her person at all times wasn’t enough of an indicator of that. anyone she wants erased from the equation will be gone in an instant, and she would only hesitate for a second to betray her comrades for your sake.

BLADE •

oh, bladie. oh dear, sweet, bladie. how can someone possibly be even more violent than kafka? well, blade doesn’t even try to hide it. he relishes the fact that you’re scared of him, half the time he smiles at all is the deranged giggle he lets out as blood splatters all over his body and clothes. it would clot in his long hair, and he wouldn’t even bother to wash it out until it begins to rot. he doesn’t want to gross you out, just to remind you that you belong to HIM. someone talks to you for even just a little too long, they’ll be gone before the end of the day. he doesn’t enjoy killing in front of you, he doesn’t want his poor baby to see how violent he can get, but he at the very least implies such violent acts of love and passion to you with the blood on him. he’s a stoic man, but he still manages to smile every time he ends another life out of passion for you. he can’t die, so it’s not like it matters if you try to fight back. he will always be back, and you just can’t run from him.

SILVER WOLF •

she chooses the stalker, parasocial route. seeing as she’s a hacker who just views life as a game, this is no different. how much of your affection can she win? how long until you block one of her accounts, and how long until she just begins to stalk you from another one instead? everything from your social media accounts to your damn search history, she has access to it all, so don’t try posting for help because she’ll just delete it. you don’t know how she does it, every time you deactivate an account and make a new one to make it harder for her to find you, she always does. she’s saved all the pictures you post, hell, she’s even made alternate personas just to talk to you sometimes. it’s creepy. she gave up the act of pretending she didn’t always want to see you on her timeline pretty quickly when she realized her obsession with you.

FIREFLY •

to die three deaths is nothing compared to seeing you with someone who isn’t her. never again would she allow herself to be far from you, always only feet behind you in crowds even if you didn’t see her. if someone dares even look at you the wrong way, they can say goodbye to their life in a matter of seconds. such a sweet and innocent girl, never failing to keep her darling close no matter the consequence. don’t you understand, it’s only because she adores you with all she has. her fellow stellaron hunters will simply excuse her actions, chalking it up to a show of affection. once she has you in her arms, she is NEVER letting go. even if she has to be forceful with it, anything for you. absolutely anything. she would never reveal her true identity as a mech-girl to you, because that would only complicate things. as far as you know, your girlfriend is the only one around anymore because all your loved ones seem to just disappear after you talk to them.

[eraenaa]

Please Please Please (Modern AU)

Inspired by the song Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

Politician Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Heartbreak is one thing; my ego’s another. I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherfucker.

Warnings: Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Choking, Fingering, ¿Semi-Public Relations?, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 1,969

A/N: Quick little fic bc the music gods blessed us with new pop anthems <3

The lion’s pride. As a Lannister, you and the whole of your family had a great deal of it. Great lengths are made to maintain it, especially when you are pitted in the arena of the public eye. Every decision you made was calculated, and every action has a reaction that you meticulously premeditated. Nothing less than perfect and respectable could be accepted. Sensibilities must always be in check, but after meeting him, it seemed to fall out of your head. 

Aemond Targaryen. An up-and-coming figure in the scene of politics. A second son of the infamous family of the Targaryens. A waving red flag you had ignored, for you were too distracted by every other aspect of him. 

You remember the day you met him fondly. You were forced to attend a gala. Your family needed to push a figure of unity for the upcoming election; in consequence, you had to participate in endless events pitting you in the eye of the public. You were standing next to your father as he introduced you to other influential members of his party when, from the side of your eye, you caught a figure walking into the event hall, dressed in all black, striding and making his way through the crowds effortlessly. You were stood a few leagues away from him, but you already felt this aura of confidence that strode dangerously close to arrogance. You barely caught a clear glimpse of him, but there was this domineering and authoritarian presence in him that was needed in leaders that had solidified your attraction. 

Aemond has had his eye on you for quite some time now. The golden girl, they liked to call you—the celebrated daughter of House Lannister, the girl who was perfect on paper. Everything you had done in your life had only added to the pride and good standing of your family, and Aemond could not help but be intrigued. He strode into the room, always catching everyone’s attention, but yours was the only one he sought for. When he finally caught your eyes from across the room, he inwardly smirked to himself and strode to where you stood with your father. “Ah, Aemond,” Your father greeted the other member of his party with civility. “Sir Lannister,” You hear him greet, and you clenched your jaw as you hear the deep, velvety tone of his voice. “This is my daughter; I don’t believe you two have been introduced yet,” Your father said, and you turned your full attention to him. Aemond led out his hand for you to shake, and he felt a chill run down his spine as your hands clasped around each other. 

“Nice to meet you,” You said with a small smile. The same smile was reserved for when you met your father’s other colleagues. You hear him hum and watch as he gives a nod, reserved and quiet, an exact depiction of what you read of him. You stood there quietly for a few moments as they talked of business, trying to ignore the eye that had been entranced by you. When there was a pause in their conversation, you excused yourself and headed towards the bar on the side of the room to refresh your drink, a figure closely following behind you. 

Things were quick to escalate from there from only having to be formally introduced to Aemond mere moments ago to him and you engaging in juvenile activities in a nearby coat closet. There was a lapse in your judgment as you engaged in such activities. Letting your lips dance with your father’s colleague, letting his solid and cold hands roam your body, not at all cautious that with just one swing of the door, you two would succumb to scandal. 

“Aemond,” You called as you gripped his long, silvery locks. His lips were too preoccupied with peppering kisses on your neck and collarbone to respond. You feel his hand inch higher towards your bosom, placing it flat as he palmed your tit. “Who knew their golden girl could be so… lewd?” Amend hummed, and you rolled your eyes as you hated that nickname. “You’ve only just met me, but you had no hesitation as I led you here,” He mused and nipped your skin, not at all wary that it would leave a mark. “Are you complaining?” You asked breathlessly, staring at his sapphire-colored eye. You feel your core tighten as a devilish smirk rose to his lips. “No,” he replied and kissed your lips once more. 

It did not take long after that encounter before you two were noted to be entirely fond of one another. 

There were great reservations. Your older brother taking the lead to voice it on behalf of your family. “Wh—why him? You are aware of his… demeanor?” You pursed your lips. “I am, and he is not as rash and cold as you think,” You defended. “But why did you have to choose someone from father’s party— it is a complete conflict of interest.” You rolled your eyes, “How is it a conflict of interest? For it to be a conflict of interest, it has to be with someone from the opposing party, does it not?” You countered. Your brother shook his head disapprovingly, “He is from the opposing party. Father is not completely sold on his allegiance. He still thinks your little boyfriend’s decision to join our side is a shallow rebellion against his family’s— nothing but a ploy!” Your brother almost screamed, and you stayed quiet as your calculating and cautious self had overlooked the possibility.

That thought bothered you tremendously, and it was noticeable. Aemond frowned as he placed kisses on the valley of your breast, and his hand was threading closer to your cunt, but no reaction came from you. “Are you well?” He asked as he pulled away, placing a small gap between your bodies. Your back was rested on the headboard of his bed, your mind was far off, and you could not even enjoy his pleasurable actions. You stared into his eye and licked your lips. “What’s your plan?” You suddenly asked, and you watched as his face folded in confusion. “What do you mean?” He asked and sat straight before you, his cold hand placed on your warm thigh. 

“Why did you suddenly join my father’s party? For decades, our families have been known for their opposing views… why then did you suddenly join?” You asked and watched as his lips thinned. “If you wanted political and career advancements, it would make more sense if you stayed in your family’s party. Why then do you join ours when you would have to start all over again?” You asked in doubt, fearing that it was indeed all a ploy and the relations between you were just another part of it. That in the end, whatever you do will not only end in heartbreak but worse, your reputation will be tarnished. Aemond was silent, and that put further skepticism in you. Your mind conjures up future scenes where the public will come to know that your relationship was filled with deceit, his way to slither into your father’s political party— subjecting you and your family to embarrassment as you had been seduced by him and his lies. 

“It’s true that if I had stayed with my family’s party, my career would have advanced greatly. But it is a dead end.” You frowned at his words, trying not to be distracted by the day his hand would caress your skin. “It is a lost cost. I had never believed and aligned myself with their political beliefs and values; having to run and represent things I don’t believe in is, for me, practically career suicide,” You pursed your lips and assessed his eye, trying to find sincerity in him. People often say that he was a good actor, keeping his dealings and reactions to himself so no one could use them against him. 

Aemond could not help but smirk as you stared him down, his hand on your thigh inching higher as you did your calculations. “Why? Did you think I was using you?” He asked quietly. His eye darkened when you bit your lip and slowly nodded, a bit wounded that you would think as such. However, he could not honestly blame you because if he were in your position, he would also be skeptical about himself. You parted your lips to speak, but words died on your tongue as you felt Aemond cup your cunt. 

“They always said you were a fast learner… so best to engrave this in your pretty little head,” Aemond hummed as his lips threaded closer to yours, his fingers gliding against your folds, a whimper escaping your lips. “I’m not with you for political advancements… I’m with you simply because I want you, you alone.” He swore and intertwined your lips, swallowing your moan as he slipped his finger inside. Aemond smirked as you parted your lips, needing air as he curled the digit, feeling your cunt clench around him tightly. 

You clung to Aemond’s neck as he dipped down and captured the taut bud of your tit into his mouth, his teeth nibbling your skin, making you whimper. Aemond added another finger as he felt your grind your cunt against his hand in want of more; his thumb lay flat on your nubbin and drew circles, your moans echoing through the room. “More… Aemond— please, please, please, I want more,” You moaned. His fingers were pleasurable, but your body needed the whole of him. You hear him hum and watch him through glazed eyes as he removes his fingers, bringing them to his lips as he cleans your essence. “You want more?” He asked, and you nodded fervently, bordering on desperation. “Then who am I to deny?” He smirked as he switched your positions, him resting his back on the headboard and you straddling his waist. 

Your head tilted back, and your jaw went slack as his cock slipped inside you, sheathing itself perfectly in your cunt, the tip of it hitting the spongey spot that made you lost and unaware of your surrounding. The place that made all sensibilities fly out of the window and make your judgment muddled. “So pretty…” Aemond praised breathlessly, watching as you bounced his cock. Your tits heaving against him, your lips parted as you spewed out your moans. Aemond placed his hands on your hips and guided you, his thrust deep and harsh, just as you liked it. 

Aemond felt you take hold of one of his hands, guiding it toward your throat, and he groaned out in pleasure as you urged him to choke you. Your cunt clenching painfully and pleasurably around his length as he did your request. You moaned as you felt the cool metal of his ring imprint itself on your throat. You were close, and your desperate movements hinted that to Aemond. “Is my pretty girl going to come?” Aemond asked through gritted teeth, his own release coming quickly as well. “Aemond… god, Aemond!” You called as you came undone, your body hunching over his, and he sought out your lips, kissing them as he spilled himself deep inside your cunt. 

You breathed heavily, your mind trying to regain focus, but it was difficult as Aemond drew soothing circles on your skin as you came down from your high. “Do me a favor?” You asked breathlessly, Aemond’s cock still deep inside you and the flaccid length growing stiffer by the moment. “Anything,” He answered and tried to capture your lips, but you swiftly backed away. “Don’t fucking embarrass me,” You said in seriousness, and Aemond smirked at your words. “Never.” He swore and sealed his oath with a kiss.

Tag List

[writingwithfolklore]

Character Agency

Your characters should have agency. That means they have the power to influence what’s happening around them. We talked a bit about agency last time, revolving around how many female characters get agency stripped away from them. But overall, agency is important for any character to make them active participants in their own stories and feel necessary to the plot.

              So here’s how you enable your characters agency:

1. They make active decisions

Okay this is the obvious one in theory, but still manages to sneak by in stories undetected. An active character with agency makes things happen through their decisions, instead of just their reactions. Take these two examples of a scene plan:

John is walking home when he is caught by a sudden storm. Looking to hide from the rain, he ducks under the cover of a bus shelter. Inside is Mya, and they strike up a conversation about their shared sucky situation.

Vs.

John is walking home when he is caught by a sudden storm. Luckily he brought an umbrella in his bag, and draws it out. Then, he sees Mya getting drenched by the rain ahead of him. He jogs to her, offering to share the umbrella. They strike up a conversation.

In the second example John isn’t just reacting but making a choice that’s changed something in the world. He may just happen to run into Mya, but it was his decision to run up to her, to offer her his umbrella. This action is a great indicator of his personality—he’s kind, trusting, and thoughtful even towards strangers.

That’s the most important part. A character who just reacts to everything doesn’t show off any personality, whereas action lets you demonstrate who your character is at their core (especially in difficult situations that call for difficult decisions).

2. Their actions have consequences

Similarly, the decisions your active character makes aren’t really decisions if they don’t impact any part of their world. For good or for bad, every decision your character makes should have a consequence. This could be shown through their relationships with others, their environment, or even their own mental, physical, or spiritual state.

If we’re going from the example above, John sharing his umbrella with Mya maybe starts their friendship, but her jealous, toxic boyfriend sees them through his window, making her and now his life difficult.

It’s a decision that has multiple consequences throughout his life—a new friendship, and also a new enemy. And Mya is also facing consequences—from her decision to walk with him, and his decision to offer her the umbrella.

Make sense? How do you ensure your character has agency?

[soaps-mohawk]

I just saw someone talk about Simon Riley being a rapist and the only way they tried to confirm it is by saying that he is a war criminal and all soldiers are misogynistic and sexist and they also talked about how he dreamt of hurting women in the comics when that's quite literally a normal reaction by being raped by both men and women (what I mean is that abused people sometimes dream of becoming someone they're not and don't want to be) but they conveniently forgot to mention how that "dream" was a nightmare. (Just wanted to rant about this and see your opinion)

The sigh I let out when I saw this ask this morning.

I'm so sick and tired of seeing this discourse. Not just in this fandom but in every fandom. Maybe it's just because I'm old and my frontal lobe is fully developed, or maybe it's because I was in fandom back in the days where there were no tags. You were lucky if you got a warning at the beginning of a fic. Most fics you walked in blind and if you didn't like something? You hit the back button and found something else.

This sudden mainstreaming of fandom has ruined these spaces. People come in, refuse to "learn the rules" that most of us learned by just existing in these spaces and watching others interact. There were no written rules back then. We learned by observing and occasionally being guided on fandom etiquette by those more experienced than us. Now it's just like people come in expecting fandom to be like every other space on the internet and then get defensive and angry when they realize it's not. Fandom is cringy. It's nerdy. It's happy and sunshine and it's dark and ugly like every media out there. Us creators and those of us more experienced in fandom have been screaming how to exist in fandom spaces from the rooftops but no one is listening and then everyone wonders why creators are leaving these spaces. Why fandoms keep getting abandoned.

All of that aside, this discourse about FICTIONAL characters pisses me off. Simon Riley is a FICTIONAL character. He has no morality, there is no right or wrong because he's FICTIONAL. You can make him do whatever you want to do because he's NOT REAL. You can give him wings and have him fly and guess what?? Cool, that can happen because he's NOT REAL. You want to make him a rapist? Cool, you can do that because he's FICTIONAL. You can make him whatever you want to make him because he's a character. He's not a living, breathing human being. There are no consequences of his actions because he's FICTIONAL!!!

Don't even get me started on this sudden discourse about dark fics and dead dove that's appeared recently. Dark media has existed for literal centuries. The Epic of Gilgamesh from 1800 BCE. The Odyssey. Mostellaria by Plautus. The Castle of Otranto published in the 1700s. Frankenstein. Dracula. The works of Edgar Allan Poe. Lolita. Hell, look at the Bible. The Bible, especially the old testament, is fucked up. Even in the watered down, bastardized King James version, the things the old testament "God" supposedly did, when you sit and actually think about them outside the lens of religious brainrot, are super fucked up.

People have been creating dark media for a long time. Horror has existed for a long time because it plays to our worst fears. It gives us a safe way to express those fears and to experience them without having to experience them first hand. You wouldn't bitch at a horror movie director for including things like rape and gore and murder in their movies?? So why is writing different? You think every horror movie director agrees with the things they portray on screen? You think every horror movie director would go out and murder someone just because they made a movie about it? No, because we're allowed to portray things in all forms of media, we're allowed to write things without morally agreeing with them. Guess what, most people that write rape or assault or violence, aren't going out and doing those things in real life. They don't support those things in real life. In fact, people that write dark fanfics are some of the loudest protesters against those things.

If you want to make Simon Riley a real person, guess what? He's not going to be even morally grey. Most people in the military are not good people. They're not. The people that are good people in the military, or were in the military, are the ones saying that the loudest. People that got tricked into joining, people that got promised things, people that did it because they had no other choice and then realized what it was really like after getting in? Those are the people to listen to. Not Call of Duty, not the people trying to convince you to join because they're glorified sales people and have a quota to fill. Look up videos of what happened in Iraq and Afghanistan at the hands of American and British soldiers. You would not like Simon Riley if he were a real person.

But he's not real. He's FICTIONAL. Even as a fictional character, he's not a good person. So many Call of Duty fans put on the blinders and ignore the fact that these men are out here committing awful acts of violence and killing people because they're "the good guys." People love to forget that Price literally kidnapped a woman and a child and had them held at gunpoint to get information out of someone. Not only that, he was okay with it. If he were a real person that did that, you would not be questioning if he were a good person or not. You can tell the people that have never played the games or watched playthroughs, who only know these characters through the lenses of fanfics and artwork and headcanons.

Call of Duty is military propaganda. They paint these men as heroes, make it easy to put the blinders up and ignore the things that are happening, the things they're doing so that they can convince young men that they want to do that and they should join the military so they can go out and do that too. That's Call of Duty's audience. That's who they're creating these games for. These young, impressionable boys who get excited by the violence and the action who will go on to fill quota numbers for recruiters. Call of Duty was not made for us, the people writing fanfiction and creating art for it. This side of the Call of Duty fandom will be the first to tell you all of this.

This side of the fandom creates fanworks which would turn Activision's eyes red. We babygirlify their military propaganda because it actively goes against what Activision is trying to do. It goes against what Call of Duty is at its core. Sure, some people water it down a lot, and others keep it more realistic to what these men would be like in real life, because it's FICTION. You can portray these characters however you want because that's what fiction is for.

And guess what, anon? Rape kinks exist. Consensual non-consent exists. It's well known. And guess what? Victims of sexual assault and rape can develop those kinks as a coping mechanism. Here's a study from the NIH website, and if that's too complex for you, here's a VICE news article that uses that study. People can write rape and rape kinks and CNC and noncon and not support it in real life. People can write those things to bring awareness to the fact that they happen to people in real life, or because people in real life have those kinks. People write those things to help victims, to support them. It's cathartic. Dark media most often is created for catharsis. It gives people an outlet, and it allows people to experience those things in a safe, controlled environment for whatever reason.

And that's the thing, anon. People don't have to give anyone a reason for why the consume that kind of media. Creators don't owe anyone an explanation as to why they create it. It's none of your business, and if you're not comfortable with it, then don't consume it. You can turn off the TV if a horror movie is too much for you. People walk out of theaters all the time because a movie is not what they were expecting, be it because it was bad or because it was too graphic or violent or disgusting. You start reading a book and you don't like it for whatever reason? You put the book down and pick up another. Why do people have such a problem with not reading fanfics they don't like? Why do people have such a hard time just blocking creators that make things they don't want to see. Most dark fic and dead dove creators put ample warnings on their blog and their posts. That's why those tags exist. You don't like it and you don't want to see it? Then block and move on and let others enjoy what they want to enjoy.

You pearl clutchers are ruining fandom and soon there won't be anything for you to enjoy. If you can't handle fandom, then don't be in it. There is no algorithm here. You're going to see things you don't want to see and it's very easy to just block and filter tags. There was a time on Tumblr where you couldn't filter tags. I remember those days. You had to download the X-kit extension to block things, and that only worked on desktop. The fact Tumblr gave us the option to filter tags on the site and on the app was a big deal when it was rolled out. I remember so many people that didn't want to use the app when it first came out because you couldn't block potentially triggering tags.

It's not a creator's problem if you were triggered by their media. Life doesn't come with trigger warnings and it's a blessing that it's become so normalized to include warnings at the beginnings of fics. There's websites that exist for other forms of media that will give trigger warnings. If you can look up trigger warnings for a movie and decide not to watch it, you can look at the trigger warnings for fics and decide not to interact with it. You're not out here emailing the directors and producers of movies that include triggers you don't like, telling them they're awful people for including those things in their movie and they shouldn't. Yet you have no problem coming into the comments and inboxes creators who do this FOR FREE because we wrote one dark fic. Because we wrote something that's triggering to you.

And yes, some abuse victims go on to be abusers, some people continue that cycle because they don't have the help and support to break it. It's a sad thing that happens, but it happens. It happens in the fictional world and it happens in real life. People can make that happen to fictional characters for whatever reasons they want.

I've written dark fics. I've written several. I consume "disturbing" media for fun. I've read books and watched movies that would send these pearl clutchers to the hospital. Hell, I've probably written things (some published, some that will never see the light of day) that would turn these pearl clutchers inside out. Guess what? That's okay because it's FICTION. It's cathartic. I don't have to give my reasons why because it's no one's business except those I decide to tell because I trust them and I know they'll support me. I don't support those things in real life. Just because I write for Call of Duty doesn't mean I support the things the game portrays. If you consume Call of Duty media be it the games or fanfiction, does that mean you support what the game supports? What the creators of the games support? What militaries around the world support?

Think about that next time.

I’ve made my stance very clear here before, but I’ll do it again. In real life, I am anti military, anti war, anti gun violence, anti genocide, anti fascism, anti terf, anti homophobia, anti conservative, anti rape, anti domestic violence, anti colonialism and pro choice.

Just because I may create or consume media with those things in it, does not mean I support them. It's high time some of these pearl clutchers learn that.

The next time you want to come into a creator's inbox or comments and spew hatred towards them because of the things they write, why don't you do something useful with your time instead.

This will be my only discussion on this topic. I will not be answering any more asks like this. I will delete and block anyone who tries to come "well actually"-ing into my inbox. If you don't agree with this stance, then get off my blog and block me.

[creatorofarcadia]

It's been a while since I watched Supernatural, so don't take my opinions as gospel or anything. But I think Dean is self-hating to the point of narcissism in some ways. Don't get me wrong, I empathise with Dean and understand why fans largely do too. But his self-loathing warps his perception and becomes the centre of EVERYTHING and at times that really has ripple effects on those around him - particularly Sam.

Take their childhood, Sam has a right to mourn the fact that he didn't get a normal childhood. He's allowed to be angry that he didn't get a home, a present father, a stable community, and consistent education. But whenever Sam attempts to express his complicated feelings about his childhood, Dean immediately interprets it as ' oh I was supposed to look out for you. Are you saying I failed? Are you confirming I'm worthless?' which grinds the conversation to a complete halt. Because of Dean's intense self-criticism, Sam can never really be 100% honest with him or ask for support with his own issues, especially regarding their childhood. As anything outside of 100% gratitude just becomes another stick for Dean to beat himself with, and the conversation is immediately derailed.

Not only does Deans self-hatred mean that Sam's expression of his own experiences are pretty consistently shut down. In some ways, I think Dean strips Sam of his autonomy - he's so self-loathing, he sees every decision Sam makes as being about/a reaction to him. A good example of this is Stanford. Rather than understanding Stanford for what it was, an attempt by Sam to carve out a better life from himself and escape hunting. Dean views it as betrayal or abandonment, some re-affirmation of his own belief that he's not worth caring about. Rather than understanding it's a rejection of hunting, he sees it as Sam rejecting him. To Dean, Sam isn't attempting to find a better life, he's punishing the family.

Overall, it's interesting that people largely and rightfully sympathise with Dean due to his self-hatred. However, I don't see as much discussion about how his self-hatred doesn't just hurt him, it hurts those he's close to, as it colours his interpretation of their every action. Dean's self-loathing is always the biggest thing in the room and that has consequences.

[orimuraa]

𓈒 🏁 ／ ⋆ ۪ Go big or go home TEASER - Lee Heeseung

(synopsis) ✶ famous model, y/l/n y/n, has caught the eye of famous f1 racer, lee heeseung, but how will they ever be able to interact when they're lives are so different? ᯓᡣ𐭩

f1 racer!heeseung x fem model!reader ✶ bad boy with a soft spot ✶ profanity ✶ more warnings to come in full fic ✶ wc 647

full fic = here

the sound of screams and the flashes of light and cameras constantly clicking was what y/n was used to. she has been in the modeling industry for many years now and it now unfazed her.

she was now used to the blinding flash and the aggravating comments the paparazzi would make just to get a reaction out of her.

y/n never had to worry about the consequences of the dating rumors because she had never been in one.

that was until she met lee heeseung.

y/n would be lying if she said she had never heard of lee heeseung before. she’s actually heard of him quite a bit.

she saw his races from time to time on tv, and she had to admit, he was pretty hot.

she admired his bravery to be able to drive so fast in front of hundreds and thousands of people without the humiliation if he ever crashed.

but y/n knew that they lived completely different lives and it would be considered “scandalous” if someone as perfect as her was dating some sort of car racer.

so she decided that it was best that she buried these thoughts deep down and forgot about them so her career wouldn’t be in jeopardy.

of course lee heeseung had heard of y/l/n y/n. she was one if the most famous models in south korea. she was the ambassador for many luxury brands such as prada, miu miu, louis vuitton, and so many more.

she was also all his team mates could talk about. every day, he would always here them talking about how pretty she was and how they would kill to date her.

heeseung himself thought she was the most beautiful person he’s ever seen but he couldn’t allow any distractions that could risk his entire career.

so when they accidentally met at a party, both of their perspectives changed. a lot.

they actually got along well and were having a pleasant time chatting together.

y/n realized that lee heeseung was not at all what she had heard about him from her other model friends. they said he was a reckless person and was quite rude to people, but y/n was finding him actually quite polite and respectful.

the truth is, heeseung didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of y/n. but it was strange because heeseung has never cared what others thought about him. he was always out doing his own things and saying whatever crazy shit he wanted to say.

heeseung actually felt himself genuinely smiling and laughing while chatting with y/n which was a bit if a foreign concept for him since he was always seen as this “cold, bad boy”.

y/n knew she should’ve been more careful, but for once in her life, she wanted to be able to feel free and have fun talking with lee heeseung.

the next morning, she faced the consequences of her actions.

FAMOUS F1 RACER, LEE HEESEUNG, AND FAMOUS MODEL, Y/L/N Y/N, ARE DATING?

the article shocked y/n and she immediately rushed to call her manager.

“what the fuck?” heeseung whispered to himself. he ran a hand through his hair, reading the article about him and y/n.

in the article, there was a photo of y/n touching his arm while laughing and heeseung is seen with a wide smile on his face.

fuck. he was so screwed. y/n herself was an angel and so sweet but heeseung knew that she has a ton of fans that will not approve of him even being near her.

they would say how he’s too much of a bad influence for their “pure” angel y/n and how she deserved better.

but also, he was so screwed cause he’d already fell for y/n’s charm.

would he be able to stay away and save his career?

or will he risk his whole career to be with y/n?

sooo…i don’t know how soon i will have this fic out since i think it’s gonna be a really long one…BUT, i will try and get it out no later than a month? idk…

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist for the whole fic!

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries

⚘. Perm taglist: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip

[orphiclovers]

Rereading early ORV and I have some THOUGHTS on Kim Dokja. In typical me fashion, they are unpopular. So if he's your absolute favourite character and seeing him be criticized will ruin your day, maybe skip this post, ok? Peace.

-

What is so novel and interesting about Kim Dokja is that he GENUINELY doesn't really have a knee jerk emotional reaction of outrage and empathy when seeing injustice happen. He sees something immoral and bad, but doesn't FEEL horrified and disgusted. Emotions don't drive him to attempt to fix the situation or save anyone.

Instead his moral compass is based on the simple logic that 'bad things happening should be prevented if there is an opportunity to prevent them.'

This philosophy is the most apparent in his actions in Chungmuro on the WHOLE, with the food and marginalized group and etc. But I will point out this moment in particular as an example of what I mean.

They see women be driven to prostitution to survive. Jung Heewon has an instinctive, human reaction of outrage and disgust, wants to rush in and save them and damn the consequences, while Kim Dokja is calm and rational, holding her back and saying those woman will starve if they try to help right now.

This lack of empathy (feeling strong emotions) is definitely due to childhood trauma stunting his emotional development but... that doesn't change the fact this is a legitimate part of his personality now.

Usually, when a character is 'cold and ruthless', it's because they are repressing their true feelings and forcing themselves to be unfeeling for some goal. Like Yoo Joonghyuk, for example.

But we are IN Kim Dokja's head and get to see the way he thinks, and being 'unfeelingly rational' IS what comes naturally to him.

Before you say anything, I know the Fourth Wall represses some of his emotions in certain situations and certainly helps him deal with pain and horror. But we are ALWAYS TOLD when it's active, and it isn't in these moments.

Blaming all of Kim Dokja's less than moral thoughts and behavior on the 4th wall even when there's no indication that it's influencing him at that particular moment, is not something I want to do as it feels like an attempt to scrub away his moral greyness. I choose to believe that his narration, in moments when he's not wrong or biased or 4th wall-ed, is a basically accurate representation of his character. I think the authors didn't make his narration totally 100% unreliable all the time, with no possible indication of where he's wrong or right. Because that would mean there is nothing a reader can latch onto and draw conclusions about KDJ from.

If they wanted to write about a faceless self insert with no concrete personality traits and flaws, a person you can headcanon to be anything, they wouldn't have written ORV.

I think it's okay to acknowledge Kim Dokja's first reaction to seeing a woman about to be raped is not 'oh my god...those bastards...! I have to stop this...!' but '...she might be dangerous or a hinderence in a future...'

We don't need to make excuses here and try to justify this. A moment later he catches himself thinking like this and 'shudders with disgust at himself.'

His first, instinctive thoughts that he can't control don't necessarily make him a bad person. What matters is his second thoughts and what he actually chooses to do, which he CAN control. I ALSO don't think he's wrong to feel disgusted at himself for having low empathy. His guilt is justified.

I genuinely like him even more for always picking the 'moral option' in every scenario now, than if he did it immediately with no hesitation. Because it makes empathy and compassion a constant choice he's making, and putting in the effort reflects well on what his values are.

Kim Dokja legitimately can't help but weigh everyone he meets on a scale of how 'useful they potenially are' first and foremost. He does this with strangers and also with all of kimcom too.

"Who should I save because they would be useful in the future? I wasn't Yoo Joonghyuk to be thinking about these things." At this point, chap 74, he thinks Yoo Joonghyuk is wrong and doesn't want to be like him at all and mostly calls him a psychopath. He thinks 'acting like him' is wrong and undesirable.

He has a mini arc about Yoo Joonghyuk later, goes from 'he's a bad person, I know it because I know everything about him' in chap 81 to 'maybe I don't know him at all' in chap 82 but this is before that.

Seeing people as tools and deciding who to save based on future knowledge is a thing BOTH of them do. Yet Kim Dokja critisizes Yoo Joonghyuk for it, it's his least favourite character trait that YJH of TWSA has.

And in typical Kim Dokja fashion, this similarity between them is exactly what he despises in Yoo Joonghyuk - but now we find out it's not because he finds it amoral ("I'm not a humanist" - he doesn't care about that part) but because he sees it as a mirror reflection of himself. He's projecting, as always!

In early ORV, he hates the part of Yoo Joonghyuk that is the most similar to himself. (even tho they're sort of the polar opposites too. Yoo Joonghyuk is a deeply emotionally driven person, he feels empathy and the desire to save everyone but chooses to repress and ignore this and act like a ruthless 'psychopath'. KDJ disagrees with this choice, as Kim Dokja IS an unfeeling psychopath (low empathy) but does his best to act like a decent person and not an edgelord.)

[karlachismylife]

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

[misteria247]

So I'm going to ramble a bit cuz I've been noticing that there's a lot of split opinions on Timmy Turner that rage from people adoring him flaws and all to people thinking that he's a little shit. So I decided to throw in my thoughts cuz it's been awhile since I've analyzed a character and I've got some thoughts fam lol. Please don't take this personally cuz this is just my opinion.

I think one of the main reasons why Timmy gets such a mixed reaction from fans is because a lot of his actual story is played like a sitcom. It's not placed in a more serious way, though there are moments where it is, it's quickly glossed over. If you take away the sitcom setting and the attempts of comedy and whatnot you actually get a rather horrible reality for this 10 year old boy. And with it suddenly a lot of his actions and attitude makes a lot more sense.

Timmy when introduced is a 10 year old. He's a child but he's also old enough to know the basics of right and wrong. Much like any kid. He gets his fairy godparents, Cosmo and Wanda because he was deemed to be a child in need of help. This whole scenario is played for laughs and whatnot but like, Timmy's life is actually horrid. He's abused by his babysitter, is tormented by school bullies, is essentially harassed by his teacher and is neglected by his own parents. This is his every day life, from the moment he was old enough to understand this was what he was exposed to and forced to accept. In a way Timmy was forced to grow up a bit faster because of it but not to a point where he completely lost the magic of childhood. When you think about this in a more serious way, things start to click together more.

Timmy's behavior when he gets snappy or creates mischief is a way to get attention from his parents. It's not a good kind but it's something. Or when he acts cold and selfishly, while it could be chalked up to being a kid, I could also argue that he might have actually learned it. Cause who else in his life puts their wants and desires before others? Who else doesn't think about the consequences of their actions and how it'd effect others? Who else ignores other people's thoughts and feelings when it comes to things?

His parents.

Timmy's parents do this shit constantly. From leaving him with abusive babysitters, to not really interacting with him, to making jabs about how their dreams died when he was born to a bunch of other shitty things. They forget to feed him and always criticize him, they're always jumping at the chance to essentially get away from him. All these things are things Timmy's witnessed and has been on the receiving end of for a decade. And never once does his parents really suffer any consequences. It's a known fact that children watch their parents and absorb information from it. Timmy's behaviors can very well be behaviors he unintentionally learned from them. Which is so sad because whenever Timmy's not acting like this, it's quite clear that he's actually incredibly different.

It becomes clear that Timmy's actually incredibly kind.

There's so many moments where he shows his kindness. From lending Cosmo and Wanda to Tootie, to helping fairies in Fairy World to literally giving his fairies the baby they always wanted to saving the whole world several times with little hesitation. Timmy at his core is a kind boy, but due to his home life and its constant reminders of the people in his life not wanting him. (Hell there was a whole ass episode about the world being better if he hadn't been born, like can you imagine that, it's fucking awful-). So in a way Timmy hides that kindness and rarely shows it because of these things.

Which is why Cosmo and Wanda and eventually Peri are so fucking important.

Cosmo and Wanda from the very beginning where different from everyone else. These fairies while granting some reckless and dangerous wishes, have always had Timmy's best interests in mind. Cosmo and Wanda are the positive influences that Timmy desperately needs, the adults that he actually needs to help encourage and push him towards the right direction. Cosmo and Wanda are always in Timmy's corner, even when he's made a mistake, and are always there to catch him and remind him that he's loved and wanted. In one episode where Timmy sneaks into his godparents castle, at the end when they're putting the picture of Maryann back into the hall of infamy, Timmy's first reaction is to apologize and believe that because he'd made this one mistake that he'd end up there with the other bad kids. Only to immediately be told no, baffling Wanda and Cosmo with the very idea of it.

It's things like this that help Timmy grow and feel comfortable with making mistakes. Cuz what he thought isn't exactly a normal thing. They help Timmy in so many ways and grow to love him as their very own cuz when Timmy allows himself to be well himself he's a rather endearing kid. It's no surprise they get so attached.

There's a lot of other things that I've got in my noggin but I just wanted to say these things for the time being. Maybe I'll update on this later lol.