#for context it’s not one i’m running it’s one i’m playing in

[dmramblings]

Y’all ever have a “oh this campaign is cooked” moment in real time? Like something happens and you just know that it’s not gonna last or end well?

Cause I just did. And it’s interesting for sure. Adding another player when there’s already a lot of scheduling issues will do that.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

really wish my one friend would quit flirting with me. and trying to goad me into hanging out more. and assigning us fictional characters that are oh-so-coincidently either couples or with romantic tension. and then interrupting our gameplay to ask me repeatedly if I think they’re “like us” (which they rarely are…). and matching my icon on discord without asking (again, usually by insinuating a couple connection). and giving me random things I do not want and did not ask to receive (and then forcing me to take them???).

[victory-cookies]

for the first year ever— my aunt played the 12 days of Christmas in a lower key at our annual carol sing, meaning that I (the lone person singing “five golden rings” bc I’m the only fucking may baby and that’s how we organize the verses at this thing) didn’t have to choose between “embarrassingly low so that you’re bottoming out your vocal range and can’t be heard” and “full falsetto that will inventively end up sharp, flat, or both”. Bc that’s been my reality for like 15 fucking years at this point and it sucks every time bc I get a big spotlight on me and have to decide if I should sing low and quiet or high and pitchy. It’s hell. She realized by the tenth day this year that something must change and started playing in a lower key for the rest of the song. It was still bad but. Not as bad

[daydreamerdrew]

The Hulk! (1978) #27

[ilookattextile]

I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.

On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result. 

Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful. 

I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned. 

When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura. 

A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.

I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me. 

Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad. 

This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.

I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves. 

I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this. 

Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago. 

[yamujiburo]

Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs. 

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

[romanceyourdemons]

1620s tumblr simulator

🍷 librolibra Follow

Truly nothing worse than when another volume of Don Quixote gets translated and I have to deal with a flood of dumb Englishmen who don’t get any of the cultural context. This isn’t one of your little Shakespeare plays, it’s a profound meditation on Spanish values!

#libra speaks #miguel cervantes #don quixote #don quixote de la mancha #sancho panza #dulcinea del toboso

( 201 notes )

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 windmillboysfan Follow

if sanxote doesn’t become canon in this next volume i’m bringing a plague rat on my next trip to the continent

( 9,334 notes )

⚓️ devil-of-the-high-seas Follow

spent all me booty on some new toys

🦊 huanhuan Follow

i think i hauve the bubonic plague

( 763 notes )

🦆 yuanyangsword Follow

hey guys i think i’ve figured out why my sect leader insisted on rescuing this idiot scholar from the embroidered uniform guard

#it’s not THE stupidest rescue we’ve done but it’s up there #anyways i’ll investigate more and update when i’m sure

( 7 notes )

😈 heretics-bracket Follow

Vote to settle the Protestant question once and for all!

( 1,092 notes )

⚔️ the-wulinmengzhu Follow

pussy from a boy who failed the imperial exams four times and got last place on the fifth

⚔️ the-wulinmengzhu Follow

oh this is absolutely the wrong account

( 70,884 notes )

🦞 lobsterlord Follow

gave one of these mayflower guys some of my popcorn and he started giving thanks to god, instead of me, the one who made the popcorn and gave it to him.

( 71 notes )

🔘 egghead-official-deactivated16220217

eunuch wei just summoned me for a private conference. hopefully this is the promotion i’ve been working for!

( 24 notes )

⚒️ craftsmanfrombeijing Follow

Just added to my shop!!

🐉 tianqi-huangdi Follow

Beautiful work!!

🔘 egghead-official-deactivated16220217

for anyone who doesn't know, the emperor runs both accounts lol. one wonders how the mandate of heaven could rest on someone who prefers woodworking to governing. but of course that’s not for me to speculate

( 1,759 notes )

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 windmillboysfan Follow

apparently the notorious catholic l*brolibra is claiming to be a spanish noblewoman now? the TRUTH is she’s an eelmonger’s daughter and the poxiest wench in london, and i have proof

( 3,001 notes )

[wandagcre]

it's a trap (when you act like that) | wanda maximoff 🔞

(College!Perv!Best friend Wanda Maximoff x Innocent!Fem Reader)

You cannot quite relate to the topic of pleasure. Being introverted and shy, your circle of people was limited, but you're more than grateful that Wanda - your best friend - is always there to help you out.

WARNING: corruption kink, pillow riding, first times, fingering, praise, wanda talking you through it - not proofread +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 4.2k

[perv!wanda series] | [masterlist]

For an hour, you settled on reading in comfortable silence with your best friend. Wanda laid on your lap comfortably, unlike you, she gave up skimming on her notes a few minutes ago. 

You giggle each time you catch her gaze on you. It was inquisitive and sometimes Wanda made silly faces. Thoughtful as ever, she’d pop in some candy in your mouth.

Her auburn hair grew out – instead, her brunette tresses were back. It was tempting for you the way they were sprawled out, wanting to comb them with your fingers and drop your notes – only having to listen to what stories your best friend would tell.

Lately, you noticed it’s been hard to be around Wanda. You can no longer hold her gaze than usual and you physically want to be closer to her – which was no problem because your best friend was always attentive and touchy with you. 

“Have you been working out? Look at these thighs,” You sharply inhaled as you felt fingertips, running feather-like on your skin. Wanda caught the act and it made her giggle softly. 

You shyly shook your head. “N-no. I haven’t.” 

She seemed not to buy your response. It’s the truth. Even if you indulged in some exercises, your workout routine was not strict about any type of weight lifting. Not like you had the time and all. In fact, it was one of the things that sometimes pulled you into your insecure thoughts, thinking that you’ve got an unattractive pair.

However, Wanda loves them as they were. She liked it when you got experimental with your wardrobe, changing it up with some short skirts that highlighted your legs and its curves. More so with your comfort in plain shorts, as it rewarded your best friend more of its exposure.

What Wanda didn’t like was winter and how it took away the sight of your gorgeous thighs. 

You insisted, “I’m serious! If you consider getting food from the top and bottom shelf of the fridge as squatting, then, my answer is yes.”

“Well, they look good to me. Keep it up.” Wanda playfully remarked. You chuckled lightly, not trusting your voice at the moment. “Want me to pull away?” 

Her voice was hypnotizing – insanely soothing. Almost like a balm, you’d say. Enough to make you re-read the damn sentence on your notes because you barely understood them. It doesn’t help that she kept her ministrations – tracing circular patterns that ascend to your inner thighs, causing goosebumps to wake.

“Took me by surprise, that's all. You can keep doing that if you want.”

“Is it relaxing?” Wanda whispered.

You shudder a bit and it made you scuffle in your position. “Kinda like you playing with my hair…”

Wanda was amused. You briefly wondered what was the joy in this – riling you up in some way. Were your reactions too entertaining? She had always been full of mischief, but lately, hanging out with your best friend made you…tense. It was not uncomfortable in a way that her actions burned, maybe they did, but in a different context. A realm you’ve never touched on – spurring you to confusion furthermore.

Her forefinger grazed over the space between your eyebrows. “What’s got you all so worked up, honey? You got this crease going on – you’re too tense. Wanna take a break?”

“Okay, yeah. That sounds nice.” You gave in. You couldn’t even process them anyway. 

You still appeared as bothered from Wanda’s point of view. She moved away from laying down between your thighs, looking at you who refused to meet her eyes. She was growing concerned. Had she overstepped this time?

Wanda was clueless. “Are you seeing someone?”

You looked incredulously at the woman.

“That’s out of the blue, Wands.”

“Can’t blame a girl for asking, (y/n/n). You’re usually reserved, I get that, but lately you seem to be always in deep thought? You know I can help, right?”

“I-I want to tell you but it can get weird.”

“Weird? Baby, we’ve known each other for years. How worse can it possibly get?” Wanda asked incredulously. Now she was concerned.

There’s nothing to hide. Wanda had a point, you thought. 

You whisper, “Lately, um. I-I’ve been trying to discover something.”

“Okay…” Wanda hummed, eyes focused on your lips.

You weren’t hesitant out of fear of being judged, but you didn’t know where your boundaries stood. 

Although, you remember how Wanda was so thoughtful that every time you bought some undies, she volunteers to come along and when you ask for her opinion, she carefully takes time to examine them. 

You remember her fingers tracing along the seams, making you turn around, asking for permission to touch so she can examine the material further around your butt and how it clung to your hips. They shouldn’t be tight, Wanda said.

“And it’s about pleasure. You know, that stuff.” You flail your hands. Can this get more embarrassing?

Meanwhile, Wanda was absolutely having the time of her life. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Of course, as the role of best friend, she would be very ecstatic to lead you.

She starts with a lilt of teasing in voice. “Sorry, honey, but there’s many things that can go around the topic of pleasure. I’m going to need you to elaborate.”

Poor you, didn’t even catch up to her teasing. You had enough.

“Touching the southern part!” You blurt out.

“Oh!”

“Yeah,”

“Huh.” Wanda looked inquisitive. Her head tilted to the side in faux wonder. In truth, she was thinking of ways to help you – defile you in this very bed – if she’s sly enough.

You groaned. Maybe this was a bad idea. 

“See, now it’s weird. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, no. It’s not weird. In fact, it’s normal to be curious about that. What’s your problem with it?”

“I don’t think I’m doing it right. I feel bad because I heard discussions about it – overheard some girls from my class. It’s all the hype I can’t get onto– I just don’t seem to get there–” 

You were rambling all things at once. Wanda had to process the thought of you touching yourself and getting frustrated, of course you wouldn’t know. You needed her – someone to get through it.

And Wanda was more than willing to step up.

With a glint in her eye, she suggests, “Want me to help you?”

Were you hearing things right? Surely, you misheard Wanda. Your mind couldn’t wrap the thought of it. How on earth can she help you? Maybe she’ll write them down or give you a video that wasn’t too explicit as porn. She knew that you hated them, after all. 

“You–won’t that be weird between us? And how?”

“Don’t even think about that. It’s me, honey. You can always count on me. Even about these types of situations. Do you trust me?”

You answered in a heartbeat. “More than anyone.”

“Good. What do you think, do you wanna get started?”

Right now? Your eyes widened. But there won’t be another time, you suppose. “Shit. Okay, yeah, sure.”

“We’ll take things slow, hm?” She bit her lip, trying to contain her excitement. Seeing you all bare for her – Wanda might as well cum at the mere thought of it. The way you nodded attentively made her stomach flip. “We’re going to test the waters. Since you’re having trouble with your fingers, we can do that later. Maybe we’ll try a different approach.”

Your cheeks burned at Wanda’s elaborate plan. “O-okay. I’ll listen to you.”

Wanda purses her lips and moves closer to you. You looked apprehensive, but not as much previously. Good.

“Have you ever heard about riding a pillow?”

“N-no…” You meekly answered. Porn was straight to the point. Too uncomfortable for your liking. It was penetration and done. You tried watching one or two, then that was it – you never thought about revisiting and looking further beyond that. “That’s a thing?”

Wanda, however, couldn’t help but scoot closer to you. How she was very elated to hear this – the woman couldn’t wait to introduce more things to you in the future, to be the one showing you the ropes of it.

“Yes it is. Some find it very rewarding. It’s so easy. ” She supplements.

Out of curiosity, you cannot filter yourself. “What about you… have you ever?”

“Yeah, I have.” She smoothly replied. Wanda was so self-assured, you can’t help but envy it a little. “And don’t worry, I’ll be guiding you at every step of the way, honey. Exploration of what you like and how it works is nothing to be ashamed of.”

It did the trick for you; Wanda picked up a relief sigh coming out of you. She smiled, rubbing your thighs enough to create a comfortable warmth.

“Use my pillow – don’t worry, it’s easy to get them washed.” Your movements were slow and hesitant, continuously looking back and forth to Wanda’s piercing green eyes and to her pillow innocently hanging at the corner of her bed. Grabbing the item, she shoots you a proud smile. “Now, take your bottoms off for me.” 

For Wanda. You felt the heat creep from your stomach, riding in waves, up to your neck and whole face. She nudges you by nodding her head. You’re entirely sure that you’re beyond stunned right now. Discarding your shorts and underwear at the same time, you quickly throw them away and cross your thighs. Wanda’s words being uttered in an authoritative and raunchy manner was enough to make you wet – you didn’t want her to see the proof of that.

“So good. You’re doing so, so well baby.” Wanda licked her bottom lip in anticipation. “Now, flip that pillow by its seams – the edges are an important part of this. Then, just mount it.”

Your heart raced – you can’t believe that this was happening – you’re about to ride a pillow in front of your attractive best friend and she’ll talk you through your first orgasm. Right here in her own cramped bed and pillow. Doing as Wanda says, you spread your legs apart and mounted the pillow that stood by its edges. You gasped at the sensation; it was the softest thing your core has ever touched and it was slightly cold.

Looking back at Wanda, she seemed lost in your center – who wouldn’t be, given this rare opportunity? She always had a crush on you. But you didn’t even notice. Now, your friendship was taken on the next level, she thanked any deity out there for her patience. ((And her power over you right now? It was hard not to revel in that.))

You looked so adorable. Wanda could compare you to bambi right now, especially when you thought you were being sly. She saw the slick forming on your pussy from earlier as you were stripping. It was mouthwatering that it drove Wanda insane, prickling through each nerve of her body.

“What next?” You shakily asked. It was intimidating to have her eyes fixated on you – you couldn’t decipher what was going on behind those green eyes.

“Gyrate your hips. Back and forth, slowly.” Wanda orders with a low voice.

She watches you try to move back and forth at the pillow. Your pussy grazed on the fabric, making your eyes flutter at each soft contact, but it wasn’t enough for your pleasure nor Wanda’s.

She waddled closer and placed her hands firm on your hips. You bite the inside of your cheek, slowing down your motion out of surprise. The least you can do was have an ounce of dignity, you couldn’t moan in front of Wanda.

You sweet thing, Wanda thought. It was evident how desperate you were in your soft and messy thrusts. She was focused on how you moved your hips clumsily and your folds wetter, the pillow darkening as your arousal stained them.

She couldn’t take it much longer.

“You’re almost bouncing, honey. Do it like this – in sliding motions.” A moan inevitably escaped your lips as she pushed your hips alone, quite literally guiding you. Wanda shuddered in delight. “Want that pretty pussy of yours gliding in, get that friction working already. Don’t be afraid to put all of your weight in it. It’s much better, trust me (y/n/n).”

Pretty? Wanda even used it in an inappropriate context. It affected you more than you thought it would, that you felt a spurt of liquid drip from your core. Was it supposed to be like this? It was better than previously. Maybe it was truly your form that made a better change. You thrust your hips more and no longer hesitated upon resting your lower body’s weight. 

It was much better, just like Wanda had said.

Wanda’s bed creaked louder and louder. Of course, you were getting lost in your own needs – you didn’t even notice.

Your resolve was visibly breaking in front of Wanda which she absolutely relished on.

“Don’t let me stop you from moaning, baby. It’s all about your pleasure.” Wanda gently reassured you. It was all you needed apparently to let loose. “Thrust your hips harder.” She commands you. It sparked more need that travelled to your lower stomach down to your core. 

Was this the feeling people always blabbered about? Because you’re sure that you understood it now. It completely took over your senses like crazy.

Your hands placed in front for balance, you do as your best friend said. She truly knows her way around here. You haven’t felt this needy before. The friction she mentioned was settling in quickly and it was addicting against your pussy. You close your eyes and arch your back. The softness soon burned – a delicious contradiction – and it was enough to make you feel soaked.

“Just like that…” Her hips have never left yours and matched the rough sliding motions, grasping firm around your bare skin. “It feels good, doesn’t it? You’re doing so great.” For me, Wanda wanted to add.

“M-mm, y-yes,” You whimpered and nodded dumbly. 

“You can also experiment with other motions – try what’s best for you. You can do circles with your hips,”

You immediately try as she recommended. Wanda had to stifle a giggle right then and there. Her headboard was starting to hit against the wall with your messy yet hard thrusts. It was obvious that the pleasure was brewing already, to which Wanda deviously smiled at. 

“Can I touch you down there? I bet it’s sticky already…” She whispered directly to your ear. You feel your best friend’s hot-white breath grazing satisfactory against your neck. It tickles! 

It wouldn’t hurt right? It was a part of the lesson, you suppose. Wanda knew better and you trusted her. “Y-yes. You can touch me, Wands.”

Without further ado, your best friend immediately went in to trace your outer folds. Fuck, you were so wet. You immediately coated her fingers, terribly addicting that she had to stop herself from plunging in so suddenly.

You continued to gyrate harder and it seems that there was the ‘spot’ that everyone was talking about. You lost track of it, but you felt how the pleasure intensified and moaned unadulteratedly, louder than before, that spurred Wanda to repeat the motion harder. With every glide against the pillow that you do, Wanda’s fingers were there at the edge to stimulate your throbbing core. Your breathing pattern grew heaving.

It was so, so addicting to have your slit pressed against the once innocent material and the friction it provided you–

“Stop there,” Wanda firmly said. You halt out of concern, rethinking whether you did something wrong. Your best friend, however, was pleased at your expression. 

“D-Did I do something wrong?” You gulped and weakly asked.

“No, honey. You did so well.” Wanda caressed your jaw and held you by the cheek with her clean hand. A pleased grin broke out of you to which Wanda duly noted. You liked praises. “That was the first lesson. You need something to stimulate you into the mood, it is very important. Now I’ll touch you first so you can mimic them later on. Is that okay?” Her hands descend to trail them at the center of your torso and stopped by the pelvic area.

This was going so well. You even forgot and thought how dumb it was to doubt Wanda and how she would embarrass you. It felt as though it was more than what you asked of her.

You wet your lips, “M-more than okay.” 

At this point, you valued Wanda's opinion more than ever.

“Good girl. We’ll get started.”

She swept away the crumpling notes and the stained pillow. Wanda almost moaned at the mere sight. It was like an animal had rudely rammed through her room.

Wanda stared at your half-lidded eyes that beamed at her words. Your hair was frazzled and barely can manage your own breathing. She caused this. And hell, she can’t wait to ravish you further. You felt reassured with her comforting smile and voice leading you on.

Your best friend grabbed you by the thighs to pull you closer to her. Wanda hummed in delight, a crooked smile on her lips appeared as you released a throaty moan again as she pushed them farther apart. 

“Now, listen carefully, (y/n/n). You have to tease your folds first and gather the wetness here,” Wanda sultry uttered and started to stroke your folds again and you helplessly nod. “It’s no trouble right now, considering how soaked you are.” She bit her lip and teased you by bringing up her fingers that were coated by your arousal. “Don’t hide them from me. It’s so pretty to see you like this, honey.” You arched your back for her and became flustered at Wanda’s words.

So warm and inviting. Wanda was flooded with glee, that she swooped in before anyone else could. With this, she also intends to be your last. No way in hell she can share you now after this.

You feel your cheeks and ears grow hot. You buck your hips for more as Wanda starts to stroke vertically and then random patterns at your soaked pussy. It wasn’t enough to scratch the itch you’ve been longing for.

Your nostrils flared, “W-Wands, please..”

Wanda felt herself damp as you moaned her name. It was like music to her ears. She immediately changed your position, from your hips up to encouraging you to lay down flat on her bed and adjusting to settle on your side – her fingers not leaving the inside of your pussy.

“What do you need, baby?” She pressed a kiss on your ear. The gesture was meant to comfort you but you felt your body burning even more.

“I need you! It’s so sticky and tickling me- I don’t… Can you please h-help me?”

You were needy, just as Wanda wanted you to be. She riled you up enough that she even felt you drip more wetness as she plunged deeper inside of you and hit the spongy wall that her fingers could reach. You were more than compliant all throughout the session that it made her heart soar.

“You can also play with your breasts, it can add a better feel for you, baby.” 

You hesitantly reach for your pair and Wanda’s awaiting (needy) eyes were the final nudge for you. You wanted to do good. At this point, the lines were blurred; you didn’t know if it was to achieve orgasm or praise from your best friend.

Hands skimming underneath your shirt, you also pushed up your bra and experimentally squeezed the flesh. You groaned and eyes half-lidded again, threatening to shut.

Wanda was ecstatic that she had convinced you through this. Her motions never faltered – if anything it was more determined – as she watched you play with your tits. She thought it was cute how your underwear mismatched, her eyes caught the sliver of the pale material of your panties and your bra in the color of a colder tone. Were you tugging on your perked nipples? You were so eager and feeling comfortable enough. Wanda almost demanded you to take them off, wanting to see them. Another time.

She kept on stimulating your pussy and with the addition of you playing with your breasts – it was impossible to even control your moans anymore. 

You threw your arms quickly around Wanda’s neck and hands had wrapped themselves on her nape. Opposed to her firm and determined motions, you were gentle with how you caressed her skin. Wanda melted with no hesitation and now, her dorm room was reverberating with moans along you.

“It’s so sticky down here just as you said. Now,” Wanda’s own breathing was ragged and you had to force yourself to listen to her. “I’m going for your clit. It’s in the uppermost area, covered by your hood. Need to stretch you more-” She grabbed your hand and made them trace the areas for you to pinpoint them better. Fuck, Wanda was right. You were soaking wet. “That better?”

You agreed furiously, “Y-Yes, but–”

“I know, I know. You need more.” Wanda kept her ministrations inside of you, stretched you better that you had to let out a guttural moan. The spot was back and she kept hitting it now mercilessly. “Is that it? That feels much better?”

��Oh, yes!”

Your needy core greedily swallowed Wanda’s fingers and you had no idea. So drunk in pleasure. So lost without her. You’re so lucky that you had her. Wanda was just as intoxicated as you, her dilated green eyes drinking up the warmth of your pussy and your writhing sight.

Upon making eye contact, you didn’t know how to react to the revelation of how those green eyes unashamedly looked at you. It was similar as Wanda would when she was examining you while fitting clothes – only now they appeared more hungry and she’ll devour you.

And the thing is that you will gladly let her. Another needy moan was ripped out of you, disturbing your rail of thoughts as Wanda added her thumb to the stimulation that circled around your clit, you laid there helplessly clenching on the bed sheets while you were in Wanda’s grasp.

“W-Wands… Wands! I think I’m going to pee,” You shyly inform the woman and the heel of your palm pressed against her clavicle to push her away, Wanda only shushed you.

It was familiar to you, you think that you’ve reached this extent but you always stopped because you were very unsure of what follows after.

You felt dirty and it was embarrassing how you were bucking your hips to meet Wanda’s plunging in your core. It halted your mood a little and Wanda immediately picked it up, as your walls clenched harder around her digits.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Wanda’s sultry voice spurred your gears again. You huffed and absorbed her words. “Don’t worry about it, you’re going to cum. Just listen to my voice baby, you’re doing so great for me.” It is more than okay, you repeat in your head. Wanda’s making you feel so good you felt like you were going to combust.

Your muscles grew tense around the abdomen area and all over your thighs - you feel the knot forming in there. You are frenzied to chase it.

“Cum for me, come on, my good girl.”

Wanda was sweating now as you were, and she kept ramming inside of your warm walls, a final hard stimulation around your clit did its job to untangle the knot you were feeling. 

“Wanda!” A guttural moan was ripped out of you.

It was the most angelic sound that Wanda has ever heard.

Your eyes were still closed shut. Still whining as you fall apart, it was the most freeing experience you’ve ever encountered. It’s easy to say that you were beyond satisfied this time around. Your body was almost floating and your mind was lightheaded–you’re sure of it. Your legs were spasming a little and it was hard to ignore the vivid feeling of liquid oozing out of your core. It was never ending and Wanda was tempted to drink them all up.

“You looked so beautiful there, honey. I’m proud of you.” She cooed sweetly in your ears and pressed a kiss on your forehead that was glistening with sheer sweat. 

You grew hot at her words. “Oh–!”

The bed shook again and creaked as Wanda rode out your orgasm. The squelching sound was more vivid to your ears. You cried out loud, feeling that it was too much, held your best friend’s wrist and finally Wanda pulled her digits out. Before your best friend can calm you down–

An aggressive banging resounded against Wanda’s dorm walls.

“It’s midterms week! Stop fucking!”

You froze. You completely forgot where you were and how thin the dorm walls were, making you cover your face with your palm. Meanwhile, Wanda couldn’t be more bothered – she simply laughed at how evidently embarrassed you are, threading through her own hair with a familiar glint in her eyes.

“I don’t think I can face the people outside anymore,” You admit, groaning as you sober up from the high. 

Why did you have to be so loud? 

“Mmm. Lucky for you, we’re staying inside for a while. I got some other tricks I wanted to show you.” Wanda bit her lip, crimson also spreading through her cheeks as she closed the gap again between you.

She can compare your gaze to a deer caught in headlights. Always so attentive and compliant.

With a little more touch from your best friend, you felt the hotness starting again in your lower stomach, making it twitch with familiar need – your studying session long forgotten and replaced with a different lesson.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[after-witch]

The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period and Mahito wants to run a few tests.

Word count: 3465

notes: yandere, consensual relationship, reader is on their period, mentions of other people's torture and death, humiliation relating to period, Mahito being Mahito is his own warning

It’s not often that Mahito bothers with your bathroom. Only, in the past, when you’ve been in it--naked and wet and usually mid-shower, as he apparently finds it entertaining to see what noises you make each time he surprises you. 

(Once, after comparing him to the killer in Psycho, he’d demanded to then watch the film. ‘But I didn’t stab you and you didn’t bleed chocolate syrup,’ he’d said, simply, after the scene in question.)

Today, though, he’s decided that there must be something interesting in there, because he’s spent the better part of 5 minutes rummaging--you can hear the sound of items being moved--in the closet and, judging by the sound of rustling, he’s now fiddling with the trash can.

“Hey,” he says, finally sauntering out of the bathroom. When you turn to greet him, a sarcastic remark about having fun digging through the trash on your lips, your heart stutters. 

In return, Mahito simply blinks at you.

“What’s this?” He asks, dangling one of your used pads from his hand.

The smear of dried blood in the center of the white pad feels accusatory, out of its proper context in the trash can. A bit of toilet paper sticks to the end of it, remnants of the ball you created to cover up your mess. 

“Oh fuck,” you say, reflexively. “Put that down! That’s--it’s--”

“It’s blood,” he says, giving the pad a sniff. “Smells funny though. Why’s it in your bathroom? Why’s it on this thing? When did you get hurt? Why were you hiding it in the trash?” The questions come simply, nearly rapid-fire. He probably says them as he thinks them.

Your cheeks burn something awful by the end of his questions, and your answer comes out half-stuttered. “It’s--I didn’t get hurt. I’m on my period.” 

One of his fingers is stuck to the bottom of the pad, and he peels it off deftly, holding it closer as you wish you could snatch it from his hands and forget this ever happened.

“Oh,” is what he says, eventually, with a quiet hint of curiosity. “I guess I’m lucky then. I’ve been wanting to study human menstruation for a while now.”

The word study sticks to your chest, but you aren’t able to peel it away so easily. You don’t want him to study you; don’t want to be under his scrutiny in such an obvious way. It’s easier to pretend he knows about people, about humanity, when you’re firmly playing at something closer to a normal relationship.

As if anything about this was normal. 

“Can’t you study one of your… experiments?” 

Experiments. Oh, what a simple, inoffensive word for what they really are--you shake that thought away as easily as a mosquito, though it never truly leaves the room. 

At this, Mahito’s eyebrows raise, and the edge of a smile tickles his lips. 

“Oh,” he coos. “That’s awfully selfish to say, even for you.”

He closes the distance between the two of you now, and you don’t bother resisting when he gives your chest a poke--thankfully with the hand not currently holding your used pad--and encourages you to sit back down on the sofa.

“I want to see.” Simple and clear, like most of the things he says to you. His directness with you is something that does make him stand apart from most people. If he wanted attention, he told you so; if he wanted to be left alone, the same. There weren’t mind games with him or--or hell, if there were mind games, you were too stupid to notice them and that was just fine with you, because the alternatives of your past relationships had been far worse. 

“Why?” You ask, if only to delay the inevitable.

Mahito shakes the pad on his hand, smiling a little at the way it sticks, before he peels it off and sets it on the coffee table. He sighs. “Movies never show it. They always show the woman eating ice cream or screaming at her boyfriend or cuddling with pillows, but they never show what’s actually happening down there.”

You squirm without moving.

“It’s just blood.” Your tone stays flat, uninterested. If he thinks it’s boring, he might move on. “Nothing special about that.”

Mahito’s smile reminds you of an eel. 

“Then show me.” 

It’s not a request that you can parry off, so you don’t bother; instead, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt so that Mahito won’t do it himself. You might just lose the garment entirely, if it was left up to him.

Mahito claps, then crouches down in front of you, getting far too close to your pad-clad underwear for comfort. He takes a sniff and you’d like to die on the spot.

He gives the pad a poke. 

“Why do you put this in there? What’s it called again?”

You close your legs a little--instinct--and he holds them open for you. It’s easier that way, you think. Easier when he takes control and you don’t have to fight your instincts. 

“It’s a pad,” you force out. “I put it there to absorb the blood.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Your nose wrinkles at the question. “So it doesn’t get on my clothes or everything I sit on.” A ghost of a memory pushes through your brain--blood stains on school bus seats and church pews--and you force it down.

Mahito tilts his head, and you think he’s about to ask what you’re thinking about, but instead he sighs and rests his head against the edge of your thigh.

“Humans are so squeamish.” His fingers reach up and climb up your leg, dancing on your inner thighs, towards the pad. You twitch--it tickles--and he smiles. “Does everyone use pads?” 

“No,” you say, as he grips the top of your underwear and begins to slide them down. You do move, now, but not to oppose him. It would be pointless. Instead you hike yourself up a little, so that your bare privates aren’t touching the couch. “Some people use tampons,” you finish, as if you’re not sitting here, hunched on your sofa, while a curse pulls down your underwear to get a look at what’s underneath.

Mahito glances up at you. He wants you to elaborate.

“A tampon is like a cotton stick, I guess? You put it up--there--and it absorbs like a pad. But from the inside.”

“Oh!” The edge of Mahito’s fingers play with the pad on your underwear. “I guess some of my experiments have been on their period, then. I wondered what those were.” He pouts, just a bit. “Maybe that’s why some of my experiments haven’t been working out right. I wasn’t taking menstruation into account.”

The thought has your stomach roiling. But you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it--what Mahito does, when he’s not here, and how what he does is just as much a part of him as the moments when he’s snuggling with you in your apartment or fucking you into your mattress.

When you look back at him, he’s grinning.

“You’re squeamish, too. About my work.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Don’t worry. It’s cute on you.”

With that, he gives up all pretense, and peels the pad away from your underwear in one swift motion.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Keeping it.” He sets it next to the already used pad. In contrast, the pad he’s just peeled away still has mostly brighter red blood on it, rather than the dull, brown old blood from the bathroom trash can. “I want to see how long it takes for you to bleed through your underwear. And some more things,” he adds, casually.

Oh, you think. This is too far, too weird. It’s puncturing the bubble you’ve created around you and Mahito in a way you don’t like.

“Mahito, I am not--”

In an instant, his eyes are on you. It’s a look that says, “You are,” and your lips feel like they clamp shut without hesitation. Something low climbs into your stomach and takes root there. When your shoulders slump, defeated, he pats your knee in appreciation.

“We’ll have a slumber party this week,” he tells you, voice getting more giddy as he goes on. “For three days? Four? However long you bleed.” He stands up and begins to survey your apartment, but for what you don’t yet know. “I can get a lot of experiments done in four days.” 

You don’t have the heart--or the stomach--to deny him.

--

When you were thirteen, you once got your period in the middle of class. You didn’t know it until you leaned forward in your desk to get a closer look at what the teacher wrote on the blackboard--your needed glasses at the time, and didn’t yet know it--and one of the boys behind you let out a distinct tween boy guffaw, snickering just loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dude, that’s fucking nasty.”

And then you’d felt it--wetness clinging to the inside of your black pants. And you’d scooted back, looked between your legs, and there it was: a smear of red on the dull grey chair. 

You were too embarrassed to do anything but sit back down, cheeks so hot that you began to sweat, and listened as everyone behind you began murmuring about your period. You had wanted to die for almost two weeks, and for the rest of your school career, you wore a sweater around your waist just in case you started without warning. 

That incident, as life-defining as it had been, was not as embarrassing as what you’re going through right now.

“Mahito,” you mumble, voice thick from your tightened throat. “Is this really necessary?”

Mahito, seated at a folding table he’s hauled into the living room, glances up at you. You, naked as the day you were born and perched awkwardly on top of a porcelain bowl that Mahito had shoved underneath you.

“Which part? The bowl or you being naked?”

“Both,” you blurt helplessly.

Mahito smiles. It’s such a pretty, awful little smile. “The bowl is,” he admits. His eyes leer over your body, awkward as it must look right now. “I just like to look at you.”

God help you, you feel flattered; the warm flush in your skin tingles with the new emotion. Mahito’s praises never failed to make you feel like that, even in the midst of something like this.

Mahito abandons the table and squats in front of the sofa, peering in between your spread thighs at the bowl underneath. You squirm, and he smacks the inside of your thigh sharply. You stop moving.

“I thought it would come out faster.” His tone is soft, low. Detached to everything but mild curiosity. Like a child studying an insect in a chair. “But it’s more… oozing than anything.”

“Don’t call it oozing,” you say. 

Before he can answer, a timer resting on the folding table dings delightfully. Mahito doesn’t waste time and yanks the bowl out from underneath you, leaving you to land flat on the sofa with your bare ass.

“’Hito!” You whine. “It’ll stain!” Thoughts of having to get the smeary blood out of your couch override the desire to keep your whining to a minimum, lest Mahito get annoyed with you. But, you think, it doesn’t matter much now. He’s not even paying attention.

Instead, he whisks the bowl over to the table and places it on the scale to weigh.

He sighs out something like disappointment. “It’s not that much blood at all, really. I don’t know why women complain about it so much in movies.”

He wasn’t paying attention to your whining earlier, but he does hear your incredulous intake of breath at his words. He glances back at you, confusion written on his face.

“What? It really isn’t. Now, when someone loses a limb, that’s real blood loss. And it spurts out, instead of oozing.” He nods, affirming his thoughts to himself. “That would be something to complain about.” 

“It’s not just the blood,” you say, half absent. Your mind drifts to when and where and how Mahito might see someone lose an arm. Did he cut it off? Or another curse? Did the blood droplets spray over his face? Did the person die right away or--

While you were lost in thought, Mahito left his post at the table and returned to crouch in front of you, now sitting flat on the sofa despite the inevitable stains. 

“Go on,” he says simply, all the while pushing your thighs apart with his hands. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the inside of your thighs and he leans forward to give it a lick. The awful feeling nesting in your stomach bristles. 

“Don’t.” 

Mahito blinks up at you. “I want to,” is all he says, before he does it again. 

The look he gives you--Will you try to stop me?--is met with you dropping your chin, just in time to see him smile. He gives another lick. “Tell me what else makes you complain when you’re on your period.”

You think about the sneering boys behind you at school, the way one of them tapped you on your shoulder and said, voice full of glorified condescension, “Aren’t you even wearing a pad? That’s nasty.” 

Instead, you rest your hands on your naked stomach and murmur out the answers Mahito wants to hear.

“Cramps.” You swallow, forcing yourself to taste the ghost of your milkshake from lunch this afternoon and not the bile that wants to come up. “From the um, uterus contracting. It can hurt really bad.” 

One of the girls in the class discretely handed you a pad, but your embarrassment had been so awful that you pretended not to see her, even when she waved it in front of you. “What a bitch,” she’d murmured to a friend afterward. 

“Back pain,” you continue, voice cracking. “And you can get tired. You want to eat but can’t… or you don’t want to eat at all, sometimes. It’s just… a lot of stuff.”

Your body jolts when Mahito puts his hands on your stomach--he wouldn’t transfigure you, he’s said that, and you remember his words well. But it doesn’t stop you from imagining.

“Is that why women get angry when they menstruate?” The mild glare you give him is met with the most innocent of expressions. “What? It’s what all the movies say. Though the man usually gets hit with something after he says it.” He smiles, as if daring you to hit him. You don’t.

Instead, you keep talking. Maybe it’s a way to ground yourself. Maybe you just want to talk to fill the space where dead, disfigured women, corpses created at Mahito’s whim, exist.

“Your hormones can fluctuate.” You smile a little at the forced nostalgia. “Sometimes I get really upset over dumb things. Especially when I was younger. One time, I sobbed because my mom said she was going to get fast food for dinner and she changed her mind.”

Mahito rests his elbows on your thighs, digging into them harshly. His hair tickles your skin, and you wonder, idly, if he’ll get your blood on the silver strands.

“Do you want to cry now?” He asks, almost sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Do you want to cry? No. You might, though, if things keep going the way they are. So you dig your teeth into your lip and shake your head.

“No. This is just… embarrassing, I guess.” To be naked. To be bleeding. To have Mahito sitting there, your blood on his tongue.

Mahito quirks his head, then scoots back to pry your thighs farther apart so he can get a better view of your bleeding privates.

“I don’t see why humans get so embarrassed about their bodies. It seems silly.” He rests his chin on his elbow for a moment, hums, then hoists himself up and returns to the table where he’s got a few used pads and the bowl still lined up. 

“Mahito?” You ask, while he’s tinkering with his findings. “Can I put my clothes on now. And a pad?”

“No,” he answers, voice light, without even looking behind him. “I need to put this inside you first.”

You do move to get up off the couch now, a pang of fear shooting through your stomach, but you stop when he turns around with a wrapped tampon held aloft. Where did he get it--the thought flickers, and turns into something more pressing: Why does he have it?

But you know the answer, don’t you?

“I don’t use tampons.” A useless thing to say, but you say it anyway.

He simply blinks at you, and crouches back down in front of you, parting your thighs like air.

“They’re uncomfortable,” you try, louder.

This time, he stops moving, and a little bit of hope flickers through you just long enough for him to furrow his eyebrows.

“But when I make my penis, it’s much bigger than this, and you don’t say it’s uncomfortable.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and your tongue sticks to the inside. It’s stupid to argue with him when he’s got his mind set on something. So you don’t.

When you don’t continue to complain, he nods, then unwraps the tampon and skims the back of the wrapper. At least he’s reading the damn instructions, you think, in the instant before he awkwardly shoves the tampon inside you--too rough and hard, and you whimper as it pinches  in an entirely awful way.

Mahito’s lips quirk. He checks the back of the wrapper again, tsks at himself, and pulls it out. This time, the insertion is less chaotic. It’s still sore, but no longer painful. Just… uncomfortable. 

“Aw.” He pats your thigh. “You did great. Let me start the timer!” He jumps up, hair swinging as he rushes to begin the timer for whatever phase of the experiment he’s on.

“Can I put some clothes on now?” Though you’re no longer hoping to avoid staining your sofa, it wouldn’t be awful to be a little less vulnerable in the moment.

Mahito taps his chin with his thumb, considering. Then he shakes his head. “I want you naked. But we can cuddle on your bed for this part, so you don’t get crabby!” 

There’s no time to voice a complaint or offense; he hoists you up, some of the blood that had smeared against your bottom rubbing off on his arm as he carries you into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem to mind; he simply plops you on the bed--fuck, your comforter--and hops on to wrap himself around you.

Silence stretches around you, even as he wraps his arms tighter and presses his nose against your neck.

“Are… we done after this?” You venture to ask, quiet and tired.

Mahito talks into your neck, cold breath--is it even breath?--ghosting your skin. “Oh, no. I have lots of things I’d like to find out this week.” You can feel his smile pressing into you. “You’re being very helpful, you know.”

“I am?”

Mahito hums against you, and sniffs your hair. His answer is so light and sweet, the contrast makes you feel a bit sick.

“Earlier, I’d considered just grabbing someone to experiment on instead, but since you’re being so sweet about everything, I figured I’d just use you instead.”

The dread in your stomach puffs up, its sodden hairs standing on end. 

“So you saved me from having to find at least one woman to test my questions on. Maybe two,” he adds, voice still light. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Nice?” You ask, voice hollow.

Mahito presses a smooch to your neck. “Don’t most people feel nice when they do a good deed?”

A good deed, to stand in for women who might have otherwise died horribly. For women who would have spent their time not thinking about humiliating childhood period experiences but their families--their partners, their children, if they had them. 

A good deed to snuggle with Mahito, while miles away, someone was begging for death from underneath a mass of twisted flesh.

“I guess.” Your voice cracks, but it doesn’t bother him. You suppose a lot of things don’t bother Mahito and so often, you try not to let them bother you. 

He sighs against you, and presses his hands lightly where you’d laid them earlier to indicate your cramps. His fingers dully stroke against the spot, and you wonder what it would feel like for his fingers on you not to bring mild comfort and the growing tingle of affection--but terror and pain and fear.

You wonder, too, if Mahito ever thinks the same thing.

[ditzybat]

What I think each batfam member would dress up as for Halloween - specifically in the context of a Halloween themed Wayne Gala - because I’m bored:

Bruce & Selina: they dress up as Batman and Catwoman, with Bruce (Brucie in this context) being Catwoman and Selina being Batman. The kids have the image of Bruce squeezed into latex burned in their corneas and they make an effort to not be in the same vicinity as him, lest they die from cringe or second hand embarrassment.

Dick: He’s shamelessly one of those really colorful South American blue parrots, he spends the night doing tricks and soaring through the air (think the Carnival costumes from Rio) and ends up breaking a punch table when he falls straight on his ass from seeing the horror that is Bruce in leather - he immediately gets covered in a shock blanket courtesy of Alfred.

Barbara: Decides to dress up as the kid from E.T with Haley dressed up as E.T in a basket modification she made to her chair. She runs over peoples toes by ‘accident’ throughout the night in aid (aka annoying them until they donate at least 1K) to push people into donating for whatever the charity of the night is.

Jason: doesn’t like celebrating Halloween, but somehow gets roped into dressing up as Jason Vorhees - the irony is not lost on him and finds it hilarious. He lurks in the corners of the ballroom to scare the rich snobs into paying into whatever charity is being funded that night by showing off a suspiciously red, very real, machete.

Tim: Couples costume with Bernard. Tim is Spock and Bernard is Kirk. Tim tries his hardest to stay in character the whole night, ends up freaking people out from the lack of expression and uncanny valley statue like demeanor on his face compared to his energetic boyfriend.

Damian: He and Nika dress up as Gomez and Morticia Adams. They’re very touchy the whole night like the teenagers they are. They salsa dance and become just as eccentric as the characters they’re playing that somehow at the end of the night they end up making headlines for nearly spending the night in jail for suspected ‘murder’ (they Carrie’d Bruce with real blood from questionable sources)

Steph & Cass: Matching costumes. Steph is Emily from the Corpse Bride and Cass is Victor. The special effects makeup is so realistic that it makes Tim break his Spock character and shriek/jump 3 feet into the air when they sneak behind him.

Duke: Dresses up in a Riddler costume and makes up bad riddles just to rub it into the Riddler’s face that he’s a lame old guy telling shitty googled riddles (Revenge for something that happened earlier in the week, not that anyone knows he’s signal, but a burn from a child of a celebrity hurts just as bad from one of a hero) - The Riddler ends up crashing the party seconds before Commissioner Gordon tries to take Damian and Nika in for questioning of where exactly all that very real blood they used came from.

[emo-batboy]

Battinson on SNL

Idk how popular Saturday Night Live is outside of the US so there will be some links for context. That said, as a New Jersey native, I think Battinson would totally watch the show. And since he's a celebrity...👀

SO

To promote WE’s newest charity fund, Alfred signs Bruce up to be a guest host on SNL (à la this post) The announcement is made, and everyone’s like “oh this is going to be a disaster. That man can’t even hold eye contact or speak a full sentence without crying.”

But oh, that’s why it’s so funny.

Now, hear me out. Bruce’s strengths are displayed best when he’s himself. That’s why he’s so popular in Gotham. That’s why the internet calls him Relatable TM and a Disaster (Affectionate) and “Poor Little Meow Meow.” It’s his ✨ essence ✨

But he tends to get overwhelmed or self-conscious onstage, right? Because he can’t be Himself himself if he has time to overthink something. So after a few meetings with Bruce, the writers of SNL figure out the perfect way to keep Bruce from getting anxious.

They decide to load this episode with as many skits where Bruce plays different caricature-like versions of himself as possible. The objective? Make him break character and laugh so he doesn’t overthink. And if he breaks character, he’ll still technically be in character because he’s playing himself, you know? Genius.

So that’s how they go about structuring the show. During the few days they have to write, they decide to take everything about Bruce’s public image and either ramp it up to 11 or turn it on its head.

He speaks quietly? Turn it into a running gag. He dresses in all black? Make him emo. He tips well? Add that in too. He’s “depressed” and “sad?” Literally, all he does on screen is laugh and break character. What’s not to love?

Of course, Bruce also gets to decide what skits are in each episode as well. (Refer to this if you have no idea how SNL works.) He loves the idea, though, and he has a surprisingly dark sense of humor which bleeds into some of the sketches. They add in a few skits without him, and they’ve got their lineup.

It’s the wildest episode of the season. Here are the highlights:

OPENING MONOLOGUE

It’s the big night, everyone’s excited to see Bruce Wayne hosting a live sketch comedy show with no idea how it will turn out.

To begin his monologue, Bruce walks on, opens his mouth to start talking, and immediately two cast members appear as stagehands to set up six microphones in front of him. He is already struggling to keep himself together.

Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m host- Cast Member: *adds one more tiny microphone to his chest* Bruce: “You may be wondering why I’m hosting tonight.”

It’s working. The audience loves it.

Halfway through, Kate McKinnon comes out in a dark cloak with a chalice. “Your sustenance, my lord.” *sees camera* “Oh. Sorry. Carry on.” And she shambles off. Bruce has to take a second before continuing.

Bruce knows when (most of) the jokes come. It’s literally on the cue cards, but he still falls into a fit of giggles.

There are a few more gags, including Lex Luthor peeking out from behind the band set-up, all teasing the show to come.

Overall, an amazing way to set the tone for the episode. Expectations have been set. Then the skits begin!

(Oh but before I forget: During every single live skit with Bruce, the writers have scheduled for one of the cast members to run in dressed as a stagehand and put an extra mic on him. They do not tell him when it will happen.)

SKIT #1

Between the monologue and the first skit, he has to do a really fast quick change, but to everyone’s surprise, Bruce is a natural. (Huh, wonder why.)

The skit is called Gotham PTA Meeting. We open in a meeting room full of stereotypical PTA moms setting down baked goods and gossiping. And apparently, there is a new PTA member attending today 👀

Right as the meeting starts, he enters. Bruce walks in wearing the most emo get-up imaginable. He’s got a Nirvana shirt, a comical amount of eyeliner, black skinny jeans, chain accessories, metal rings, AND a clip-in extension to give him fringe.

Someone immediately runs in and puts another mic on him.

PTA Mom: “Oh, Bruce! You made it! Did you bring a snack?” Bruce: “I brought lemon bars.” PTA Mom: “Why are they black?” Bruce: “They match my soul…they’re also vegan.”

He talks like a moody teenager. HE CONSTANTLY has to brush the fringe off to the side to read the cue cards. And because there’s so much eyeliner and he’s sweating a bit from the lights, it starts running everywhere.

PTA Mom: “Bruce, you’re a little quiet. What are your thoughts on increasing the school lunch budget?” Bruce: *eyeliner dripping down his chin* “I think it’s a great idea.”

SKIT #2

For a pre-filmed skit, they bring back the Chad character with Pete Davidson.

It’s 2 am, and Chad is working at a 24hr drug store in Gotham. He’s reading Twilight (the book is upside down) when the lights begin to flicker.

He turns around and tries the light switch, turns back around, and JUMPSCARE it’s Bruce dressed as Edward from Twilight.

Yes, he IS sparkly.

Bruce is awkwardly holding a bunch of items, all concerning. He plops down a few knives, several raw meats, Sudafed. Chad: “Oh hey.” Bruce: O_O “I’d like to check out please.” Chad: “Lit.”

Chad’s “No Fucks Given” energy and Bruce’s “Please Do Not Perceive Me” energy clash like titans. The whole skit centers around it.

Bruce: *sweating bullets* “Oh. You’re reading Twilight?” Chad: “Just the title.” Bruce: *throws the book through the window at lightning speed* “It’s not very good. You should probably read something else.” Chad: *shrugs* “Okay.”

Chad: “ID?” Bruce: “ID? For what?” Chad: “Sudafed.” Bruce: “Oh. I don’t really need that, actually.” Chad: “Already scanned it.” Bruce: “Haha. Of course.” *awkwardly produces a scroll from his pocket that says Bruce Wayne DOB: 1901* Chad: “Okay.”

Bruce checks out, Chad picks up a porno mag or something, and we see Bruce turn into a bat and fly off through the window behind him.

SKIT #3

The next skit they have is Celebrity Family Feud: Billionaires Edition. Again, Bruce plays himself, but he’s more of a background character. Instead, the skit makes fun of billionaires as a whole.

Bruce’s team consists of Kylie Jenner, Lex Luthor, and Oliver Queen. So just imagine three Lucille Bluths standing beside one another. 

Bruce’s bit? He just keeps handing cash to Steve Harvey every time he breathes in his direction.

Host: "We got the richest man in the world: Bruce Wayne!" Bruce: *hands him a roll of cash* Host: "Oh, what’s this for?" Bruce: "It’s your tip. I always tip." Host: "Oh, Mr. Wayne, you don’t usually tip the show host. I’m also a millionaire myself." Lex Luthor: *snatches it* "Well, if you’re not going to use it, I will…for charity, of course." Host: "Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night."

Just a ton of fun quips, the usual.

At some point, Harvey says, “That’s batty.” Bruce: *ducks* “Where?!” Host: “Oh, I don’t mean Batman. He’s not here.” Bruce: “You don’t know that.”

This time, the mic bit is a bit different.

Host: “We asked 100 billionaires: How much does a loaf of bread cost? Top three answers are on the board.” Bruce: *hits buzzer* Host: Bruce, your answer is? Cast Member: *runs in with a megaphone and holds it in front of Bruce* Bruce: “TEN DOLLARS?”

Board dings! That was the #1 answer

Brucie Wayne for the win

SKIT #4

Next is a skit that dares to ask Gotham, “Why would anyone live here?”

The skit begins with someone opening a press conference for Wayne Enterprises. “And now presenting: Bruce Wayne!” Bruce walks in…

But it’s not him. Instead, it’s one of the cast members dressed in a black suit with horribly gelled brown hair.

Everyone in the audience is wondering where the actual Bruce is before another cast member runs onstage crying, “Help! Help! I’ve just been robbed! Somebody call Batman!”

A mini version of the bat-signal lights up…

We hear some generic hero music play…

And there he is: Bruce Wayne dressed in a horribly cheap Batman costume

(They got the cowl ALL wrong btw)

Bruce puts his hands on his hips in a weird superhero pose. Bruce: “I’m Batm-” Cast Member: *runs out to attach another mic to his costume* Bruce: “….I’m Batman!”

Cue all of the gags and digs against Batman. The fake Bruce faints then starts crying under a table. Someone calls Batman a furry. Bruce is barely keeping it together the whole time. Lord help him, but he asked for it. He approved the skit.

Bruce: “Looks like a job for my bat taser!” Cast Member: “Isn’t that just a taser with a bat on it?” Bruce: *whispers* “You shut your mouth.”

He saves the day, the police take the thief into custody, then Batman myStErioUsly disappears. Bruce: “Look over there!” *runs off* Cast Member: “Oh my gooood, how did he do that?”

CLOSING SEGMENT

Finally, they have the Weekend Update where Bruce comes on as himself for the final time.

Since they got his permission, the writers switch out some of Bruce’s jokes last minute. (Think Bill Hader’s Stefon which notoriously caused him to break character because the writers would mess with his cue cards.)

News Anchor: “Here to promote his newest humanitarian project: Bruce Wayne!” “Mr. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you today.” Bruce: “Thank you. This is probably the longest I’ve been out of the house.” News Anchor: “Since the Riddler catastrophe?” Bruce: “Since ever.”

News Anchor: “So Mr. Wayne! Before you make your announcement, any life updates?” Bruce: “Yes, actually. Just a few days ago, I adopted five- *starts losing it* five more children.” News Anchor: “Wow, really? So you have eight kids now.” Bruce: “Uh huh. *tears streaming down his face* One more orphan and I get the tenth one free.”

News Anchor: “So where can people find you online?” Bruce: “Well, I don’t have social media because I’m afraid of people, but sometimes I’m on Twitter.” News Anchor: “What about a phone call?” Bruce: “Oh no, phone calls- *giggle* phone calls give me fainting spells.”

It’s a great way of finishing the show, with the most genuine version of Bruce. Then, he gets to what’s really important!

News Anchor: “So if they can’t reach you on social media or on the phone, what else can our viewers do, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce: “They can donate to the Wayne Foundation’s newest charity called The Arts Initiative. It funds programs for the arts in underdeveloped school districts nationwide. I’ve already donated $30 million, and I’ve pledged to match every dollar donated within the next week.”

And that’s what he’s here for :) They share a link for where and how to donate. The anchors praise him for his charity, which he deflects because he can definitely afford this, and the 90-minute broadcast is over.

The camera pans away with the whole cast waving goodbye, and Bruce is seen keeling over with laughter.

Along with some of the other skits, these four specifically go viral. WE raises a fuck ton of money, and everyone loves Bruce.

THE END

LOVE YOU ALL!! Let me know what you think :D

[katsumiiii]

hobie x fem! reader

thinking of hobie brown rn…!

hobie who knows you love the height difference between you two and uses it to his advantage. is constantly angling his head upwards, which causes him to purposely peer down at you through his thick eyelashes. you always get flustered each time he narrows his eyes and tilts his chin, and him being the ever so perceptive spider he is, takes notice of your heated cheeks and continues to do so.

whenever he’s near a doorway or a thick frame he lovesss to lay a palm on the top of it, trapping your body beneath his as you ramble on about whatever it is you’re rambling about. he makes sure to nod along while effectively moving a hand towards your plush waist, bringing your figure flush against his own. he plays with the seam of your shirt, and urges you to keep going when you stutter from the sudden change in position.

hobie who loves to annoy you with his British slang. it’s not necessarily because he uses it often that irks you, it’s the fact that you have no idea what he’s saying and he never makes an effort to help you understand. (he actually finds it amusing each time you attempt to guess what he means and is completely off base every single time).

“babe, I’d love ta get ya that shirt you’ve been beggin’ for, but I’m skint right now. try me next week, yeah?” he hummed, kicking his feet up on the railing next to your bed.

“skint? I feel like you’ve used that one before..” you muttered, huffing in irritation by the smug look on hobie’s face, his lips quirked in amusement.

“told ya what it meant last week. thought ya said you could ‘se context clues?”

“whatever bee, maybe you should speak english.”

“‘aint that what ‘m doin’?”

hobie who always has a blunt neatly rolled on his dresser, his ash tray placed gently to the left of it. he often smoked before running off to whatever it is he did when he wasn’t home (he was very unpredictable as he switched it up weekly to “fuck up consistency” whatever the hell that meant).

hobie inhaled gingerly before tilting his head towards his peeling painted ceiling, his fingers lingered tightly on the wood before lifting it to your lips, “want a go?”

you shook your head, nuzzling further into his shoulder, “mhm no, too tired.” hobie chuckled before greedily puffing the joint, shuttering at the burning feeling it left.

“suit yourself love, more for me.”

hobie who you introduce differently to your friends each time you bring him up. one day he’s your boyfriend, the next he’s your significant other, and the next he’s your ‘close friend’. they always question the constant switch ups, but you don’t ever seem to mind. you know where you stand with the man, and to him that’s all that matters.

“so what’s up with you and…..” your friend trailed off, stirring the ice in her drink.

“hobie?” you questioned.

“yeah him, so is he your boyfriend or what?”

“it’s complicated, he hates labels, makes him feel confined.” you replied, shrugging your shoulders as you lay your head on your palm.

“that doesn’t bother you? is he like scared of commitment or something?”

you scoff, lightly shaking your head, “no, he just doesn’t want to contribute to the system.” you answered bluntly, taking another sip of your lemonade.

“the system?” your friend asked, eyebrow raised at the quip.

“nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

hobie who subtly brags about you to his people. loves to show you off, and has no problem admitting he does.

“yeah bruv, my girl jus’ got into her dream fuckin’ college. been workin’ hard for that shit all year, man.” hobie boasted, pushing his hands out in order to bounce off the wall next to him.

“oh my goodness how wonderful! when do we get to meet this companion of yours?” pavitr questioned, flinging his body upwards to keep up with the male to his right.

“eh, don’t know yet, when I feel like it, yeah?”

all in all hobie is so cute and I literally am in love with him!!

[local-dragon-haunt]

hey! i’m an artist and i was wondering what about the httyd crossover art made it obviously AI. i’m trying to get better at recognizing AI versus real art and i totally would have just not clocked that.

Hey! This is TOTALLY okay to not have recognized it, because I DIDN'T AT FIRST, EITHER. Unfortunately there’s no real foolproof way to distinguish real art from the fake stuff. However I have noticed a general rule of thumb while browsing these last few months.

So this is the AI generated image I used as inspiration. I will not be tagging the account that posted it because I do not condone bullying of any type, but it’s important to mention that this was part of a set of images:

This is important because one of the BIGGEST things you can use to your advantage is context clues. This is the thing that clued me in: right off the bat we can see that there is NO consistency between these three images. The art style and outfits change with every generated image. They're vaguely related (I.E. characters that resemble the Big Four are on some sort of adventure?) and that's about it. Going to the account in question proved that all they posted were AI generated images. All of which have many red flags, but for clarity's sake we'll stick with the one that I used.

The first thing that caught my eye was this???? Amorphous Blob in the background. Which is obviously supposed to be knights or a dragon or something.

Again, context clues come into play here. Artists will draw everything With A Purpose. And if what they're drawing is fanart, you are going to recognize most of what you see in the image. Even if there are mistakes.

In the context of this image, it looks like the Four are supposed to be running from these people. The thing that drew my attention to it was the fact that I Didn't Recognize The Villains, and this is because there is nothing to recognize. These shapes aren't Drago, or Grimmel, or Pitch, or any other villain we usually associate with ROTBTD. They're just Amorphous Blobs that are vaguely villain shaped.

Which brings me to my second point:

Do you see the way they're standing? There is no purpose to this. It throws the entire image off. Your eye is drawn to the Amorphous Villain Blobs in the background, and these characters are not reacting to them one bit.

Now I'm not saying that all images have to have a story behind them, but if this were created by a person, it clearly would have had one. Our group here is not telling a story, they are posing.

This is because the AI does not see the image as a whole, but as two separate components: the setting, and the description of the characters that the prompter dictates. I.E. "Merida from Brave, Jack Frost from ROTG, Rapunzel from Tangled, and Hiccup from HTTYD standing next to each other"

Now obviously the most pressing part of this prompt are the characters themselves. So the AI prioritizes that and tries to spit out something that WE recognize as "Merida from Brave, Jack Frost from ROTG, Rapunzel from Tangled, and Hiccup from HTTYD standing next to each other".

This, more times than not, is going to end up with this stagnant posing. Because AI cannot create, it can only emulate. And even then, it still can't do it right. Case in point:

This is not Hiccup. The AI totally thinks this is Eugene Fitzherbert. Look at the pose. The facial structure. The goatee. The smirk. The outfits. He's always next to Raps. Why does he have a quiver? Where's Toothless? His braids? His scar??

HE HAS BOTH OF HIS LEGS.

The AI. Cannot even get the most important part of it's prompt correct.

And that's just the beginning. Here:

More amorphous shapes.

So these are obviously supposed to be utility belts, but I mean. Look at them. The perspective is all off. There are useless straps. I don't even know what that cluster behind Jack's left arm is supposed to be.

This is a prime example of AI emulating without understanding structure.

You can see this particularly in Jack, between his hands, the "tassels" of his tunic, and the odd wrinkles of his boots. There's just not any structure here whatsoever.

Lastly, AI CANNOT CREATE PATTERNS.

Here are the side-by-sides of the shit I had to deal with when redesigning their outfits. Please someone acknowledge this. This killed me inside. THIS is most recognizable to me, and usually what I look for first if I'm wary about an art piece. These clusterfuck bunches of color. I hate them. I hate them so. much.

Anyways here's some other miscellaneous things I've noticed:

Danny Phantom Eyes

???? Thumb? (and random sword sheath)

Collarbone Necklace (corset from hell)

No Staff :( No Bow :(

What is that.

So yeah. Truly the best thing to do is to just. study it. A lot of times you aren't gonna notice anything just looking at the big picture, you need to zoom in and focus on the little details. Obviously I'm not like an expert in AI or anything, but I do have a degree in animation practices and I'm. You know. A human being. So.

In conclusion:

(Y'all should totally reblog my redesign of this btw)

[c0kitty]

NOW PLAYING ... NOBODY KNOWS ft. spider-women!ellie x reader

“…BUT NOBODY KNOWS MY LITTLE SECRET.”

(⭑) summary: r/reddit, when’s the best time to tell your girlfriend of three months, (who you are so desperately in love with) you are that "crazy" vigilante on the news, fighting crime in a spider-suit, and that you now shoot fucking webs out of your wrist. (⭑) content: wc 1.2k+ nerd!ellie. confessions. making out. comfort. spider-man!ellie. established relationship. suggestive. insecure!ellie. HEAVILY inspired from the roof-top scene in tasm bcs im obsessed. cursing.

you guys find yourself on the roof-top of dina’s-friend’s apartment, for a random party, celebrating god-knows what. it's slightly chilly, you stand next to ellie with her oversized jacket on you; despite ellie telling you numerous times it was going to be cold, she was not one to refuse you.

ellie wished she had her camera right now; outside’s a pretty scene with the many buildings scattered, the sky, gradually transitioning into yellow and pink hues, night unfolding, and you, looked so pretty by her side. 

the city below though remains bustling with constant movement, and ellie's mind is no different. because today was going to be the day —

ellie’s hazel-green eyes shift towards you, observing your soft expression, her heart ached with uncertainty as she wondered if you would hate her — hate her for lying, hate her for not being normal, hate her for having so much baggage. hate her for being spider-women. 

“you think dina and jesse are shagging?” you ask, randomly, breaking the comfortable silence. your hands moves to the railing, casually pushing yourself backwards on it.

“saw dina sneakin’ out at 1 am, like she was a teenager. so, yeah, definitely.” 

also due to ellie’s super-senses, she had heard so many “private,” conversations with him and dina she wished to unhear.

you nod your head, turning your attention towards ellie. “so, why do you seem so te—”

“i need to say something,” 

you guys both interrupt each other, it elicits a small giggle from you. “okay... is this about before? is that the reason you’ve been so pissy tonight?” 

you were hinting about earlier. when someone had hit on you, even with you being on ellie's lap, her arms even wrapped at your waist. it irritated the hell out of ellie, leaving her to characteristically run her mouth at em'. 

you almost had to drag her away to stop the growing commotion.

ellie sports a slight pout at her pink-lips. “it’s not my fault men can’t get fucking context clues, it’s a wonder they survive. and i haven’t been “pissy” i—” you raise your eyebrows in response, conveying a silent ‘you sure?’ ellie stops talking, only rolling her eyes.

“okay, whatever, maybe i was but, it's not about that,” ellie wasn’t sure how to start this conversation without sounding crazy or scaring you.

“...i was bitten,” ellie says, bushy brows slightly furrowing.

your head tilts, “that’s a little ominous.” ellie rethinks; maybe that wasn’t a good way to start.

“nevermind. you know, when i was sick. that whole two weeks, couple months back.” you nod your head, “yeah, you said you were sick. projectile vomit and shit. couldn’t lift a finger because it was so bad.” damn, ellie forgot she said all that.

“yeah, um sorry. i lied about that.” before you could say anything, lips pulled into a frown, ellie blurts: “i’m spider-man,” finally with a breath. you’re staring at her, but she can’t decipher your expression. unconsciously, ellie bites at her bottom lip.

silence fills the moment, and ellie finds it unbearable; suddenly, in just a second, your face relaxes. “oh, wait. you’re fucking with me. els thought you were serious for a second.”

ellie was regretting playing pranks on you so much, “i’m not fucking with you,” ellie’s arm cross, unconsciously flexing in the process, but you only a grow smile on your lips, like this was some ongoing joke. “jesus, stop smiling — it’s not a joke y/n,”

“i’ve known you all my life ellie — i think i would know if you were fighting crimes with iron-man,” you ignore her, releasing the bar. “wait just w—”

“lets go els, please. it’s getting cold and i’m tired,” you say, making your move toward the door; but in a quick reaction, ellie’s translucent webs shoots out her wrist, spinning you around til’ you're close, her hands, now holding at your waist.

you’re staring at her, eyes widened comically, and your mouth parted, seemingly trying to process what just happened. ellie's attention was drawn to something else though; light in the distance, drunken footsteps heading their way. 

“you just fucking — shot webs out your hands, ellie! you’re sp—” 

ellie didn’t have much time to think it through, because as soon as the drunkards stumble in, ellie's lips, soft and sweet, press into yours.  “..shh,” ellie whispers, faint to your lips — trying to calm you down.

a small gasp leaves your mouth. but after a second, hearing the commotion behind you; you get the message, relaxing yourself into the kiss.

ellie's kisses are usually greedy, but tender, her hands would rummage your body confidently, possessively pulling you in. but this kiss, its … different. it’s tentative, hesitant, like she was afraid to push.

at that, you try to make her feel comfortable with a subtle touch beneath her loose black-shirt. your lips, coated in strawberry gloss, glides seamlessly over hers, giving her a little push; and it works.

ellie tongue pushes in hastily, its smooth tracing from your lips to your tongue. her moppy-brown hair tickling your chin as she eases in the kiss, embracing the subtle buzzing in her chest. 

you hear the people leave, and it’s silent now, besides the busy cars. “ellie… t–” 

“one more second,” she grumbles, you wanted to keep going, but you still had a lot to say — questions cycling. so you pull away, with a gentle smack of the lips.

she lets out a small groan in response; her cheeks dusted in pink and round eyes flutter open, looking at you in a wistful gaze.

“so… you’re spider-man. well, spider-woman,” you finally say, exhaling. ellie’s eyes shift to the floor. her hands drop from you, and instead, runs through her hair anxiously. “yeah. i know it’s fucked up, and weird. i should’ve told you, warned you, but i—”

you interrupt her depressive rambles, “no, ellie i mean it’s cool, you’re cool. it’s just, fuck.” you take a breath, throwing your hands up. “i was just surprised because you’re, like, nerdy and cute, and then … spiderman, you know?”

ellie’s eyes lifted to meet yours, “relieved” couldn’t fully capture how she felt, but all she could managed to say was: “oh, okay. that’s great, yeah.”

a silence falls between you two in response to ellie’s awkwardness, exchanging glances; both of you burst into a fit of giggles.

“i feel like i should feel offended though, ‘nerdy?’” you playfully nudge at her feet, “you know what i mean. passionate about space, introverted, so obsessed with your grades. it’s like a text-book definition,” ellie couldn’t really deny that, so she just playful rolls her eyes instead.

“...but you know what’s crazy, i had a small tiny crush on spider–man, well you, before we officially dated.” 

ellie’s lips curve into a smile, “so now you get the best of both worlds, huh.” ellie comes closer to you, hands finding their place to your body. "i bet you dreamed of both of us fighting over you, hm?”  

in the quietness that follows, your eyes drift away from ellie, intentionally avoiding her gaze. ellie could tell there was more story to your silence, “wait — did you have a wet dream about spider-man and m—” she begins, but you swiftly cover her mouth.

“...shut it,” you say beyond flustered, which only intensifies ellie's curiosity.

[cosmicalily]

"santa baby" - a jisung oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: san-ta, ba-by !! (i'm such a lauver and have such bad baby fever rn, that's all the context you get!)

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of sickness

“I can’t believe you’re still sick on Christmas Eve,” Jisung pouted, gently running a hand through your hair. He stroked your warm cheek, eyes sad, and you offered him a weak smile.

“I’m sorry Ji, I know we had so many plans,” you sighed, snuggling into him. “Don’t let me stop you. You should still go ice skating with the boys; I’m happy to stay at home, I promise.”

“I don’t wanna,” he whined, sliding down the headboard and further under the covers. Anyone else would keep their distance from someone who’d been nauseous for the past week, but you being under the weather only made Jisung clingier. He wanted to take care of you and stay by your side, making sure you were okay every single second of the day, even when you assured him you just needed a glass of water and a good nap.

Despite your slightly more fragile state, the past few weeks in preparation for Christmas had been oh so cosy and domestic, filled with shopping for gifts (although the two of you ended up with more for each other than your friends and family), comfort food at home in front of the tv, watching Elf approximately 12 times (it was Jisung’s ride-or-die Christmas movie, there was no talking him out of it). Something about the colder season meant the two of you were even more inseparable than usual, always needing an arm or a leg thrust over the other to share a little body heat. Although, right now, with Jisung’s face nestled into your neck and his arms around your waist, you were scorching.

“Baby, I’m really hot right now,” you groaned, trying to push him away. Being the clingy menace he was, he simply held you closer, and you sighed.

“Ji, if you don’t let go, I’m probably gonna throw up,” you said, opting for a more direct approach. That got his brain working, knocking him out of his loved-up mind fog. He snapped up, sitting up straight and looking at you intently, brows furrowed with concern.

“Actually?” he asked worriedly.

“Maybe,” you replied, feeling a little bad for scaring him. But you were feeling nauseous, and it had only been getting worse the past few days. You hoped that by tomorrow you’d feel a little better.

Even if it wasn’t physically, you hoped that Jisung’s excitement, something you anticipated in response to the surprise you had for him, would perk you up. 

“I’m gonna get you some chamomile,” he declared, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead and scrambling out of the bedroom, leaving you feeling a little dazed. You felt warm, probably from the slight fever, but also because of him. 

He was gonna be the best dad.

“I have something for you,” you said suddenly, grabbing the remote and pressing pause on the movie you hadn’t really been paying attention to. The two of you were sprawled on the sofa, Jisung’s head in your lap as you played with his hair. The room was dim and warm, fairy lights sparkling, and it felt magical, yet familiar.

He raised his head curiously. “But it’s not Christmas morning yet,” he replied, looking confused, and you laughed at him. 

“I know. It’s not a proper present; it’s more the promise of one,” you explained vaguely, leaning over the armrest of the sofa and handing him a small box.

Jisung raised an eyebrow, then undid the plaid ribbon, opening the box and retrieving a note. “Unfortunately, these things tend to take a while to arrive, but I promise you’ll have it by August! Love you, sweet boy.” Jisung read aloud, then gave you a strange look, thinking it was some weird prank and expecting you to giggle. However, to his surprise, your eyes were a little glassy, and you reached to hold his hand.

Giving it a gentle squeeze as he unfolded the tissue paper one handed, he found a small stick buried at the bottom. A white plastic one.

With two lines on it.

“Oh my god,” Jisung breathed, holding it closer and then dropping it in shock. “Oh my god, is this real?”

“Why do you think I’ve been feeling so crap the past few days?” you giggled in response, but tears were now rolling down your cheeks. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but I thought it would make the perfect surprise.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung repeated, for once lost for words. He suddenly reached forward, cupping your cheeks with his hands and pressing your foreheads together. “I can’t believe it. I’m so happy, baby, you don’t even know. I’ve been wanting this for so long for us.” Then he paused, scrunching up his nose and dropping the test. "Ew. I can't believe I just touched a stick that you peed on."

“Shut up, that's the only way to find out, dumbass. And I know you have, you’re not subtle,” you chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m so glad I get to do this with you, Ji. You’re going to be the best dad.”

He beamed, eyes shiny, then yanked up your tank top. You squealed in shock, but was placated when he pressed a soft kiss to your belly, looking up at you wistfully.

“Are you gonna call the boys and tell them your news?” you asked, running a hand through his hair as he rested his cheek against your stomach.

“Later,” he said, closing his eyes. “Just wanna be with you right now. And our baby.”

[surftrips]

BAD REPUTATION | LUKE CASTELLAN

BIG REPUTATION — CHAPTER 01

pairing luke castellan x fem!ares!reader

summary upon her arrival at camp half-blood, y/n quickly captures the attention of the gods and the heart of a certain brunette-haired boy.

author's note so excited to make this an official series! please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for bad reputation and other works featuring luke. this is going to be a mix of social media posts / short fics.

→ installment of this au read for context

As a child of Ares, you were stubborn, short-tempered, and walked around camp with a permanent angry resting face. At the same time, you were known to be loyal, protective, and funny. If being funny was the same thing as being sarcastic.  

The younger campers were scared of you, the older ones around your age respected you, but everyone admired you in some way or another. If not for your excellent fighting skills, you had a demeanor that not even the gods above could ignore. The way you carried yourself was captivating, so much so that your father had claimed you within the first week of your arrival at camp, and ever since then, you had proven your worth to anyone that watched. 

Perhaps one camper kept the closest eye on you, the curly-haired brunette boy did not believe in love, let alone love at first sight— not until he saw you. You and him had arrived at camp around the same time, but your paths did not cross until a Capture the Flag game weeks later, when you both happened to be on the same team. 

Word had already gotten around about your talent with the spear. Clarisse had introduced the weapon to you, and you had caught on quickly. You were in the middle of fighting off multiple campers on the other team when Luke appeared beside you. 

“Need a little help?” he asked.

“Nope, I got it under control.”  

“Are you sure?” 

Even though you were strong, it was still three against one. 

You relented, “Fine.” 

Luke chuckled, hopping in with his sword. You couldn’t help but admire him out of the corner of your eye, and you were glad that your helmet hid the expression on your face. 

You had gone on to win that game and many others alongside each other, in an unspoken allyship. In time, both of your reputations had begun to precede you. 

Each week, campers awaited to hear if they would be playing on the same team as you and Luke, and each week, they would be disappointed to hear otherwise. But your fighting skills were not the only topic of conversation, it was becoming abundantly obvious that a certain boy had fallen for you. 

“Dude, what’s going on with you and Y/N?” Percy asked Luke over dinner one night. 

“What do you mean?” Luke responded, still chewing on his food.

“Come on, you’re not exactly being stealthy about it.” 

Luke laughed, “Yeah, alright, you got me.”

“So you do like her!”

“What? No, who said that?”

“You literally just admitted it.”

“I said, ‘you got me.’”

“Exactly, I figured it out. You have feelings for her,” Percy declared.

You happened to walk over at that moment, interrupting them. “Feelings for who?” 

Luke coughed, allowing Percy to respond for him. “Uh, uhm… no one!”

“Percy, I literally heard you.” Even though he was one of the younger campers that you were close with, the blonde boy still found himself scared of you on occasions such as this one when you were staring at him dead in the eye. 

“Sorry, Luke, you’re on your own for this one,” Percy blurted out before running away.

You turned towards Luke, who had since finished recovering from his coughing. He was nervously smiling at you, some color had slightly rushed into his cheeks. 

“So, who’s the lucky girl?” you asked, smirking at him. 

“Oh, you don’t know her,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Are you sure? I feel like I know pretty much everyone here.” 

“She…. uh… doesn’t go here.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a suppressed laugh. “She doesn’t go here,” you repeated.  

“Nope! I’m gonna go get some dessert.” With that, he left you alone at the table, quietly laughing to yourself. 

You weren’t totally oblivious, you knew that you must have come up in conversation for the two boys to have behaved that way. However, you were content to see how far this would go, and how much teasing you could get away with before Luke got the courage to do anything about it.

Besides, you had a reputation to keep up, and being soft all of a sudden was not part of the plan.