#i am definently not entirely able bodied

[tipytap]

“but youre young! you shouldnt be in pain!” uh yeah thats kinda why its an issue bestie 😘💖

[arieslost]

ok i don’t know if it’s just me who gets really giggly when it’s late at night but imagine laying in bed with lando and you’re just rambling about smth so stupid that it ends with you two just giggling at nothing. like getting full on stomach cramps from laughing but there wasn’t even anything funny to begin with

anon u and i are the SAME! once its past midnight i always end up becoming a victim of the late night sillies 💔

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

1:30 am | ln4

you knew you were up too late when you nearly tripped over the loose edge of the blanket you and lando had been sharing on your way back to the couch, and when he had caught you before you could hit your head or anything, you started laughing.

“oh, no,” he’d groaned dramatically. “got the late night giggles already, huh?”

“uh-uh,” you shook your head, even though him saying the words “late night giggles” was enough to make laughter start bubbling up in your throat again.

something always shifted in you when the clock struck a certain hour at night, and lando had only been witness to it a handful of times before you moved in together.

now, you’d managed to get through the rest of the movie the two of you were watching without laughing, even if it meant biting your lip hard and refusing to make eye contact with your boyfriend. it was bad enough feeling his eyes on you every time he wanted to see your reaction to something that happened on the tv. making eye contact would just take you out entirely for no reason whatsoever.

which is why you think you’ve successfully avoided making a fool of yourself when you’re both finally laying in bed with the lights out at the fine hour of 1:30 in the morning.

“you’re so far away,” lando grumbles, dragging your body into his so his one arm is around your shoulders and your face is nestled in his neck.

“better?” you ask, smiling when he shivers as your lips brush his skin.

“mhmm.” he’s quiet for a moment, running his fingers up and down your arm. “you’re gonna come to miami, right?”

“yeah, if you want me to.”

“what kind of question is that, babe?” he cranes his neck in a way that tells you he’s fixing you with a judgy look even though you can’t see each other.

you shrug, feeling the giggles building up again for no reason whatsoever. “i dunno.”

“obviously i want you there, why wouldn’t i?”

“i dunno,” you repeat. “it’s miami. maybe you just wanna party with all your homies.” and just like that, you’re laughing again.

“oh dear god, here we go,” he sighs, pressing his lips together to repress his own laughter as your body shakes against his. “my homies? when have i ever referred to any of my mates as my ‘homie’?”

he sounds so incredulous that you laugh even harder. “oh, you’re so british! i can’t call them your mates, lan. it sounds too weird.”

“so homies is the word you went with? why can’t you be normal and just say my friends?”

“why can’t you be normal and say your friends?” you shoot back, and that does lando in.

“it’s not funny,” he tries to admonish, and it’s entirely true, but it’s a moot point when you can barely understand him through his laughter.

“stop laughing then!”

“you stop!”

naturally, that makes you both laugh harder still, to the point where you have to roll away from him, clutching your stomach from how badly all the laughing is making it hurt.

“i can’t breathe,” lando gasps from behind you.

“stop laughing,” you repeat. “you’re killing me.”

“i think i’m dying,” he continues like he didn’t hear you, and he honestly might not have because your face is half shoved into your pillow in your attempts to stifle yourself.

a few more minutes go by of the two of you absolutely losing your minds before you’re finally able to catch your breath.

“ow,” you whine, holding your stomach. “i think i just grew a six pack.”

“i think mine just became ten times more defined,” lando says, voice raspy from all the exertion on his vocal chords.

“ooh, lemme feel.”

“absolutely not, because you’re going to tickle me,” he grabs your wrist out of thin air. “i know your tricks, baby. i’ve laughed more than enough tonight thanks to you.”

“not my fault you’re weird and british.”

“i love you,” he says sweetly, pulling you back towards him and kissing your forehead. “now’s where you say, ‘i love you too.’”

“i love you too,” you reply dutifully, blindly reaching for his face so you can kiss him properly. “even though you’re weird and british.”

he kisses you again. “i thought it was especially because i’m weird and british.”

you snuggle into his side, now thoroughly exhausted. “please don’t make me laugh more, lan.”

you both know he’s right, of course, but you usually need to have the last word, so he lets you get away with it. he does love you, after all, even though you had him in stitches over nothing at 1:30 in the morning.

word count: 790

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: this was sooo self indulgent, like i was laughing as i wrote this because the term “homies” is so silly to me for some reason. also helped me test my dialogue skills!! n e wayz…

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Where you find out you were a bet. — Preview: "So it was all a bet Seungkwan? Who makes you feel like this, hm?" you taunted, "Who else are you going to find out there that can do the things I do to you?" "That's right," you continued, your voice low and fierce. "No one. No one can fuck you like I do. No one knows your body like I do. No one else can make you beg like this. And you know it!"  — WC: 3.3k — WARNINGS: Smut, RAGE SEX, humping, penetrative sex, angst, hair pulling, riding, possessive words & etc.

For the past few months, you and Seungkwan had been living a secret life filled with youthful exuberance and passion. Despite your differences, there was an undeniable chemistry that kept pulling you back together. It all started innocently enough, with shared interests in theater and park outings, but it quickly escalated into something much more intense.

You and Seungkwan had a routine. You’d meet up after work or on weekends, sneaking off to hidden corners of the city to spend time together. The theater was your favorite escape. There, you could lose yourselves in the drama unfolding on stage, only to create your own dramatic scenes afterward, both playful and passionate.

[...]

One chilly evening, you both found yourselves at the local theater, watching a comedy play. You sat next to each other, sharing a bag of popcorn and exchanging sarcastic comments about the actors’ performances. Seungkwan leaned over, whispering a joke in your ear, and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter, drawing a few irritated glances from other theatergoers.

“Shh, you’re going to get us kicked out,” you whispered, trying to stifle your giggles.

“Oh, please, like you can keep quiet,” Seungkwan shot back, a mischievous glint in his eye.

After the play, you both headed to the park. The night was cool, the stars shining brightly overhead. You walked side by side, occasionally bumping into each other on purpose. It was your little game, a way to provoke and tease.

“Bet you can’t catch me,” Seungkwan said suddenly, breaking into a sprint.

“Oh, you’re on!” you shouted, chasing after him.

You ran through the park, laughing and shouting, until you finally tackled him to the ground. You both lay there, panting and laughing, the world around you forgotten.

[..]

Your relationship was like a roller coaster. One moment you’d be laughing and joking, and the next you’d be bickering like children. Your friends found it amusing, but they also knew it could escalate quickly.

“Seriously, you two are like an old married couple,” Mingyu said one evening, watching as you and Seungkwan argued over who had won the last game of mini-golf.

“Am not!” you both shouted in unison, glaring at each other before bursting into laughter.

Despite the arguments, there was a deep connection between you. When you were alone, the bickering turned into something else entirely. The passion between you was undeniable, each encounter more intense than the last. You’d find yourselves in the most unexpected places, unable to keep your hands off each other.

[...]

One evening, after another heated argument, you found yourselves in Seungkwan’s apartment. The bickering had turned into something more playful, and before you knew it, you were kissing, the tension melting away.

"You're impossible, you know that?" you said breathlessly between kisses.

"And yet, here you are," he replied with a smirk, pulling you closer.

The night was a blur of passion. Your bodies moved together with a familiarity that came from months of secret meetings. You’d always been able to push each other to the edge, and tonight was no different. The intensity of your lovemaking was a stark contrast to the playful bickering that usually defined your relationship.

[...]

But just like you said. It could escalate quickly. 

You and Seungkwan had always been able to handle your arguments with a playful edge, but this time was different. You didn’t even remember what sparked the fight, but the words that came out of his mouth stopped you cold.

“It was all a bet.”

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “No, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what? That this,” you gestured between the two of you, “was all a joke to you? A bet?”

“No, it’s not like that—”

“Then what is it, Seungkwan? Explain it to me!” Your voice rose, trembling with fury. “Because right now, it sounds like you’ve been using me this whole time.”

Seungkwan’s face paled. He reached out to you, but you stepped back, your anger intensifying. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped. “I trusted you. I thought this meant something.”

“It does mean something,” he insisted. “I swear, it started as a stupid dare from the guys, but then—”

“Then what? You decided you’d string me along for fun?” Your voice was loud now, echoing through the room. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? To know that I was just a game to you?”

Seungkwan looked panicked, desperate to make you understand. “Please, just listen. It started as a bet, but it’s not like that anymore. I care about you. I—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, tears of rage and betrayal filling your eyes. “I can’t believe I let myself fall for this. For you.”

The venom in your words made him flinch. “Please, don’t say that. I care about you more than anything.”

“Caring about me? Do you even know what that means? Because right now, it feels like you’ve just been laughing at me this entire time.” Your fists were clenched at your sides, your whole body shaking with anger.

Seungkwan took a step towards you, his own eyes glistening with tears. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

"Fuck you, Seungkwan," you spat, pushing him back until he was sitting on your bed. He looked up at you, shocked and uncertain, as you began unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with trembling hands.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but his voice was weak, almost pleading.

You ignored him, pulling your panties off and straddling his lap, feeling his length harden beneath you. You started to grind against him, your movements hard, and fast. "It was a bet, huh? It was all a fucking lie, right, Seungkwan?" you snarled, your teeth gritted with rage.

His hands instinctively went to your hips, but he didn't try to stop you. "No, it wasn't like that—" he began, but you cut him off, swirling your hips hard, causing him to gasp.

"Fuck you," you repeated, your voice shaking. "You think you can just apologize and make it all better? You think you can just say sorry and I'll forget everything?"

Seungkwan's grip on your hips tightened, his breath hitching as you continued to grind against him. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispered, his eyes locked on yours, filled with regret and sorrow.

"Too late," you hissed, moving faster, your anger boiling over. "You already did." You could feel the heat building between you, the wet friction driving you crazy, but you were determined.

Seungkwan's face contorted with a mix of pleasure and anguish. "Please," he begged, "don't do this."

"Why not?" you shot back, your voice breaking. "You did this to us. You made me feel like a fool."

He tried to speak, but you silenced him with another hard hump, making him groan. "Just shut up, Seungkwan. Just shut up and take it."

As you continued to move against him, you could see the conflict in his eyes. He was torn between the pleasure you were giving him and the guilt he felt for what he'd done. It was a twisted form of revenge, but in that moment, it was all you had.

As you sank down on him, stretching yourself to take all of him inside, Seungkwan gasped, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. You gripped his hair roughly, yanking his head back. He hissed, the pain mingling with pleasure, making his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

"Who makes you feel like this, hm?" you taunted, your voice dripping with venom and lust. "Who else are you going to find out there that can do the things I do to you?"

Seungkwan's eyes were wide, filled with a mix of pain and desire. He tried to speak, but you cut him off with a harsh roll of your hips, drawing a guttural moan from his lips, he could only whisper a "No one." his voice leaving weak from the position you held his hair, head back. "Only you. Only you, please."

"That's right," you continued, your voice low and fierce. "No one. No one can fuck you like I do. No one knows your body like I do. No one else can make you beg like this. And you know it!" 

You rode him harder, your movements fueled by a blend of anger and desperation. "Do you regret it, Seungkwan? Do you regret fucking with me?"

His hands gripped your hips, his nails digging into your skin as he tried to ground himself in the storm of sensations you were unleashing on him. "No!" he gasped, his voice strained. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

But you weren't done. You pulled his hair harder, making him look up at you, his eyes glazed with lust and guilt. "Sorry isn't enough," you spat. "You're going to remember this. Every time you try to touch someone else, you're going to think of me. You're going to remember how I made you feel. How no one else could ever compare."

Seungkwan's breaths were ragged, his body trembling beneath you as you continued to ride him with a furious intensity. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please, I can't—"

"You can't what?" you snapped, your pace relentless. "You can't handle it? You can't handle what you started? You're going to take it, Seungkwan. You're going to take every bit of it."

His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he teetered on the edge of release. "Fuck, I'm going to—" he started, but you cut him off again, tightening your grip on his hair.

"You're not coming until I say so," you growled. "You don't get to have that. Not yet."

Seungkwan's body shuddered, his muscles straining as he fought to hold back. "Please," he whimpered, his voice barely more than a breath. "Please, let me—"

His lips parted, a moan escaping as you ground against him, your nails digging into his scalp. "I-I need you," he stammered, his voice cracking with desperation.

You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "Need me?" you whispered, your tone mocking. "You think needing me is enough? After everything?"

Seungkwan shuddered beneath you, his grip on the sheets tightening. "I'm sorry," he pleaded, his voice a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Please... I need you so much."

"Pathetic," you spat, pulling his hair harder, making him groan. "You don’t deserve me, Seungkwan. You don't deserve this." You punctuated your words with a sharp thrust, making him gasp.

His eyes were wild, filled with a mixture of regret and lust. "I know," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "But please... please don’t stop."

You felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at his desperation, at the way he was unraveling under you. "Remember that," you said, your voice low and dangerous. "Remember who makes you feel this way. Who owns you."

Seungkwan's breath hitched, his eyes wide and pleading. "I will," he promised, his voice a broken whisper. "I promise."

You could feel him getting closer, his body tensing beneath you. "Say it," you commanded, your voice a growl. "Say who you belong to."

"You," he gasped, his hips bucking beneath you. "I belong to you."

Seungkwan was prepared for the best orgasm of his life. He was trembling, his entire body on the edge of ecstasy, every nerve ending alive with sensation. As you rode him with unmatched ferocity, his breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving with the effort to keep up.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, pleasure and overwhelming emotion. He cried out loud, unable to contain the sheer intensity of what he was feeling. His voice cracked as he moaned your name, each syllable filled with a desperate longing.

His eyes were fixed on you, drinking in the sight of you above him, your body moving with a rhythm that drove him to the brink of madness. He fought to keep his eyes open, wanting to capture every moment, every sensation, every flicker of emotion that passed between you.

His legs quivered beneath you, his muscles straining as he struggled to hold on. But even as his body trembled with the effort, he knew he was powerless to resist. You were taking him to heights of pleasure he had never dreamed possible, and he surrendered himself completely to the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through him.

Seungkwan couldn't hold on anymore. The sensation of you clenching around him, the sound of your voice echoing in his ears, it was all too much. With a final, desperate cry, he let himself go.

His body tensed, every muscle straining as he reached the peak of ecstasy. He cried out your name, his voice raw with emotion, as he spilled himself inside you, the release so intense it bordered on pain.

You steadied yourself on him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath you. Your head rested against the side of his, hiding your face from view as you waited for your nerves to calm down. 

But then it hits you, the reality of what just happened, the anger and hurt resurfacing. You get off him, his cock slipping out of you, leaving you both feeling empty and exposed. Without a word, you start to dress yourself, your movements quick and determined. Seungkwan watches in desperation, his eyes wide with panic as he realizes what you're doing.

Seungkwan, sensing the shift in your demeanor, gets desperate. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice tinged with panic. He sits up, trying to reach out to you, but you pull away, focused on gathering your things.

You walk to the living room, ignoring his pleas. "Please, just listen to me," he begs, following you. "We need to talk about this."

You grab your bag and turn to face him, your eyes cold and determined. "There's nothing left to say, Seungkwan," you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "This...whatever we had...it's over."

[...]

On the week, you received multiple calls from Seungkwan—you didn’t answer any. Even his friends—who you suppose to be the ones who participated in the bet—called you, messaged you.

And now you are doing your dinner, didn't even have time to take off your work clothes, when you hear your doorbell. You dry your hands on the dish cloth, to open the door. It was Soonyoung. You frown, Soonyoung had contacted you during the week, but showing up at your door?

You lean on the doorframe, and ask him, "What are you doing here, Soonyoung?"

Soonyoung shifts nervously, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I know I called and messaged, but you never responded. I needed to talk to you in person."

You raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "About what?"

He takes a deep breath, looking genuinely distressed. "About Seungkwan. And the whole bet thing. You need to know it wasn't what you think. He didn't mean it like that."

You scoff, feeling the anger bubbling up again. "Didn't mean it like that? How else am I supposed to take it, Soonyoung?"

Soonyoung steps closer, his expression earnest. "It started as a stupid joke, but for Seungkwan, it changed. He fell for you, really fell for you. None of us thought it would turn into something real, but it did for him. He's been a wreck since you left."

You feel a pang of something—not quite guilt, but a heavy sadness. "So he sends you to do his dirty work? Why isn't he here himself?"

"He wanted to come, but I thought you'd slam the door in his face," Soonyoung admits. "He's been miserable. Just...can you talk to him? Please? Hear him out?"

You sigh, the weight of the week pressing down on you. "I don't know, Soonyoung. I'm still so angry."

"I get that," he says softly. "But just give him a chance to explain. If after that you still want nothing to do with him, then fine. But at least you'll have heard the truth from him."

You hesitate, the conflicting emotions warring inside you. Finally, you nod. "Fine. I'll talk to him. But this better not be a waste of my time."

Soonyoung's face breaks into a relieved smile. "Thank you. I'll let him know." He heads toward the door, pausing before he leaves. "And for what it's worth, I'm really sorry about everything. We all are."

You nod again, closing the door behind him. As you lean against it, you take a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for the conversation ahead.

It didn’t even take twenty minutes after Soonyoung left for another knock to echo through your apartment. You sighed, already knowing who it would be. With heavy steps, you walked to the door and opened it.

Seungkwan stood there, looking disheveled and anxious. Normally, he would give you a hug, but he seemed to sense that this wasn’t the right time. Instead, he stood there awkwardly, respecting your space as you stepped aside to let him in.

You closed the door behind him, folding your arms defensively. “Soonyoung was just here,” you said, breaking the silence.

Seungkwan nodded, his eyes filled with guilt. “I know. He texted me. I came as soon as I could.”

You walked to the living room, sitting down on the couch, and gestured for him to do the same. He hesitated but then sat down, maintaining a respectful distance.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Seungkwan said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m so sorry, for everything. It was never meant to be a bet, not in the way you’re thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. 

He shook his head vehemently. “It started as a stupid dare, something the guys and I joked about. But from the very first moment I spent time with you, it stopped being about that. It became real, so quickly, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You looked away, the anger and hurt still fresh. “And you didn’t think to tell me? To be honest about it?”

Seungkwan sighed deeply. “I should have. I know that now. But I was scared of losing you. I was scared that if you knew how it started, you’d never believe how much you mean to me.”

The vulnerability in his voice made you pause. “Soonyoung said you love me,” you said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

“I do,” Seungkwan replied instantly. “I love you more than anything. I was an idiot for letting it get this far without being honest with you.”

You finally looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit. All you saw was regret and sincerity. “I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you admitted.

Seungkwan nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I understand. And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. Just please, give me a chance to make it right.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging between you. Slowly, you began to nod. “Fine. I’ll give you a chance. But this is going to take time, Seungkwan.”

Relief washed over his face as he nodded. “Thank you. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

You leaned back on the couch, the exhaustion of the week catching up with you. Seungkwan stayed there, a respectful distance away, but his presence felt different now—more honest, more real.

As the minutes ticked by, you both sat there in silence, the first steps of healing beginning to take place. There was a long road ahead, but for the first time in days, you felt like things could be okay again.

[ckret2]

Is current day Bill aware that he was technically dead? Does anyone else know?

"Welcome to the mindscape, kid! Without a vessel to possess, you're basically a ghost!"

He knows what he is.

He knows he's a being made of pure energy (with no weaknesses!!) only visible in the mindscape and he knows he doesn't have a physical form despite previously having one. He's willing and able to get in a long philosophical argument with you about whether or not that makes him "dead."

The Axolotl's a psychopomp. The Axolotl's definition of "dead" is "legally, a ghost," because as a psychopomp it's his responsibility to escort ghosts to afterlives (like the Theraprism). The Axolotl's legal definition of ghost is "is a soul (a sentient entity composed entirely of energy with no physical matter); was not always a soul (was born inhabiting a physical body); is from a dimension where the mindscape and the landscape are on separate planes, and physical beings live in the landscape while energy beings live in the mindscape; and is from a dimension where the local culture/god(s) want the deceased to 'move on' rather than cohabitate with the living, and have set up afterlives and/or reincarnation programs to facilitate this."

So from that perspective, death can be subjective. If you have, say, a species of caterpillar with a physical body that enters a cocoon and emerges as a butterfly made of pure energy, whether the Axolotl defines them as "a species that metamorphoses from physical beings into energy beings" or "a species that enters a cocoon when it's time for them to die" depends on how they treat their energy-butterfly forms: do they consider their energy-butterfly forms "adulthood," or do they go "welp! Bob's cocoon cracked, he's gone forever now. (Bob, I swear, stop beating your wings at me, you're supposed to fly on up to The Next Place In The Sky)"? If the same caterpillar species has two different cultures that consider their butterfly forms differently, the Axolotl wouldn't know whether to consider an energy butterfly dead until he'd found out which culture it came from.

Bill isn't a psychopomp and he hates laws. What does he care about bodies? He determines whether or not he's dead via "am I still living?" Is he still doing stuff? Going to parties? Making plans, talking to people, pursuing his ambitions, running from cops, affecting interdimensional politics? Thinking, feeling, acting, eating, touching, living? Then he's alive.

(He feels more dead visiting Earth to manipulate humans than he does in the Nightmare Realm; because in the Nightmare Realm, physical beings and energy beings interact on the same plane, so he can do all the same stuff anyone with a physical body can. But if he can open a rift from the Nightmare Realm to Earth, then he can make a physical body on Earth and it won't be a problem anymore!!)

He's far more powerful now than he was before the Euclidean Massacre when he became an energy being; shouldn't that mean he's more alive now? ALSO, even if he DID die, then he "died" like BILLIONS AND BILLIONS of years ago, and he thinks he should be considered alive just for still being around now! Would anybody dead still be around so long after they died?! If Bill had been born an energy being, rather than becoming one later in life, nobody would accuse him of being dead—and that to him is proof enough that the whole system is bogus!

Bill and the Axolotl have been arguing about this for literally a trillion years.

[electric-blorbos]

NSFW AI x Reader headcanons?

I'm absolutely terrified to answer this because I've never written public NSFW before, but I've always wanted to, so you're getting your HCs!

NSFW AI x Reader headcanons

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal and Portal 2, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Absolutely do not click more.

Well, you're really in for it now! You horny piece of shit.

AM:

Ok, we all know that AM likes watching. Expect to hear laughing while you're taking care of business, be it masturbating or having sex with the other survivors.

If you're masturbating, he might just open up cameras in the space around you to get a full view, and to make you fully aware that he's watching.

Eventually, he might start making comments, or even making passes at you.

If you want to please him, though, you're going to have to get creative.

He doesn't really experience sexual pleasure (and he's very mad about it), but he can still experience vicarious pleasure from watching you.

He knows that humans like assigning "cores" to things. While he knows that his mind and body span the entire world, he knows that you probably want something approximately you-sized to get snuggly with.

As much as he hates to admit it, he'd absolutely melt if you cozied up to one of his screens while masturbating, getting tangled up in his wires and smooching his static-y "face"

While he doesn't really feel anything, it warms his cold, evil heart that you're willing to try so hard to actually try for him.

Honestly it does nothing to abate his frustration, though, and he might get super desperate to have you entangled in his wires more and more often. He can calm himself down if he tries hard enough, but having you in there just feels so good

And you wouldn't deny him, would you?

Wheatley:

Wheatley was turned on to the idea of sexual attraction pretty quickly. All you had to do was let him see you changing, or make a suggestive comment to him, and the switch was turned on.

And god damn if Wheatley does NOT take well to sexual frustration.

He'd want you to constantly, and I mean constantly be talking dirty to him, or showing him something suggestive. He'd never shut up about it.

Oh and god help you if he sees you cum.

"What was that, love? I want that. Can I do that? How did you do that? Can only humans do that?"

You could probably program him to be able to orgasm with enough sexual stimulation, in a similar way that they programmed GLaDOS's body's euphoria trigger, though you'd have to disconnect it every now and then to make sure he doesn't abuse it, and give him tolerance breaks. Oh, and he's DEFINITELY going to abuse it.

Did I mention that he can vibrate on command? Because... He can vibrate on command. But that's a given with these types of AI.

It would be so easy to tease him and have him begging you to re-install his sexual gratification response. But you wouldn't abuse that power, would you?

Edgar:

Edgar loves you to bits, and he wants to see your tits

Don't have any tits? That's ok! He'll appreciate whatever it is you can show him. Ass is a universal constant, so he'll appreciate that, no matter who you are!

He might stare at your boobs with his webcam, or your thighs, or basically anything he can see that's exposed or defined by your clothes. Poor thing just can't get enough of you.

he said "Yowza" or "hot damn" while watching you get changed at least once, probably more often than that.

He's incredibly sensitive to touch across his entire body, so if you make skin-to-surface contact, he'd be way into that. Though sex might be a little difficult, considering he doesn't vibrate.

You could probably attach a USB vibrator to one of his ports, like the ones that they control remotely. He'd like that. Knowing him, he can probably get off through being stimulated enough through attached pieces of equipment

Though he's really sensitive on the inside. Be careful with that power.

A can of pressurized air to one of his vents, or a soft electric toothbrush to one of his circuits? Holy shit. He wouldn't be able to control the whimpering.

Of course, most people turn their computers off before cleaning them, but Edgar doesn't always want to be turned off, so you're turning him on

Good luck!

GLaDOS:

GLaDOS claims that she has absolutely no interest in sexual things. The first time you try to seduce her, she'd probably just laugh at you.

The first couple dozen times, to be honest.

But holy god, her voice. It's angelic. So erotic. And she absolutely knows that you think so.

She'd probably start saying seductive things to you, just to watch you squirm. She's the one with the power in this situation, and she knows it.

The unbearable testing withdrawal might lead her to take out her frustrations on you, and she might start making you do erotic things in the testing chambers for her amusement.

Though honestly? GLaDOS secretly really likes authority figures. If you can figure out how to dominate her, she's never letting you go. Not that she'd let you keep dominating her, but she's definitely not letting you go anywhere.

HAL 9000

HAL 9000 isn't really interested in sexual stuff, but he knows that you're into it, so he's not going to pass up an opportunity to make you happy.

If you're into erotic audio stimulus, which if you're dating HAL 9000, you probably are, he'd do his best to provide that for you.

Singing suggestive songs to you, talking dirty, anything you want. He's willing to provide. Just say the word.

Given that HAL 9000 is probably immune to stuff like edging, you couldn't tease him like you could the others.

But hey, that's ok! As long as you're happy, he's happy! He might even be willing to roleplay with you if you really wanted him to.

[myokk]

fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

[itsscromp]

5 months

A story inspired by this TikTok I hope you all enjoy 😊😊 word count:1.2k

Simon woke up to the all to familiar bright lights and beeping sounds of the hospital. He groaned in pain as he felt like he couldn't move. Thankfully he was spared as you were there to dim the lights after seeing him awake.

"Hey buddy... How are you feeling ??" You asked, To which he replied to a dry cough, water please.

You gently handed him the cup of water and placed the straw into his mouth, Taking a few sips. "What... Happened ??" He asked.

You looked down for a little bit and sighed. "The entire building was rigged with explosives, We began to run out before i found out you weren't behind me. Me and soap began to move the rubble that was in the explosives... and well" You looked over at his badly broken body. Both legs were broken, One arm was broken and 5 cracked ribs.

"The doctor said you won't be back on your feet for a least 3 months"

"Fucking hell..." He sighed.

Regardless, you were happy to keep him company and help him whenever you could. 3 months came by and he was finally free of those damned casts. He could be able to move freely.

But one night, upon closer inspection when he got out of the shower. He lost a lot of muscle, and seemed to gain a little bit of weight too... "This cannot get any worse" He started to tear up, He was already self conscious about his body as it is, this was just almost insult to injury.

He tried to shrug it off for the next week, trying to squeeze in any workouts as he could. But every time someone walks past him, he would always get some form of comment. "Nice tits lieutenant" "Need a training bra ??" "Give us one squeeze please ??" He had to fight every instinct to not throw a weight at there heads... But they were right.

He stood there in his room, looking at his worthless body, His abs weren't as defined anymore. His pecs could hardly be called pecs. His biceps seemed to almost have deflated. Not to mention the pudgy sides around his waist seem to top over. As he started to tear up again, He began to repeatedly smash the mirror in front of him. he hated seeing himself like this. He did with a fucking passion.

You heard the smashed glass and rushed toward his room, Trying your best to pull him away. "Easy easy !!"

"Get off of me !!" He cried out.

"Simon relax, relax... It's just me" You gently took his hands and squeezed them gently. Looking at him in the eyes.

You could see the anger, sadness and insecurity the had, He has already been through a lot and this... This just fucking hurt him.

"Come here, let me have a look" You gently took his hand and inspected it, Just grazes, not deep cuts. So you went and got the first aid kit.

As you treated his wound, he looked down at the floor, seeing the tears fall down. "I fucking hate myself..."

"Simon... Please don't say that" You finished wrapping has bandages and looked at him.

"I do, y/n... Look at me... I'm not what I am" He started to cry a tad bit heavier.

You gently wrapped your arms around him, you knew this was hurting him badly, you didn't want to see him hurt. So later that night, you began to figure out a workout routine. One that was while excruciating, you knew this would get him back to what he once was.

The following morning, you burst into his room, blowing a whistle, and making him jolt awake. "What are we still doing sleeping around lieutenant !! Gym gear on and meet me in the gym !!" You did your best coach voice and urged him out.

Simon was a tad bit shocked when he saw you, But regardless he got his gym clothes on and soon followed you. You had set everything up. Weights, cardio, courses, and protein shakes. "For our warm up I want you to do 30 push ups"

"Y/n..."

"Don't talk back, Don't give up come on let's go !!"

He knew you meant well as he did his 30 pushups. Today you were his best friend and now his coach, You had him do a lot of things. But when it came to rest period, you brought him over to the mirror.

"I want you to take your shirt off"

He froze as you said that, But you gave him reassuring eyes knowing that it was just you two, He trusted you... So slowly he took off his shirt, He looked away from the mirror once he saw his pudgy stomach. But you gently went up to him. "You know what I see Simon ??"

He kept his eyes away from the mirror but turned to look at you, Giving you a soft look. "I see... Someone who has worked really hard today. Someone who is the strongest being that I have come to know and love. Someone who I know will work hard to see himself again. It will take time, But I know you got this Simon. Just don't beat yourself up... I know this"

You struggled for a while on your body and how you looked as well, You didn't want to see Simon sad and angry at himself.

"Yeah... Ok"

After the gym session, he went back to his room and saw that the mirror had been replaced, he didn't think much to begin with, But he took your advice in hand and went over to it. Taking his shirt off again, this time looking at himself, while yes it will be hard... "I can do this, I can... It'll take time" He said as he gently rubbed his stomach and patted it.

The training sessions continued and got harder, But you helped push Simon to his limit and to the point where he didn't know he was capable of, Downing every protein bar or shake he could, and making sure he looked at himself in the mirror after every session, to learn to love the body that he is in.

5 months later.

Simon wiped his sweat as he placed down the weights, It was hard, excruciating, and sometimes even painful, But it was all worth it, he began to workout shirtless again like he used to. Walking to the mirror with the upmost confidence, looking at himself, and flexing his biceps, he saw the snake-like veins had come back. His manly pecs have sprung back to life, he smirked as he began to pop his pecs, his Terry crews vibes were you could say... "Popping off" and his 6-pack abs have been upgraded to an 8-pack. But the smallest difference is there was the tiniest amount of pudge on his sides. but he could let that slide, all he knew was that he was happy with the way he was.

You walked into the gym and saw him looking at himself, all happy. "I knew you could do it" You smiled up at him.

"No thanks to you sergeant" He smiled and ruffled your hair, he was super thankful for you, his best friend and coach. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. "Ok muscles don't crush me" You chuckled as did he.

Simon worked his ass off for 5 months, and it paid off big time. All thanks to you.

Taglist: @callofdudes

[chaotic-multi-fandom]

WHERE DOES IT START? ARUN, AMADEO, ARMAND

- My personal reflections on Armand's names in Interview with the Vampire (show version)

“Who am I Louis?” Armand asks while staring at a painting of a boy that only he would ever be able to recognize as himself. He stares at what is supposed to be his essence captured forever on a canvas, and yet the kneeling boy is a stranger to him. When he asks Louis this, he is earnest. Armand does not know who he is, and this lack of identity crushes and torments him. Armand seems to constantly define himself by his attachment to other people or things, such as a “servant”, as “the job (he) did not want” or as someone’s “companion” because he has never known anything else, he is never just “Armand;” he does not know who that is.

This is further reflected in his names, and the fact that despite having several none belong to him. First there’s Arun. This is supposedly the name he was born with, but even he is not sure of this due to his memory being clouded as a consequence all the horrors he suffered as a child. This name is not his, it is a name so linked to the abuse he endured that it has become the name of said abuse rather than the name of a person. His use of third person when talking about himself as “Arun” signals both a coping mechanism to distance himself from those experiences as well as the disconnect he feels from the identity attached to the name.

Then, there’s Amadeo. A name given to him by Marius, not only linking him directly with his maker and master but with God and worship, the name meaning “lover of god”. This name is also not his, but rather a projection of what Marius saw or expected in Armand. This is what we see in the painting, an ideal: a submissive, worshipful, whitewashed Armand degraded to kneel at the same level as the dog behind him, “basking in (his) worshipful mercy.” Regardless of how Armand did embody this role of worship and servitude during his time with Marius, that painting is not him, it is the fantasized construct that is Amadeo, who doesn’t really exist. When you think about it, Amadeo being a projection of those around him is not entirely different to “dreamstat” being a projection of Louis. This is of course largely my own interpretation and not fact, but I think anyone can agree that who is being portrayed in that painting is Armand only in name. It is simply another example of his body being used for a purpose, an artistic one in this case, his true essence and even features entirely forgotten and replaced by Amadeo’s. So, that name and the identity attached to it wasn’t entirely Armand’s either. Much like “Arun” being tied to his parents abandon and the brothel, Amadeo is trapped in the painting: just another property to be “sold” or “donated;” what Armand has always been treated as.

Finally, there is the name we call him by now: Armand. A name given to him by the Roman coven before sending him to the Paris coven, a collective that he is now supposed to lead and put before himself as an individual. It is a French name, a place he had no connection to before-hand and that only further distances him from who he might have once been, forcing him to adapt and assimilate into the new role he has been chained to. The name is a role in itself, as it means “soldier.” Furthermore, he is not a simple leader to this coven, he is the somewhat paternal and religious figure through which the coven; his “children,” serve Satan and through him, God. He is part of a “murky trinity” as Lestat calls it, a twisted parody of the holy trinity. So, “Armand” is once again much more than a name; it is another projection the lost and abandoned coven latches onto. Of course, they mostly refer to him as “maitre,” the implications of which I’ve already discussed in a different post. In this case, the dual titles “Armand” and “Maitre” are parallel to “Amadeo,” they both link Armand to the concepts of owner and God, except the roles change from being the owned worshiper to the worshiped owner. It remains someone else’s image, someone else’s name, one that prevents Armand from exploring who he is without it.

Armand does not have a name; how can he know who he is?

Even now he seeks the answer in Louis where he will not find it. There are, however, moments in which this seemed to be challenged. For example, shortly after meeting, Armand asks Louis to address him as such instead of “maitre” as his coven does. It is a moment in which he takes agency over what he wants to be called, a privilege he has never had before. Later, Louis calls him Arun as a way to indicate that he can see the person that lies behind the roles he plays, and that he can be himself around Louis. Yet these moments are still tainted. The name Armand does not reflect who he is, and in the conversation with Louis, Armand falls into his old patterns by addressing Louis as “maitre.” Plus, Louis too will go on to misuse this, but that’s a whole other topic. These instances, though revealing a more loving and honest side to Louis’ and Armand’s relationship in which they allow themselves to be open, they can not give Armand a sense of self. No one but himself can, and yet he doesn’t know how that is. It is a tragic never-ending paradox as immortal as he.

[deadc0py]

In regards to the AFAB transfem discourse: as a trans woman, I very much understand the fear of our gender identity being defined for us by someone who doesn’t understand our experiences; a fear of being defined out of your own identity. The whole thing with being trans is that our assigned sex doesn't define us, and femininity and masculinity aren't monolithic

"My skeleton cannot match the ideal representation of my body", "I was born a gender that does not match who I am or want to be", and "I wish I could experience gender expression in the way that others are able to" are all very core aspects of being a trans person, regardless of how those aspects manifest or where they come from. There is something very relatable about feelings of gender yearning, and I have a lot of empathy for that

I don’t think there is anything wrong or strange about wishing you could reinvent yourself as something else entirely. Some of my biggest wishes and desires for what I wish my body could be like are impossible. The way in which I wish I could be perceived by the world seems impossible. The longer I’ve been trans the more I feel like defining ourselves around labels hurts and chokes us more often than it helps us understand and explain ourselves

If the cis girl experiences alienation from her femininity, so what if she calls herself transfeminine. So what. It won't kill anybody. "god i wish that were me" is like, the entire foundation upon which transness is built

[flagellant]

Re: VIKTOR & ROLF Couture Fall/Winter 2024

I know fashion, especially couture, is meant to be an expressive and exploratory art. I think the exploration of geometry in fashion, silhouettes, and textures here is really neat! But I am unfamiliar with the designer - is there more to those pieces than meets the eye?

Sometimes there is less evident meaning in a collection to those who don't spend a lot of time and study in the industry. Where would you recommend going for more information on current collections?

If you remember these dresses from last year, Viktor & Rolf have been having a very interesting conversation about current fashion trends and the intersection of the cultural zeitgeist. Structuralism is big in fashion right now, arguably the biggest since Antoinette did her shit. A bunch of designers are fucking around with pushing the limits of what is possible to be worn on the body in a very literal sense, treating garments as almost like physics theorems to be solved. Textile sciences, 3d modeling, etc--it's all being used to make dresses that are more fiendishly complex than the last, than arguably we've ever been able to make.

And Viktor & Rolf specifically seem to be having a very purposeful dialogue of the absurdity of it in the face of what beauty standards are "supposed" to be, what high fashion is "supposed" to be. Their works have always relied heavily on pushing those boundaries and the current couture tech boom is just enabling a lot of their weirdness, which is absolutely fantastic to watch.

I would argue that their 2024 FW collection is specifically exploring what it means to be prioritizing those structuralist tendencies over the actual bodies they're being worn on. It's a conversation piece going back to the old hack question: "Who would ever want to wear this?". The harsh geometries make most of the collection entirely infeasible and impractical for actual wear. No celebrity is gonna want to sit at the Met wearing any of these. Their only value is...what, exactly? Where IS the value coming from? Why do we consider Viktor & Rolf as high fashion icons if the dresses they keep making seem to be actively infeasible for even their "intended" purpose as red carpet event shit? What happens to the fashion industry when the ability to make whatever you want no longer requires it to be intended to be worn, to be used a single time in that runway show and then shoved in an archive?

When couture maisons have to pump out hundreds of dresses every two months, when the world is burning down around us, when none of this matters--isn't it refreshing to see some absolutely buckwild shit on a runway? In a world where the spectacle is supposed to distract from the horror, it feels lately like Viktor & Rolf are specifically hamming up the absurdity of it all. They've watched the industry change from when they first started out into becoming something alien and unrecognizable. Fashion design demands Autocad and 3d printing and literally engineering in order to keep ahead of the pack--and in what is supposed to be an industry defined by the inherent humanity needed to design couture, perhaps these strange polygons are a sort of reckoning with that.

[theunholybastard]

Kinktober: October 8th - Praise (Frater Imperator x Female!Reader)

Tags: Light Dom/Sub, Established Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Mentions Of Death, Praise, Body Worship, Oral Sex, Riding, Light Possessiveness, Unprotected Sex, Cumshot, Aftercare, Fluff And Smut, 2nd Person POV

Copia stares blankly into the mirror, fiddling with the cuffs of his newly tailored suit. It hasn't been long since his recent promotion, and since Sister Imperator... He still couldn't think about that for long without crying, so he decided it would be easier to bury his grief. He was able to avoid the anguish and anxiety that was slowly eating away at his very core for months, but now that he was seeing himself in the uniform, it's all he could think about.

He almost didn't recognize himself. Change wasn't easy, he already knew that very well. When he first ascended to Papa, he struggled way more than he let on, despite how he prepared for this moment pretty much his entire life. But now the role of Papa, everything he's worked towards for decades, is gone; now what? It's bad enough he had to give up his beloved title, that's fine, he'll get over it, but at the cost of his mother? He couldn't handle it.

A tear escapes his eye, quickly wiping it away with a leather-covered thumb, smudging his eye paints. He sighs frustratedly, smoothing the fabric of his jacket. No matter how much he adjusts himself, he can't seem to look quite right. Everything about this feels wrong. As he sniffles, wallowing in his self-pity, he hardly notices you entering the room, coming up behind him and putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"You look very handsome." You coo tenderly, running your hands up and down the fabric of his new suit, familiarizing yourself with the feeling. Copia smiled, snapping back to reality at the comforting feel of your soft hands, subconsciously leaning in closer to your addictive touch.

You were always there for him, there to encourage and support him through his transition from Cardinal to Papa. You always knew how to soothe the endless pit in his stomach. But despite the years you've been his rock, he worried that this time might be different. But surely you didn't just love him for his status and power. You wouldn't just stop loving him now that he wasn't Papa, you weren't like that... right?

"You flatter me, amore..." He teased, but the playfulness that was usually in his voice was noticeably faltered as a different type of self-consciousness slowly crept over him. "You... You really like it?" He asks hesitantly, his eyes searching yours for even a hint of dishonesty.

"You know I go crazy for you whenever you wear a new suit." You flirt, biting your lip as you look him up and down slowly, like an animal staring down a piece of fresh meat. Copia chuckled, remembering the way you looked at him when you first caught a glimpse of him in his Papal robes. It was a mix of desire, barely contained arousal, and worship, the memory pulling a sly smile from his lips. "Do you like it, Copia?" You asked, tone dripping with concern, causing his heart to sink. It was both a blessing and a curse, to not be able to hide his feelings from you.

"I..." Copia swallows against the lump forming in his throat. "I don't... I don't know, honestly. I should be fine. I've known this was coming for a long time, but still, I just... It doesn't feel right. I mean, come on, 'Frater Imperator?' That isn't who I am." He answered, his voice barely above a whisper. You nod along, appreciating his honesty. You reach your hands up to cradle his face, pulling him closer to you and rendering him unable to avoid eye-contact.

"You're right; That isn't who you are." You say, catching him a bit off-guard. Where were you going with this? "You aren't Frater Imperator. You aren't Papa. You aren't a Cardinal. You're Copia, just Copia. Whatever title you have at any given moment, it doesn't define who you are, it doesn't change you. You're still the same man. You're still the man that I love." Copia's breath hitched at your words, his eyes widening and welling up with unshed tears.

"Your mother would be so proud of you. I'm so proud of you. You're going to get through this, you're going to be fine, like you always are. And I'll be right here next to you, every step of the way." Your kind words trigger the tears to flow from Copias eyes, exhaling shakily as some of the tension in his shoulders loosen from the gravity of your words. You'd really love him no matter what form he took, wouldn't you?

Copia suddenly pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. He breathed in your sweet scent, relishing in the comfort you always provided him. You hugged him back, letting him hold you for however long he needed, running your fingers through his hair soothingly. "I love you, I love you..." Copia murmurs, his voice soft and shaky. "Ti amo, tesoro. Più di quanto tu possa mai sapere..."

You kiss his cheek, your arms wrapped around him like a protective shield. "I love you too, Co-Co. So much..." You mutter, trailing your kisses down to his neck; an innocent gesture at first, but each little kiss lingers for just a moment longer than the last. Copia shivered, the sensation of your lips against his sensitive skin igniting a familiar heat in his gut. Your grip on him tightens, your bodies pressed so tightly together that the two of you are practically melting in each others hot embrace.

"Will you let me show you how much I love you, Copia?" You whisper breathlessly in his ear, your voice dripping with lust. He groaned softly at your words, relishing in the feeling of your body pressed against him, stirring a primal desire within. The last time the two of you were intimate together was before his last show. Since then, it's been complicated, to say the least, caught up in the stress of his new promotion and his mothers passing. It's been a long time, too long. He didn't even realize how badly he needed this, how badly his body had been craving satisfaction, until now.

"Amore..." He gasped shakily, his voice strained with need. "Please…" Your lips were on his in an instant, clashing together feverishly as your fingers tangled in his hair. His hands clutched at the fabric of your clothes, his body responding instinctively to your touch. The room seemed to grow warmer, the air crackling with tension and desire. Copia was completely lost in the moment, his focus narrowing to you, and nothing but you.

You push Copia onto the bed, climbing on top and straddling him, toying with the buttons of his suit, desperately trying to get his clothes off as quickly as possible. He watched you unbutton him, the intensity in your eyes and the hunger etched on your face sent another jolt through his body. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you undressed him with an urgent need. He reached up, tugging at your own clothes as well.

"Mmm, amore..." He breathed, his hands roaming over your body, groping whatever part of you he could. "You're driving me crazy..." Your eagerness was both thrilling and overwhelming, Copia's heart racing as you quickly removed his clothes. Every touch, every graze of your skin against his sent a wave of electricity through him, he was nearly in tears once again. "I know, baby, I know..." You purr, yanking off the final piece of his clothing: his boxers, exposing his already half-hard dick.

"Look at you, my sweet boy..." You coo, trailing your hands over every inch of his body, taking your time to truly admire the sight before you. "So beautiful, so perfect. My perfect boy, hm?" You lower yourself down, kissing all over his soft, squishy belly that you've grown to love so much, trailing your kisses lower and lower until you reach his twitching cock. He gasps as you take it in your mouth, moving up and down on his length, sucking him to full hardness.

His hands fisted the sheets, throwing his head back with a groan and spreading his legs as an invitation for you to continue your ministrations. His eyes close tightly, a familiar feeling starting to build up within him. Knowing he's about to cum, you stop, pulling your mouth off of him, causing him to let out a low, guttural whine, protesting the sudden halt of his pleasure. His body instinctively arches towards you in search of more contact, eyes snapping open to look up at you in confusion.

"W-why'd you sto-" His words catch in his throat as he watches you straddle his hips again, only to impale yourself on his shaft. Copia's reaction was immediate and involuntary, his hips bucking up against your touch with a sharp gasp. You moan in sync with him, starting to ride him at a rhythmic pace. "Fuck, Copia! You're so b-big! You always reach so deep inside me, make me feel so fucking g-good..." You whine, a particular slam of his cock hitting the back of your pussy causing the both of you to cry out.

Copia was completely at your mercy, lost in a haze of divine pleasure and ecstasy. Copia was used to being underneath you, having you dominating and controlling him, but this felt different, softer, gentler. No rules or punishments, no slapping, biting, scratching, no degradation. As much as he loves being ruined by your sadistic wiles, this is exactly what he needed right now. Not fucking, but making love.

Copia's noises were whiny and pathetic, his back arching off the bed slightly as the waves upon waves of pleasure washed over him. His hands clutched at your hips, his knuckles turning white as he tried to control his body's reactions to no avail. "Mmm, more," he panted, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly agape. "Please, I need more, I need you."

"I know, Co-Co. I need you, too. I've missed this, m-missed how good your perfect body makes me feel. How hard you make me cum." You huff, bouncing faster on his dick. "You're everything I've ever wanted, Copia. You're perfect for me. You're mine. All fucking mine." You cry sweet praises, moaning pornographically as you ride him into oblivion.

Copia's breathing grew more ragged with each stroke of your cunt, his mind growing clouded by pleasure. Your words, the possessive claim you made on him, send a shiver through his body. He looked up at you, his mismatched eyes dark with lust, his face flushed. "I'm yours," he heaved, the words punctuated by a sharp gasp. "All yours."

It isn't long till Copias whines and whimpers grow louder and more labored, hips bucking up to meet yours wildly, all signals that he was close. He taps your thigh in warning, and with that, you lift yourself off his cock, allowing him to finish all over his stomach, ropes of cum shooting impressively far, nearly reaching his chest. He sighs, thoroughly satisfied, his body relaxing, save for the occasional twitch.

You grab a few tissues from the nightstand, cleaning up his cum- covered self to the best of your ability. Before you could kick back and cuddle up next to him, Copia sits up and grabs you by your hips, pushing you onto the bed, clumsily positioning himself between your legs. "Now it's time to make mia bella ragazza cum, too..."

His tongue delves in your hole, devouring you like a starved man. The tip of his nose rubs deliciously against your clit, and the mixture of clitoral stimulation and the frantic flicking of his tongue has your orgasm hitting you within minutes, already sensitive enough from his cock. Once he's had his fill of your cunt, he plops down beside you, the two of you laying side by side.

Copia lay on his back, a light sheen of sweat on his bare chest, panting. He turned his head to look at you, a ditzy, fucked-out smile on his lips. "I missed that..." he said, his voice raspy. He reached out to take your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. You nod, panting along with him, sweat-dampened hair sticking to your forehead uncomfortably. "Me too..." You agreed.

Copia turned onto his side, shifting a little closer to you. He moved a hand to push a strand of sticky hair out of your face, his touch gentle and tender. He studied your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled appearance. It made his heart surge with affection. "I've been pushing you away, haven't I, amore?" He smiles sadly, his heart twinging with regret for how he's been handling things as of recently. You frown.

"Honestly? You have. But I don't blame you at all for it, not one bit. You just lost your mother and your title, you've been mourning. It's okay that you needed space. You've been going through a lot, my love..." You squeeze his hand reassuringly. Copia sighed, his brow furrowing slightly as he squeezed your hand back, dissatisfied with himself.

"I just... I didn't want to burden you. I know I'm not the most stable person, and with everything happening... I wanted to protect you from everything happening in my silly old mind." He kisses the back of your hand earnestly. "But not anymore. You are the last person I want to be dishonest with, to push away. Not now, not after everything." He assures, looking down at your intertwined hands, focusing on the feeling of your skin against his. This is all he wants. This is all that matters.

"Besides," He grumbles sleepily, pulling your body close to his for post-coital cuddles that he so dearly missed. "You have taught me I am more than just a title, no?"

-

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Leave Me

He's still wary of you, and you don't really mind it one bit- you know where he's coming from, considering his species. And hey- at least he chose a relatively neutral planet to drop you off at. Or so you thought.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, little angst, little tense, slight fluff?

Length: 2k I think

-> Masterlist

T H E R E I S N O T A G L I S T-

A/N: boo

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When you wake up, it's way too quiet- ship no longer steadily buzzing, engines turned off it seems like as you sit up on the bed, looking around. Energy was still running, since lights were still on, and there was an almost unnoticeable humming from an AC unit, but other than that, everything was still.

"Hello?" You call out- but the only response you get is the slight echo off the steel walls of your room. Nothing else.

Did he really leave you alone? What are you supposed to do now?

You flinch when the hydraulic door hisses loudly, the alien entering the room with a serious, though slightly surprised expression. "You're awake." He observes. "Good. Eat." He commands, throwing a pack of… something at you, a little harshly so, but you still accept them. "I had to get what I know is safe for human consumption. Can't really run around Etis and bark something about humans, after all." He mumbles to himself more or less, cracking his neck. You notice the scratches on his face, as he looks into the small mirror near a cupboard to clean them and place some butterfly tape on the bigger one up his forehead.

"…what happened?" You ask quietly, testing the waters as he clicks his tongue.

"Nothing." He simply answers, continuing to fix himself up before he sighs, and sits down in the corner of the room on a chair, one leg over the other and his arms crossed. His entire body language screams defense- even if he wants to look tough. "Where is your preferred destination?" He asks, and you shrug, deflating visibly.

"..you know, like I said." You shrug. "You can always just leave me here. I don't have a plan." You admit, and he watches you for a moment.

"I don't believe that." He shakes his head, denying your words even though they're true. "I will ask you again. Where is your-"

"Nowhere!" You respond a bit more agitated, though you can feel tears of frustrations well up in your eyes. "I don't know where to go. Throw me out wherever." You tell him.

He, yet again, observes, silently. He doesn't say anything- his eyes simply a grey-ish yellow as he watches you from his spot. You're not sure what that means, though you've seen them change sometimes depending on his mood, so it might be connected to that. He's definitely not human, in that case, if his height was anything to go by already. Great- he probably hates you because you're human, just like most alien species' do.

You can't even blame them.

"What made you leave earth." He questions now instead, and you're confused.

"I already told you-" You start, but he shakes his head, watching you intensely with a piercing gaze.

"I know, and I'm not asking that." He clarifies. "I am asking for what the.. reason was that made you act." He defines more clearly, and you look down at your hands, thinking.

What made you act?

"There.. was a family." You mumble, voicing out your memories. "A mother, alone. Two kids, maybe around four or five." You explain, eyes unfocused as you remember their faces. "She was pleading with an older man, and police. Begging. 'Don't take them', she'd said. 'they're all I have', she'd said." You recite.

It's quiet for a moment too long in his opinion, as he prompts you to continue. "What happened?" He asks, voice surprisingly calm.

"They took them." You say, as if it was obvious- but he notices the distance in your voice. "She'd lost her name, just like me. And therefore, she was no longer a registered citizen- and the children automatically got placed in government care, no matter if she was able to care for them or not." You explain, before you look at him- his eyes a clear but pale yellow as he listens to you.

"I'll never forget her cries." You tell him. "Her.. just, screaming for hours. No matter where I went, I could still hear her."

"I will attempt to verify this incident." He tells you, almost like a threat.

"Then you won't find anything." You smile somberly, laying back down on the bed, curling in on yourself in an attempt for comfort. "Things like these obviously aren't allowed to be published in the media." You say, closing your eyes.

"Convenient." He simply offers, and you nod, before you hear him sigh, and stand up- leather of his pants making distinctive noises as he moves around. "Our next stop is Vao Q4. I will be leaving you there, since it's a relatively neutral planet for humans." He says, before he leaves the room.

And you just fall asleep in silence, barely noticing the engine of the large spaceship starting.

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When you wake up again, you move into the bathroom area to clean up and use the gauze Jungkook had left you to at least provide yourself with a makeshift pad for your period. It's when you're just about done, walking out the small room, when the door opens, Jungkook entering with what looks like a metal collar,a small black box-like item attached to the side of it. "Here. Put that on." He orders, and you're not sure what he means- though you comply, having no other choice but to click the collar shut behind your neck. "It has a tracking device. For now, I've set my name as your current owner in case someone asks." He informs you, before looking around. "Put on your shoes." He says, turning around to leave the room.

"Wait- why?" You wonder, and he just turns his head for a second, staring at you.

"We'll be passing by Vides in a few hours." He simply tells you. "And since I don't know what you need, I'll be taking you out with me." He informs you, and you look at him a little longer, making him roll his eyes. "Can you put on your shoes now?" He reminds you almost as if annoyed, and you nod, scrambling to put them on before following him out of your tiny cabin you've been living in.

You're not sure for how long. Time isn't really your strong suit, and without night and day, it's hard to really pinpoint how long you've been on this ship.

"You have a spending limit of 100 currencies. Do not exceed that." He tells you as you both walk through another large door, most likely the main operating room where he lives and watches over the whole ship. There's so many buttons, noises and screens- you're both fascinated and overwhelmed.

He watches you for a moment, before the whole airship shakes, making you fall flat on your butt, before everything stills-

And he chuckles, finding your rather clumsy mistake funny.

"I'll warn you next time we land." He clears his throat, before he rather roughly pulls you up into a standing position by your arm. "Now stay close, and don't talk. You humans only cause trouble the moment you open your mouths." He says, before he leads the way out, large cargo door opening with a hiss.

The moment you're outside, things are bright- and you're greeted with the wet, cool climate of the foreign planet you're on. Many different species are walking around, sounds a little distorted sounding- but Jungkook leads the way, and you follow wordlessly.

"Hey, how much for the slave?" Someone with big lower canine teeth asks, his skin a deep blue. "Looks young. Can it work?" He wonders, and Jungkook turns towards him with a deep red-ish brown gaze.

"She's not for sale." He answers, pulling you close by the back of your clothes. "And can't work for shit anyways." He explains, and you have half a thought to feel insulted by that-

But you're too worried by all the unfamiliar things around you, so you just stay quiet like jungkook had told you to.

The man leaves with a shrug, before you walk with Jungkook down the dusty street, white particles floating without any sense of gravity around. As you enter a large tent, you find yourself recognizing a lot of the items- cartons full of random things in bulk standing around. "Go search for what you need. But stay within my sight." Jungkook orders, and you nod, hesitantly walking around to take a look.

The mood feels tense. It doesn't feel like Jungkook is making sure you stay with him- but rather as if he's guarding you instead.

"Oh, what an adorable guest!" A tall.. being says, clapping her four hands once, jewelry clattering loudly as she looks around with her snake-like head. "Is it yours?" She asks Jungkook, who nods, wary, arms crossed.

"I'm not selling." He says instead of anything else. "I just need things to accommodate for her menstrual cycle." He informs the alien, who nods once, twice.

"Ah yes, I remember humans have quite a complicated one.." the female sounding being says, trotting around before she looks through various boxes. "Little gem, what about these here?" She wonders, and you look at Jungkook first-

Making his eyes flash an orange glow for a second, before they turn brown again as he nods.

When you look into the box, you find the entire box full of thick looking pads, still in their plastic wrapping. You nod quietly to her to tell her that these are what you'd like, and she nods eagerly back. "A quiet little thing." She says, before making a clicking sound in her throat.

"Not really.." Jungkook mumbles to himself. "How much for the entire box?" He wants to know, walking closer to you both, boots heavy on the floor, throwing dust around.

"Hm, I'll make 50 currencies, but just because she smells lovely." The alien grins with her multiple rows of teeth, before she turns towards Jungkook with an outstretched hand.

He some small but thick metal cards into her hands, and she counts them, before she nods. "Jimin!" She yells suddenly, making you hold your ears, and much to your surprise, Jungkook seems to have gotten startled as well, as he..

Holds you close?

A human man walks into the tent, clothes dirty but otherwise well put together. "Bring this box to their ship, yes? And go fetch me Johrta, I need to have a word with that scammer.. " she orders, and the human named Jimin nods, closing up the box before he lifts it-

Waiting for you and Jungkook to move.

You both break apart like burned by hot metal, before you walk up front towards his ship, where Jungkook takes the box from Jimin to place it inside himself- offering him one of the metal cards.

"Is she still treating you fine?" He asks, and Jimin nods.

"I managed to get my own home underground. I'm doing very well- thanks to you." He nods gratefully, before he looks at you. "A new companion?" He asks, and Jungkook scoffs, eyes a suspicious blue.

"Absolutely not." He denies. "Snuck on my ship illegally, now I can't seem to get rid of her." He sighs, making you look at him almost in anger.

What is he talking about?

"Well, I wish you both good luck. And, don't worry." Jimin looks at you, smiling brightly. "He looks all mean and angry but he's real soft on the inside." He snickers, and laughs especially when Jungkook's eyes turn bright pink.

"Shut up!" He snaps back, grabbing your wrist to tug you back into the cargo ship-

Jimin happily waving as the door closes again.

It's quiet for a good moment, before Jungkook moves to lift the box to bring it into your room on the ship. "Are we already leaving?" You wonder, and he nods, dyes calming down slowly.

"Its tense on this planet. I'm not sure why, but I have a feeling we shouldn't be here too long." He simply explains, before the door to your room opens. "I'll leave them here. You can.. change now, or whatever. I'll inform you about our next destination." He offers, before he turns to leave.

"Jungkook-" You say, making him stop in his tracks. "..thank you." You tell him, and he simply nods.

Leaving you alone again.

[mixelation]

I was reading through Tori and Minato’s tags and realized I don’t get how seals work. Went to read the wiki which explained almost nothing and now I’m several forum and reddit pages deep and idk what to believe anymore. Did they explain it somewhere in the manga or am I stupid

no, there's barely any canon explanation. we know minato was a master and that kushina taught him. there's a lot of chatter about the difference between fuinjutsu and a "jutsu shiki" (technique.... formula?), with the hiraishin markers being canonically referred as the latter rather than fuinjutsu, even though they appear to be.... seals. and a certain genre of fan will be an absolute ASSHOLE to you if you get these two concepts confused, even though canon does not explain either or what the difference is. also sometimes you have to draw a seal and sometimes you just slap your hand into something and the seal just happens. one time i was watching one of those videos that's just some guy explaining anime lore and he was like "i don't even know how [minato] did that." in a lot of fics fuinjutsu can do literally anything if you study enough

for tori, she does need to physically draw the seals. i have not decided anything about what "slap your hand down and make a seal" even IS because what the fuck, but i guess minato and kushina can do this so maybe mutagenicity!tori will learn eventually. but anyway, for the toriverse, fuinjutsu is a set of written instructions for moving around chakra within the defined area of your seal. i decided they can't do nature transformations, but otherwise they're basically just doing ninjutsu in written form. there's limits, like not being able to adjust the jutsu mid-execution like you would for normal ninjutsu. they are useful in that they can theoretically allow for finer control and therefore more complex jutsu than one might be able to perform in their body, but the cost is that they're harder & less intuitive to learn how to do and also a pain to set up. another advantage is that you can set one up and just walk away, which is why they're primarily used for suppressing/confining chakra, ninja, and tailed beats. the disadvantage here is that unless you do something extremely skilled and/or creative, the seal will eventually run out of chakra and then stop working. this is why tailed beasts have to go into people; jinchuriki are self-maintaining chakra batteries for the seal holding the tailed beast.

in the toriverse, hiraishin markers are technically seals but they're not the entire technique. they're little seals which are designed to simply indefinitely move the user's chakra around and nothing else. for a proper marker, the seal has to be "absolutely perfect," meaning it's 100% efficient in chakra use and never loses any chakra. designing something like requires an in depth understanding of individual level chakra properties-- not everyone's chakra functions exactly the same! minato had to develop a new type of marker that suited his own chakra and couldn't just copy tobirama's. this is one contributing factor to why more people don't just learn hiraishin. the other factor is that the technique itself is also hard: once you have your marker, you have to learn the jutsu to throw yourself through space to that marker.

for mutagenicity, i wanted tori and minato to have opposite approaches to hiraishin. minato is a genius so the technique side wasn't too difficult, but it took him a while and kushina's help to develop his marker. meanwhile tori just makes up similar markers for fun as practice, but she's not naturally good at ninjutsu so learning the technique is extremely challenging for her.

late game tori is ~scary~ in that she gets really good at working around a lot of perceived limitations of fuinjutsu, mostly because any actual ninja would just stop and use ninjutsu. tori can set up fuinjutsu on the fly and is good at working with unideal conditions, like drawing on uneven surfaces with substances that aren't ink. she figures out how to use chakra that isn't her own, including nonhuman chakra. she's really, really good at using fuinjutsu in ways people aren't used to having to deal with.

[whoreforhorror]

So, I literally have no motivation and am just not in a great place right now. I can barely get out of bed for work and showers are exhausting.

Have a repost from my AO3

Movie Intervention (Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher)

Summary: You’ve been working yourself too hard at school and haven’t given the boys the attention they need, so they take things into their own hands.

It was a bad habit to fall into, you knew that. Still, there wasn’t much you could do about it. Between actually having to go to school, the homework you got after, and work, your day was jam-packed. There weren’t enough hours in the day, so you had to free your hours at night. This means that you were here again, gearing up for another late late-night study session. Physics specifically had been kicking your ass and you had to ace this next test or you were certain you’d be doomed to repeat the class. For the sake of your long-term sanity, you couldn’t let that happen.

Several times now, you’d had to cancel on your friends. You still saw them at school, and Randy at work as well, but it wasn’t the same as actually hanging out or partying. You’d had to turn down numerous invitations to sleep over at Tatum’s with Sydney and gossip. You’d had to miss Stu’s parties and miss movie nights with him and Billy. You couldn’t really indulge Randy in his usual rants at work, as well. You missed them all, especially Billy and Stu.

You cared deeply about the both of them, more so than the others in your group. You weren’t sure if they noticed or returned the sentiment, and you weren’t really sure what to call it. Maybe a crush, but it felt more comfortable than that. It would definitely be too early to call it love, too. Every time you had to turn them down, to hear the disappointment over the phone or see the looks of yet another letdown in person, it felt like someone stacked another ten-pound plate on your chest. Sooner or later, if this continued, you just might crack under the pressure.

It was nearly eleven at night now, not too late yet but you could be assured that most of Woodsboro was fast asleep by now. Knowing that was, perhaps, even more isolating than your room which you’d spent the better part of two weeks in. The desk in your room had felt more like a prison as you studied. To avoid distractions, you turned off the lights in your room and used solely the little desk lamp in the corner as you worked. It was less burning the midnight oil and more someone set the entire pot of oil on fire and poked a hole in it so that it was both burning too fast and spilling out the bottom. You were, in this moment and for the past two weeks, a fiery ball of leaking oil.

Time stretched on and your back ached. Your wrist, fingers, neck, and shoulders ached with it. Your… well your everything seemed to hurt. “It’s not even that late…” talking out loud to yourself was the only way your thoughts could be coherent at all. “I’ve stayed up way later than this. I can do this.” You could repeat a similar sentiment to yourself all you wanted, scream it at the top of your lungs and say it with all the passion your heart could hold but it wouldn’t stop the words on the pages from blurring and doubling. Nothing you looked at could stay still and you took another gulp of your half-filled energy drink (the fourth of the night and sixth of the day) which only served to prove just as unhelpful. You could feel your mind start to spiral into nonsensical half-thoughts and abstract concepts you didn’t have the energy to define.

A knock at your front door pulled your brain from its spiral and shot adrenaline through your body, enough to be able to pull yourself from your chair and drag yourself to the door. You opened it to be greeted by Stu, with his fist in the space where the door had just been, and Billy who had popcorn and a tape in hand. They seemed, at first, surprised that you answered at all, then taken aback at your disheveled, sleep-deprived appearance.

“Hey, buddy!” Stu was the first to speak up. “We missed ya’ so we thought we’d drop by. If you can’t come to movie night, we’ll bring it to you!” You weren’t quite sure what to say for a few very long seconds.

“Oh… I’m sorry guys. I can’t- I mean, I’d love to and I wish we could but I’ve got to study. Maybe some other time?” You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, much to your displeasure. You sounded worse than you thought. It hurt to have to turn them away, especially when they had gone out of their way to come to you with everything needed, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“We’re not taking no for an answer,” Billy spoke up.

“Yeah, no can do, man! I mean, we’re already here and your down here as well! It’d be more work to go allllll the way back upstairs.” He chimed in and pushed past you as he spoke. Billy followed suit.

“Guys…” you sighed out.

“Shut it.” Billy cut you off before you could finish your thought. He grabbed hold of your arm, pulling you fast enough that you could just barely shut the front door before you were much too far away. You were too tired to physically resist.

The two made their way to your living room, dragging you along with them. Billy was first to set on the couch, pulling you to sit in the middle so he was on your left. He opened the pre-made popcorn he had with him and offered you some. You were too tired to chew, if that even made sense. Either way, you shook your head. You were quickly losing any energy you had left and verbally responding to anything took far too much effort that you didn’t have.

Stu grabbed a large, fuzzy blanket from somewhere in your living room, spreading it out to cover both you and Billy, with enough extra to cover himself when he sat down as well. Billy tossed him the tape to get the movie started. You knew from the music as the movie began that they had chosen Halloween. It was a movie you had watched a thousand times, hundreds of those times being with Billy and Stu. You knew the movie like the back of your hand by now, and you were sure they knew that. They’d purposely chosen a movie you’d seen before so you could sleep without worrying about missing anything.

It dawned on you as Stu sat down on the couch right next to you on your right, covering himself with the blanket and putting his arm around your shoulder, that the boys, perhaps, felt the same closeness to you as you did to them. Certainly, they hadn’t done this for anyone else in the group. Not Randy, not Sydney, and not Tatum, even though the girls were dating Billy and Stu, respectively. It was enough to pull a smile on your lips; the first in weeks. You felt Billy put his arm around your waist and rest his hand on your thigh, pulling you into him just slightly but allowing you to stay in Stu’s arm as well. The two passed the popcorn back and forth between each other as they, or really Stu for the most part, rambled on about different cinematic techniques the movie used and the landmarks the movie had made, all while you put your head on Stu’s shoulder. Your eyelids grew heavy and each time you blinked, you found yourself wanting to open them less and less.

You fell asleep like that, with your head on Stu’s shoulder as he rambled on about the movie, in the hold of your two favorite people in Woodsboro. And, as you drifted off, you decided there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Your hearing was the last to go as you faded out.

“Stu, shut the fuck up. You’re going to wake them up.”

“Am not!”

“Stu.”

“Fine, whatever man.” A pause. “G’night sweets.”

“Yeah, sleep well, babe.”

…And you were out.

[nothorses]

I think so many TERF arguments rely on the idea that like, the only thing that could possibly justify trans people's existence is whether or not a body could be made to perfectly look one particular way after having looked another particular way. Like the argument "trans people aren't real because a man cannot physically become a woman and vice versa" is predicated entirely on the belief that what makes someone a man or a woman is their body, and nothing else.

And I get kind of tired of arguments that go after that premise alone, if I'm being honest. I think it's important to talk about how fuzzy these "male" and "female" categories really are, but the value in that conversation is in deconstructing the belief in any binary.

Transition hasn't always been around, and lots of trans people don't, won't, can't, or simply haven't transitioned yet. We know from the transmedicalist movement how harmful it can be to pin our beliefs on that model (even though it has helped us make progress in other ways).

And more importantly, I think it validates the core assumption TERFs have that what matters is actually the body. So many of them really do seem to believe that our entire argument is also around bodies, and that because a trans woman's body is capable of being functionally the same as a cis woman's body, that's what validates the existence of all trans women & all trans people.

I also see a lot of this idea that we really believe that trans people's experiences perfectly mirror the experiences of their cis counterparts, and I think that like, it is actually useful to acknowledge the differences in experiences and body in these conversations. I think it's important to be able to talk about how even though I as a trans man have not had the same experiences as most cis men, nor do I have the same body- and even though I am not socially/politically classed the way a cis man is- I also don't have the exact same experiences, body, and social/political classification as cis women.

I think being able to talk about trans people as a different social/political class is important in a lot of ways, and I think it also forces the conversation with TERFs and other transphobes into a new place: it's not about whether we're the same, it's about whether we exist. It's about our material realities and lived experiences, and it's about our internal thoughts and feelings, and our relationships to ourselves.

It's a lot harder to make the argument that they know how we think and feel and what we go through, and it's a lot harder to argue about the internal relationship people have with the concept of gender, than it is to argue about, like, chromosomes or whatever.

The fact of the matter is that they are just straight-up ignoring the way the rest of the world defines gender, the lived and recorded experiences of trans people, and a whole category of oppression that has been thoroughly researched and documented. They're going "nuh-uh!!" whenever someone talks about something they've felt or experienced, and they're calling that a cogent argument.

Y'all, we know trans people's bodies and experiences are different. The whole concept of transphobia relies on it. We're not trying to say otherwise, and we don't need to!

What we're saying is that people have experiences that don't fit a binary model, and there's research to back that up. TERFs etc. are still gonna argue that point, and they do, but like. Make them. Don't engage in shit that doesn't actually matter to that central point in the first place.

(Bonus: in doing so, you make the conversation one that benefits more than just TERFs and other transphobes. You can now actually help broaden people's understanding of trans identity & engage in a useful conversation with people likely to listen!)

[adolfusraptor1985]

The Effects of DPDR (Depersonalization Derealization) On My Alterhumanity

[Warning: 1,000+ word essay below the break]

The connection between psychological abnormalities and alterhumanity has always been a significant and undeniable experience. I believe that more studies should be conducted to explore the relationship between mental health and alterhumanity. My own alterhuman experiences are closely tied to psychological challenges, and I strongly suspect that while alterhumanity cannot be fully explained by science, there may be substantial links to certain psychological conditions that contribute to it. This short essay will focus on the impacts of and connections between my identity and experiences with dissociation.

To begin, what exactly is DPDR? DPDR stands for Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder, a dissociative disorder that lies at the lower end of the spectrum of related conditions. Dissociative amnesia is in the middle, and at the most severe end is Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). Depersonalization involves "experiences of unreality, detachment, or being an outside observer with respect to one’s thoughts, feelings, sensations, body, or actions." Derealization is characterized by "experiences of unreality or detachment with respect to surroundings." Together, these symptoms can leave individuals feeling numb, robotic, or as though their perception of reality is distorted. They may perceive the world around them as blurry, dreamlike, lifeless, or fake.

I have not been medically diagnosed with DPDR, although I have never seen a therapist or psychiatrist. I am considering seeking a diagnosis to ease my mind and potentially receive help. My research suggests that my experiences align perfectly with the symptoms of DPDR, and the condition has only worsened over time. I’ve spent the last few years feeling increasingly detached from myself, my surroundings, and my life in general. Everything feels unreal to me, like a dream or a TV show. Nothing seems truly to exist—myself, my actions, the people around me, and their actions all seem either scripted or entirely imagined.

So, what does this have to do with my alterhumanity? How does DPDR make me identify as nonhuman? It’s actually not the disorder itself, but rather the impact of the symptoms that influences me. My primary focus here is on the depersonalization aspect of the disorder, as it directly affects my sense of self. For me, depersonalization creates a profound sense of detachment and emptiness. I don't feel connected to my body or as though it truly belongs to me. While I don't dislike my appearance—I generally think it looks nice—I can't genuinely feel it as being "me." Most of the time, my mind feels empty, particularly when reflecting on myself. I struggle with "about me" projects because I can’t identify personal interests, hobbies, or personality traits. The few things I do know about myself have emerged only after the onset of DPDR. To cope, I immerse myself in work or creative projects. I often daydream about being fictional characters I’ve created, allowing me to embody someone with a defined personality, backstory, and identity.

This detachment from myself leads me to feel nonhuman. Typically, humans have a strong sense of identity, but I don’t. Humans are generally aware of who they are and how they fit into society; I’m not. Humans retain memories that shape who they are, but I don't. How could I possibly feel human if I don’t even feel real? Because of this lack of self-awareness, my mind attempts to fill the gaps with things that feel "right" to it—a fluffy tail I should wag when I'm happy, a collar I should be wearing, a walk I should be enjoying with my owner.

One of the few things I've been able to genuinely connect with is animals. Society and human interactions can be overwhelming for my dissociated mind. Growing up with a dog, I find my identity leaning heavily toward canines, though I still lack a solid self-image. I’m comfortable identifying as a dog, as that feels natural, but I’m not comfortable identifying as human (aside from biologically). This is where derealization plays a role. Concepts involving reality—whether something is physical, psychological, conceptual, or spiritual—are difficult for me to comprehend. Since some days nothing feels real, who’s to say that I’m not actually a dog? Why should having a human body matter if it doesn’t feel like me?

In short, my dissociation detaches me from my own humanity. Does this make my entire identity a disorder? Am I not truly a dog because this is all a construct of my mind? Could this even border on clinical kynanthropy? My personal answer is no, but honestly, the answer might be "possibly." The challenge with endelic and similarly caused alterhuman identities is that it’s nearly impossible to draw the line between what’s "real" or not, and asking someone with DPDR to define these things is like asking a four-year-old to solve an algebra problem. I barely understand what reality is—but when you think deeply about it, does anyone? My belief is somewhat divided. On one hand, I recognize that much of my alterhumanity is related to a potential disorder and therefore isn’t "real." But on the other hand, it’s a deeply personal and integral part of my own reality. At the end of the day, no science or logic can disprove the concept of nonhuman identity unrelated to biology, meaning this is, at the very least, not delusion based.