#i am not factoring that into my routine

[technoxenoholic]

anyway. i think more people need to stop reacting to "this post leaves out people like xyz" type additions with "i'm literally xyz shut up!" when the post itself literally does not mention people like xyz even once and reads as though people who are like xyz were not even considered. like, just because you are xyz doesn't mean that's clear in your post. people are not automatically accusing you of hating or not caring about people like xyz for bringing up that a specific post leaves them out. (and also people are not reading every inch of your blog before responding to a one-off post they encountered on someone else's blog.)

if you make a post about abc and leave out xyz, then people who live at the intersection of abc and xyz are allowed to mention that the intersection exists. just because you also live at that intersection but didn't point it out doesn't mean people are attacking you or whatever.

whatever happened to assuming "yes, and"? why does everyone assume (and react in kind with) "no, fuck you" nowadays?

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 22.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content, Dean being naughty and goofy, teasing, praise kink, bit of fingering, a lil' spankin', biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), softdom!Dean, Dean guiding you through a new s♡x-position, fluff, aftercare and also there's pizza (yes, that's a warning) - no use of Y/N - there's probably more so just let me know if I missed something - English is not my native language and I’m dead on my feet Contains brief reference to Dec.9 (Whip Stroke) and Dec. 16 (Roll Over Rule)

Summary: Your ideas of 'self-care' couldn't be more contradicting: Dean's craddling a pillow and munching on his cold pizza, while you go through your yoga routine next to the motel bed. The entire time he's watching you stretch and bend and arch your back with lingering eyes... until he decides you've had enough yoga. Time for a 'fun way' to relax.

Words: ~6,500 (yeah, I know, prepare for a lot of teasing, but it'll pay off)

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! Let me know in the comments what your favorite part was! <3 A/N: At this rate, I give up on the order of the prompts / days. 🥲 But I definitely want to complete the challenge! (Sorry for the long wait y'all!)

22nd Dec. - Yoga, Kama Sutra - potato, potahto

“Of course pizza beats yoga.” Dean scoffs, his eyebrows pinched together with a lazy shake of his head in disbelief. Like the audacity of you even questioning the superiority of fast food? Unbelievable.

“But- how can you even compare the two? That’s junk food. And this is like…” You think for a moment until you remember the right term, “Self-care. You should try it once.” You try to argue in hopes that this conversion might still turn to your favour. But you know you’re pulling on threads by now.

“Oh I do self-care.” He retorts gruffly, his eyes flickering down at you. And to proof his point, he stuffs a big bite of pizza into his mouth, munching on it while he continues, his words halfway muffled, “Food and beer’s my self-care, baby.”

“But-” You groan with a roll of your eyes but stop yourself there. If that man wasn’t halfway as fit as he is, you’d at least still have the trump card of health factor left. But truth be told, despite that, you didn’t have any more arguments, and you both knew it.

So in Dean’s eyes that settled it. His way of self-care is superior to yours. End of discussion.

His focus shifts back to his pizza and the old TV boxed in by a pair of wooden chairs. The smell of cold junk food mingles with the musty carpet that's infiltrating your nostrils everytime you get a bit closer to the floor. Gratefully the sweet cinnamon smell of one of those Christmas candles you had lit the moment you returned to your room, covers up most of the motels stale stench.

After Dean has been channel zapping through various Christmas movies, he finally gave in and tossed the remote control aside on the bed. The TV is running some ads in the background now and Dean is on his stomach stuffing his face with pizza, while you are on the ground next to the motel bed, doing your yoga session on a mat. "To relax," as you had explained to him. "Desperately needed after this case had turned out to be a damn goose chase all along." You added. And on top of that, the hard mattress you had to put up with for the past week did little to ease your bad mood or aching back pain.

By now, Dean had become used to your sporadic yoga sessions whenever time allowed it. Although it was still a mystery to him how this ‘weird hippie stuff’ was in any way relaxing to you, he always enjoyed watching you. And he’d made it a habit of his own to comment with a lick over his lips – perhaps even a low, appreciative whistle – and shamelessly lustful eyes taking in every detail of your body as you’re going through your routine, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am? Like jesus – you’re so fuckin’ flexible. Like some friggin’ contortionist. I bet you can even hook your foot behind your head.”

So, naturally, Dean isn’t really paying any attention to the TV. Even though the intro sequence of “Die Hard”, one of his favourite movies, is now playing.

As always his eyes are lingering on your stretchy outfit and how tightly your favourite colour wraps your body, highlighting every curve of yours, no matter where. The thin shimmer of sweat on your exposed skin and the way you seemed so in control and at the same time at peace. To him it felt like a big contrast to the moments of action where you’d cut down a vamp or plunge a stake through a pagan’s ribcage, your movements quick, precise and face and clothings always covered in the red aftermath.

He takes another bite of the pizza, attempting to distract himself, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. Your rear in the air now as you switch into the Downward Dog pose. The soft moans and heavy breaths that slip your lips makes him chew slower. His mind now imagining you arching your body in other ways rather than yoga moves, while moaning his name and – Damnit, Winchester, get your mind out of the gutter.

“You having fun up there?” Your teasing voice rips right through his rather explicit picture of him going through some yoga poses with you at his mercy and he almost chokes on the mouthful of pizza. He forces it down with a swig of beer, while he gathers his thoughts sufficiently to reply with a cocky smirk, “Just enjoying the view.”

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes but can’t help a soft chuckle before you switch to another pose.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches how you effortlessly stretch your legs apart just to roll over onto your stomach where you continue with propping yourself up on your hands, arching your back and then tipping your head back while pressing your stomach into the mat.

“Tell ya what,” he suddenly speaks up before he interrupts himself, stuffing the rest of the pizza crust into his mouth and swallowing it down. “You could probably do the whole Kama Sutra without breaking a sweat.”

You hold the Cobra pose when your chest briefly heaves from the huff that slipped your nose. “Horn dog.”

“Yoga, Kama Sutra – potato, potahto.” He snorts with a mocking tone, clearly starting to get annoyed from his fruitless efforts to distract you so far.

He shifts on the bed, propping his head up on the pillow in the crook of his arm to get a new angle on your curves. After watching you for a moment, he decides it’s time for a new approach.

He clears his throat before he muses in a sultry tone, “There’s also better ways to relax than yoga.”

While he licks his greasy fingers clean, he can’t help but appreciate the way the tight fabric of your yoga pants stretch over your curves again.

Still playing deaf, huh? A playful Cheshire smile forms on his lips when he finishes to suck his last digit with a obscene pop. He then continues in a demanding voice, “C’mere.”

“I’m not done yet.” You reply curtly, muffled slightly by the mat, your head now dropped down with your forehead resting on your folded hands.

He lets out an amused hum, “Oh yes you are.”

Within seconds he rolls off the motel bed to move on top of you, straddling your thighs and pressing down on you, pinning you against the mat.

You let out a surprised gasp, “Dean!”

But the only response you get is a cheeky “Heh-heh”.

When you feel his warm hands cup your butt cheeks and starting to squeeze and massage them, you lift your head to glance back over your shoulder at him. You give him your warning ‘seriously now?’ look, which he just deflects with a mock-innocent grin of his that said ‘what?’.

The way his palms squeeze firmly against your butt cheeks makes him let out a low satisfied hum in his throat. One hand moves to rest next to your head, supporting him as he leans down. His breath’s hot against your ear when he mutters, “This’ a lot more fun than that bullshit yoga.”

You want to bite back with a snarky comment about it not being bullshit at all – but your thought gets cancelled the moment his lips brush over the sensitive skin behind your earlobe, tracing a path of open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. You let out a low shuddering breath, instinctively tilting your head for him.

But then a waft of his junk-food-slash-beer-laced breath hits your face and it instantly makes your nose scrunch up in a cute fashion.

“De, you smell like a dumpster.” You chuckle and reach with your hand over your shoulder to playfully shove his face away.

“Oh yeah?” He retorts with a smirk. Meanwhile his free hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, tight fingers sliding up under the stretchy fabric of your yoga shorts.

“Huh… only one way to solve it.” He mutters before he nips at your hand which had been pushing his face, giving the tip of your middle finger a short sharp bite that makes you gasp and immediately pull away.

He chuckles at your reaction and then straightens up to sit back on your legs. He inches further down to your calves, his eyes darting from his fingers wiggling under your short pants, up to your face again with a smirk on his lips. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart…”

Your anticipation’s building quickly. Feeling his fingers tracing so teasingly along the rim of your panties made the heat pool in your stomach and your mind throw all other plans for your remaining yoga session out the backdoor. And he damn well knew it the moment he brushed against the damp stain in the centre of your thin patch of fabric.

But then you let out a frustrated huff. He’d suddenly pulled his hand from between your legs to pat your ass with it, his glinting emerald eyes never leaving yours as he continues with a drawled “Nuh-uh.”

Then he leans over to the bed, his hand sliding into the pizza box where he fishes a remaining slice out. “Open wide.” He orders with a grin as he reaches with his hand over your shoulder. There he prods the tip of the pizza slice against your cheek, “C’mon, down the hatch. Commit a sin for me.” He quips with a feigned serious tone.

When you still look at him with that expression of befuddlement, he chuckles, his grin widening, “Take a bite, sunshine. Your breath’s my breath.”

You’re torn between being turned on by his words in some dirty twisted way and being utterly amused by them. It’s not like you were on a diet – heck, you sometimes eat so much junk food with all the cheap diners you’d hit every day on the road, it was a damn miracle you hadn’t gained weight yet.

“C’mon, Say aaaah.” He hums, still grinning from ear to ear as he prods the pizza slice against your lips.

After an amused snort, you can’t help but crack a grin of your own, “You’re a silly man, Winchester, you know that?” You finally give in and open your mouth enough to take a bite of the cold salami pizza.

“Yeah, but I’m your silly man.” He replies as he discards the pizza slice back into the box.

You swallow the bite down when his finger swipes over your bottom lip to clean away a streak of tomato sauce. His eyes follow his thumb’s movement, his touch gentle but the expression on his face more mischievous when he watches the tip of your tongue licking out to chase his finger to catch the bit of sauce.

You hold each other’s intense gazes, eyes darkened with something more. The sudden shift in atmosphere had you both still in your movements, taking in how the air between you had suddenly charged up.

Dean finally can’t take the tension any more and lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. He withdraws his finger, before giving your cheek a soft pat. “There’s my good girl.”

Your lips curl into a proud smile at his praise, “Only for you.”

A soft chuckle slips over his lips as he straightens up to sit back on your thighs again. His hands run down your back until they wrap around your hips, fingers trailing the hem of your yoga shorts. He hooks his fingers into the elastic band, slowly starting to pull them over your butt cheeks.

Your breath hitches when the cold air makes contact with your exposed rear. Next moment you feel his teeth dig into the soft flesh of your left bum cheek which triggers a short surprised yelp of yours.

“It was just too tempting.” He chuckles against your skin before he lets go of your butt with a wet-smooch to the red mark and straightens up again.

He pats the spot where he’d just claimed you, with his hand, “Lift up your hips, sweetheart.”

As you wiggle underneath him, he gets up on his knees, his weight now lifted off you to aid you with it. He leans forward to get a better hold on the fabric to properly pull the yoga pants along your panties down towards your knees.

“There we go… Now hold still for me, sunshine…” He mutters while his hands move along your skin.

A shiver runs through your body as you feel the only thing between you and him being taken from you, how you feel the fabric brush down your legs until you are completely exposed for him. Exposed and at his mercy. And damn it made your breath hitch from feeling vulnerable, as much as excitement.

After his hands had traveled further down, taking your pants and underwear with him, he discarded the redundant pieces of clothing to the side.

Finally satisfied, Dean slides down your legs again until he’s sitting on your calves, his hands on the back of your thighs. “Now where was my good girl’s cute little butt again.” He comments as he gently palms the soft globes of your cheeks with his smile never leaving his lips.

You groan softly and your eyes flutter closed, your body practically melting into the yoga mat under his touch.

“Oh, right, there it is.” He squeezes, his large hands massaging the flesh before he suddenly gives you a firm spank.

“Jesus-!” You yelp up at the unexpected sharp smack, your eyes wide open now as you whip your head to the side to stare back at him.

“Hey, you’re in prime spanking position here. What am I supposed to do, just admire the view and do nuthin’?” He mutters behind a teasing chuckle, his green eyes glued to the spot on your butt that was now slowly turning a light shade of red where his palm had hit you. “Plus, I know ya like it. Or you want me to get out the leather crop and remind you of our spankin’ session last week?”

Your thighs twitch involuntarily at the reminder of that evening. And the heat in your core is tingling from the vivid memory of that sweet-burning sensation that had taken over your body every time the leather smacked down on your skin.

“Guilty as charged.” You mutter while you have to force a moan back down your throat.

Dean’s lips curl into a cocky grin, “Knew it.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him as you glance back over your shoulder to keep an eye on his sinful hand. But Dean stays unperturbed, if anything, your warning look just spurs him on even more.

“That’s for looking too damn good in those tight-ass yoga leggings.” He continues, giving your butt another firm slap before he reaches between your legs and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb traces the outline of your dripping folds, “And this-” His fingertips just graze over your centre, “That’s for being my good girl.”

He takes a moment to enjoy your gasp and how your head had dropped to the mat, your breath shaky already. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he orders in a more gravelly tone, “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me. I need to taste you.”

A shuddering exhale leaves your mouth, followed by a curse that luckily gets swallowed by the yoga mat you’re breathing into. You bend your knees slightly outward, as far as his hips pinning down your calves allow you to go.

“That’s it sweetheart…” He murmurs before his large hands grab the inside of your thighs, guiding your legs to part even further while his head slowly starts to sink down between them.

Your thighs begin to shiver from his warm breath hitting your soaked slit, desperately begging for his attention. Your hands blindly search for the edge of the mat, your fingers clutching it on each side as you prepare for him to dig into you.

Dean of course notices your anticipation and can’t miss the chance to comment on it.

“You’re gonna grab that mat nice and tight for me, sunshine. And you’re gonna hold still, keep those legs spread, and stay nice and quiet.” He instructs, his tone taking on a more commanding one, but still with a mischievous edge to it.

He then lowers his eyes again to admire the slick flesh between your legs where your folds are already parted, practically gleaming in the dim light of the motel room.

“Damn, look at you all nice and wet and open for me.”

Dean shifts his weight to brace his left elbow on the floor next to your hip, the other hand splayed out on the small of your back to hold you in place.

“You’re like a damn waterfall already, sunshine.” He murmurs in awe. The way your body reacts to him never ceases to fascinate him. He leans in, and you feel his hot breath coming in short puffs as he places a gentle kiss on your hooded clit, before he pulls back again.

As you immediately lift and tilt your head to look at him, he lets out an amused hum, “Now now, head down, sweetheart. Remember, yoga’s about relaxing and focusing on your body.”

“Smartass.” you manage to groan out.

“Eatsass.” he corrects you and before you get to be smart with him again, he proofs his point by suddenly parting your slick folds with his tongue, drawing it all the way up until he pulls it back into his mouth with a smack of his lips.

A low moan ripples through your chest, finally feeling that long desired friction that has you melt into a puddle of a blubbering mess. “Please- Dean- don’t stop- I need more- please-”

He grins at your pleading words and dives right back in. Licking, prodding, tongue lapping across your glistening folds, drinking your juice like its the only thing that keeps him sane. He moves up, his tongue circling your clit before he wraps his lips around it. Your legs suddenly tense up and a pathetic mewling-yelp erupts from your parted lips when he starts to suck at your bud like he’s finishing off a flurry through a thin straw.

Your hips jerk back and involuntarily try to pull away from the onslaught. But in vain as his large palm presses down on the small of your back to keep you in place and in reaction to your attempted escape, he just increases the borderline painful pull on your clit even more.

The foam gives in under your clawing fingers, feeling yourself near your climax. You’re close to a scream - until he finally loosens his grip around your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re relieved and frustrated at the same time. Your clit’s now swollen and overstimulated and oh so close to pop you off the edge.

“P-please…” you whimper and turn your head to the side against the mat to be able to look back at him, “De… please – I-… I’m so close-”

“You want to come on my face… or my fingers, hm?” Dean hums with a cocky sound to it.

“Both- anything- please,” you beg now, your chest heaving under the weight of your body, your breaths grown ragged and heavy.

“Such a greedy little thing,” he growls, his tone laced with pride, knowing exactly that he can always drive you mad with need if he wants to.

He shifts his weight, his chest resting between your legs and his free hand snaking over your thigh to join him. His fingertips reach between your legs, running through the folds, as he lets his finger circle around your entrance for a moment. At your muffled whimper, he effortlessly pushes his middle finger inside. “But first, I wanna see if I can make those legs of yours quiver from just one finger…” Dean states, his tone low with a raspier edge, and darkened eyes fixed on your dripping hole.

You gasp at his words, his gravel tone sending a shiver down your spine. But after a moment of enduring his finger’s tantalizing strokes, your patience snaps and you regain your voice.

“Oh fuck you.” you groan in protest, your teeth clenched from frustration. One finger after all this teasing? This was just pure torture now and he knew it.

“What? You want me to go in full house?” He chuckles knowingly, enjoying your worn down patience way too much for your liking, “Want me knuckles deep inside you again, is that it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead quickly jams his index finger inside you, pumping them both in and out while his lips enclose around your clit once more.

You don’t even have the time to gasp for air when you feel your walls clenching and gripping onto his curling fingers. A few seconds of intense onslaught of his is enough to send you flying over the edge with a loud guttural moan. Your nails dig into the mat, your legs are shaking and your walls fluttering around his fingers while he helps you ride out your height.

Once you fall limp and try to catch your breath, Dean slowly withdraws his two fingers to raise them to his mouth and suck them clean. He grins, wiping his face with the back of his hand before his tongue swipes over his lips, kingly as he does so, savouring every last drop of your taste.

He shifts on top of you to move a hand next to your waist on each side, leaning down to grab the hooks of your sports bra between his teeth. With a swift tug, it falls open and he leans in to kiss you between your shoulder blades. You let out a low hum, enjoying the soft affection with eyes fluttered close. He moves again to gently tug the last piece of clothing over your shoulders and arms until he flings it over his shoulder, where it lands next to your other things.

You feel the rough fabric of his shirt graze your skin, and the buckle of his belt makes you shiver when it lowers down on the nape of your back. Just below it, the growing bulge behind his jeans rubs against your butt when he rolls his hips against you.

“You feel how hard I am just because of you?” He murmurs against your skin, the words almost lost in a stifled groan. But you still answer with a low confirming hum. He continues to plant kisses along your back, taking his time to explore every single inch. His lips send small shivers down your spine and all the way to your core again, each one of them like a spark along your fuse.

“Babe?” He mutters between hot kisses lining up to your ear now.

“Mh?” You hum into the yoga mat while tilting your head slightly for him.

“You ever heard of the elephant position?” He asks innocently.

The what? That name earns him a surprised giggle of yours. It was nothing unusual that Dean would randomly hit you up with some sex-position he’d like to try out with you, but this one was a new one to you. “Are you seriously talking about how elephants mate? Or are you trying to impress me with the yoga pose?” You tease him. Clearly he wasn’t talking about the latter. “Or, let me guess, it’s a Kama Sutra thing.”

He plants another open-mouthed kiss right under your ear, “Mmm-hm,” and his throat rumbles against your neck, is lips lingering there for a moment while he murmurs, “That… Ever tried it?”

With the side of his face he nudges your head further aside before he dives down to take the skin of your neck gently between his teeth, pinching it enough to make you gasp.

At his question, though, you look a bit sheepish and you shake your head, “No… is it… good?”

Dean beams at your admission – he simply loves it whenever he can show you something new, especially when he knows how much pleasure it’ll bring you.

He perks his head up like an excited dog, “Oh you’ll love it, baby. I promise. It hits all your super-sensitive spots.” He leans back in to nibble on the soft flesh of your neck before he continues in an eager tone. “You wanna try it?”

“Uh,” you lift your head now to glance back, meeting his glinting green eyes above his wide smile. Your lips curl upwards at the sight of his excitement and you respond, “Yeah, will you, uh, will you show me?”

“Of course, baby.” He leans back to lower his hips on your thighs again, his eyes raking up and down your buck naked body. “I need you to stay just like this- uh – whatever pose this is.”

You chuckle and raise yourself on your elbows. “The sphinx.”

“Yeah, right, okay, sphinx.” He mutters and pushes himself off you for a second, “Stay. Don’t move.”

He reaches for his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking while he unbuttons his jeans and slides the denim along his boxers off his hips. The heavy, worn jeans quickly land somewhere next to your yoga outfit, and his shirt follows seconds after.

“Yeah, that’s better.” He mutters to himself before climbing on top of you again, his knees straddling your legs as he lowers himself down. He runs his hands up and down your sides, his firm pecs brushing against your back. “’M not crushing you, am I?” He asks, his tone softer for a moment.

“No, all good. Don’t worry.” You reassure him before you angle your shoulders to nuzzle your nose against his jawline, feeling the scruff prickle your skin.

“Good.” He nuzzles back into your neck, hands trailing down your arms, “Mmmh… you’re so soft, sunshine.” His hands continue their path until they wrap around your wrists and guide your arms up just slightly above your head as your chest slowly lowers back down. He places them there before he murmurs against your ear, “Keep them there for me, baby, keep them right where I can reach them, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod and suddenly become aware of the way the tip of his erection brushes against your inner thighs every time he moves.

“Just wanna make sure I know where those hands are.” Dean chuckles and purposely bucks his hips so that his swollen head briefly kisses your entrance.

His hands slowly glide up the inside of your arm, fingertips ghosting over your twitching skin. He brushes them underneath you, hands up the front of your chest, cupping your breasts and slowly kneading the soft flesh in his palms, “Can’t have you squirming and fighting against me while I’m trying to make you feel good, y’know.”

You arch into his hands, needy little sounds of pleasure dripping off your lips. Your core’s burning again, begging to be taken care of.

“I know baby, I know…” he coos between tender kisses, and in spite of his chapped lips, he caresses your shivering skin with soft love letters.

“Dean- please- I-” you start to plead, your voice bouncing off the pink foam you’re panting against.

But Dean finishes for you with his voice dropped to a rougher octave, while still trying to sound soothing for you, “You just want me to pound you mindless into that damn mat… I know… and I can’t wait to make you cry, sunshine… Gonna make you scream my name so loud, the folks at the front desk will hear it and think there’s a whole exorcism going on or somethin’… But first you need a lil’ patience, sweetheart… alright?”

The question was of course rhetorical. Once your boyfriend has his mind set on something, he’ll pull through with it. Or at least that’s how he’d like to describe himself. You of course know that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger whenever you really want.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise… I’ll make sure you come so hard, you’ll be seeing nuthin’ but stars for a whole minute.” He adds while he withdraws one hand to palm his erection before he lines up behind you.

“But first… I gotta pump your tight bands of muscles up… the ones closest to your sweet, drippin’ entrance– ” He begins to explain but gets interrupted when he pulls a gasp from your lips, thanks to him suddenly biting down on your shoulder.

His words come out slightly muffled as he continues with a growl, “… get them hot ‘n aroused ‘n sore from all my undivided attention… I want you to come just from my cock inside you.”

You feel his tip tease your entrance, circling it but never pushing in like he’s waiting for the right moment. His feet then dip beneath your legs, before his calves and heels press against your thighs to keep them clamped together. “That’s it… keep ‘em nice ‘n tight.” He husks somewhere behind you while he rocks his hips again. His warm breath’s skimming over your sweat-dampened skin sending shivers of goosebumps in its wake.

Once you’re just in perfect position for him, he finally pushes his cock inside you in one smooth motion which draws a low guttural moan out of your throat.

For the next minutes, Dean does as he explained, taking his sweet time to build up your tension at just the right spots.

He pulls the ridged-band along your slick, clenching walls, slow and ordaining. When he feels you twitch, he knows he’s found just the right spot. With deliberate rolling motions of his hips he begins to push and pull the head of his cock along your g-spot.

Your face drops to the mat, a shaky breath rippling out of your throat when you feel him graze your insides. His slow motions are torturous and unbelievably pleasurable at the same time.

His strong thighs bind yours between his own while he increases the friction, now rutting his swollen tip against your tightly grasping entrance.

“You feel that baby?” He whispers huskily, his lips right next to your ear-shell.

“Y-yeah,” you answer weakly, your breath slowly picking up pace to match his hips new rhythm.

Once he notices your entrance shimmy around his shaft, he knows he’s got you just where he wants you. He swiftly pulls his length out, earning himself a frustrated whimper of yours.

“No- no please, don’t stop-” You start to plead but before you know it, he pushes back in. This time without holding any inch back.

“You did so well, being so patient for me…” He begins to mutter against your hair, “I’ll take care of you now. Let go and just feel me, sunshine.”

You groan, arch your back and raise your chest off the floor, holding yourself upright with your elbows. But you quickly notice it’s in fact, Dean, who’s keeping you from collapsing back into your pink mat.

He had his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling your back close to his chest. His large palm slides along your body until it wraps around your soft, plump flesh to cup one of your breasts, your nipple teasingly pinched between his thumb and index finger. He supports you both on his free hand pressed into the foam, the muscles of his biceps flexing relentlessly from the force of his movements.

All the while he keeps snapping his hips against your bum with precise thrusts, each time taking your breath as he meets your cervix. Each collision eliciting a twinge, like a sweet hurt that has your pupils dive under your eyelids.

He switches his supporting arm, the freed hand roaming every part of your body like he’s exploring and worshipping it at the same time. His large palm comes to rest on your ass, splayed out on your soft flesh. Then you feel him slip out of you, shifting his position as he puts some of his weight on your ass now to hold you down when he begins to pound you into the mat again.

“Oh fuck-” The new angle draws a surprised yelp from you.

But Dean quickly comes to soothe you with open mouthed kisses dancing up your spine, his teeth skimming your skin and his lips tasting the sheen of sweat clinging to your body. Arrived at the nape of your neck, he husks out, “Good girl, takin’ every inch of me… lettin’ me fill ya up all the way…” his voice drifts off when his tongue darts out to lick the sensitive spot behind your ears, sending another shiver down your back.

The new pace of his hips is slower but no less intense. He continues to slam his cock past your slick folds, pulling out almost entirely before he rocks his hipbones back into your cheeks. Over and over, each time all the way to the shaft’s base, drawing those guttural moans from your sweet lips which make him growl with pride.

He rasps out groans and praises against your neck, each spurring you on equally, “You’re taking me so well, baby- Fuck- so good for me… my good girl… bein’ so, so perfect, only for me…”

Your moans grow more desperate, breathless, feeling his cock harden against your soft walls. “D-Dean-,” you whimper as your head briefly lolls back to lean into his shoulder just before it drops forward again with a loud shuddering moan sparked by your core.

Your hands start fisting into the crappy motel rug, pulling at the loose threads of it as you desperately search for something to hold onto. Your frantic actions don’t go unnoticed by Dean who’s watching your every hitch in breath and twitch of your muscles, always making sure he doesn’t miss the signs that the pain’s still pleasurable to you.

He quickly shifts his weight as his hand on your ass darts over to your clawing fingers, doing the same with his other. He untangles your fingers from the fabrics, intertwining them with his own while his forearms come to join yours on the pink foam, supporting himself on both elbows now.

He can feel your legs tremble against the weight of his hips, which he uses to plough you into the yoga mat as he slams into you. His movements now erratic and rough. Squelching sounds mix with your combined moaning and panting. Driving each other closer to the edge with every sound.

“Y-you close, baby?” He growls against your ear, already knowing the answer. He can feel your fluttering walls gripping him tightly, “Fuck-” he groans, his hands squeezing yours and pinning them there when your body starts to buckle and shudder beneath him. He’s now driving his cock inside you with primal need.

“Oh God-” you whine, face pressed flush into the foam as you feel the knot in your belly tighten up and your muscles go tense.

“F-fuck yeah- that’s it- squeeze and come on my cock, come for me-” He growls, his voice dropped to a gravelly, rumbling tone. He runs his nose along your neck, across the trail of red marks, when he suddenly sinks his teeth into your flesh once more.

And that does it for you. Your knot explodes into waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Stars take over your vision when you scream his name. Your walls flutter around his cock, pulling him over the edge along you and coating your walls with his warm seeds. The climax keeps crashing down on you in multiple shock waves until your body finally falls limp, your limbs twitching as if you’d been struck by a lightning bolt.

Dean collapses on top of you, his breath ragged and hot as it wafts against your sweaty skin. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his biceps just barely able to keep his body from completely burying you under his weight.

“Damn… that- wow…” You whisper breathlessly, still trying to regain your vision and collect your thoughts.

“You were amazing, baby.” Dean praises you with a hoarse voice, his lips lingering on your temple.

You tilt your head to catch his lips in a soft, but purposeful kiss. When you pull back just enough to speak, you catch a glimpse of his eyes briefly widen at your words, “No, you are amazing.”

♡

For a moment you both enjoy each other’s soft breaths and the way he hugs you tightly as he wraps his body around you like a heavy blanket. You keep nuzzling your faces into each others hair while you let the silence be filled by your affections. Silence except for the TV which’s now playing the final scenes of “Die Hard” in the background.

After some time, Dean pushes himself off you, gently sitting back down on your bum as he takes in the sight of you in front of him. His hands are kneading the flesh of your ass as he watches you with hooded eyes. Then a cheeky grin begins to form on his lips when he realizes something.

“Y’know, you’re laying down in the perfect position for me to do somethin’.” He states with a full-out grin now.

“Huh-?” Before you can even process what’s happening, his fingers dig into the skin where he knows you’re the most ticklish.

“Dean!!” You squeal like a mouse – but the sound quickly hitches into a high-pitched giggle while you desperately try to wiggle away from him. “St-stop it- y-you jerk!” You stutter between gasps for air and the tears gathering on the rim of your eyes. You kick your legs, throwing him off and not wasting your chance, slipping away to scramble for an escape.

But you quickly find yourself back on the motel rug with a gasp and a thud, thanks to Dean pulling you back by the ankle. His smile has turned into that smug grin of his when he taunts you in a commanding voice, “Where d’you think you’re goin’, hm?”

“Th-that’s- unfair!!” you protest, but your words dissipate in another round of giggles as you turn onto your side, trying to free yourself. But Dean has his calves wrapped around your knee to lock it while his fingers skitter across the heel of your foot. You grapple with his free hand but he effortlessly evades your flailing limbs and grips you by the hip before you get to wiggle away again.

Next moment, you find yourself unceremoniously flipped back onto your stomach and his weight dropped down on your ass to pin you down bellow him. His thighs straddle you, this time reverse as his hands dart out to snatch one of your ankles, bending your leg back so he can continue his assault.

“Unfair? Me?” He lets out a deep chuckle, lips pursed in mock-innocence, his head tilted to glance back down at you over his shoulder. He stills his teasing fingers, waiting for your reaction.

You try to catch your breath while you narrow your watering eyes at him, daring him to go on.

Of course that sly bastard musters the audacity to answer your threat with a wink of his emerald eyes glinting with mischief and his lips flashed into that cocky smirk of his.

“Never.”

A/N: Dean going from goofy to smut to fluff to rough sex and back to fluffy and goofy like 📈 Idk I just see him like this, a caring 'n goofy softdom horn dog who loves it when he can show you new things.

Let me know what you think and if you got to enjoy it my sweet vixens ♡

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation ... (check the masterlist for more!)

Kinky Advent Calendar Tags:

@ariasong11 ♡ @deansjacket ♡ @literallylexa ♡ @lmpala1967 ♡ @foxyjwls007 ♡ @impala67rollingthroughtown ♡ @aylacavebear ♡ @jc-winchester

[prettieinpink]

2024 WRAPPED⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

₊˚⊹♡TOP LESSONS LEARNT 

Missing out gives you progress on your goals. So many times this year, I didn’t do things that I usually would’ve loved to do to make and maintain progress on my

goals. Simple things like cancelling plans, buying certain things and any other short-term pleasures. Allowing myself to overcome FOMO, and in return, I saw great progress in my goals. 

People hating you has nothing to do with you. I dislike a lot of things because it's my personal preference. Someone who decides to hate you is a matter of their preference. However, if they choose to show that hatred to you, it's a matter of projection. People will project onto you as a way to cope with their own life, cause they can’t deal with their own. 

Stop letting everything control you. Truly, you’re held back from nothing in life. Your circumstances, identity, environment and more can only hold you back so far. At one point, you’ve gotta start acting and stop blaming everything around you on why you can’t. This one… is still in progress for me. I do feel like my parents are a major factor in me being held back, but deeper down, I also feel that it's an excuse to not work up to my potential. 

Trying to fit in is fruitless. I wear and listen to what I want. I decide what kind of content I want to consume, and what food I want to eat. This generation is notorious for tearing down anyone who doesn’t fit in a cookie cutter. Allowing your authenticity to shine through, will guide those who are meant for you, to you!

All problems are temporary. This one does not apply to everything, but it applies to a lot of things. Your issues will not last forever, so don’t let it leave a permanent mark on you. Don’t let your situation deter you from your goals.

₊˚⊹♡ACHIEVEMENTS 

It's small, but I feel like I’ve created my room to be fully intentional for me. While it still can be improved, my room is much better in terms of clutter and decor compared to 2023. 

Consistent practicing soft social skills like keeping up small chats, giving compliments and handling disagreements gracefully. I ended the year with all B’s! Last semester was a bit of a flunk for me, but I managed to pull it up for the end of the year. 

Saved like 500$ for purchasing things off my wishlist. 

Read like 12ish books for 2024. Would’ve loved to read more, but I was in a reading slump and also didn’t have enough time to go out to my local library to borrow any books. 

₊˚⊹♡HABITS / RITUALS 

In bed by 9 pm, up by 6 am. Sleeping early has made me feel a lot more energised in the mornings, and I find that it's easier to get out of bed and continue with my routine. The later I slept will more I felt sluggish for the next day + waking up earlier hay motivated me to stay on top of my routines. 

Daily walks after school. It gets my steps in, but it's a nice way to debrief after school and regather myself before heading straight into studying. I sometimes do walk home, and it's great to plug in my earphones and just not think. 

Journaling. I preach it for a reason, as journaling helps plenty. It can help you to shift your mindset beliefs, identify self-sabotaging behaviours, allow us to truly reflect on who we are and see progress each day in our lives. 

Lighting candles more frequently. It's such a little habit, but it brings me so much joy. Usually, they’re just collecting dust as decor however when I started to use them, I loved the whole experience. The smell and the small warmth that it brings are just perfect for the ambience. 

Curating my social media. I have an absolute maximum of 5 hours per day, but I still want those 5 hours to count for something. I’ve redownloaded TikTok earlier this year, and I think it’s a great platform for looking for advice and inspiration. Creating a feed that works for you instead of the other way around, will definitely change how it influences you. 

Having alone time in the morning and at night. I need this time to myself to slow myself down and regather my thoughts and it's just what I look forward to, to get through the day. I usually do whatever I like in this time slot, on the condition that I am completely by myself, free from any tasks or distractions. 

Cleaning regularly. When I did a deep clean last year, it would just be vacuuming my room and wiping down all visible surfaces. That is good, but there’s a lot more to clean than you realise. One major thing that we forget to clean (yet is probably the dirtiest) is our devices. Wipe down all screens every single day!

₊˚⊹♡BEAUTY / FASHION TIPS

Turn down the toilet seat when you flush. The amount of times I’ve been in public toilets and flushed with the lid up is outrageous, and I just can’t believe that last year I didn’t even consider the bacteria that would fly up on my clothes or even my face. Not a major skincare tip, however, er I think this would affect it. 

Know your undertone. I would only use undertones to know what kind of jewellery fits me, but it goes way beyond that. Before I start, I would like to say, don’t buy any more clothes or makeup just because they don’t fit your undertone. If you like your confidence will override any undertone clash. I used to walk around with really yellow makeup, and the difference when I got a foundation that had more of a golden undertone was like day and night. The same applies to your clothes. Warmer clothes will complement me, becausI’m’m warm-toned. So, I tend to stay away from cooler tones. I don’t use colour seasons, Is anyone wondering? 

Stick to a palette that you like. Last year, I wasted so much money trying to experiment with new colours in my clothes and makeup, just to end up hating it. It’s also a bad consumerist habit, to buy things for your fantasy self. So today, I only buy clothes it's the colours I like and I only purchase makeup if its shades fit me. I’m not saying buy anything new, but keep it to a minimum to reduce waste and save your money for the things that you like. 

Avoid fashion inspiration with faces. Highly attractive people can pull off anything, quite literally. Their face can influence subconsciously them ly to love the outfit, even if the outfit is ‘bad’. So, when saving pictures from Pinterest, TikTok or magazines, avoid any outfits that show their face. I said avoid it as sometimes you just really like an outfit and you know it's nothing to do with their face, which is okay. 

₊˚⊹♡YOUTUBERS

JIlLZ GUERIN - Focuses on feminine energy, lifestyle and intellectual habits. I recommend her as many of her videos are new and fresh perspectives.

SANDY DIANA BANG - Mostly productive vlogs that inspire and motivate, with a sprinkle of wellness, health and beauty content. Her channel and vibes are so aesthetic too! 

ROSIE GRAHAM & LIDIA MERA - Both are fitness influencers that focus on pilates. Their workouts are so good that they always leave me sweating and strained (which is good!! lmao). If one of your goals for 2025 was to start working out, I would use their videos. 

THANK YOU BUBU - Another fitness channel that is one of my time faves, and they have a variety of exercises that target abs, glutes, legs and arms. Another channel I would recommend if I was starting to exercise again. 

MINA LE - She does research and creates video essays on various topics, which many videos I feel are relevant in current times. She’s great if you want to expand and explore new perspectives. 

HALIEY GAMBA - She’s for a more matured audience, but she’s such a hidden gem. All of her advice ly new things, not just the same things that have been rinsed and repeated. 

KELLY GOOCH - She’s a beauYouTuberber who mainly discusses the beauty industry and its products while recommending some. She’s one of the only beauty influencers who I will listen to, as I feel like her opinions aren’t constantly swayed by sponsorships or promotions. Even then I would still take any beauty opinions and advice with two cents.

ELLE CHU - A smaller, but underrated beauty influencer. She discusses a lot of beauty products whether they’re worth it, overhyped or overpriced. She does sometimes talk about the beauty industry, but those videos are infrequent. 

₊˚⊹♡BOOKS 

(I have read all of them libby- a reading app).

NJUTA by NIKI BRANTMARK. All about the Swedish art of enjoying the present. If you feel like you have a simple and unexciting life, I recommend you read this.

SPARK JOY by Marie Kondo. A popular decluttering book that uses the KonMari method that emphasises items that you want to keep, instead of focusing on what you want to get rid of.

THE HEALTHY MIND TOOLKIT by Dr Alice Boyes. This is the ultimate guide of mindset shifts to target self-sabotaging or destructive beliefs and gives strategies to overcome them.

MINDFULLNESS ON THE GO by Jan Chozen Bays. A collection of little mindfulness practices you can do almost anywhere, almost anytime. 

MY WISHES FOR 2025

To join any club at this point. It's hard for me to do anything outside of the house with my parents' schedules, and I do feel like it has eaten at my social life and the experiences, lessons etc I would gain. At first, I originally wanted to join so it's something I could put on my university application, however, I’m entering year 10 with absolutely no extracurriculars since year 7. (for anyone not down under, I'm talking about high school grades.) 

Expanding my social circle. I feel like I don’t have a secondary community outside of school, and it's definitely what can amplify my slumps or depression without having that one person I can talk to freely, without the worry of school. I feel like I’m making no sense here. 

Moving anywhere. I want to move schools, cities, countries, or whatever. Being in the same school since year 2 (elementary) has taken a toll on me. 

A million dollars. Very unrealistic, but I still want it! I feel like money is the only thing that can actively change my life at this point. 

thats it for this post! I encourage anyone else to do their own wrapped and tag me!

[edensvessel]

How to Study Resources

Many people in the modern day pagan/polytheist communities are young. As such, a majority of them are neurodivergent, like I am. For me, that means a majority of the language used in resources is difficult to understand. This was originally going to be a post about that, but the more I wrote, the more I realised that many people, neurodivergent or not, just... don't know how to study resources. So, if you are someone that also struggles, I now present to you... my full guide on how to study resources.

Little disclaimer: I myself am a hellenic polytheist, but this guide is for anyone that struggles with understanding information from resources, whether you are a hellenic polytheist, norse polytheist, kemetic polytheist, etc. Though do understand that I am writing from the perspective of a hellenic polytheist, so I am bound to make mistakes when it comes to religions I am less educated on. You are always welcome to adjust anything I say here to fit your own religion accordingly.

Let's get started.

Firstly, you have to find resources. Many people happen to get stuck here, unfortunately.

How do I know what to research to begin with? When starting out, the general consensus among the polytheist/pagan communities is to research the related historical practice. How the deities were worshipped, what contexts they were worshipped in, the history of the deities, etc etc... all of these are very important factors to consider as a beginner. Only by knowing the history can you then delve deeper into specific terms and specific paths that may be right for you!

How do I find resources? Unfortunately, a lot of resources are behind paywalls or just plain hard to find. Here is a list of websites that I personally use and recommend:

scholar.google.com

academia.edu

pdfdrive.com

library.memoryoftheworld.org

libcom.org

libretexts.org

standardebooks.org

By the way, just a reminder that if you find a resource but there is a pesky paywall in your way, you can probably find it on archive.org for free!

How do I choose a resource though? If you are part of hellenic polytheism, then theoi.com is a great resource, but I always like to add primary sources into my research + not everyone reading this will be part of helpol. Try to find primary sources, first and foremost. Then read historical accounts. Then read secondary sources. Also, make sure your author is reliable! (that link is only for hellenic polytheism though, apologies. If you are not part of hellenic polytheism, then looking into who the author is/was as a person and what sort of contributions they made and beliefs they held never failed me personally!)

Found your resource? Made sure the author is reliable? Wonderful! Now what?

This is usually where the procrastination hits for me. Either that, or I get hyperfocused for a while but never complete it and then lose interest.

To avoid that, break things down and establish a routine. You do not have to finish a book in a day, or understand everything you read straight away. Setting those kinds of expectations for yourself will only make things so much more difficult.

Instead, make a routine for yourself. Outlined below is my routine:

Getting into the mindset. I always like to get myself into the mindset of studying by praying, whether this is studying for school or studying a resource. Since my entire life is devoted to lord Apollon, I pray to Him for it. However, if I am researching a specific god, I will typically pray to them instead. However, sometimes I do not have the spoons to write out a prayer, so I typically just adjust my surroundings instead. Turning my LED lights to a warmer colour and putting on some lofi music usually helps me! The studyblr community has great tips for this part! I also recommend I Miss My Cafe.

Reading. First, I try to read without annotating or taking notes. This is the time to take in the information, to try and grasp what I am reading. This is usually the most difficult part for me, because a lot of academic sources tend to use advanced language and sentence structures that are difficult for me to understand. Unfortunately, the only tip I have for this part is to read as slowly as you need. Do not be ashamed for taking your time. Typically, I only like to read one paragraph before I move onto the next step.

Annotation. This is where I re-read the paragraph I just read. Typically, I like to re-word the paragraph in a simpler way for me to understand. Sometimes I notice little patterns that may connect back to something I've read prior, whether in another book or earlier in the same book. When that happens, that is something I add too! Remember, you do not have to annotate. If it makes it easier, then perfect! If it does not, discard it.

Consult study tools. This is where I cross-reference with other resources. This is how the entire process repeats again. Though, you do not just have to use books for this part! YouTube videos, podcasts, online resources, etc etc...these always help too!

Application. After vetting the information, consider how it would apply to your life, if at all.

Of course, that's just my routine. You are always welcome to use it, but I also greatly encourage you to create your own routine so that you can cater it to your learning style!

I also recommend setting a time limit for yourself. If you have not completed a chapter within the time limit, that is okay! The most important thing about researching is making sure you are not guilting yourself into biting off more than you can chew. Take your time, you have a lot of it.

Research is vital to religions like ours, and research should be something everyone can do! Just because you may need some accommodations does not make you any less intelligent. We all learn differently. That is okay.

I hope this post can serve as something helpful for those who struggle in this area, and as a reminder that you are not alone in your struggles. If you have any questions or would like further clarification on some points, feel free to reach out!

Xaire ♡

[hotvintagepoll]

Dwight Frye (Dracula, Frankenstein)—he's my babygirl please please please please please i want to baby bird feed him flies and spiders and pick him up and make glitter edits of him and give him gross forehead kisses like he's my cat. in dracula he was so incredibly creepy that he was typecast as madmen for the rest of his life and he fucking hated it but by god if he didn't do a fantastic job. he steals the show every time he's up on screen just because he's so fucking deranged. i need him

Harpo Marx (Night at the Opera, Night in Casablanca, Duck Soup)—While Groucho is better-known, Harpo's physical comedy is SECOND-TO-NONE. The man is a strange mime trapped in the paradigm of early 20th century movies. Every move is a symphony and simultaneously a colony of rats in a human skin suit. LISTEN. You MUST see this man in motion. Every still photo of him looks like a combination of a sad clown and a different, sadder clown, but it's only because he put so much joy in every motion.

This is round 4 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Dwight:

He absolutely owns the entirety of Dracula (1931). Compared to the novel, his part is massively expanded and it's clear why. He's magnetically unhinged and his facial expressions are pure scrungle. And in Frankenstein, he begins the archetype of Frankenstein's assistant even if the character's name there is Fritz. He'd still go on to play other scrungly guys in later Frankenstein movies. But he's kinda the archetypal and progenitor of the scrungly lil guy. The scrungliest guy ever to scrungle. He's pretty much the blueprint for every mad scientist's assistant, and he's the best part of every movie he's in. He manages to make you feel sorry for the creepy little dudes, even when he's eating spiders and crawling across the floor. [editor's note: content warning for the "hunchback" stereotype and "madness" in the clips below]the "Rats" soliloquy:

I saw him in Dracula and frankly he has me bewitched. I could watch him do his silly routine forever. The gay tension with Bela Lugosi onscreen was frankly unparalleled. Kirk and Spock levels. I am chewing on the furniture

Played the weirdo little guy in Dracula AND the weirdo little guy in Frankenstein in the same year. Iconic.

The scrungles to end all scrungles! There's a reason why this man codified the manic vampire's familiar and the hunchbacked lab assistant for generations, because by God can this man be feral and scrungly: Whether he's soliloquizing about rats as Renfield, scurrying around Frankenstein's lab like a spider as Fritz, or skulking around dark alleys (and scaring the hell out of little baby me) waiting for a fresh heart to steal as Karl, if you want a scrungly little man for your classic film, Dwight Frye is your man. He has the range to play varying kinds of scrungle, with his wide eyes, his manic smiles, his soft, breathy voice, he is truly an undisputed scrungle master.

I honestly think it would be a crime to ignore Dwight Frye's scrungle factor. He played two of the prototypical creepy little henchman as Dracula's lackey Renfield and Dr. Frankenstein's hunchback servant Fritz, and I believe that his excellence in these roles absolutely shaped the future character tropes of the "Igor" type as much as Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff shaped the future understanding of Dracula and Frankenstein's monster. He's got it all from the looks, to the manic energy, to the crazed laugh, I'm telling you right now that I think he could win the entire tournament.

Harpo Marx:

He's like if a clown was a hobo was also somehow a classically trained harpist, his face is always in some kind of contorted silly shape, feral curly haired ninnymuggins always doing weird things to people

Harpo is mute in all of the Marx Bros movies and so his body language and facial expressions are SO over the top but he's also got fewer braincells than a goldfish while often being the emotional heart of the Marx Bros and he's just A Guy!!

Every scene with Harpo Marx is a treat! Just like watching a seagull steal a stranger's hotdog at the beach, it is a joy to watch him frustrate the hell out of all the other films' characters! Harpo Marx is the zenith of unhinged in all of his appearances, making any other funny man a straight man by comparison. (A fantastic feat considering he starred in films with his brothers Grouch and Harpo, who sported a shoe polish mustache and questionable Italian accent, respectively). The scrungliness of the little guys he plays come from his guileless, wide-eyed expression, curly blond wig, and the extreme ability to annoy others, despite never saying a word. Is he malicious? Most definitely, but hard to tell because he has a dopey grin on his face most of the time. Communicating through other sounds like honking horns and whistling, he is a force of chaos in every Marx brothers film! Also an accomplished harp player, the beautiful calm moments where Harpo plays juxtapose the zany, making him all the more scrungly. His visual style of comedy is timeless; Duck Soup had me rolling with laughter as a six year old and is still just as funny today.

In my opinion Harpo is the funniest of the Marx brothers because he is so good at slapstick comedy. Since he never speaks in his film appearances his performances are very physical, which contributes a lot to his scrungliness. He was fully committed to being wacky at all times. All of his hilarity is based on him being weird.

He's just a weird little guy who causes chaos everywhere he goes, and then sits down and plays a beautiful harp solo! He steals the show from his very chatty brothers without saying a word, and was surprisingly ripped under that old raincoat

All of the Marx Brothers are Scrungly to a degree, but Harpo is the scrungliest! His outfits are so big he gets lost in them, his pockets are full of everything, and because he never speaks, he always uses physical comedy. Also he's an incredible musician.

[redflagshipwriter]

Hot Ghouls in Your Area 8

Chapter 8

Masterpost

“You're just now going to campus?” Jazz said. Danny scowled ahead at the sidewalk. Her tone wasn't judgmental so much as mildly surprised. He still hated it. “That's a lot later than usual. Is everything alright?” Danny hunched his shoulders up and consciously reminded himself not to get defensive. He wasn't slacking. He'd gotten home after his class and slept 13 hours. He still felt wiped out.

“Ghost stuff,” he said cryptically. “Ruined my night.” He dodged someone on the sidewalk without thinking about it, used to the crowds by now.

Jazz inhaled sharply into his ear. “They're supposed to leave you alone to focus on your education,” she hissed. “Just so you know, I do have the venomous Fenton electric creep stick-”

“Yeah, I know,” Danny cut her off. She was probably holding it up right now, thumb on the trigger. He couldn't fight off the rueful smile. She had his back, didn't she? Always did. With that in mind… “I think I need help,” he admitted. Oof. Felt bad. Not as bad as failing his classes, though, which was the danger if he got pulled too deep into more Ghost bull honkey.

“Of course!” Jazz enthused. He stepped off the curb and then quick-stepped backwards to avoid getting hit by some asshole running the red light. Danny lifted up his free hand to flip them off as he hung on his heels on the edge of the pavement drop. He dropped lightly back onto the balls of his feet and jogged across the street.

Jazz was still talking, voice clear over the morning meld of honking and running engines. “How about you come over to my place after your classes tonight? My roommate is out for a conference.”

“You just don't want to come to Crime Alley,” Danny accused her. “Even for me, your beloved baby brother.” He dodged a car that was parked on the cross walk and made an ugly face at the driver. “Despite your professed love for crime, when it counts, it's all talk.”

“I don't love crime,” Jazz reiterated with her inhuman patience. She didn't take the bait of his deliberate mischaracterization of her career plans. “But I am exquisitely stabbable." Her tone went lofty with the brag. "So yes, I avoid Crime Alley.”

Danny blew an unimpressed raspberry to show what he thought of that.

He hadn't met anyone in Gotham yet who he thought would really throw Jazz for a loop. She was a 6ft 2 judo black belt, and she was liminally spooky as fuck. “No one would stab you,” he said, making it sound like an insult. His janky ass was more likely to get held up. "But fine, I'll haul my poor broken corpse all the way over there to do you a favor-”

“So I can do you a favor,” Jazz corrected wryly.

“My poor broken corpse,” Danny cut back in, because that was a really relevant factor to him. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned a little. He felt like he'd been in a tumble dryer. Missing a full night of sleep was an insufferable insult to his desperate shoe-string construction of a healthy routine.

“I would so get robbed if I came there,” Jazz argued. “Maybe even kidnapped.” He could all but hear her flip her hair.

He snorted but let her keep her delicate feminine delusions about not being one of the scariest motherfuckers in the crime capital of the country. He wasn't actually worried about her interning at Arkham Asylum. Maybe he'd freaked out a little when she'd moved here, but that wasn't why he was here. No matter what anyone said.

“There's no immediate danger, right?” Jazz checked. “No reason I need to be concerned today?”

“Nah,” Danny reassured her, as the campus came into sight. He had about an hour before class to spend in the lab before his lecture. “It's not that kind of problem.” He felt his face arranged itself into a wry smile. “You might like this one.”

“Oh?” Jazz asked, intrigued. “Do tell.”

“Only after I've sworn you to perfect silence,” Danny shot back instantly. “I mean it, for real, you can't tell a soul living or dead or nonliving or-”

“I think I get it,” she cut him off. Jazz huffed. “As if I can't keep a secret. You think I can't keep secrets? I know the most incredible things that you could never dream up.”

“...Big if true,” Danny snarked, pretending that he wasn't extremely interested.

“You never knew what happened to the Robinsons,” Jazz said airily. “And you never will.”

“...that doesn't bother me at all,” Danny lied. He stopped walking.

“Ahuh,” Jazz said knowingly. “Hey, remember the neon cheese incident?”

Danny gritted his teeth. “Can't say I do,” he said. It was bullshit, and even he knew it wasn't convincing Jazz. He was dying to know the truth. It had been the talk of the town for weeks and was still occasionally featured on unsolved mystery podcasts. He'd gone far enough to ask the Dairy King, but even the dead wouldn't speak on it.

“Have a good day of classes, little brother,” Jazz said sweetly. She ended the call.

He rubbed at his temples. Ancients, she gave him a headache. She was fantastic. She was killing him and absolutely ruining his unlife. He couldn't even beg her for answers about the neon cheese, because if he managed to badger it out of her, it would prove she could be manipulated into telling secrets. That would be a loss anyway. It was more likely that either she didn't know anything or that she knew and her lips would stay sealed: Danny didn't have any to waste his breath.

He did a few calming rounds of breathing, now that he was thinking about it, and then went on with his day a bit invigorated by the familial aggravation.

Danny felt a little better about focusing on class now that he knew he could count on Jazz in his corner. She was the smartest person he knew. She could probably get him divorced by the end of the day. Hell, she probably already had a contingency plan for getting him a divorce. She was so ready for him to have a relationship so that he would have relationship problems to ask her about.

When he finished up on campus, Danny cut across town to pick up takeout food as an offering. He presented it to Jazz as soon as she opened the door, head bowed and food theatrically high.

“Oh, come in,” Jazz said, exasperated. She grabbed him by the back of his collar and bodily pulled him inside. “My neighbors are going to think I'm so weird, Danny!”

“My liege,” he intoned seriously. “I come bearing- ow! Stop hitting my- hey, my face!” Danny wrestled away from the horrible pinching grip his terrible sister had on his cheeks, scowling. “That hurt,” he complained. “Have you ever thought that you're getting caught up in the cycle of violence?”

“I don't lose sleep over it.” Jazz lowered herself delicately onto one of the weird puffs she had instead of chairs and made grabby hands at the takeout. “What did you get me?”

“Coal,” Danny snarked. But he handed over the bag without a fight and plopped himself onto the closest poof thing. He fully laid out and let his head flop past the edge to hang upside down.

“Inversion therapy, so chic,” Jazz said absently.

He considered flipping her off, but his balance was really off in this position and it would be hard to defend himself if she lunged at him. Hell, if she picked up his legs he'd probably tip over onto the floor. Danny dug his heels into the side of the poof in defensive preparation. He kept her in his peripheral vision.

“Oh, Malaysian,” Jazz enthused. “I wanted to have this!” She sounded a little too surprised.

He shot her a thumbs up. Two days ago, she'd sent him a screenshot of a text landing from someone else that had shown most of her screen was the active map app she was using to get to an appointment. The Malaysian restaurant had the star mark that she put on the places that she wanted to try.

He'd gambled that she hadn't gone yet because she hadn't had a late night at work. Jazz only got takeout with company or if she got home too late to cook.

“Cool,” Danny said, because he didn't want his rotten sister to think he cared about her interests. “It was on the way and it smelled good.”

Jazz hummed and put the food on the side table. “So I see.” She folded her fingers in front of her face and peered at him over the steeple. “What happened? What ghost do I need to soup with a fragrant combination of turmeric and saffron?”

“Please don't waste that, ghosts taste fine on their own,” Danny said.

Jazz grimaced. “Ew, Danny,” she enunciated carefully. She paused. “Ew.”

He shrugged and accidentally slipped a little closer to the floor. “Just saying. But actually, no one dead was involved, unless we count-”

“We don't count,” Jazz cut him off, serenely unbothered by his attempts to score empathy points off his death. She was a cold customer.

“Boo,” Danny said, because he knew his brand and respected ghost tradition. “Anyway, Jeremy Waters. Remember -”

“How could I forget,” Jazz muttered. She put her hands on her face.

“Hey,” Danny said, offended that Jeremy got that reaction and he got a big fat impassive nothing no matter how annoying he was.

“What’s Jeremy done?” Jazz sounded exhausted by the concept.

“Well… He uh.” Danny stared at the ceiling. He couldn't look at her directly. “Well. You know how he wants the good favor of the god of the underworld?”

“Yup.” Jazz hit the ‘p’ sound hard.

“He uh, hit the idea that uh. Maybe a Persephone of sorts was just the thing to suck up.”

He heard fabric rustle as Jazz sat up. “He did?”

Wow, she had one of the most fascinating ceilings in the world. Danny stared intently up at a splotch that looked vaguely malign. She ought to get that checked out by an expert before it possessed somebody. “Yeah, so he's been trying to vault people into the Ghost Zone as bridal sacrifices.”

“Ahuh.” Jazz sounded a little bit choked up. She wasn't laughing, so he couldn't complain.

“I had Dani get Vlad look into it-” because Dad or Mom would have been mortifying- “and apparently, he told her the odds of some hack wizard managing to send a living human to the ghost zone was laughable.”

He paused. He couldn't go on.

“And Vlad would know,” Jazz said leadingly.

Danny put a hand over his face. “Yeah, see, the thing is that I'm now very concerned that Vlad might not know.” His words came out muffled.

Jazz was so intent on him. He pretended even harder not to know she was leaning in towards him. “Does- does the ghost king have a bride, Danny?” She somehow managed in a professional tone.

He nodded miserably.

She promptly lost her shit laughing at his misfortune.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 2: He's not yours to keep

genre: more angst than fluff, but I swear fluff is coming up next!

word count: 5562

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you are trying to make sense of all this mess, but it's time to learn that, sometimes, things are just messy and chaotic and you have to learn to look for the silver linings.

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

author's note: I am absolutely over the moon with the response I've gotten on this series and I'm really thankful for all the love and support <3 if you want to join the taglist for this series, please let me know in the comments!

You don’t usually dream. 

Well, actually, if you tell Spencer that, he will say that you’re wrong– you do dream, you just don’t remember it. It’s common, not really recalling the scenes your brain conjure, Spencer would say; it can be due to a series of factors including high levels of stress and poor sleep. He would then tell you to stay home for a day, read a good book, and drink one of his fancy teas Penelope got for him a long time ago. 

But the thing is, Spencer can’t really tell you any of it. 

Not when you seem to be avoiding him even inside his own home. 

It starts after you wake up still in his armchair, feeling exhausted and disgustingly sticky, you finally have a couple of moments to yourself. Spencer is still sleeping, and you’re actually surprised to see him stretched out on the couch– his tie is throw on his coffee table, the purple colour suddenly too bright in the dim apartment, but otherwise, still wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday. You don’t understand why he didn’t change into pyjamas, but then again, you don’t understand much of anything right now. 

So you go through the facts. 

One by one, you list them in your mind– and little by little it dawns on you just how bad this really is. It’s hard, conceptualising that this is reality; that you really do have a psychopath targeting you. It’s the kind of thing that you only saw in those TV shows you loved to binge on late night, the kind of thing you read on the newspaper, happening to other people, but never really you. Except, it is happening to you, and you are not sure what to do next. Do you just sit and wait for her to make a move? Do you continue to live your life normally? How? How are you supposed to ignore the fact that a, as Agent Hotchner had described her, ‘prolific serial killer’ might know who are?

“Oh my god,” You whisper to yourself, head falling in your hands. The watch on your wrist, an old, analogue thing your mom had given you before you left New York, is pointing to a time you would never have been awake before. 5:23 in the morning. The sun is not even up yet and you have hours before you have to open the store, but then again, you have to clean the mess that was left behind due to your rushed departure from it. You wince, disgusted at the thought of having to clean old vomit from the floor, and disgusted with the bitter taste it left behind. Right now, you are a shell of a human being and you need to get yourself back together. 

You follow a familiar routine of recovery. It’s something you’ve done before and something you will surely have to do again, and it all starts with a simple list. 

Firstly, you need to get up. You need to stretch your legs, throw them to the side, and stand. You need to walk, remind your self that you can still make your own path even if it’s only to the bathroom down the hall. 

Then, you need to brush your teeth. The bitter taste stuck to your mouth makes you wince with memories that you want to bury. 

Showering would be your third step, but this is not your home. This is not your space, and these are not your things. 

A pettier side of you, one that is bothered and angry and irritated in a superficial level, wants to march back out to the living room, as loudly as you can, and shake Spencer away. You want to wake him up at the crack of dawn and make him share your torment, because in some level, even if you try to push against it, you blame him. Deep inside, you know that there is a big difference between the two– between blaming him and it being his fault. One is purposeful, conscious; it’s a decision you take and lay on his head. If you blame him, you commit yourself to hate him. The latter, however, is a fact. It’s irrefutable and immutable as the fact that you need air to live. It is his fault, but it was not his goal. 

“He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault,” You whisper to yourself, pushing yourself off the sink to try and figure out his shower. It is his house, that’s a fact. But you also deserve a nice, warm shower, and that is another fact. He pushed you to come stay with him, so you need to also push yourself to feel comfortable in this space that feels so foreign to your senses. “He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault.”

The words become your mantra. He didn’t mean it, but it’s still his fault. Somewhere in you, you know you have what it takes to forgive, but you just don’t have what it’s needed to forget. By repeating those words, you allow your brain to slowly process this situation as what it is– something that happened because of him, but not by him. As much as you want someone to blame, someone to scream at, Spencer Reid just isn’t that person. 

It takes you a moment to realise you don’t really have a towel or any of your products here, and using Spencer’s shampoo just feels… odd. Like an invasion of his space almost. “Oh thank god for you, Spencer,” You sighed, happy to see the pairing of shampoo and conditioner sitting perfectly on the corner. His hair had been one of the first things you noticed about him, all chestnut and shaggy and longish, but you are aware that not every man knows the basic of self-care. There is something about the way his smell takes over the bathroom, floating with the evaporation of the warm water hitting your skin, makes you smile. You feel closer to Spencer than you’ve ever been, and that is when your sense of danger hits. Your heart starts speeding, and your breathing is suddenly really shallow, and you’re trying to come out of the shower, to breathe in cold air, but all you get is humid mist and you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe at all, you can’t–

“Spencer!” You gasp, eyes wide in desperation once your legs feel like they might just give out. Scrambling to hold yourself up, your hands knock over some things in the counter, making more noise on top of the running shower. “SPENCER!” 

“What? What? What– oh my god,” The door slams against the wall and back, almost hitting him on the side when he crouched down next to your naked, curled up body. It’s quite unnatural for you to witness, him jumping into action so fast, like he is trained to make these decisions in a split second. But then you remember that he actually is trained to make these quick choices– like grabbing the towel before anything else, covering you without a single quip about your nakedness; like sitting you up and putting your back against the wall; like turning off the shower and sitting back down right next to you, breathing deeply and loudly. It’s unconscious, how you let your breathing fall in line with his, and it takes a moment to realise he’s doing this on purpose. “Y/N, are you okay?” 

“No,” You whisper, shaking from either the cold or the nerves or both. There are goosebumps all over your legs, the towel not covering you much from the top of your thighs down. “Spencer, I’m not okay. I’m… Until yesterday, you were just the adorable guy who shared my love for books. Y-You’d come into the store smiling and we’d talk and talk and– and now I have a serial killer possibly tracking me. How am I supposed to be okay? I’m so scared… oh god, I’m so scared, Spencer…” The one thing you are proud, amidst your utter embarrassment, is that you are not crying anymore. You still sound a bit rough, throat tired and hurting, and there is no energy left in you and he can hear that, you know he can, because when your voice echoes in the silent bathroom, kicking from wall to wall, you hear it too– the exhaustion and the numbness and the emptiness left behind. 

“I-I’m still that guy,” He stutters, head falling down in shame but voice still twinged with something resembling hope. “I love books. I love talking to you about books, I love going to your store first thing in the morning. I’m still this guy, I just… I just happen to work for the FBI.”

“Yeah, but I… I think that after having my life turned upside down because of a serial killer who has a crush on you, I’m just not that same girl.”

That is the last time you talk to him that day.

—————————————

Actually, that was the last time you talked to him that entire week. 

After he dropped you at the store that day and you were forced to face the embarrassing remnants of your lowest moment in life, moping old vomit from the floor, that feeling of turmoil in your chest died down. It settled. And it hardened. 

He tried making conversation on the walk back to his, but you’re clearly not up for it, so his voice slowed down, getting lower and lower, until it stopped altogether. This time, you shower before bed and make a beeline to the armchair again, letting Spencer’s begs and pleas for you to sleep on the bed fall in deft ears.

For five days, you two don’t talk. 

It’s a dance of chaos, how you step around each other at the apartment, and seeing him biting his words back or catching a glimpse of the bags under his eyes makes you feel guilty; of course it does. But you know that you can’t help him right now. Even if you were to forgive him, to force your mercy onto the situation, it wouldn’t be genuine. It would give him a false sense of relief while you’d forever be uncomfortable next to him, and you don’t want that. You don’t want to feel on edge next to Spencer, you don’t want to feel nauseous and scared when you’re with him. You want to talk about books and coffee and favourite places to order take out from. Instead, all you get to do is talk about her.

It would be a lie to say you don’t feel slightly jealous with the way that his mind seems to be so wrapped around Cat Adams. The imposed talking ban is hard on you both, that much you know, but the more Spencer let it happen, the more he let it stretch out and continue, the more you feel like maybe he doesn’t care that much. Maybe what is hard for him is the awkward tension trapped in his own apartment, rather than the pain of seeing each other so close yet not being able to laugh like you used to. And you know– you know how ridiculous your thought are, how childish you’re acting, but you can’t really blame yourself for being so on edge lately, not when your emotions are so zip and zapping through your body like thunder and lightening. 

There are exceptions, though. In this case three exceptions, three moments in a day in which he brakes the ban, and you, for once, allow yourself some weakness. 

“Good morning,” Is moment one. He says that every day, when he blinks himself awake on the couch. Ever since you’ve been there, a total of six days now, Spencer has slept on the couch, right next to the armchair you’ve claimed as your own. For these, you meet his eyes and nod, as if saying same to you.

Breakfast is quiet. He makes coffee and you make eggs, because despite you being there under forced circumstances, you are not going to be ungrateful and so you pay him back by getting groceries and cooking most meals. Which leads you to exception number two– the moment when he drops you at the bookstore.

You two walk there at 8 and he’s gone by 8:07, giving you enough time to mumble a “Be safe,” and give him his lunch for the day. He tried telling you that you didn’t have to cook for him, but you don’t really listen. As pathetic as it seems, this is the one way you’ve found to keep what you two had before, alive. 

The third exception is the one that truly breaks your heart, again and again. It’s when he gets home, and he looks exhausted, and his hands fidget with the files he holds close to his chest. You are the first thing he looks for, and you almost melt at the way his shoulders visibly relax when he spots you– always ready for bed, always in the armchair. He stopped trying to come get you at the bookstore at night once you’ve agreed to let the officers walk you home. The spare key he added to your keychain should hold a bigger meaning than it does, though it feels like it does hold a bigger weight. A means to an end, you tell yourself every time you unlock his front door. This is just a means to an end. “Thank you,” he will then say, before he even moves to the kitchen to see whatever it was on the plate you had made and set in the microwave for him. “And good night.” By then, you’re already semi-asleep and you don’t really say anything. 

You never thought you would miss these forbidden exceptions when they’re gone. 

You know that travel is a big part of Spencer’s job, but with all that is going on, you never really considered the fact that he might need to leave for a few days. At least not until he calls you, right before you lock the store. The irregularity of it all has you scrambling to pick it up. “Spencer?” You barely whisper, voice cracking in half as little by little, you freeze up. The sensation is like ice running through your veins, burning it’s way to your heart until it makes it stop. “Spencer? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” He quickly answers, voice rushed in a way that makes you relax. He always talks fast and you find it incredibly endearing, even during these times apart. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m calling because we got a case.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Y/N, that means they need us in Ohio. Today.” He seems almost hesitant to tell you he needs to leave the state. 

And you are as hesitant to accept it. “Oh,” You mumble, suddenly needing to making sure the officer assigned to you is still outside and ready to go. “Okay. Do… Do you need clothes or something?” 

Spencer’s chuckle almost makes it all okay. Almost. “No, thank you. I just– I want you to be comfortable, okay? Feel free to sleep in my bed and do anything you want to do, I don’t mind! Feel at home! Just… be comfortable.” 

For a second you nod, forgetting he can’t see you right now. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“And Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You started biting your nails when you were twelve and middle school was kicking your ass. To this day, right now, you still bite them when you’re nervous. 

“It’s good hearing your voice.” 

Going home and knowing he won’t be there is not as comforting as you thought it could be. The two of you are not speaking and the constant walking on egg shells does get tiring, so you try to rationalise this as something that is just not that bad. Maybe Spencer going on his mysterious trips is not that bad anymore. Before, your curiosity was your downfall– you worried he had gotten sick or worse. However, you don’t think knowing the truth is much better. The nature of his job is incredibly dangerous, and you don’t even know much about it. Now, you still worry, that much hasn’t changed. What has changed, though, is that getting sick would be considered lucky. Right now, you worried about the ‘or worse’. 

Your mom’s voice fills the empty space for a while. She texted you a couple of days ago and you just now got around to calling. “Sweetheart, how do we switch to video again? I want to see your face.” Alarm bells sound off in your mind and you immediately shut down the idea. “Sorry mom, I can’t right now. I’ll video call you tomorrow, okay? I’m cooking dinner right now.” Her worry is that of a mother, comforting like a blanket and familiar like a home. It is not, though, the worry you want. 

For obvious reasons, you don’t tell her what’s going on, much rather preferring to tell her about the mundane things that keep you going. “And I sold out of the book!” You say, a short-lived excitement running through you. “It’s quite exciting, mom– since I opened the shop I have never sold out of anything! This is a first!”

“That’s amazing, sweetie!” She says, and you can’t help but wonder how Spencer would’ve reacted to the news if he was there. It’s only then that you realise you’re halfway through making him a plate for when he comes home, except he won’t be back until the case is complete and you gulp, too aware of the common noises you hear around you. 

This is when you realise how much you miss you Spencer. And how much, even if unconsciously, he makes you feel comfortable and safe. You thought it was the apartment, but now, by yourself, laying on the armchair yet again, you feel vulnerable and exposed. Footsteps can be heard from time to time, neighbours getting home or leaving for the night, and every time, without a fault, you hold your breath and wait. Maybe the door will open and she will be there, or maybe it will be another delivery. God, it could be anything– a letter, flowers, another box. Knowing that Cat Adams had such easy access to Spencer’s apartment is enough to get you up and running to his room. 

Green. The walls are green, muted and cozy, and you smile even when your eyes sting with tears. There is a hole in your heart right now and it’s Spencer shaped. “God,” You groan, rubbing your tears clean so aggressively that it hurts. “When did things get so fucked up?” 

There’s no real answer to that, and you if you think any longer about this, your brain might just implode. For now, all you need is to sleep, but that won’t happen for a while; not with the way your heart speeds up at every crackle coming from his old, metal heather. Still, the chill air of Autumn seeps in through the walls, and you shiver. I want you to be comfortable, Spencer had said before leaving, and you might be crossing some boundaries right now, but you need him close to feel comfortable. You might not be able to get him, but the next best thing you have right now is one of his sweaters, and you have no qualms about opening his wardrobe and grabbing the first thing you find. Ironically enough, it’s an FBI Academy hoodie, though you can’t really imagine Spencer and all his formal glory in a hoodie. You put it on, nonetheless, shutting the door with your foot and just as you turn around, your eyes catch sight of something. Something big, and beige, and bone chilling. 

The box. 

In the heat of the moment, you simply thought he had throw it away. Hell, it would’ve made sense to throw it away! What the fuck was that box doing there…? With a shaky breath, you open the wardrobe door again, hoping, praying, that you were actually hallucinating and that what you saw was nothing but a shoe box or a bag. “God, please, be a bag, be a bag…” Safe to say, your words are in vain. “Fuck, Spencer, what is wrong with you?”

You’re shaking when you pull the box out of its hiding place, breathing shallow and fast. Reason escapes you as you quickly open it, not worried about how it was or even about putting it back in place; if it was up to you, this box would’ve been gone a long time ago. Clearly, it had not been up to you. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” 

Expectations are a tricky thing to deal with. When it comes to your life, you never expected anything big. You know your limitation better than anyone and the largest you’ve dreamt before was the store. You didn’t expect an FBI agent. You didn’t expect a serial killer. And you certainly didn’t expect a box full of sex toys. “What the…” You don’t want to touch them, not with your bare hands, but it looks like there are tens of toys in there, varying in shapes and sizes and colours. It makes you wonder… last he told you, her games are psychological and manipulative. From what you are seeing, though, this is incredibly physical. This is about touch and intimacy and… fuck. This is about connection. You don’t have to be a profiler to know that, not when you are so secretive about your own toys, hidden in the back of your besides drawer away from unwanted eyes. It’s a private thing, and only people you trusted, people you let into your life, knew about them. 

Before you know what you’re doing, you rush to find your phone. It’s somewhere in the house, and you need to find it, you need to call him. “Pick up,” You whisper when you finally find it in the living room, under your favourite blanket on the chair. Even your fingers are shaking, vision a bit blurred from the adrenaline rushing through you– you feel like you’re in danger, and you don’t know what to do. “Spence, pick up, pick up, please pick up–“

“Hello?” You almost cry when you hear his raspy voice on the other side. It doesn’t make you feel any better to think that you might just have woken him up.

“Spencer,” You whine, embarrass with how needy you sound. The nice officer that brought you home is standing outside the door, and you could’ve gone to him– could’ve opened the door, asked him to stay inside, talk to him a little. Or you could’ve called Penelope. She had given you her number with promises that more often then not, she stayed behind to work from the BAU office. There is no place safer than my office, she had promised you, but how do you tell her that the problem is not your environment, it’s not where you are or what you’re doing… how do you tell her that the problem is you? She might not understand it so you don’t even dare try to explain it. You don’t dare to give her and the team this part of yourself too and you shut your mouth with a firm hand over your lips. 

Memories of a life you left behind flash behind your eyes, and you whimper, hugging your knees to your chest while you hear him desperately calling for you. As far as you can, you kick that godforsaken box away from you. “Y/N?! Y/N, say something, please! Are you okay? Y/N!”

“I’m here,” You whisper, pushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.’ 

“What’s going on?” 

“Spencer, I–” A moment of regret and hesitation makes you pause. What can he even do all the way from Ohio? “I want to go home.” 

You’re not his priority. 

You’ll never be his priority. 

There is no point to this.

“…did something happen?” This is the Spencer you know– voice soft and guarded– and for a second it feels like you two are getting to know each other all over again. “Did officer Kaper make you uncomfortable? I’ll ask for a change of guard, I’ll–“

“N-No,” You cut him off with a shaky exhale. Your head falls on your free hand, finger tangled with your messy hair, and you tug on it. Sharply, the tingly pain on your scalp grounds you for a second, brings you back to this situation you created. “No, Spence, no no no, I just want to go home, I need to go home, I–“ 

“Y/N, breathe,” He coaches you as gently as he can, voice stable and strong, everything you seem to be lacking. “You’re going to set yourself off in a panic again if you don’t breathe. You’re safe in my apartment, okay? I know it’s not the same as being home, I know, but you’re safe there!”

“You’re not here, Spence!” 

There is a moment of silence for both of you. “You’re not here and you didn’t throw that fucking box away,” You whisper, keeping the moment something in between just the two of you. It’s enough that you are falling apart like this in front of Spencer, you don’t need officer Kaper bursting in the door to witness this too.

“You found the box,” He sighs. This is the first time you notice just how tired he sounds.

“I found the box,” You confirm, sniffling in a stubborn attempt to not start crying all over again. 

“It’s evidence. I can’t throw it away, Y/N.”

“Why is it here?”

“I’ve been working on the case on my free time and it just made sense to keep it at home…” 

“Spence, I want to go home. I don’t feel safe,” You admit, shaking your head. “I don’t feel safe here when you’re not here, Spence, I want to go home.” 

“I thought you hated me.”

“Spencer…” He has a point, though, and you know it. This is the first time you two speak in days, the first time you experience this type of comfort again, but it’s still not enough. He’s still not here, next to you, watching over you. He’s still not with you. “Spencer, I’m sorry.” 

“Silly girl, why are you apologising?” He asks, chuckling on the other side and you can picture him– you can see him shaking his head, hair falling around his pretty face like a perfect picture frame when his eyes, pure honey with specks of green, search for yours. Yeah… you can imagine it to perfection, almost like you are the one with eidetic memory. “This is all my fault. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Y/N and I’m trying to protect you, so I need you to stay there, okay? I need you to stay in my apartment, please.” 

You don’t know what to tell him. Your eyes wander around the room, looking at all the details he left behind without even noticing. There is a copy of Dostoevsky on the bed side table. I hate Russian literature, you remember telling him once. He was in the shop, bringing you coffee, when you caught a glimpse of a book you certainly didn’t sell him. And I’m appalled you’ve been buying books somewhere else. The way he laughed then, like his biggest problem in the world was explaining to you that this had been a gift from a friend and that he would never betray your trust like this. What do you hate so much about it?, he had asked, leaning over the counter and into you, eager to debate this topic he loved so much. I hate that it’s all about suffering. Even the moments of realisation and self-improvement, they are all through suffering and misery. And of course he had a retort to that, fingers twitching with his enthusiasm. But it’s contextual, you see! Those were written in time of civil unrest and political chaos, and it makes sense to have characters and plot lines that revolve around suffering when that is all you know from the world around you. To this day, your answer paralyses you. I’m a believer in silver linings and happy endings. And not because I’m naive or ignorant, but because the world around me has made me believe that there must be something better out there. Isn’t that nicer?

“Y/N, please tell me you’ll stay there, I need you to stay there.” 

His words almost escape you, but you catch them in the very last minute. It gives you a glimpse into a side of him he has yet to show you, and it absolutely shatters your heart in bits. I need you to stay there, he had said. Not you need to stay there, but I need you to stay there. Suddenly, you realise that this– all of this, the relocation, the involvement of the FBI, the dropping off and picking up– is not just for you. 

“I’ll stay here,” Whispering with him like this helps. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“Don’t be. I’m happy you called.” 

“I’ll let you go back to sleep, but Spence?” 

“Yeah?”

“Be safe. I need you back here.”

“I’ll be home in no time.” 

For a second, you trust him. You trust everything will be okay, that you can make everything okay until he gets back, and then you’ll pass the responsibility onto him. For a second, you trust him, but you also trust yourself. 

Everything will be okay. 

Everything will be okay. 

Everything will be okay. 

You fall asleep like this; wearing his hoodie and hugging your phone, nose buried on his pillow in hopes to dream of him. The sun wakes you up, and there are birds chirping at your window. Despite the heaviness you feel in you and dooming headache you know will settle soon, the romantic in you believes that today will be a good day. That today will be an okay day.

“Miss Y/L/N? It’s officer Kaper.” 

The knock doesn’t scare you anymore. On days one through three it had you jumping on air, heart about to stop from how fast it was beating. Days four and five were easier, less scary and more anxious, waiting for the punctual 9AM knock. From day six onwards, it was a welcome start to your day, knowing that someone is looking after you. 

You check the fisheye like Spencer told you to, and then you open the door only when you recognise the face on the other side. “Good morning, Officer,” You smile, nodding at him a bit stiffly. The two of you had been formally introduced by JJ, but it didn’t make this any less awkward for you. “Would you like some coffee?” 

“Sure,” He nods, smiling as he comes inside with his usual stack of mail. Everyday, without fail, someone picks up your mail and brings it to Officer Kaper. “Here’s your mail for the day, ma’am.” 

“How was the night shift?” It’s almost like a scripted conversation, these back and forth questions you throw at each other, and you’re finding that you hate this. You hate the stiff conversations and the self-imposed bans. But this is day two, and in just more two days, Spencer would be home. And you would talk to him, just like you used to before, just like you did over the phone. Nothing will change; you’re not going home any time soon and Cat Adams isn’t going to just magically disappear. It’s time to accept it and learn how to live with it, as hard as that sounds. 

Sifting through your mail has to be your favourite part of the day. It’s normal, slightly boring, and a peek into the routine you used to have and love. No one ever sends you letters, so it’s just bills. “Water, electricity, marketing, marketing,” The coffee is brewing in the background and Officer Kaper is telling you about his daughter. She’s a tiny girl, just two and very, very shy, but apparently, she loves stories. “I might have a book for her,” You get distracted from the letters for a second, smiling at the kind officer. “I’ll bring it to you later tonight!” 

When you look back again, it’s the one on top. 

The envelope is white, like any other letter, and it has no thing in the back but your name and address scribbled in red, a big heart right next to it. “Uh, Officer, this is… this is weird.” You’ve been instructed to let someone know if you received anything unlabelled or unexpected. This letter is certainly unexpected. “It has no return address.” 

“May I open it?” He asks and you nod. He opens it with a knife, pulling a small piece of paper inside. “Okay, it seems like a normal letter. There is no signature of any kind.”

“What does it say?” You’re nervous now, walking around Officer Kaper to read over his shoulder. “Oh my god.” 

“Does this mean anything to you?” 

Nodding, you’re dialling Spencer’s number already. “It means I’m fucked.” 

On the table, laid a message you’d never forget.

He’s not yours to keep. 

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

Taglist:

@fanfic-viewer

@mysticpeachobject

@donttrustlove  

@r-3dlips 

@lolitsbuckybarnes 

@lilrios-world 

@iniyalovesall 

@beabfleab

@dojacatismywife 

@queenofshinigamis

@beersangel

@catchthewindd

@charismatic-writer

@freaky-dcaky

@scarlettoh

@drreidslove

@spicyytomatoyay

@kitty-kei

@sapphirecobalt-1

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@areiofhope

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@godilovetoomuch

@redros3y

@gibson-g1rl

@bunnylov-3-r

[brucewaynehater101]

please i am frothing at the mouth I NEED to hear your take on how the bats find out about JJ and Tim losing his wing in the Wingless Wing AU and how they react.

please brucewaynehater101 my lord and savior give me the angst i so desperately crave

Of course! With praise like that, how could I refuse.

I hope you enjoy the angst :D

Here's the post in reference for anyone unfamiliar.

Alright. In that post, I mentioned they find out at the same time they find out about Tim's missing spleen. We'll call that the funny path.

Ye asked for angst, though. Here's some delicious angst:

TW: JJ, wing removal, brief mentions of anti-hybrid sentiments, mentions of trafficking/selling body parts

Tim's back constantly aches. It's been years, but he can still feel the harsh hacking into his shoulder blades as his wings were removed. He can't bring himself to look at the jagged lines in his back.

When Bart saw the then raised pink scars, his face morphed into grim understanding. With careful movements, he slowly got Robin used to pressure and hands on his back. It took months for every small step forward, but the speedster was patient. He was casual and never drew attention to the small gestures. He analyzed the subtle shifts in Tim's body and backed off without being asked.

The rest of YJ eventually caught on as well. When Tim was finally able to have people's palms upon his back, Kon, Cassie, and Cissie would bicker about scar tissue massages. Eventually, it became a team bonding activity to help others with their pain (whether through massages, offering heat/ice, or moral support).

When Tim gained a gnarly gash upon his throat, the same careful process occurred again.

YJ was broken up after Tim returned with a scar upon his abdomen, but Bart, Kon, and Cassie still helped with his healing process as he did for them. They supported each other through every scar, visible or not.

When Tim first got the scars, he spent a year teaching the muscles on his back how to work properly. He added exercises, stretches, compression, and heat packs to his daily routine. It was insanely difficult to research and experiment by himself, but he managed. By the time he offered himself up as Robin, he already had strong arm and back muscles. They weren't enough for Robin, but they worked.

While Tim was Robin, he took extra care not to get damaged on his back. He lied and hid any injuries he did obtain, often seeking out YJ for help instead (after they reach that point of trust). This process worked for years. There were a few close calls, but Tim has called Kon in extreme cases.

At first, Tim didn't want anyone near his back. He hid his scars from the batfam because of his trauma and his internalized anti-hybrid sentiments (he knew most of the Waynes were hybrids, but he also thought they would kick him out if they knew he was too. Just the horrid stuff his parents spouted and conditioned learning). Eventually, as he grew closer to YJ and more comfortable in his skin, he still hid from the Waynes.

He considered telling Dick a bunch of times, but everyone else didn't foster a relationship with him where he felt comfortable. Cass knew, but she also isn't a hybrid.

There's a ton of factors in play for why Tim never told them.

When Tim gets fired from Robin, it's agonizing. He created fake wings just to maintain that role.

In his desolation, he comes to the realization that he can change his wings. Instead of the bird ones Robin has always had (at least until Damian [which is another point of contention]), Tim can have back his dragon ones. They'll be fake, but some part of him aches to have wings resembling his old ones.

Dragon wings are rare, and this causes some tension between Tim and his family when he returns. Out of all the wings he chose to fashion, why did he choose the rare, highly sought-after ones? To their knowledge, he isn't even a hybrid. They trust Tim, obviously, but him choosing dragon wings doesn't help their already strained relationships with him.

Jason especially, as someone whose had to take down a fuck ton of hybrid trafficking rings or underground selling of hybrid parts, has issues with Tim choosing dragon wings.

To prove a point, Jason chats about a pair of dragon wings that keeps getting sold around the black market. It's been years of Red Hood chasing these wings down to try to stop them from being passed around. He wants to honor them by giving them a proper burial.

One of the reasons Jason is so hung up about them is that they are so so small. They obviously came from a child.

Tim turns pale. Jason thinks that Tim finally realizes the error in his ways until the teen asks Jason to describe them.

Hood is pissed as fuck that Tim wants descriptions of the wings and initially misunderstands.

Then he notes the way Tim's arms stop in an aborted movement to wrap around himself. He catches the paleness to his face, the trembling of lips, and the hunted look in his eyes.

Jason hesitantly answers.

Tim collapses to his knees and throws up.

No one else in the family was there for this interaction. However, they see the effects.

Jason no longer berates Tim (particularly about the dragon wings).

Joker, the next time he escapes, loses a leg.

Jason and Tim hang out more with the older being more affectionate and mother henning.

[ejeffers1239]

This is your monthly reminder that trans girl periods are probably definitely real.

"ow ow ow ow ow"

- Erika

Serious discussion of/essay on trans woman periods under the cut:

While transgender women experiencing period symptoms is not something that has been scientifically researched with any rigor as far as I'm aware, enough trans women report the phenomena that it can reasonably be assumed real. The interesting thing is there are competing theories as to the mechanism behind trans women periods, which are as follows:

1. An empathetic or otherwise psychosomatic response, as in a trans woman has periods because she knows other women do. I don't like this, but we'll get back to that

2. Confirmation bias of unrelated symptoms, usually gastrointestinal, calling anything that happens in the general area a period.

3. Hormonal cycle from taking estrogen makes the body attempt a period, even without a uterus, accounting for cramping, mood changes, and changes to breast texture.

I don't think 1 or 2 are especially good explanations on their own, and taken in a vacuum sort of reinforce a conclusion and stereotype that transgender women are faking it (1) or eat nothing but junk food (2). However, these two definitely aren't unprecedented as factors, as long as you accept that there is a hormonal component (3).

Considering two of the most common phenomena reported with periods generally, we can get a broader picture. First is the phenomena of women syncing their cycles; this itself sports conflicting research and is mostly anecdotally observed, just like trans women periods. Nonetheless it could provide a point towards the empathetic response theory that would be more than making it up, rather, whatever about an estrogen-dominant body that (allegedly) causes sync is also applicable to transgender women. Second, consider the phenomena of period cravings. This phenomena is much more established than sync, it's commonly accepted that women on their periods tend to crave foods high in carbs, sugar, and salt. In other words, junk food. In that light the "trans women have had diets and call it a period" claim is not entirely dismissible, but is actually flipped in the ordering. It's entirely likely that trans women having their period regardless end up eating junk food, and cast doubt on to the validity of their own periods as a result.

As for my own personal anecdotes, I experience a cycle that is at least somewhat consistent. I don't notice symptoms every month, but many months, and they usually follow the same "structure" so to speak:

First, for about half a day, I get really horny. I believe this would technically be pre-period or a hormonal analogue to ovulation, nonetheless, I take the opportunity to have some fun, as pretty much nothing compares to how good it feels during this time.

Next, I have the junk food cravings, granted, I'm someone who eats taco bell weekly so, this doesn't represent an especially large change of diet for me, it's there though and if I'm cooking I might end up making something like mashed potatoes.

Finally, for around three days after that, I get really bloated and have some "typical" period symptoms: pain in my abdomen, the bloating itself, sore breasts, and even period shits. This is where I am while writing this post and we'll, to reiterate, "ow ow ow ow ow."

To me, this is far to specific of a sequence of events to be fake, even if it's not strictly monthly, and trans women have factors like missing estrogen doses or the presence/lack of progesterone that could influence that timing away from perfectly routine. Ultimately I'm another anecdote in a sea of anecdotes but, I choose to believe trans girl periods are real and biologically based, and I hope I've made a compelling argument supporting that here. This blog is made possible by boredom and mania mutuals like you, thank you!

[emblemxeno]

Hot Take Time!

I think the breakthrough revelation that the Sonic fanbase had about the series' reception during the 2010's, where full-force sincerity in its stories was mocked for being cringe and willingness to stand out in both a gameplay and artistic sense resulted in beloved games being panned retroactively, can be easily applied to FE Engage.

Engage is the most fucking sincere plot the series has had in over a decade. Yes, despite being the guy whose fav FE game is Fates, I think that game was still bogged down by the prospect of following up the blowout success of a game like Awakening and had too many instances of putting in a lot of ideas to see what worked rather than putting the full weight behind a select few core elements.

SoV had the baggage of being a remake while still needing a modern appeal, and ended up with a lot of contradictory aspects. And 3H doesn't know what it wants to be and never did from the ground up.

Engage is different. It wanted to be a grand celebration of 30 years of this great series. It wanted pizazz. It wanted spectacle. It wanted to say "we fucking love this series and we love the fans who supported us."

The characters are flashy and striking to make you remember them. The music is bombastic, with a wide variety of styles so anyone can find a favorite track. The presentation is beautiful, with great visuals and phenomenal sound design. New uber powerful mechanics balanced out by incredible map design, supberb flow, and responsive game feel.

But the sincerity shines brightest with its narrative. The core messages are well written!

Sometimes knowing when to retreat is better than foolhardy bravery. It's always worth considering someone's background and feelings before casting them away. There's never a single easy solution to your problems, and if you think there is, you'll end up repeating the same mistakes. You can find family with anyone, and are not bound solely by those who you're born to. To live authentically as yourself is beautiful and should be celebrated.

The game believes all of those things to a degree which really hasn't been seen since the series was on the brink of death.

But that sincerity was treated as unpalatable, cringe, and plain awful.

The fandom for a series that routinely and infamously has terrible armor designs now suddenly throws a fit because "flower girl has silly dress" or "these characters have face paint/tattoos."

The single laziest form of criticism for FE casts that has permeated the community since Awakening released, that being "the cast is one note tropes that have no personality or development outside of them", came back in full fucking force with Engage.

And it's pretty damn sad. In my opinion, sincerity shouldn't be mocked. Sometimes, you should take a minute and ask yourself "Is it bad, or is it just not my thing? Am I writing off an entire cast's writing because I don't like some character designs? Do I have personal preferences that aren't being met in this instance, and should I learn to grapple with saying that instead of just writing off the product as fundamentally terrible or, at best, half-assed?"

At some point, looking inward and considering community wide commonalities has to be recognized as a factor for why products are received the way they are, rather than just laying blame at the devs' feet for "not making a good product that people wanted." After all, word of mouth is the reason why FE even got this far, considering FE1 was effectively a sleeper hit because people who played it spread the word despite mixed reviews.

TL-DR, Engage isn't cringe, YOU ARE!!!

[stovetoast]

pillow tpot headcanons (long ramble expanding on the ocd part under the cut)

ok so first warning: i am not a psychiatrist. this isnt a super educated essay on ocd, just me projecting my lived experience onto an object show character. this is just an observation. if i get something wrong feel free to correct me, ill add it here. (its also worth noting i am self diagnosed. not "quick google search" self dx though, ive gone over it with a therapist and everything)

and that leads into the second warning: this ramble will get a tad bit personal sorryyyy

and finally the third warning: i put she/it on the ref but im just using she/her for simplicity (+ i forgot LOL(

anyway so yeah i think that pillow has ocd and is basically the embodiment of "letting intrusive thoughts win" except like. actually. this headcanon didnt stem from the killing or the strange impulses though, i think she has it because of her fixation on good and bad luck in tpot 10.

for me it manifests in a few different ways. my main one is counting—i have good luck numbers and bad luck numbers. i need to take a specific number of snacks every time i have a bowl of them. i have to shake medicine bottles a certain amount of times before taking them. i am always counting the "syllables" of whatever im doing, and it always has to land on a multiple/factor of my lucky number. and if i break any of this, i (generally, if i cant convince myself its fine or if i dont notice) have to count to my lucky number otherwise something bad will happen. hell, i added more flags to this ref because the number of them was my unlucky number.

i have a few other things that affect it that are completely unrelated to counting, though. like a particularly bad one is that i straight up cant wear certain articles or clothing anymore because theyre bad luck. or my ungodly long night routine (which is probably more of an autism thing tbh. but certain parts of it are absolutely influenced by the ocd, like having to say goodnight to my dog).

that ^^ is what i saw in pillow. she was distraught that her team lost in 9, because not only did she think she was doing the challenge right, but killing people (bringing death) was good luck for her.

i think her killing people was a compulsion, and her whole thing in 10 was her scrambling to find a new one after that stopped working.

and before anyone tries to be all like "oh thats fucked up why would they portray ocd like that," one: i dont think this was on purpose this was just an observation, two: i mean..... fuck dude if i lived in a world where revival was incredibly accessible and one of my compulsions were to kill people, id do the same thing. death is fairly normal in bfdi, to the point everyone literally has a kill count on the fandom wiki (hers is 13 as of tpot 11 btw, a commonly unlucky number ironically enough. if she gets eliminated in 12 with an unlucky kill count thatd be so funny). once they get past the pain, its. really just an inconvenience to them.

when it comes to ocd, you. HAVE to do these things. its not a choice until you can get some outside help with it, and oftentimes its an inconvenience to those around you. i dont think its right for her to be going around killing her team, but when i get past the fact that is literally what made her my favorite, i get where shes coming from. shes trying to help in a way she "knows" will work.

or maybe shes just silly idk

[kakao-lovey]

── .✦ The best subliminals of all time ++ my results

Hi Lovies! I've been a fan of subliminals since the moment I got access to the internet, and can confidently say I know my way around them. Note, though, that I did take IRL steps to achieve these results besides subs; however, I think I can give a huge chunk of the credit to them for the luck, discipline, and motivation I needed. So, in no particular order:

I Want It I Got It's A+ mindset subliminal

Not only are IWIGII's subs extremely powerful, they cover all bases. Mindset is a huge factor in achieving academic success, and it's something not often covered in your standard 'Good grades' subliminals. ۶ৎ My results (Last term):

~ A term average of 90% ~ Chemistry 98% overall, Biology 96% overall, Physics 85% overall ~ Maths went from 43% (Term 1) to 92% (Term 4) ~ Best overall (Whole year) in English and German first language ~ A bronze scroll for academics:

2. Baejin Cafe's emergency clear skin sub

Baejin cafe is my favourite subliminal maker of all time, and this isn't the last time you'll hear me praise their subs. They are intensely powerful, and really go down to every last detail. Here's a snippet out of the benefits: "your skin literally looks poreless, completely even skin tone (both face and body), permanently concealed skin, blemishes don’t even exist in your dictionary, one listen of this is equivalent to the best skincare routine applied for years; one word about your skin is FLAWLESS. your skin is absolutely clear forever; regardless of whatever you eat, the season or anything you do!! your skin is like you have the healthiest diet ever, healthiest water intake and the most perfect skincare routine, completely clear and clean skin throughout, your skin literally looks reflective cause it’s so clear ♡"

۶ৎ My results

(No filter used, images are two months apart) [Image ID: Two photos, one taken before listening to the subliminal of a face with inflammatory acne, the second taken after listening to the subliminal with clear skin] 3. Mii - Too much money.

A classic, but popular for a reason. Just one or two listens are almost guaranteed to get you your desired amount of money.

۶ৎ My results

~ Allowance bumped up from 100 NAD (5 USD) to 200 NAD (10 USD) per month ~ Received money for my academic awards, and as a gift for my birthday

[Image ID: A handful of Namibian dollar banknotes] ~1000 NAD (50 USD) (Sorry for poor image quality) 4. Baejin café - Success energy

This is an all-in-one, listen-to-it-while-you-sleep subliminal with heavily detailed affirmations for everything in your life to go perfectly. It can be used as a booster, to manifest a specific achievement/item/person, or to play in the background to sprinkle some cinnamon-sugar on your daily life. ۶ৎ My results ~ Found a kind, heavily overqualified doctor to prescribe me a medication I really needed ~ Got a job as a waiter for a ball, did it perfectly and got a letter of recommendation ~ Won all three of my division's squash games despite having played for only a few months ~ Manifested lots of small things, gifts, food, to find lost objects ~ Found out I am inheriting an insane amount of money when I turn 25 5. Baejin cafe - Mental health + healthy lifestyle

Whenever I feel depressed or overstimulated, I have a nap with this looped in the background, and I wake up feeling fresh and happy. ۶ৎ My results ~ All of my toxic ex-friends left me (Which may sound like a bad thing at first, but it really helped my mental health overall) ~ I recovered from around five months of hypomanic-depressive mood swings ~ I recovered from a very bad thing that has to do with food ~ I became actually happy with my life <3 That's all! Thanks for being here, and keep me updated if you decide to use any of these subs!

[sgiandubh]

Anon rebelde.

Detecto un nerviosismo muy revelador en Mordor. La finalización del rodaje abre un escenario nuevo acerca de las posibles interacciones de Sam y Cait fuera de esa burbuja de trabajo, ya sabes, solo es fan service por lo tanto nuevo tablero de juego con unas fichas que se pueden mover, hasta cierto punto porque no olvidemos que queda todo lo relacionado con la 8 y última temporada, libremente. Y hay una cosa que me intriga acerca de los planes futuros de Cait. Mordor da por hecho que va a permanecer en UK ya que esa casa que compró va a ser su residencia habitual pero las ultimas noticias de hace ya tiempo era que esa residencia estaba inhabitable y me pregunto si ese factor ya está resuelto. Por supuesto dejo en tus manos actualizar esta duda.

Dear (returning) Anon Rebelde,

Lamento mucho la respuesta tardía a tu mensaje. Como siempre, el otoño parece ser esa época del año en la que las cosas se aceleran, por algún motivo aún oscuro, hasta ese agradable paroxismo navideño. Pero, sin más dilación, traduzcamos primero lo que me enviaste:

'I'm sensing a very revealing nervousness in Mordor. The end of filming opens a new scenario regarding the possible interactions between Sam and Cait outside of that work bubble (you know, it's just fan service), and so we've got a new game board with pieces that can be moved, to a certain point, because let's not forget that everything related to the 8th and final season still remains open. And there is one thing that intrigues me about Cait's future plans. Mordor assumes that she will remain in the UK since that house she bought will be her habitual residence, but the latest news from some time ago was that that residence was uninhabitable and I wonder if that factor has already been resolved. Of course, I leave it up to you to update this doubt.'

I don't think we need to comment more on the nervousness (you're elegant, I would rather call it hysteria) across the street. If these people are so damn RIGHT about everything, how come they seem to have completely blown a fuse, five minutes after their well-oiled, mean routine came to a brutal stop? Smooth operators (remember? LOL for an entire geological age) they are not, and never were; still, it's a thing to behold, just seeing the amount of clones trying to step into my backyard. You'd never make me believe that an entire battalion of newbies suddenly follow me, with empty pages and a whole list of shipper contacts to boot. And then we have those Anons, whose dull, morose perseverance is only matched by their obsessive cruelty. Anons who, mind you, are pretty much transparent in their style, punctuation and stylistic mannerisms - all of these always betray them, and yet they keep going on and on and on. Pretty mental, if you ask me.

The dubious advantage of answering late is that now we know C was eventually (and predictably) spotted in London, at an intimate dinner hosted by Jessica McCormack, a jewelry creator and Zoë Kravitz, Lenny's daughter and an actress in her own right. No family vacay in the sun with McGill and as soon out of Scotland as S - their pundits are worthless. We could logically assume a hefty part of her life will be spent in London, where all the glitz and the glam and the networking are, rather than in rainy and industrious Glasgow. And I cannot help but wonder what do all these people make of their own relationships, and the immediate vision I have is one of a very monotonous life, eons away from all that glamorous gypsiness. Which is quite alright, if you ask me. What is ridiculous, however, is to naively assume that everyone makes the same choices as them.

But you asked me about that house and I think it's time to share with you what I can share at the moment. For obvious reasons, I have obliterated the address and kept from the single document I am about to quote (there are several more in my possession) only the essential parts. The researcher I was, once upon a time, cringes at the thought. But it's better to be safe than sorry: encouraging stalking is certainly not a responsibility I am willing to take, even if the new address is known by all the factions of this fandom and even if the documents are public, therefore usable.

For context purposes, let's just remind that C's new "residence" is a high profile carriage house built in 1841 (featuring a wine cellar!), that one can see even on Wikipedia and in all the architectural guides of the city.

As such, it is protected by the national legislation and local regulation on heritage - the Scottish competent authority being Historic Environment Scotland (https://www.historicenvironment.scot/). They have a three-tiered listing system, with more or less flexible protection criteria and regulations. C's house is an A listed property ('outstanding example of a particular period, style or building type'):

It is a criminal offence to make any alterations to an A listed building without prior proper consent, on top of all the other planning permissions applications:

Any update or repair must, therefore, be vetted by the local city council, after a rather lengthy procedure of public consultation, where anyone (NGOs, but also private persons) can send comments. Quick aside, here: why would someone as private as C buy such a prominent property, situated on top of an elevation, nonetheless? I have my own idea about it, which is easy to guess, I suppose.

The house was bought in December 2022, for a hefty amount exceeding 2 millions GBP, way above its asking price of 1.6 million GBP:

Permission for further alterations was duly sought, several times. I will just mention one of those applications, which I could almost find comical (but no, I don't, really). Let's see where this takes us.

It took the new owners almost four months to submit the first application to the City Council. You'd say the architect's office was probably busy: fair enough. But then, this lackadaisical rhythm carried on, almost as if no prior strategy to address existing problems of the property and/or maximize the profit of a very expensive acquisition had ever existed. Almost as if one of the owners, or both of them didn't really GAF about the whole affair - and it is true and readily available online, that all the applications have been managed by ahem... The Manager himself or his appointed agents. C seemingly had nothing to do with the entire process: a bit curious, don't you think?

The second application (and the one I am going to talk about, here and now) was sent for consideration in July 2023, almost seven months after the sale was concluded. Curiously still, it aimed to widen the driveway entrance and make substantial changes to the entrance of the property. Discretion be damned, of course - how odd, huh?

It was flatly refused in September 2023 by the City Council, pending three objections from a neighbor and two national and local heritage protection charities/NGOs (Architectural Heritage Society of Scotland and Friends of Glasgow West):

With a bit of patience, you can read all the documents - they are not that hard to find, after all. I will not comment further upon them, as I find the above clear and enlightening enough. There is, however, one detail that definitely made me smile, remembering what brought me here first:

This, to be exact: 'the paving of the driveway (...) could lead to potential surface water/rainfall discharge onto the public footway and carriageway'.

As compared to this (remember? LOL):

[Remember: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/720483288334090240/it-all-starts-with-a-smoke-alarm]

There seems to be something odd going on between McGill and water damage. Carelessness, perhaps? I wouldn't dare presume.

Anyways. The entire permission tango with the City Council ended early March 2024. Since then, radio silence. The Taj Mahal stands empty, with not a sign of busy kerfuffle, as far as we know. I am well aware that the owners have three more years to go until the permission would be useless and they'd have to reapply again, but given the nature of the other planned updates (vacuum glazing, anyone?), I would doubt it is okay to wait until March 2027.

I hope this answered your question and I am once more grateful for your patience, Anon Rebelde.

[arc-misadventures]

Are We Even Human Anymore?

Class B, Spartan, Jaune Arc was walking down a road on the island of, Patch. He looked to his side to see a a few buildings that had gouges carved into the wood, a result of the recent, Grimm attack that had just took place. Luckily, Jaune, and the rest of team was already here to conduct standard routine patrol of the island to weed out any pockets of, Grimm.

He walked by, rifle in hand as he eyed the islands local militia, and members of the, Vale Republic Guard. Vale's standing army made of volunteer soldiers. Where the, Spartans were, Vale's spear tip to break through the, Grimm hordes, the VRG was the shield wall that held them back for the, Spartans to strike.

He spared them a fleeting glance as he walk over to see the, Spartan on command of this mission. Class A, Spartan, Raven Branwen.

A Spartans rank was decided upon by a variety of factors: Spartan children at the age of five were all considered, Class F, commonly considered the trainee class. When a trainee reached the age of age of twelve they were promoted, a sign that they were no longer solely a trainee, but an apprentice.

They were promoted to the ranks of, E, or D Class based upon their performance. And, then a B Class, Spartan, would give them training in that trainee's chosen field of expertise. A trainee could have many teachers offering tutelage to help broaden their skill sets.

Because of, Jaune's birthday present from his parents, Jaune sought out, Raven Branwen to learn the blade under her, being one of the few, Spartans to use swords. The pair had developed a close bound over their training, leading to, Jaune to be assigned to, Raven on missions quite often. As a result of this familiar bound, Jaune knew some of, Raven's little quirks, and whatnot. So as he neared her, and saw her nervously fidgeting with her hands, he knew full, and well something was up.

He called out to her on their helmets radio, concern lightly seeping into his voice as he eyed his friend. "Raven?"

"Yes, what is it?" Raven's response was filled with an air of nervousness, and worry as she all, but jumped out of her crimson, and raven black armour to face him. Cueing, Jaune on to the fact that something was wrong, but what was the question.

"Are you, are you okay, Raven?"

"I'm fine! Now, give me a status update on the situation?"

"The Grimm threat has been neutralized. Miniman causalities were sustained by the islands local militia, and VRG forces. No civilians were harmed, and no fatalities were reported either."

"Good, good good good... Inform the local commanding officer that we will be moving out shortly to patrol the area, and eliminate any other possible, Grimm threats."

"Yes, Ma'am." As, Jaune made his way to find the local commanding officer, he spared, Raven one concerned glance, hidden behind the visor of his helmet. The nervousness etched into her voice, and her desire to get away from here as fast as possible, but him on high alert.

There was something here on, Patch that made, Raven's nerves on edge. But, what could that be?

Jaune shook his head of these thoughts as he headed towards the highest rank officer among the, VRG. A major with blonde, hair, and a stubble across his face.

"Major, may I speak with you?"

The major gave him one glance before he issued some final orders to his subordinates, before walking over to, Jaune. Stopping before him, and offering him a salute, of which, Jaune offered one in kind. Despite the fact the major technically outranked, Jaune, It was common practice for most soldiers of the VRG to see, Spartans as their superiors due to their position as, Spartans.

"Major, Xiao Long, reporting, Sir!"

"At ease, Major. I am here to report to you that me, and my team will be moving out to explore the area, and eliminate any potential, Grimm threats in the area."

"Y-You're leaving already, Sir...?" There was a noticeable sound of disappointment in his voice, as he his eyes turn to look past him. Jaune followed his gaze to see he was staring at, Raven.

"Is there a problem with that, Major?"

It wasn't uncommon for officers in the, VRG to wish that, Spartan teams to linger in a spot that had just been subject to a, Grimm attack in case of the possibility of a second attack. Or, if the case the commanding officer was some fat pig they would 'ask' the, Spartans to remain to protect their shiny junk.

"Ah! No... No, Sir... if, Raven wants to leave she may leave." The way he said, Raven's name gave, Jaune pause for concern. There was no respect in his voice that one would expect to give when addressing a, Spartan. There was a sadness, and a air of familiarity in his voice as he watch his teacher from afar.

"How do you know her name, Major?" Jaune had dealt with several civilians trying to get close to himself, or his fellow, Spartans. Often they were doing this as a means of gaining status. Leading to many, Spartans to be cautious of any civilian, even those in the military when they wished to speak with a, Spartan.

"We... we were close once, Sir. I was just hoping to talk with her, and give her this." He saw the mean reach under his armour plating, and pulled out an envelope, and offered it towards, Jaune. "I understand why she wouldn't want to talk with me, I just thought she should see this. Can you give this to her, Sir; Please?"

Jaune eyed the envelope warningly as he grabbed it, and opened it, inspecting the contents. Inside was a letter, and some photos, Jaune didn't see it as anything dangerous so he decided it was safe to give it to her. He was about to close the envelope when he saw something that caught his eye. It was a photo of a smiling woman around his age, with violet eyes, and golden locks of hair with an all too familiar face.

"Who is the woman in this picture?" Jaune watched as the, Major looked around nervously at, Raven before returning his gaze back to him.

"I-I think it would be best if, Raven explain that to you, Sir." Jaune gave him one last glance before he nodded at him, and placed the photo back in the envelope.

"Very well, I shall do ask you ask, Major."

"Thank you, Sir!" Major Xiao Long, offered him a salute, which he returned in kind before making his way towards, Raven.

"Ahh good, you're finished, let's grab the others, and get going, Jaune."

"That Major back there seems to know you, Raven. He asked me to give you this.' Jaune offered the envelope to, Raven who even under the helmet he could see the nervousness in her eyes as he watch her slowly take it from his hands.

She opened it, and read the letter, her hands shaking as tears started to well up in her eyes. She then took out one of the photos he had been looking at earlier. A chocked gasp of sorrow escaped her lips. She soon removed her helmet, letting a mane of raven black hair escape it's confines, as she whipped away tears falling from her crimson eyes.

Jaune swiftly removed his helmet as he watched his teacher, his friend cry. He know, Raven for years, and she always appeared as this stoic, and collected person who was a master of her emotions, but to see her break down just from a photo? Something was wrong, something terrible.

"Raven? Raven, What's wrong?!" He placed his hand on her back as she struggled to reign in her tears, it was like watching a child bursting into tears at the lose of a loved one.

Raven soon raised her head as she took sharp gasps of air as she calmed her nerves. She looked to the sky as she steadied her nerves before turning to address her friend, and student.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I just... I didn't expect this to impact me so..."

"It's okay, Raven. It's okay... But, what the hell just happened? You just broke down into tears, I've never seen you like this before. What is in that letter?"

She took a deep sigh before she turned to look at the back of the, Major as he ordered his troops about.

"That man over there... He's someone I am... I was close to... very close to..." She pulled out another photo of the smiling blonde girl in the photo, and returned the girls radiant smile with a sorrow one of her own. "His name is, Tai Yang Xiao Long. When I was younger, just a, B Class, Spartan I met him here while out on a mission. He was just a captain then, and he was showing me, and my squad around, Patch. Local hotspots where, Grimm seemed to appear from, and what not. We stuck to each other quite a lot while we were out here, he even saved my life one time. The two of us just... clicked, you know? We just naturally fit together, so much so it hurt when we we apart from one another for too long. I used to spend my time off with him."

A smile spread across, Raven's face as she looked through another photo, before it turned into a sad smile.

"I was in, Atlas for a joint mission to deal with, Atlasian Spartans when I realized I was pregnant with his child... I was then kept in, Atlas Academy as I went through the pregnancy."

"Wait, the girl in the photos... She's your daughter?!" Jaune was shocked, Raven had her secrets just like everyone, and Jaune never wanted to pry. But, to suddenly learn his friend had a daughter his age was rather... shocking.

"Yes... she's my daughter. Her name is, Yang, Yang Xiao Long. A perfect mix between me, and him..."

"I thought she looked a lot like you, but I assumed she was your younger, Sister, not you daughter! I assume she is my age then, and since I never saw her till now. She's, Auraless?"

Raven nodded her head as she gave a hum of confirmation. "After she was test, and proved to be negative... I felt relieved."

"Relieved?"

"Yes, relieved." Raven took a deep sigh before looking at the sky. "You know what this life of our demands of us, Jaune... I didn't want that for my daughter. But, since she was, Auraless she couldn't stay with me... So, when I came back to, Vale I popped over to, Tai, and said my goodbyes; To both him, and my daughter..."

"I understand why you left her with this, Tai fellow. But, you never visited them again? You could have still been their for them, no?"

"Look at me, Jaune. Do I scream mother, housewife, any of those things?"

"Nope. You being a mother is odd enough as it is, you being a housewife, wearing an apron, and baking cookies? Now that's just crazy talk!" The pair shared a laugh at the shear ridicules of the thought of someone like, Raven as housewife. "But, just because you didn't... couldn't settle down with him, that doesn't mean you couldn't have spent time together. Getting to spend time with the man you love, and sharing in happy moments with your daughter."

"I didn't want her to get too attached to me! I was scared that if she grew too close to me, and if I died fighting against the, Grimm... It... It breaks my heart to just think about how she would react if I died... My heart can't take it, Jaune..."

"Maybe, but I think you would be just as devastated if you died as well. Because, she may not know who you are on account of you never being there for her. I think she's chasing after you in her own way." Jaune pulled out a photo of a smiling, Yang, grinning from ear to ear. Dressed in an all too familiar deep green uniform. A cadet officers uniform. "You may say she following her dad, but that smile of her reminds me more of you, Raven. In her own little ways, Raven, she's chasing after you. How much would it hurt to say hi to her? Not nearly as much as never getting the chance to I reckon."

She looked at him before she turned her gaze to look at the man she loved. "But, how am I supposed to do that? Just walk up to her, and say. 'hi?"

"You start slow, Raven. You first reunite with that, Tai fellow over there. And, then eventually he introduces you to your estranged daughter. Simple as that."

"But, is it though?"

"Are we even human anymore?"

"The unofficial moto of the, Spartans."

"That's right. Because of our training we've gone through since our childhood, we've become so detached from our emotions that we no longer seem human. This, Tai fellow, and you apparent daughter appear to keep you tethered to your humanity, Raven. Go over there, and reunite with your old flame, before that rope breaks, and you lose that humanity that we fight, and die for."

"Ha! When did you so wise, and philosophical, Jaune?"

Jaune shrugged his shoulders at her before he looked towards, Tai. "I'm a 'knight.' I probably picked up a thing, or two reading all those books about knight."

"Yeah, probably... Okay..." Raven straightened her back, as she put the envelope in her pocket. "Wish me luck."

"Luck."

Jaune smiled as he watched as, Raven walked over to, Tai, and gave him a tap on the shoulder. The surprised look, followed by that infectious smile he gave her brought a smile to his face in turn.

If we, Spartans, seemingly heartless killing machines could generate such a smile with our mere presence, then where is the truth in a question such as: 'Are we even human anymore?'

Because, how could anything, but a humans pure love for one another elicit such a reaction?

The question shouldn't be: 'Are we even human anymore?' But, 'What's stopping us from being human?'

Isn't that was make people human: Searching for what makes us human?

[hotvintagepoll]

Dwight Frye (Dracula, Frankenstein)—he's my babygirl please please please please please i want to baby bird feed him flies and spiders and pick him up and make glitter edits of him and give him gross forehead kisses like he's my cat. in dracula he was so incredibly creepy that he was typecast as madmen for the rest of his life and he fucking hated it but by god if he didn't do a fantastic job. he steals the show every time he's up on screen just because he's so fucking deranged. i need him

Thelma Ritter (Rear Window, All About Eve)—So little! Barely 5 feet tall! So scrungly! Working class accent and regular person looks constantly surrounded by gorgeous people! Snarky as hell!

This is round 3 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Dwight:

He absolutely owns the entirety of Dracula (1931). Compared to the novel, his part is massively expanded and it's clear why. He's magnetically unhinged and his facial expressions are pure scrungle. And in Frankenstein, he begins the archetype of Frankenstein's assistant even if the character's name there is Fritz. He'd still go on to play other scrungly guys in later Frankenstein movies. But he's kinda the archetypal and progenitor of the scrungly lil guy. The scrungliest guy ever to scrungle. He's pretty much the blueprint for every mad scientist's assistant, and he's the best part of every movie he's in. He manages to make you feel sorry for the creepy little dudes, even when he's eating spiders and crawling across the floor. [editor's note: content warning for the "hunchback" stereotype and "madness" in the clips below]the "Rats" soliloquy:

I saw him in Dracula and frankly he has me bewitched. I could watch him do his silly routine forever. The gay tension with Bela Lugosi onscreen was frankly unparalleled. Kirk and Spock levels. I am chewing on the furniture

Played the weirdo little guy in Dracula AND the weirdo little guy in Frankenstein in the same year. Iconic.

The scrungles to end all scrungles! There's a reason why this man codified the manic vampire's familiar and the hunchbacked lab assistant for generations, because by God can this man be feral and scrungly: Whether he's soliloquizing about rats as Renfield, scurrying around Frankenstein's lab like a spider as Fritz, or skulking around dark alleys (and scaring the hell out of little baby me) waiting for a fresh heart to steal as Karl, if you want a scrungly little man for your classic film, Dwight Frye is your man. He has the range to play varying kinds of scrungle, with his wide eyes, his manic smiles, his soft, breathy voice, he is truly an undisputed scrungle master.

I honestly think it would be a crime to ignore Dwight Frye's scrungle factor. He played two of the prototypical creepy little henchman as Dracula's lackey Renfield and Dr. Frankenstein's hunchback servant Fritz, and I believe that his excellence in these roles absolutely shaped the future character tropes of the "Igor" type as much as Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff shaped the future understanding of Dracula and Frankenstein's monster. He's got it all from the looks, to the manic energy, to the crazed laugh, I'm telling you right now that I think he could win the entire tournament.

Thelma:

she wants to kill santa claus so bad for the first half of this clip. "thats fine. thats just dandy. mama wants to..thank santa claus too."

[atinystraynstay]

Call It What You Want - Kang Yeosang

Synopsis: Yeosang was a mysterious guy on your campus. He was the guy who was at every party thrown, but also would spend hours studying in the library. He got good grades but could also drink more than fraternity brother. He was a puzzle that you were trying to figure out. Little did you know, you were the missing piece to his own puzzle.

"Are labels really that important when I am 100% certain about my feelings for you?"

Pairing: non-idol!Kang Yeosang x reader

Genre: Angst - unofficial relationship, uncertainty, friends with benefits turned to lovers.

Warnings: PG-13 - contains implied sexual intercourse, alcohol consumption, implied female masturbation

Word Count: 4.3k

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Yeosang was a mysterious man, even to those that personally knew him. He never really let off what his emotions were right away.

He was a man capable of multiple things. He had two personalities - one that was a tough, rigid guy who had his mind set on one thing. It would be impossible to get him to reconsider. He then also had this soft side of his personality that lured people in. Yeosang was always calm and composed. Overall though, he was like royalty. People worshipped the ground he walked on.

You were tucked away in his world. You got to experience both sides of him and then more. A lot more.

Your chest was rising and falling, holding Yeosang's comforter up to your chest. This was a regular routine for you and Yeosang. Every week, at some point or another, you would find yourself in his bed.

Last night, tequila was the motivating factor that led you into his bedroom. It started off innocent, Yeosang just checking in on you. You both were at the same party, but attended with different people. However, once you spotted him and the alcohol settled in your system, you decided it was only appropriate you grinded your hips back into him.

Eagerly, Yeosang ordered an Uber for the two of you. You couldn't remember much once you stepped into his apartment except for the quiet giggles, hands all over each other, and rushes kisses.

And now here you were. It was 8:08am. It was always a rush to be sleeping with Yeosang, but lately, you were craving more. More than just what friends with benefits are meant to be.

Yeosang and you met after being in the same writing seminar freshman year. It was a requirement for first years, to help them get accustomed to the writing styles expected of them. The two of you didn't take the class too seriously, often coming in late or skipping all together. You weren't expecting to be friends with Yeosang, considering he was rather quiet in class.

That's how the friendship began to blossom. You would hang out either at his apartment or yours. It was also how you got close with Yeosang's roommates - Yunho, San, Mingi, and Wooyoung.

You two quickly became friends on an intimate level. It started when you were confiding in Wooyoung how frustrated you were with meeting guys on Tinder. With your busy schedule, you weren't really trying to date in college. Yet, you still had needs. You figured one night stands would end up being your best option, but each guy left you more disappointed than the one before.

Big mistake in confiding in Wooyoung. Word quickly spread to Yeosang, who offered himself to help with your situation.

At first, you thought he was just mocking you. Sure, you could resort to masturbation or buying sex toys, but you loved the feeling of someone's body on yours. You craved the feeling of wandering hands on your skin, causing the goosebumps to rise and your heart to race with excitement. You even wanted to spend minutes rushing to cover up hickies before going to lectures.

You just had no idea how happy Yeosang was to help you out.

It started by hooking up when you were the most stressed - two days before exam day. You would spend the week trying to study as much as possible. Yet, Yeosang always noticed the way you would increasingly hunch over the table. It was as if you were being consumed by the stress and sex was the only remedy.

Soon, once a week became twice a week. You'd hit up Yeosang late at night, often when you were feeling the most lonely. And every time, Yeosang was wide awake and waiting for you with open arms. He would either make sweet love to you, reminding you of how cherished you are, or he would be willing to fuck you into his mattress.

Now, twice a week was almost every other night. You were over at Yeosang's more than you were at your own apartment. There even was a toothbrush waiting for you in his bedroom.

As seniors in college, things were starting to shift for you.

"Surprised you are up, darlin.'"

You jumped slightly at the sound of the deep voice behind you. He snickered before moving to wrap an arm around you, pulling you in closer to him. "Not like you to be up this early," he murmured. You felt yourself shiver, your heart racing, as he placed a kiss on the back of your neck.

The Yoesang campus knew would have never guessed he used pet names the way he just casually dropped them with you. If anything, they were probably convinced he had a stone-cold heart as he rarely showed emotion to others. The only time he seemed happy was if he was with his usual group.

But if you saw him walking alone through campus? His gaze was locked in front of him. He never smiled at people he passed, so people often avoided him.

"I'm also not the type of person to drink that much tequila," you sighed. Your face was moving to burrow into the pillow beneath you, which only made Yeosang laugh more.

Deep down, you knew you couldn't get tired of Yeosang. The physical chemistry between the two of you was undeniable. He also has become such a pivotal part of your life, as someone you confided in. He saw you truly at your lowest and highest.

I guess that is what made it easy to fall for him. The way he treated you made you feel like a princess. You couldn't help but wonder if there was something more than just friends with benefits.

As your dating life hit obstacles, Yeosang was quick to remind you of your worth. He would take you out into the city, treating you to dinner or attending events with you. He was also rather affectionate with you, a quickly you didn't see often even with his closest friends. He seemed a bit standoffish to the rest of the world. Yet, with you, you were the one that seemed to crack the code of who was Kang Yeosang.

There was no way you would dare to open up that conversation. For the most part, you were content with just being friends with benefits. Emphasis on the friends part. He was too important in your life just to allow the rush of butterflies to override your brain. Part of you was convinced that you only felt this way about Yeosang was because you had been single for some time now, and Yeosang offered everything that you wanted in a partner.

You only seemed to allow yourself to play into that fantasy when you were alone in your bedroom. Often, with your fingertips playing with your clit as you would close your eyes to think what it would be like to be Kang Yeosang's girlfriend.

"I think I'm going to hop in the shower. Care to join me for round 2?" "As much as I'd love that, I think I need to get something in my stomach." "Yeah, of course. Why don't you let me shower up real quick and we'll figure out where to go, ok?"

Just another reason why you adored Yeosang. He never pressured you to have sex with him, even though you often felt things were one-sided between the two of you. It was always you messaging him first, always you who orgasmed first. Sometimes, you wished Yeosang would be selfish and ask for you to come over.

As Yeosang slipped into his bedroom, you took the time to slip on one of Yeosang's shirt. He never seemed to mind, as you often left his place wearing one of his shirts. You were positive three or four had claimed refuge in your dresser. Before you ventured downstairs, you also made sure to slip on a pair of clean boxers from Yeosang's own dresser.

Hearing the shower head turn on, you slipped downstairs. You heard a slight commotion from downstairs. But you didn't need to see to already know the rest of the house was up and active.

"And look who it is. Mrs. Kang, nice of you to show your face instead of just hearing you," Mingi called out with a playful smirk.

The rest of the boys were crowded around the kitchen island, eating cereal except for San. He had his back turned towards you and the rest of the group. They were all snickering at Mingi's comment but quickly stopped when you smacked the back of Mingi's head.

"Where is the boyfriend anyways? Still asleep?" Yunho asked. "First of all, he is not my boyfriend. Second, could it kill any of you to make coffee?" You playfully whined. "Already on it, chief," San called out.

He stepped to reveal the glorious sight coffee being brewed in the coffee pot. You could just kiss San right now! "At least I can always depend on you, San," you said playfully.

All the boys were special to you, all thanks to Yeosang. They easily became like brothers of your own, having a special place in your heart. You kissed San's cheek gently before going to retrieve two coffee mugs for you, San, and Yeosang who would eventually appear.

"Don't let Yeosang see you. He might get jealous," Wooyoung laughed. "Unless that's her aim. You know, jealousy sex is the best especially when your boyfriend thinks you're into one of his friends." "And how would you know?" San asked, an eyebrow raised. "Your room isn't next to theirs." Your cheeks were flushed bright red. Maybe you should have stuck it out in the shower with Yeosang. You'd be safe from the ridicule and probably on your second orgasm by now.

"Yeosang isn't my boyfriend," you sighed. "Really? But that's the contact name he has saved for you in his phone."

The room suddenly got dead silent. All eyes were shifted to Wooyoung who was staring at your like a deer caught in headlights. You were staring forward, facing the cabinets before slowing turning around. Your heart had dropped to your stomach yet picked up again, both with curiosity and excitement.

Okay, maybe you were really into Yeosang.

"What did you say?" You voice was softer. "You know, I don't really know what I'm talking about. It could have been anyone." "Wooyoung!" Yunho hissed. "Shut the fuck up."

Your heart broke again, but this time shattered into pieces. That could also be true. You and Yeosang hadn't quite put a label on the two of you. It just seemed to be a mutual understanding that you were best friends who occasionally had sex. Friends with benefits. That was it, right?

Technically, he was free to see anyone else. At any point, your little scenario could come to an end when one of you finds a significant other. it was something you had acknowledged, but something you hadn't put much thought into.

You chewed on your bottom lip, as your heart and mind were arguing with each other. You hadn't even noticed your eyes were becoming glossy at the thought that Yeosang might be into someone that wasn't you. San's hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality.

"Y/n? Are you ok?"

It was then you became hyperaware that all eyes were on you. Wooyoung looked apologetically, as they were all concerned for you.

"You know, I forgot I promised to study today with a few friends. I'll catch you guys later."

Before any of them could stop you, you began rushing upstairs to Yeosang's room. Luckily, the shower was still running so you could make your great escape. You slipped on your sweatpants and jacket, gathering all your belongings into your purse.

The shower suddenly stopped. Fuck.

You bolted out of the room just as the door was opening from the bathroom, light and steam escaping into the hallway. You had made it halfway down the staircase when Yeosang seemed to call out to you. But you didn't have the guts to turn back around. Not when you felt like you couldn't breathe.

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

"You just ran out of there?!" Hongjoong asked.

You groaned as out loud as you could, not too loud though as you didn't want to draw attention to yourself. After running out, you tried distracting yourself around your apartment but it was no use. This called for an emergency meeting with your best friend, Kim Hongjoong.

Hongjoong was a sophomore when you met him as a freshman. He kindly held your hair when you were throwing up at his house party, and you've been joined at the hip since. Hongjoong was attending grad school much to your benefit. He was still available for 911 Boy Trouble calls.

Tonight, you therapy session was over a pitcher of cocktails at your local college bar. Hongjoong knew all about Yeosang, as he too thought you two were together.

"What else was I supposed to do? Wooyoung blurted that apparently I'm Yeosang's girlfriend without him even saying so? And then brought up the fact that it might've been someone else? They had a front row view to me falling apart." "Remind me to smack some sense into Wooyoung." "I think Yunho already beat you to that one," you laughed softly. "Have you talked to Yeosang since?"

You shook your head, staring down into the pitcher of your drink. Your local college bar was known for these pitchers, putting gummies in them for an extra treat. You were staring down basically into a swimming pool of gummy worms and sweet alcohol.

Yeosang has been trying to call you all day today, probably confused why you got up and ran out. it was very unlike you, especially not to tell him your whereabouts. You were sure his roommates were filling him in though about what went down in the kitchen. The last thing you wanted was to confess why exactly you ran out of the apartment.

Hongjoong didn't say anything at first. And it was starting to scare you. Did he also know something you didn't? You peered up to see Hongjoong almost staring through you. You raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what was going on. It became clear that he was looking behind you, which naturally made you turn around.

Once again, you felt your heart shatter. You didn't want to become accustomed to this feeling, but it was getting worse each time.

There were Yeosang, San, and Mingi. Wooyoung and Yunho had found themselves at the bar, probably ordering for the group. Normally, you would have been elated to see the group and probably would have gone over. That is, if there wasn't a girl sandwiched between Yeosang and San.

Who was she? Was she with Yeosang or San? Was this the alleged girlfriend Wooyoung actually was referring to?

"Y/n, don't even bother," Hongjoong began.

Quickly turning back around, you downed your drink. Hongjoong's eyes widened as he watched you, still halfway through his first one. He's seen you drink before, but not that quickly.

This evening was definitely taking a turn.

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

"Y/n, come on. We're going home," Hongjoong announced.

He was trying his best to sound stern with you, but he was honestly concerned about you. He has never seen this bad before. He's never seen anyone drink 5 pitchers without splitting them with someone. It was as if you were trying to prove to yourself you could live a life without Yeosang in it.

"Nooooo," you whined out. "Just one more, Joongie, please." "Absolutely not. We are going home."

He was trying his best to get you outside, so he could order an Uber for the two of you. Hongjoong had a few drinks, trying to keep up with you, but still sober enough to know getting behind the wheel was the worse thing for the two of you. All he wanted was to get you in your apartment, get some water in your system, and tuck you into bed.

Hongjoong was trying to keep you stable, as you were swaying back and forth. You made numerous attempts to go up to the bar to order for yourself, but the bartender refused. You then had tried getting Hongjoong to buy you another drink, but he had already bought 5 out of your 6 rounds. It was time to call quits.

"Look, I know you're upset, y/n, sweetheart. But this isn't going to help you. You're going to have a massive headache in the morning and be even more upset." "But I want to stay."

People were staring at you. Of course, there were tales of people getting too crazy at the bar. You just never thought you would be one of those people.

"Hongjoong, you heard her." A voice announced from the two of you. "She doesn't want to leave."

Looking over your shoulder, you scoffed to see it was Yeosang standing behind you. His friends including the mystery girl, and everyone at the bar, were watching the three of you. Your hands were resting on Hongjoong's arms, so you wouldn't go slipping onto the floor since your legs were wobbly.

"Maybe you can talk some sense into her?" Hongjoong reasoned.

Getting a look at you, Yeosang then realized that Hongjoong was just trying to do the right thing. Your skin was pale from all the alcohol and lack of food you consumed. Your eyes were glazed over, as you tried your best to maintain eye contact. You did need to go home.

"Sweet girl, he's right. You need to go home." "And why should I?" you slurred. "Just to have sex with you again and have you drop me?" "You know I'd never do that to you," he responded, his voice stern.

Yeosang glanced between you and Hongjoong, nodding. He extended his arms, knowing you couldn't walk on your own but offering for Hongjoong to pass you off to him. Slowly, Hongjoong brought you into Yeosang's arms.

Once he had you in his arms, he made sure one arm was wrapped around you to support you up. He flexed his arms just for the support and to pull you in close to him. His other hand had cupped your cheek, causing you to look up at him slowly. He offered a gentle smile to which made you still feel all warm and tingly despite the amount of times you wanted to cry over him today. Damn him.

"Come on, angel. We are going to go home, ok?"

There were murmurs around the two of you. Surprised to see Yeosang show an ounce of kindness.

"Is the Uber already ordered?" Hongjoong shook his head but did pull out his phone. "No, I was going to wait until we got outside. I thought the cool air might help her, but I can order it for the two of you. Just text me when you get her home?"

Yeosang thanked quickly before helping you out of the bar. He could care less about his reputation of being a lone wolf, someone not to be messed with, dissolved just by his actions. All that mattered was getting you home.

Luckily, the Uber was right around the corner. Perks of going to a university in a major city. Yeosang held you up right still. His hand now tucking strands of his hair behind your ear as he looked at you softly yet with so much concern. God, it felt like your heart was going to combust.

"What's going on, sweetheart? You have been hard to reach all day, and now you don't tell me when you plan on drinking? You know I like to be in the same room just to make sure you're okay." "And interrupt your date? No thanks," you huffed. "Date? You think San is my type?"

Your eyes narrowed in on him, and he realized it was no joking matter. His hand came back to cup your cheek, keeping your eyes locked on his. He desperately wanted to figure out what was troubling your mind.

"Yeosang, I saw you. You were on a date with some girl. Wooyoung also said you had a girlfriend. I thought I was more than a side piece to you!"

Before Yeosang could answer, the Uber pulled up. He rolled down the window, asking if it was for Hongjoong for which Yeosang just played along. He definitely owed your friend for this favor.

The Uber driver unlocked the backdoor, allowing Yeosang to open it. He helped you in, making sure you didn't knock your knees against the back of the passenger seat or fall over. He then leaned over to buckle you in. You were his priority.

"Y/n, I can promise you that she is not my girlfriend," he whispered.

Once again, you scoffed at him. How stupid did he think you were? That just because you had a bit to drink that you'd believe every word he said? Your arms crossed over your chest, turning away from him. Yeosang couldn't help but smirk and snicker at you. He never realized how adorable you could get when you were frustrated especially at him.

Not wanting to keep the driver waiting, Yeosang quickly jogged around to the opposite side of the car. Just where you were looking at. You groaned as his eyes met yours once the door was open and he slid in.

Great.

Yeosang buckled up, so that the driver wouldn't get annoyed with you two. Plus, the quicker you could get home, the sooner you could be put to bed.

"Y/n, I mean it. That is not my girlfriend. She's one of Yunho's friends. He is actually trying to set her up with San." "Then why were you sitting beside her?"

He chuckled as he noticed you were jealous on top of being drunk. Interesting. Yeosang leaned in gently to press a kiss to your cheek, moving his lips to whisper into your ear.

"Just didn't want to make her feel trapped with San. I didn't want to put her in the corner where she was stuck with San. I could easily get up if she wanted to leave," he explained. "Better question though, my dear, is are you jealous?"

Your eyes widened and jaw dropped. You were trying to rack through all the excuses you could come up with, but your drunk mind was failing you. Everyone knew you to be quick on your feet. Not tonight.

"And what if I am?" You asked softly. "I like knowing you are jealous and protective of me," he smirked. "I mean, if anyone is my girlfriend, it would be you."

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Your eyes fluttered once again, just like yesterday. Immediately, you groaned as there was a sharp headache. The brightness in your bedroom didn't help either.

"Good morning, sweet girl."

It was then your eyes shot open. What? You looked over beside you to see Yeosang, shirtless, in your bed. You looked down to see you had gotten changed out of the black tube top and ripped jeans into an oversized shirt. One of Yeosang's that was stored at your place.

"We didn't-" "Hell no. You're extremely attractive, y/n, but you were so drunk. I didn't want to take disadvantage of you, so you yelled at me, got changed into one of my shirts, and fell asleep. I just moved you so you were more comfortable in bed."

You nodded slowly, chewing on your bottom lip. You yelled at him? "Sorry," you muttered.

"No, it's ok. I kind of deserved it."

What was he talking about now? It was getting exhausting that everyone else seemed to have an idea of what was going on besides you.

"Something about how I'm not honest with you. And that if you were actually my girlfriend, you would actually say it then pretending we just fuck like bunnies." "I mean, it's true," you sighed.

Yeosang nodded understandably. He never met to drag out confessing his feelings for you. Truthfully, Yeosang had never been good at expressing his emotions. He liked the fact that you spent so much time together that a lot of people assumed you were together. He just believed you two were on the same page without needing to communicate it.

"Are labels really that important when I am 100% certain about my feelings for you?"

Now you made full eye contact with him. You were laying on your back as he was propped up on his side, turned towards you. Even after seeing you at your messiest, he still looked at you like you were the rarest gem found.

"Some sort of indicator that you like me like that would have been helpful, Yeosang," you whispered. "Does this help?"

Slowly, he moved to hover above you. His hand slid over to hold your hip, squeezing your hipbone affectionately. The other hand moved to cup your face. There was no doubt in his mind. He leaned in slowly to press his lips against you.

He kissed you with everything in him. All the words unspoken were communicated through that kiss. The force of his lips pushed your head back into the pillow slightly, but you were quick to reciprocate. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers running through his hair which caused him to smile into the kiss.

"Call it whatever you want, baby. If you want to be boyfriend and girlfriend, we are. I already know you're all mine, and I don't want to shy away from it anymore," he murmured against your lips.

You pulled back, so you could look into his eyes. This time, he was one nervously biting his lip. Did he say too much? Did he say the wrong thing? Fuck, he's never been this nervous before. "I'm yours and you're all mine," you vowed. "Let's just never let Wooyoung decide our next move before we do." "Deal."