#i know no ones gonna think about it that hard but i am thinking about it that hard and saying it makes me feel better

[nkogneatho]

FREAKY ON THE ROAD

—cw: 1k, fem!reader, nicknames, semi-public, voyeurism kink mentioned, blowjob, dirty talk.

—a/n: i am gonna marry this UV light eyed freak.

You never knew you were so starved for his touch until he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. His other hand held your waist, inching you ridiculously closer to him, as if he wanted your souls to merge. It was getting harder not to kiss him. Especially, when those cerulean eyes were hooked on you, having a full blown monologue in his mind.

“Give up. You know you're going to lose,” he whispered against your ear in a gravelly voice.

“I won't. Kiss me if you're that desperate.” Even though you said that, it was driving you crazy that he was so close to you, yet you cannot kiss him.

“Oh you have no fucking idea how badly I want to. But my urge to see you lose control is stronger,” he blurted.

You knew how to play this game. You might be down bad for him but you were aware of one thing that makes him lose his mind. So...you played your ace.

Your fingers grabbed the hem of his shirt, stood on your heels since he was a little taller and moaned his name in his ears. That's all it took for him to just grab your lips with his. It never started soft. It couldn't since you tipped him over the edge.

“fuck baby! you make me lose my fucking mind,” he groaned as he brushed his body against you, where you could clearly feel his little general waking up.

“Toru mhm...” It took you all your strength to push his lips away to talk because he won't let go. “I know you lost our game but did you lose your mind too? We're in a room full of people.”

“Blame yourself sweetheart. Should've never started something you know won't end nicely.” His big hand squeezed your ass. “Wanna give them a show pretty? You know,” his fingers started playing with the fabric of your dress, “...that girl over there asked me out, because she thought we weren't together since you won't kiss me earlier.”

“Now why don't I just fuck you raw in front of her so she can get her answer?”

“You're fucking crazy, Toru.” It turned you on.

“Crazy about you. I am so hard for you. Feel,” he guided your hand to his hard on. You squeezed it to mess with him.

“Fuck! See?”

“Screw this party. Let's go home.”

Did you really think Satoru's gonna keep his dick outside your pussy for more than five minutes? You couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before he was touching you and kissing you all over again. The lights of the parking lot were dim and since everyone was enjoying the huge party, there was barely anyone there except for the valet who was dozing off.

“shit. toru...ngh can we at least—fuck! can we at least hit the corner of the road?”

“how many favors you gon' ask from me, princess?”

But he listens to you regardless. He pulls the car out of the dimly lit parking lot, the only sound emerging was the hum of the engine and your heavy breathing.

He drove for solid ten minutes—one hand rubbing your pussy through your panties—before he pulled over on a secluded road with almost no one around.

“Glad like we ditched that boring party for something much more interesting, didn't we?”

He grabbed your hand and placed it to his leaking cock through his black pants. It was hard to se because of the dark but now you could clearly feel the wet patch from the pre-cum on them. Shit. he really did hold out for long

His face had the saddest and most desperate look ever. You kissed his jaw as you unbuckled his belt and quickly freed his cock.

He took a deep breath, savoring your intoxicating scent as you leaned in, your soft lips brushing against his tip.

“Holy fucking god!” He moaned loudly when your warm mouth engulfed his cock. “Mmm, that's more like it, baby.” His tip was so swollen, so red. He needed this. He needed you.

He wrapped his hands in your hair, guiding your movements as you begin to bob your head, taking more of him into your mouth with each pass

“That's it, baby... fuck sss...” He hissed. “Take it all the way down. Let me feel those warm, wet walls squeezing my cock.”

He groaned softly as you hit a particularly sweet spot, making him jerking his hips upwards involuntarily “Fhuuck, that's so good, baby. Keep going, just like that. ah!”

He looked down at you, his blue eyes sparkling with pleasure as he watched you work your magic on his cock.

“You look so pretty with your mouth full of my cock, baby. Such a good little cocksucker. If I could, I would be stuffed in you 24/7”

He started to thrust his hips gently, fucking your face in slow, deliberate strokes.

“Mmm, yes... take it deep, sweetheart. Want me to fill you up? Yeah?” A grin laced his lips as he watched you nod a yes on his cock.

He grabbed the back of your head, holding you steady as he picked up the pace, his cock slamming against the back of your throat with increasing force.

“Good. Fucking. Girl. Fuck, yes! Squeeze that dick with your throat. Show me how much you need my cum.

His hold tightens in your hair as he neared the edge, the pleasure building to a fever pitch within him.

“Fuck! princess... I'm close. Gonna cum down your throat. Get ready to swallow every drop. Fuckfuckfu—aghh!” With a final, brutal thrust, he exploded, pumping jet after jet of hot cum directly into your waiting mouth.

“Swallow it all, baby...” And you did, lapping your tongue like a kitten to clean every drop off his cock. Panting heavily, he pulled you off his softening cock, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you close

“Mmm, that was—fucking incredible! You always know just how to play with me.”

“Let's go home. toru...I am so wet. I can't take it.” You complain.

“Aww, my poor baby. We can just fuck here if you can't wait.” He suggested as he wiped the sweat off your forehead.

“No. I want you to fuck me in all the positions. This is too cramped to try all that.” You bit your lip. Not another word was uttered as he revved up the engine again. Fuck. That might be the hottest thing he has ever heard you say and he wasn't going to waste another minute.

“Take a leave for tomorrow from work. Not gonna make it when I fuck you all night.” He said, one hand on the steering wheel with eyes filled with lust.

“Already did.” You winked and he groaned.

“You know I am gonna marry you, right?” You chuckled at his words. You were made for each other. There was no one else that could drive him this wild and there was no one else that can see this part of you. You turned to him for sex but now...you had found your soulmate in him.

[littlespoonevan]

your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm

post 8x08 because i'm SAD in a way that can only be eased with buddie hurt/comfort ��� title from abstract (psychopomp) by hozier

-

Buck is the one to drive him to the airport because who else would it be?

It feels a lot like deja vu as he approaches the glass doors of Departures but his step only falters for a moment before Eddie’s hand is catching his sleeve at the elbow and leading him through them. It’s further than Abby ever let him get.

Eddie lets him go as far the security line and he almost looks regretful when he turns to face Buck.

Buck would like to think he’s handled this well so far. He’s been supportive, helped Eddie choose his new home, listened to his fears about his parents, reassured him about Christopher, promised to oversee the shipping of the rest of Eddie’s stuff next week. He’s done everything right.

It hasn’t made any of this feel less wrong.

They look at each other now, awkward in a way they never are, until Eddie drops his bag and pulls him into a hug without saying anything.

Maybe because there’s nothing to say. Buck’s heart has been lodged in his throat since he parked the car; he’s not even sure he could say anything if he wanted to.

Eddie’s arms around him are a familiar weight though so Buck allows himself to sink into them. To tuck his chin into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder and to fist his hands in the back of his jacket like if he holds on tight enough he might be able to convince Eddie to stay.

When Eddie does pull back he makes no attempt to leave the circle of Buck’s arms. Instead one of his hands goes to that same spot at the juncture of Buck’s neck – always the same spot – and when his thumb makes contact with the divot in Buck’s throat he seeks out Buck’s gaze.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Buck croaks, the tell-tale burn behind his eyes becoming more pronounced by the second.

“Like I’m Abby,” Eddie sighs. “Or Ali. Or Tommy. I’m not leaving you, Buck.”

Buck tries to laugh but it comes out too hysterical and Eddie’s hand tightens on his neck.

“I’m leaving,” he allows. “But I’m not leaving you.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you,” Buck says, the words wobbling in the middle. His hands are still twisted in Eddie’s jacket.

“And you think I do?” Eddie asks with a half-laugh. “Who am I gonna talk to when my folks are driving me crazy? Who am I gonna talk to when I do anything? Besides, you think Chris will accept you not visiting at least once a month?”

Truthfully, Buck has no idea what Chris wants right now but he clings to Eddie’s words anyway.

“Everyone at work is gonna find me insufferable. It was bad enough that last time you weren’t there.”

Eddie laughs again, thumb brushing Buck’s neck seemingly absentmindedly. “No they won’t. And I’ll be on Facetime so much it’ll be like I never left.”

Buck ducks his head but nods anyway, gathering up the courage to say what he wants to say next. “I know you have to go,” he starts, steeling himself as he makes himself meet Eddie’s gaze. “But please don’t go forever.”

Eddie’s expression blanks, his mouth parting over nothing. Buck can only stare back, hoping that just this once it might be different. That he won’t get a, ‘Take care of yourself, Buck,’ and a hand to the cheek before the person in front of him disappears forever.

Eddie doesn’t touch his cheek. Instead he presses their foreheads together hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Buck’s breath catch and rush out of him on a shaky exhale.

“I won’t. I promise,” Eddie breathes and his hand moves from Buck’s neck to the back of Buck’s head and Buck can’t help wondering for a moment what would happen if he closed the distance between them. If Eddie would kiss him back.

It’s not a thought he’s ever entertained before but he’s thinking it now and it feels…like it makes sense. Like an inevitability.

And what a time to have a realisation like that.

Eddie leans back then and Buck forces himself to unclench his hands, attempting to smooth out the back of Eddie’s jacket with trembling hands.

“You should go,” he says because Eddie won’t.

Eddie nods faintly in agreement and it looks like it takes every ounce of effort for him to take a step back. Buck picks up his bag for him, offers it to him, and tries for a weak smile so Eddie will know it’s okay. That he can go and Buck won’t cause a scene.

“I’ll call you as soon as I get to my parents place.”

Buck nods. “Give Chris a hug for me.”

“I will.”

Eddie starts looking towards the security line again and Buck blurts out, “Tell him I love him.”

Eddie looks back to him, a devastating smile of understanding on his face. “He knows already. But I will.”

Buck nods again and then there’s nothing left to say. Eddie turns to go and Buck does the same because he can’t watch until he’s out of sight. It hurts too much already and he can barely hold his tears back as it is.

He doesn’t need to watch himself get left behind again.

~

He’s just unlocking his car when his phone rings. He doesn’t check who it is as he climbs in, just shoves the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his seatbelt.

“Keep me company while I wait for my flight?”

He straightens so quickly the phone almost falls into his lap but he catches it just in time. And he tries to laugh but he thinks it might come out more like a sob. “Keep me company on the drive home?”

“Always,” Eddie says like they’re driving home from work after a long shift.

Buck switches his phone to speaker mode and looks down at the keys in his hand, at the keys to the loft, Maddie’s place and Eddie’s house respectively, considering his options before turning on the ignition.

“So there’s the guy at the gate-“ Eddie starts and Buck lets the sound of his voice wash over him. Allows himself just one singular moment where he closes his eyes and holds his hand to his chest before he pulls himself together and drives out of his space.

Eddie is offering him a play by play of the guy at the gate who’s insisting his luggage is not chirping and Buck gets his breath back enough to make a quip about how that made it through the security scanner.

When he reaches the freeway it takes hardly any thought at all for him to take the exit that’ll get him to the Diaz house fastest.

He’s going home after all.

~

[eupheme]

ahhh I’m in love with the way you write oldman!logan! Lately I’ve been thinking about dom!logan bending his girl over his knee and giving her a couple spankings, and of course rewarding her for her good behavior later ;) love ur page so much!

oh! ��💖 dom!old man logan has my heart and he for sure wouldn’t hesitate to put you over his knee - I love this so much!! I hope this little blurb did your idea justice because I am obsessed!! (and thank you so so much!! for the kind words and this awesome ask! 💕)

lessons | old man logan x f!reader

550 words | impact play, spanking, sub/dom vibes, teasing, begging, fingering

He can hear each sound that slips from you. Every gasp and whine. The sharp, inhaled breath you hold, with the twist of his wrist.

Bracing for impact.

If his eyes were to shut, he thinks he’d hear more. The hammering of your heart beneath your ribs, the creak of your fingers as they fist in the fabric of his trousers.

Feel more - the hot exhale of your breath, buried against his thigh. The shift of your knees as they inch wider.

Your scent rolls off you in waves. So much of him has diminished over the years - the once-sharp shine of his claws now dulled. That silver gleam now scuffed up, matted.

But not his senses. Helpless with the way you overwhelm him, all that want and desire building to a crescendo.

It’s supposed to be a punishment, and he can’t pretend it’s not torture.

“How many left?”

It’s more gruff than he means to be. Demanding - a hard edge to the words.

A breath, before you’re answering, “F-five.”

“And you got it through that head of yours?”

“Yes.”

The syllables draw out - the slightest flinch in anticipation, when his hand lifts from the armrest. The cool roll of his now-empty whisky glass against a cheek, the liquor now faded from his tongue.

Followed up the cup of a broad palm. The skin warm beneath, where he’s already begun. Ten, placed swiftly.

Resisting the urge to twist his wrist once more. Let his fingers drift against your seam, knowing they’d come back slick. Tilt his head down enough to drag his tongue against the glossy ring of condensation left against your skin.

But, you’d never learn that way.

“Good,” He rasps, “Gonna finish them out.”

Fingers curling, unable to help the slightest squeeze. You clench with your sigh, his thumb stroking skin just above where your leggings are tugged down, framing the pretty curve of your ass.

“Not gonna take it easy on you, just ‘cause you said yes.”

You nod. An arch to your back, as you breathe out a, “Thank you.”

His jaw ticks. A curse bitten back as his cock throbs, where it presses against his trousers - your hip rubbing against him each time you jolt forward.

It’s enough that his hand is swinging again. A sharp crack, punctuated by the gasp as the air is pushed from your lungs.

“Count ‘em, sweetheart.”

“Five.” You pant.

Then four. Then three, two. One.

Logan’s rougher than he needs to be. A real cry pulled on the last one, a punctuation to the lesson he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

Your thighs flex, where you’re bend over his knees. Eyes half-lidded and tear-rimmed, when your head turns - cheek pressed against a thigh.

His own admiring his work. Unable to help the drift of his hand, now. Thumb denting your skin, tugging.

“Please.” You squirm - always wanting, “Logan-”

His own name, whined out. None of the pretty names you call him, dripping with submission. Forgetting yourself with your need, and it does something to him.

He sinks into heat. Two fingers tucked together, burying between your slick thighs. Feeling how you give around him, a pitched-high moan that has the edge of his lips twitching.

Giving you what you need, once more. A reward, for how well you took him.

Because along with the rest -

Maybe he’s grown a little less patient over the years, as well.

thank you so much for reading! 💕

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Swimming in Sin

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.6K

☆ ━ warnings: homophobia, religious themes, mentions of conversation therapy, emotional & physical abuse (it’s not much but if you’re uncomfortable reading it, don’t)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: imma just leave this here

IT’S MONDAY now, and Dani sits in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, the engine off but the faint hum of life around them in the parking lot loud enough to feel present. Students mill about the edges of the lot, but the two of them are hidden away in Paige’s old car. The smell of Paige’s half-eaten sandwich lingers between them, mingling with the faint scent of Dani’s lavender hand lotion.

Paige slouches dramatically in the driver’s seat, her legs stretched out so far her sneakered feet almost hit the pedals. Her sandwich sits abandoned in her lap, crumbs dotting the fabric of her sweatpants, and her face is twisted into a scowl.

“I mean, two and a half weeks,” Paige groans, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s so dumb. No leaving the house, no seeing any of my friends, no hanging out with you. What am I, bro, twelve?”

Dani picks at the edges of the granola bar in her hand, peeling back the wrapper bit by bit. She keeps her voice light as she says, “What’d you think was gonna happen? He just lets you off the hook? You threw a party, Paige—and never even tried to get permission. And you were completely wasted.”

Paige rolls her eyes so hard Dani thinks she might actually sprain something. “It’s not like I killed someone,” she mutters. “And it’s not like I wasn’t gonna clean up after. Besides, you were there to take care of me. He should’ve been thanking you, not grounding me.”

Dani shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic,” Paige insists, sitting up now, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. “Two and a half weeks of this? How am I supposed to not hang out with you for that long? I get separation anxiety!”

Dani shrugs, fighting a smile at the last sentence, though the thought tugs at her too. She’s upset about it, of course she is, but she’d seen this coming. In fact, she’d half-expected Bob to ban her from their house altogether after Saturday. Two weeks of grounding, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll survive,” Dani says, trying to sound casual even though she knows Paige won’t let it drop that easily. “Besides, it’s only two weeks. And we can still hang out at lunch and in Lit every day. And we can FaceTime whenever you want.”

Paige groans dramatically, as if the suggestion alone is an insult. “But it’s not the same,” she whines, slumping back against the seat again. “I can’t cuddle you over FaceTime, Dani. Or kiss you.” She leans over suddenly, draping herself across the center console so that her head lands against Dani’s shoulder. Dani stiffens for a moment, glancing out the window to make sure no one’s looking, before relaxing.

“It’s not the same,” Paige repeats, her voice muffled against Dani’s jacket.

Dani sighs, tilting her head down to rest her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. She feels the familiar weight of her girlfriend pressing against her, grounding her, even as Paige continues to pout. “I know it’s not the same,” Dani says softly.

She shifts, her free hand moving to tilt Paige’s face up toward hers. Paige’s blue eyes, always so clear and striking, look impossibly—and dramatically—sad now, and it tugs at something deep in Dani’s chest. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to Paige’s lips. It’s quick, barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to feel the way Paige melts against her.

When Dani pulls back, Paige lets out a little whine, her lips still parted as though she’s waiting for more. Dani grins despite herself, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a moment. “Only two weeks,” she murmurs.

“Two weeks too long,” Paige mutters, her eyes closing as she leans into Dani’s touch.

Dani chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “You’ll survive,” she repeats, though this time it feels more like a promise than a statement.

THE DRIVEWAY is quiet as Dani parks, the hum of the engine cutting off abruptly and leaving her in stillness. She exhales, her breath visible in the icy Minnesota night air, and slouches forward for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The gymnastics meet had been a long one—nearly three hours of standing, crouching, and angling for the perfect shots. Her back aches, her legs are sore, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and disappear under her blankets.

But there’s homework waiting, a mountain of it she’s been putting off. AP Calculus, a Lit essay, and some editing work for the yearbook photos she’d taken tonight. Dani groans quietly to herself, leaning back in her seat before finally mustering the energy to grab her photography bag from the passenger seat.

The cold hits her immediately as she steps out of the car, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through her sweatshirt and sinking into her skin. She hurries up the walkway, her sneakers crunching against the thin layer of frost on the ground. Her fingers fumble with the keys, and she’s relieved when the door finally swings open, the familiar warmth of home enveloping her.

Dani kicks off her shoes, letting them fall in a heap by the door, and shrugs off her coat, tossing it onto the rack. Her keys find their place on the hook by the wall, and she drops her photography bag by the entryway, too tired to care about putting it away properly. Her stomach grumbles softly as she pads toward the kitchen, craving something quick and easy before she tackles the rest of her night.

But the second she steps into the kitchen, she freezes.

Her dad is sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes already locked on hers.

The look he gives her is unyielding, sharp enough to cut through the fog of her exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw tight, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Dani’s stomach twist.

She knows.

She immediately knows.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She doesn’t need an explanation. She can feel it in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

He knows about her and Paige.

Dani’s body goes cold. It’s not just the March air still clinging to her from outside, nor the exhaustion weighing her limbs from the long day. This is something else entirely—something that feels like dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

She forces herself to meet her dad’s eyes, but it’s like staring into a storm—chaos barely contained behind the sharp lines of his face, his clenched jaw, his rigid posture. He’s keeping his tone measured, his voice low, but somehow that makes it worse. Scarier, almost, than if he were yelling at her.

When he gestures to the chair across from him and says, “I think we should have a talk,” her legs nearly buckle.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls out the chair and sinks into it. She sits on the edge of the seat, stiff and awkward, her fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to anchor herself. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening—not here, not now. But the look on his face tells her otherwise.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, that the thing she’s feared the worst over the past few months is finally coming true.

“I was talking to Beau’s father earlier today,” Dani’s father begins, his voice cool and detached. “You know—your apparent boyfriend.”

The way he spits the word out makes Dani flinch, her nails digging into the underside of the table. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since the fall,” he continues. “You know, since he switched companies and we no longer worked together. But today, he told me some very… interesting things.”

His eyes are sharp as they pin her in place, his words deliberate. “Do you want to know what they are?”

Dani can’t respond. Her throat is dry, her chest tight, and the room feels like it’s closing in on her. She can only stare at the table, her fingers now nervously picking at her nails beneath it.

When she doesn’t answer, he presses, his voice dropping to something sharper. “Except, I think you already know what they are, Danielle. So, do you want to tell me yourself?”

Dani’s breath catches. Every instinct tells her to run, to get up and leave before this gets worse, but her body is frozen, glued to the chair. Her father is watching her so intently, waiting for her to break, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it together.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to speak. Her voice is small, barely audible. “Beau and I broke up.”

The admission feels like a death sentence, but she can’t take it back now.

Her dad’s laugh is cold, devoid of any humor, and it makes her stomach churn. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “In November, apparently. Over four fucking months ago, Danielle!”

He slams his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Dani jumps, her pulse skyrocketing, and the first sting of tears pricks at her eyes.

“I just…” she begins, her voice breaking, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he repeats, his laughter sharper this time, almost unhinged. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface on that.”

Dani can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She stares at her lap, blinking back tears, wishing she could disappear.

“You want to know the most interesting thing Mr. Hudson told me today?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Dani doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“He told me that Beau said you broke up with him for a girl.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. He lets them settle, lets them twist like a knife in her chest before he repeats himself, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A girl.”

Paige.

Dani’s lungs constrict as her dad’s words pile onto her like stones, each one heavier than the last. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she can barely hear him, but the venom in his voice is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to believe him. Not even a little bit,” he says, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of something raw. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the very idea from his mind. “I couldn’t help but think to myself that no, my little girl wouldn’t do this—not again. I thought you’d learned your lesson, gotten past these types of things.”

Her stomach twists violently at the phrase these types of things, a wave of shame and dread crashing over her. She can’t meet his eyes anymore. She focuses on a crack in the table, blinking furiously to keep her vision clear. But it doesn’t work. A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at them quickly, desperate to hide any sign of weakness.

“I thought that maybe the Hudson boy made this up,” he continues, his tone brittle, almost pleading. “To save face, you know? To make himself feel better about the breakup. I refused to believe it because I’ve been so proud of you, Danielle. So proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She feels the weight of his disappointment like an iron shackle around her neck, dragging her down.

And then he drops the pretense of restraint entirely. “But I came home,” he says, his voice growing sharper, harder. “I needed to figure it out for myself. So I went up to your bedroom and looked around. And sure enough, Beau Hudson was telling the truth. You did leave him for a girl. The same girl you nearly ruined your life for last summer!”

Dani’s breath hitches, panic clawing at her chest as he pulls items off the chair beside him, tossing them onto the table like damning evidence in a courtroom.

A Hopkins basketball sweatshirt. Paige’s sweatshirt. He must’ve found it in her closet.

The printed photo from last week’s state championship, where Paige’s mom had insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. In it, Dani and Paige are standing close, too close, their smiles wide and happy, the kind that only come from people who are comfortable in each other’s orbit. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Paige’s hand is wrapped around Dani’s waist.

A folded note with the initials PB scribbled on the front, the one Paige had slipped into her photography bag last week after practice.

More things follow: a pressed flower Paige had given her after a walk in the park, a ticket stub from the movie they’d gone to see together last month, a journal entry about Paige that Dani had foolishly written—her father must’ve ripped the page from the notebook. It’s all so mundane, these little artifacts of their relationship, but to her dad, they’re something else entirely.

All the air seems to leave Dani’s body as she stares at the pile. There’s no way out of this. None. He’s found everything.

Her dad begins pacing, his hand dragging down his face as his breathing grows heavier. His movements are frantic now, like he’s trying to physically outrun his own fury. He seems to be losing himself, his voice starting to rise, too.

“I thought we were past all of this!” he shouts, octaves echoing off the walls. “I thought you’d learned! I thought you’d grown! But here we are, right back at square one, and you’re still the same little sinner, getting caught up in all this gay bullshit again. It’s disgusting, Danielle.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s not from anger. It’s from humiliation, from the sheer weight of hearing him say the words out loud, like her existence is something filthy, something shameful.

Her breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as he barrels on.

“I sent you to camp!” he yells, gesturing wildly as if the memory of it alone should be enough to set her straight. Truthfully, it might. “They told me they fixed you. They told me you got better, that you understood the weight of your actions, the power of God.” He pauses, running both hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Dani, I’m really gonna have to send you back there. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is for you? That you’re gonna have to be sent back for a round two because you couldn’t get it through your thick fucking skull the first time?”

“No,” Dani whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her dad doesn’t hear her—or doesn’t care.

“I sacrificed so much to send you there!” he continues, his voice rising again. “And for what? For you to come back and make a mockery of this family all over again?”

“Please, no,” Dani says again, louder this time, but her voice wavers and cracks.

She can feel herself spiraling. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she grips the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. She can’t go back to camp. She can’t.

The memory of it flashes in her mind—cold, sterile rooms; endless hours of lectures about sin and shame; the suffocating, unrelenting pressure to repent for something she doesn’t even think is wrong. The thought of being trapped there again, of losing herself completely this time, is unbearable.

Dani feels herself sinking, her father’s tirade muffling into a dull roar as the panic grips her fully. Her breaths are shallow, too quick, and the edges of her vision start to darken. She clutches at the back of the chair, trying to steady herself, but the weight of his words is unbearable.

Not again. I can’t go back.

But his voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Do you hear me, Danielle?” he shouts, slamming a hand onto the counter. “You’re going back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to fucking learn the severity of the sins you’ve been swimming in! I’ll send you on the next flight if I have to!”

The words snap something in her, a thread pulled too tight finally breaking. Her mind drags her back, unwillingly, to that first day at camp.

JUNE 2019

The air inside Mrs. Keating’s office is thick and stifling, a mix of lavender and cleaning solution that seems calculated to force calm. Dani sits in the chair across from her assigned counselor, her shoulders curled inward and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She doesn’t meet Mrs. Keating’s eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

Mrs. Keating looks calm, unnervingly so. She’s an older woman, her hair pinned back into a severe bun, her glasses perched neatly on her nose. There’s nothing about her that invites warmth or softness.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying Dani like she’s some kind of puzzle to be solved. “Do you know why you’re here, Danielle?” she asks finally, her voice calm and deliberate.

Dani shrugs, her movements small and tense. “Not sure,” she says, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Keating tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to peer inside Dani’s mind. “You’re here because your actions have led you down a path of sin. A path that separates you from your family, from your faith, and from God.”

The words sit heavily in the room, and Dani shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her pulse is steady but loud in her ears, and she can feel the way her body tightens at the mention of God. It’s always God with them. Like He’s some weapon to wield against her, not some presence she’s ever known to feel safe or loved by.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dani says after a long pause. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s a firmness beneath it.

Mrs. Keating nods slowly, as though she expected the answer. “You believe that because the enemy—the Devil—has planted lies in your heart, Danielle. Lies that make what you’ve done feel natural, even good. But deep down, you know that it’s not. That’s why you feel guilt, isn’t it?”

Dani swallows hard. She doesn’t feel guilt—not about Paige, anyway. There’s guilt about other things, sure. About being sent here. About what it’s doing to her dad, about how she’s made everything so messy and complicated. But not about Paige.

Still, the way Mrs. Keating speaks gets under her skin. It’s calm, calculated. Like she’s dissecting Dani piece by piece and cataloging her flaws for some case study. Dani hates it. It makes her feel small. Exposed.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Dani says, but the words come out quieter than she intended. She’s not sure she even believes them.

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Keating counters smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t have sent you.”

That makes Dani flinch. Her father. The sharp sting of his disappointment still weighs heavily on her chest, pressing down in a way she can’t escape. His face when he’d told her she was going to camp had been full of anger, yes, but there had been something worse beneath it—something that looked like shame.

He hadn’t even looked at her when he dropped her off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Dani mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re going to talk about it, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says, her tone firm but still devoid of emotion. “Because this is the first step. You have to face the reality of your actions if you’re ever going to heal.”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “There’s nothing to heal from,” she says, more forcefully this time before repeating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mrs. Keating doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sits back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on Dani like she’s waiting for something. Dani shifts under the weight of her gaze, but she doesn’t break the silence.

Finally, Mrs. Keating speaks. “Tell me about the girl.”

Dani’s chest tightens. She doesn’t look up.

“The one your father mentioned,” Mrs. Keating presses. “The one who led you astray.”

“She didn’t lead me astray,” Dani protests quickly, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

Mrs. Keating doesn’t react to the outburst. “So you do feel something for her, then.”

Dani freezes, her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know what answer won’t be used against her later.

After a moment, she settles for, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Paige isn’t wrong. What we had isn’t wrong.” Her tone is slightly more argumentative, more confrontational than usual. But she’s been sent to this unfamiliar, scary fucking place so she supposes she has a right to.

“What you had,” Mrs. Keating repeats, leaning forward slightly. “You speak as though it’s in the past. Is that because you already know it cannot last? That it is not sustainable?”

Dani’s jaw tightens, her teeth grinding together. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust herself to speak without snapping. She can feel her nails biting into her skin, but the sharp pain is grounding. It keeps her from falling apart completely.

Mrs. Keating takes the silence as an opening. “This is a safe space, Danielle. You can be honest here. Talk to me.”

Dani doesn’t talk to her. She doesn’t talk at all. She looks away, her gaze zeroing in on a jagged pattern on the wood flooring, eyes wide and unblinking. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let Keating see her cry. She won’t give her that satisfaction. She refuses.

Eventually, Mrs. Keating stands, the movement slow and deliberate. She walks around the desk and stops in front of Dani, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Dani stiffens at the contact, trying to shrug the hand off, but Mrs. Keating’s grip is firm. It doesn’t hurt, not quite, but it feels invasive.

“You have a lot to learn here, Danielle Callan,” Mrs. Keating says quietly, her voice unshakable. “But that’s why you’re here. To learn. And you will.”

THE MEMORY lingers in Dani’s mind like a weight she can’t shake, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Keating’s calm voice echoes in her head, the grip on her shoulder a phantom pressure she swears she can still feel. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought, but it refuses to leave.

She can’t do it.

She can’t do it again.

Her dad’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp and furious. He’s been yelling for what feels like forever, pacing the length of the living room with heavy, deliberate steps. Every word he spits out feels like a lash against her skin, each syllable steeped in anger, in disbelief, in the kind of disappointment that makes Dani feel impossibly small.

“How could you do this to us again?” he barks, throwing his arms up. “After everything we went through, after everything you went through—this is how you repay us? By… by flaunting it like this? You didn’t even try to hide it this time, Danielle!”

Dani winces at his words, each one sinking into her chest like a stone. She stays seated on the hard chair, her hands balling into fists on her thighs. Her fingernails bite into her palms, the sharp sting grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely.

He stops pacing suddenly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. His eyes burn with conviction, his expression a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

Dani’s breath catches in her throat. She can’t hold his gaze for long, can’t stand the way he’s looking at her, like she’s some broken thing he can’t figure out how to fix. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

Her throat feels tight, her eyes burning with the threat of tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I…” she starts, trying to force the words out. “I can’t be fixed, Dad. This isn’t something that’s fixable.”

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. She risks a glance at him, but his face is unreadable now, his mouth a firm line, his eyes locked on her.

So she keeps going, her voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “I didn’t choose to like other girls—like Paige—like that. It just… happened. I was born like this. I’ve had these thoughts since I was little. I can’t be fixed, can’t be changed. The—the ‘gay’ stuff you’re talking about can’t just be prayed away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Dani thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s heard her. But then he straightens, his expression hardening, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t try hard enough,” he says firmly, his voice like steel. “You weren’t at camp long enough.”

The words ignite something in Dani, something sharp and bitter and raw. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing. Her voice is louder now, trembling with emotion she can’t contain.

“I did try!” she says, standing up as the chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “I tried so hard! I didn’t talk to Paige for months; I completely pushed her away. I dated Beau like you wanted me to. I did everything that was supposed to be right! And I was miserable for every second of it!”

Her voice cracks, and she feels the tears spill over now, hot and relentless. She swipes at them angrily but keeps going, because she has to. Because if she doesn’t, she might never say it again.

“I wasn’t happy that way!” she cries, her voice breaking with the weight of it all. “Can’t you just let me be happy, Dad?”

The tears come harder now, blurring her vision as she stares at him, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s willing him to understand, willing him to hear her, because all she wants—all she wants—is to be happy.

But the silence stretches on, suffocating, and Dani’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

Dani’s dad stares at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he’s physically restraining himself from exploding again. His gaze feels like it’s drilling into her, searching for something, as if the right words might pull her back into the version of herself he’s convinced she’s lost.

Dani meets his eyes, even though everything in her screams to look away. They’re both standing now, face to face, close enough that she can see the tight lines of his jaw, the furrow between his brows that only deepens the longer he looks at her.

For a moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to soften, maybe he’ll finally hear her. But then his face hardens all over again, and his voice comes out sharp, slicing through the fragile silence.

“This is a sin,” he snaps, the words like venom on his tongue. “You think you know better than God? You think this is how He made you?” He throws up his hands, his voice rising with every word. “No, Danielle, you were not born this way. You were fine until… until her.”

Dani’s stomach drops. She doesn’t have to ask who he means.

He doesn’t stop. “It’s that Bueckers girl! She did this to you—she’s the one who ruined you!”

“No, she wasn’t!” Dani yells, her voice breaking halfway through. Her hands shake at her sides as she takes a step closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, no! Everything she did, I did too! There was no… no influence, no manipulation! I’m telling you, this isn’t something you or anyone else can fix!”

But he’s already shaking his head furiously, his expression twisting into something cruel. “It can be fixed!” he shouts back, his voice booming in the small space. “I refuse to watch you go to hell over this! I refuse, do you hear me? You’re gonna go back to that camp, and they’re gonna help you, and you’re gonna stay long enough this time to be saved, I swear it!”

Dani feels like the floor is falling out from under her. “I’m not going back there!” she protests, her voice cracking with desperation. She thinks her nails might be digging so harsh into her that it’ll draw blood. She doesn’t care.

“Oh, yes, you will!” he yells back, his eyes flashing with a fire she’s never seen before.

“You can’t make me!” she throws back, her voice raw.

For all his negative words directed at her, all the screaming and yelling, all the accusations—there’s always been something that’s held him back from ever going past using his words. He’s never dared lay a hand on his daughter. But whatever that something was that stopped him has clearly been thrown out the window.

It’s so fast she almost doesn’t process it. His hand comes down, hard, across her face. The sound of the slap reverberates in the room, sharp and deafening, cutting through the air like a whip.

Her head jerks to the side from the force of it, her cheek immediately stinging, a fiery burn spreading across her skin. For a second, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand there, frozen.

Her hand comes up slowly, almost instinctively, to press against the spot where he struck her. Her palm is shaking as it touches her face, as if to confirm the reality of what just happened.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, her vision blurring with tears she refuses to let fall. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes now, a look she’s never seen before, and it chills her to her core.

Disbelief crashes over her like a wave, drowning out everything else. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there, her heart pounding in her ears, the sting on her cheek the only thing grounding her in the moment.

For a moment, Dani stands frozen, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her breath is shallow and ragged, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. Some people freeze in fear, others run. Fight or flight—it’s instinctual. And Dani has always been the kind to freeze up.

But the fear in her now is different, deeper, and it sinks into her chest like a weight she can’t dislodge. It’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes—it’s the kind that propels. She can’t stay here. Not with him like this. Not when she doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

Her gaze darts to the table, where her phone lies just within reach, and she finally forces her limbs into action. Her hand trembles as she lunges for it, but before her fingers can graze the sleek surface, her dad’s hand intercepts her.

“Dad—wait—”

Her words barely leave her mouth before he wrenches the phone away. She watches, helpless, as he hurls it across the kitchen with a furious motion. The phone hits the tile floor with a sickening crack, the sound cutting through her like a blade. Bits of glass scatter, catching the light, and the air feels heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Dani lets out a strangled sob, the sound escaping her throat without permission. She takes a step back, and then another, her hands coming up instinctively to shield herself. Her back bumps against the edge of the counter, and she feels trapped, like an animal cornered by its predator.

Her father’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Do you hear me, Danielle?”

His tone isn’t loud anymore, but it’s worse that way. The quiet intensity of it crawls under her skin and wraps around her chest like a vice. She can’t look at him. She’s too scared of what she might see. Instead, her eyes dart toward the shattered remnants of her phone, then back to the floor, her body trembling.

“Dad, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her throat feels raw, her words choked by the tears she’s holding back. “You’re scaring me. Please, just—just stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. He moves closer, his footsteps deliberate, until he’s towering over her. Dani flinches as his hands reach out, but he doesn’t hit her again. Instead, his fingers clamp down on her shoulders, firm and unyielding.

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he says, his face mere inches from hers. His voice is calm now, too calm, but every syllable lands like a blow. “You’re going back. And you’re staying there until they fix you.”

Dani tries to shake her head, tries to move away from his grip, but he holds her in place. Her tears spill freely now, hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Go upstairs. Pack your things.”

His words slam into her like a physical force, and she feels herself crumbling beneath the weight of them. She’s trembling, her knees weak, but she doesn’t move.

“Dad, I—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Do you hear me, Danielle? Do what I said. Now.”

The intensity in his eyes pierces through her, and for a moment, all she can do is stare back at him, tears blurring her vision. She feels so small, so powerless, her body shrinking under the weight of his anger. The room is suffocating, the air thick and unrelenting.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out soft and broken. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her father doesn’t answer. He just stares at her, his expression set, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if holding her in place. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unyielding, and Dani feels herself breaking under it.

Dani doesn’t think; she just moves. Her father’s grip isn’t as strong as his words, and she twists out of it with a force she didn’t know she had. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she spots the keys hanging on the small hook by the door. They’re so close—just a couple of feet away.

She can make it. She has to make it.

Her body acts before her mind can catch up, surging forward. Her dad’s hands grab at her, but she slips free, adrenaline pushing her faster than his reaction time. Her fingers curl around the cool metal of her car keys, and she yanks the front door open in one motion. The air outside is cold and sharp, but she barely notices as she sprints out onto the porch and down the driveway, her socks sliding slightly on the concrete.

“Dani!” her father’s voice bellows behind her, furious and disbelieving.

She doesn’t stop. She can’t. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and the ache in her chest is overwhelming, but her body doesn’t let her pause. The car is right there.

She reaches it just as he does, her hands fumbling to open the door. Her father’s voice is louder now, closer, almost on top of her. “Danielle! Stop this right now!”

But she doesn’t stop. She slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and locks it in one fluid motion. Her hands are shaking so violently she can barely grip the steering wheel, but she manages to press the ignition button.

Her dad is at the window now, his face red and furious, his voice muffled but still terrifyingly clear through the glass. “This is my car!” he yells, banging on the window. “I pay for it! Get out right now!”

Dani can’t look at him. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, her vision blurred with tears. Her whole body is trembling, her hands slipping on the wheel as she shifts into reverse.

“Danielle!” His fist slams against the glass again, making her jump, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The car jerks as she pulls out of the driveway too fast, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. She doesn’t care. Her dad’s voice fades into the background as she speeds down the street, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t look back. Not at him, not at the house, not at the neighborhood she’s known her entire life.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She’s crying so hard she can barely see, her tears mixing with the streaks of rain on the windshield. Everything feels blurry, distorted, like she’s underwater and the world is pressing in on all sides.

Her mind races as fast as the car. The words he said replay over and over, looping endlessly until they feel burned into her brain. You’re going back. You need to be fixed. I refuse to watch you go to hell.

Her dad’s voice has always been loud, always sharp, but this… this was different. Because for the first time in her life, Dani was scared of him. Truly, bone-deep scared. Not just of what he might have said to her, but what he might have done to her.

The thought of going back to camp makes her stomach churn violently. She can still hear the echo of Mrs. Keating’s voice in her head, those sickly sweet tones that masked something far darker. She can feel the weight of the prayers, the way they crushed her under their expectations, as if forcing her into a mold she could never fit.

I can’t go back there, she thinks, the words looping through her head like a desperate mantra. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and she forces herself to focus on the road in front of her, though she has no idea where she’s going. The streets blur together, familiar landmarks passing by unnoticed. In the back of her mind, she knows she should have a plan, but right now, all she can do is drive.

In an ideal world, she’d go to Paige’s. Paige would know what to do. Paige always knows what to do. But Dani can’t. Paige’s house is too close, just one door down. Her dad would’ve followed her there in a heartbeat, and Paige is already in trouble enough as it is.

She lets out a shaky sob, her shoulders heaving as she turns onto a random street. The car feels too big and too small all at once, the silence inside it deafening. She’s not even sure how far she’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. The tears don’t stop.

Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, the car screeching to a halt on the side of a dimly lit road. She sits there, gripping the wheel as though it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.

Dani feels lost—nowhere to go, nothing in front of her.

[heartfullofleeches]

PLEASE ELABORATE PELASE

Shout out to you and the anon who wrote this:

[Please elaborate about consensual intox play with Sammy, I miss my masochistic guard dog of a boy <3]

For enabling me-

-

[ (consensual) Drugging, Submissive Yan, mentions of alcohol and weed]

He plays it off as a passing thought- A reoccurring fantasy he knows will haunt him until he hears your opinion on the idea.

"I don't really drink... Everyone I've drank with says I'm a lightweight which some think is funny due to how tall I am.. One beer is enough to get me tipsy.."

Sammy bites his lip hard enough to make them bleed- It's so embarrassing, almost humiliating to speak about his desires aloud. You're the only person he'd ever want to play them put with, so it's better out than in.

"Would you ever be interested in... using me while I'm under the influence?"

There's nothing Sammy yearns for more than being under your complete control. Eyelids drooping as you inch closer, encouraging him to take just one more sip. His fingers unable to properly suction to the glass as his weight slumps against the couch, motor skills lose to a battle he had no hope of winning as whatever you gave him hits his system.

"Having a little trouble, Sam? It's okay, I'll take good care of you. Why don't I help you get out of that stuffy sweater? You're burning up, sweet boy-"

Teasing him more, strip him bare and ravage him to your heart's content. Call him useless, useless without you there to pick up the pieces. He can't do a thing without you in this state - so hopelessly dependant as his lips struggle to form the sentences needed to beg you for all you can give.

All this, but with a Stoner Darling instead-

Sammy writhing in anticipation waiting for the edibles Darling gave him to kick in. Watching them take a puff from their smoking method of choice, wishing they'd force it down his throat in the next breath. Poking fun at him for being so out of his mind from one heavy hit when it takes a trained professional like them several to be as totaled as Sam is. They'd never do that to him, but a man can dream-

"Out like a light, already? We're gonna have to build up that tolerance of yours a bit, Sam. Think you can take another kiss?.... Haha, what am I even asking for? I know you can, Sammy..."

Sammy and Darling having a cute date together with consent established prior- Sam's hanging onto their every word, wondering when they'll make their move when he suddenly begins to feel the effects of whatever they slipped into his drink without him noticing. Darling smiles and laughs like nothings out of the ordinary as they drag their flustered, slurring boyfriend back to the car-

I'm feral for this man.

[chocoqtelle]

inner child pac reading

🦀 pile one,,

I know we're used to being super helpful, but it's good to help yourself too. you should always make sure you're okay first. It's important for us to be okay, even if other people don't think so. we should think so. things are gonna be okay for us. they always are. I want to do the things we like. I don't understand why you care about what people think now. I think we should try doing what we like more, even if it's embarrassing. it doesn't have to take a lot of time. it's just good to have fun sometimes. maybe you can get back into some of our old interests if you want?

it seems like this pile had to mature quickly and was overly generous in childhood. this likely led to some people pleaser habits. when the world said "be nice" and "care about others" you took it to heart, but it felt like you were the only one who did. you felt like you had to be the adult in your childhood and care for other people around you. for some of you, you may have had to care for a parental/older familiar figure or your siblings. you're used to changing your words and your personality to be more digestible and gentle because this strong fear of conflict. you were scared of people being mean to you, so you avoided making anyone mad. it was like you were always tiptoeing over eggshells. now, you don't have to, so there's no point in worrying about people who don't worry about you. you'd be doing yourself and your inner child a favor by doing what you want. it might feel wrong to be yourself, but at least try. I won't delve too much into this part, but I believe some people in this pile also dealt with being oversexualized or being hyper sexual at a young age. I think it's important to know you're more than what you can give others for this pile. please also take a break for the love of god.

🐸 pile two,,

It's hard to feel loved if nobody shows you. at the same time, i don't think I'd want to be loved. it seems weird and uncomfortable. I'm not used to it so it's scary. I still wish that someone would care at least. it feels like nobody else cares. I'm really tired of things being silent and boring all the time. I want to do something fun. I want friends but I want to be by myself. people think I'm weird, but I think they're the weird ones. they can avoid me but I wouldn't wanna be friends with them anyway. it doesn't matter if it's lonely, I don't feel less lonely around people anyway. some people think I'm mean. I don't think I'm mean. i heard I look mean or I act mean sometimes, but what if that's just who I am? I don't try to be mean to people. I just don't want people to hurt me.

holy neglect trauma... there's a lot to unpack here 😓 first off, I hope you're alright. it seems like this pile never really learned how to interact with people and is probably still a bit of a people hater. this pile has had to keep strong boundaries and walls on to protect themselves from unfamiliar experiences (being spoken to positively.) if you've never experienced something, it can be scary but you have to stop thinking every little thing is gonna go wrong in your life. it's fine. separate note but I think someone's ancestors are very present here, might want to connect with them if you don't already. you can try to shut down the feelings of loneliness and pretend connection won't help but it does. you're probably not connected with your inner child or you're ashamed of yourself for some reason. trying to be cold won't undo anything or save you from the feelings you're hiding. you'll have to acknowledge them at some point. escapism and forcing ignorance wont help forever. hopefully it'll be sooner than later, but that's your choice. it's okay to be soft, btw.

🐕 pile three,,

I know what I'm talking about. I'm serious. I wish people would take me more seriously. i get good grades, I study hard, I always prove how smart I am. for some reason, people still act like I'm too young and stupid to have opinions or that what I say is just silly, especially with emotions. they act like having emotions makes you a less rational person. some people look down on me for who I am, too. it's not something I can change. whether it's gender, age, or whatever, people always want an excuse to ignore how I feel or what I have to say. I know I'm right though. I don't want us to stop expressing ourselves. I wanna share how I feel to the world.

this pile is extremely opinionated and knows how to share their emotions. this pile is for the "bossy" kids who "should have been lawyers" or "a CEO" according to every adult around them. you were emotional as a child and it was always ignored or joked off as if your feelings were invalid. this pile is definitely natural-born leaders so if you aren't/never have been aspiration-driven or "extra" this pile probably isn't yours. the most healing thing you can do for yourself at this point is speak up. continue to speak about everything. share your opinion more, it's safe now and people will actually take you seriously. be emotional, be too much, be annoying, be talkative, be over-opinionated, be everything you feel like being and don't let anyone talk you out of it. lead your life how you want to. call everything out, even if it means being weird. I definitely feel like some people in this pile had the gifted kid experience or liked to read a lot when they were younger. there's also some unresolved anger that might need to be taken care of. I think speaking up more instead of bottling feelings up will definitely help that, though. you're not stupid or weak for being emotional. just be yourself unapologetically and that's the best thing you can do for your younger self.

[robolvrr]

pop 'n lock it! *⁠.⁠✧｡⁠☆

rodimus prime x gn! flirty bounty hunter reader

sexy aliens at hotspots near you! • rodimus has learned that maybe cybertronians aren't as feared by the rest of the galaxy as he thinks.

warnings: nsfw, sexual content. (fisting, valveplay, friends with benefits.) non-cybertronian reader.

"come here often?"

your fingers rub absently on the safety lock of a battered pistol. the sizzle of raw laser still sends a wave of nausea through your system, before your internal servers have forwarded through past memories and interactions to positively identify the cocky voice rumbling through your communications system.

your lips playfully pull upwards.

"how'd you get my line, roddy? don't remember giving you this frequency babe."

the laughter that follows is painfully confident. so much so, that you can easily pick the chuckles apart and find the nervousness coursing beneath. he's about to snip back at you but that's just so predictable, especially since he's much more fun tongue-tied.

"daww, you missed me pretty thing? and here i thought you were too busy being a lil commander. if you wanted me so bad you coulda just told me the last time."

rodimus lets out the equivalent of a bark. you turn your attention to the sky, squinting in an attempt to see if he was piercing through the atmosphere or not.

"oh, you're mean! you know, sometimes i think you just like to project. i get you that riled up, sweetspark?"

that's how he wants to play tonight? cute.

you make eye-contact with a ball of flame and melted metal dancing across bright, magenta skies like a comet out of hell. humming, your pistol meets your hip, belt heavy with equpiment.

"your paint job gonna hold, hm? coming down awfully hot, needy."

"am not."

"uh-huh. sure, speedy. you want me to buff it better later?"

"just get that expression off your face. ugh."

that smile is downright cheshire. this planet's entire warmth and core couldn't force his frame any hotter than the sly smirks you design. it's your plotting grin.

the possibilities send a nice shiver down to his pedes.

"good mechs get rewards. stop playing coy and admit you're stressed and you missed me."

silence, for once, fills your comms. he can imagine you sucking your teeth with a feigned, sour pout.

"... be ready."

your head tips back when you giggle. legs drape over a slender, glossy bike before it sets to hover over rusted terrain, helmet clicking into place as your suit whirs to function.

[ welcome back, user. where to? ]

wrists twist back until the engine purrs. you wonder if rodimus will too.

"the usual. clear my night and tell trax the job is done."

your bike and you shoot through the desert in a blur, leaving the approaching prime and your disintegrated target of ash far behind.

---------

rodimus knows he shouldn't be interacting with you on any level. like, at all.

it's not as if you're a major threat. he's learned the hard way not to leap to conclusions, though you've never made a point of following through with any threats and you're cute, kind of intimidating. almost some figment of his imagination that flits in the corners of his optics.

he hasn't told anyone, anyone, on the ship about you.

for one, they just wouldn't get it.

rodimus prime, captain of the lost light, dirty pervert who enjoys interfacing outside his species every once in awhile. who is hopelessly intoxicated by a being hundreds of feet shorter and yet lets 'em run him up a wall.

for two, he's sure it isn't "ethical." magnus wouldn't look at him the same and he already was in hot water.

for three? well for three, you should be in prison. he's not sure where or which one, but from his research and your blunt pride, you're not exactly a good person.

not entirely. you've gotten rid of some awful corruption and he doesn't like how he's starting to question where his morals and your efficiency mix, because he's certain you don't fry his processors that bad to the point he's losing his sense.

you do.

rodimus lands on the planet's surface, fields buzzing too much to remember the name or care about proper docking. it's not as if he's sticking around for long, per your request.

which is cool. totally cool.

rodimus feels like shareware when he transforms into alt-mode, aware you're probably already waiting. his pistons roar and he fights the urge not to ding you again, because yeah, he's needy.

so what if he misses your mouth? missed your skin, synthetic and otherwise, missed your foreign technology analyzing his ticks and limits?

he needed this. he deserves this, that much was true.

the crackle of his comms make his wheels bite rock aggressively.

"don't make me wait."

----------

he arrives not even five minutes later. you're too static to care about or remember his measurement of time. it's quick and to your standards and that's all that matters.

his chassis is dusty. sure enough, there is visible damage upon his descent. you don't look up, or over, your shoulder until he drawls in bratty greeting.

"you know, most hosts are a little more attentive."

there he goes. classic rodimus, always misbehaving. biting what he could chew and choking instead.

you let the silence grow awkward before you give him what he wants. you can sense the way he's unsure by how his vents vary, fans slowly whirring as they lower the temperature down a degree.

"and most guests are more polite. who said i invited you?"

poor thing looks like a kicked pet. his optic ridges droop and his dermas screw up, stubborn.

"i can be good. it's just... i need you, okay? that's what you wanted to hear, right? just give me tonight. please."

he slips down the concrete wall as steps, practiced and nonchalant, drift his direction. all his insecurities and want bubble to a nasty concoction and his legs part without command.

he can feel it. your stare, right on his closed array. the visual, physical culmination of his obsession dripping and oh, primus. your mouth is opening and you're letting it fall on your tongue.

"hahhh.. frag." he stores the image in a file far away.

"like candy, roddy. i can forgive you for intruding if you haven't been touching yourself like i asked, darling."

he groans and his digits scrape the foundation. you suck your finger and he's shaking.

"sure tastes like it."

frag it all. you make him so desperate it's embarrassing.

he nods his head fast and his panels pop and lock open.

leaning forward, you make a mental note to see just when your schedule will open up again this lunar cycle. while his spike is just as pretty as he is, an curved phallic throb of silver metal with sparkling, ruby bio-lights, you dip lower instead.

rodimus didn't have time to ask, hearing the whoosh of your thrusters and suddenly tongue and spit find his node with turbokitten licks.

"ooohhhh, okay, hah! w-warn somebody before you just g— guhh..!"

you never ask him to mass displace when intimate. it's partially the reason he feels so gross. there is no reason for him to be this broken already.

he should be breaking you. you should be under him, unable to take an inch. unable to think straight, or walk straight—

you're nibbling.

the rounded knob is rubber and thick. solid. firm, but slippery. you're not worried about harming him, though you do bite harder than necessary to ensure he's getting stimulated.

transfluid starts to drench your chin as you swirl and slobber, forming a warm suction that earns you a glitched moan.

"yes, yes, yeeeeeeaaahh... j-jhust like. ah! that.."

eager fingers circle his valve. he hiccups his approval.

then, your hand. he has to focus on not crushing it but from the yelp and helm bumping the ceiling, he wasn't expecting the action at all. you dreamily continue to coat him in your saliva as your wrist slithers in.

rodimus is sure he's going to offline.

you're not big. that's been established. but he still has to ease his calipers, legs trembling as you shove more and more of your forearm in him.

"please don't stop. i-i'm sho sorry. i'll be good. i'll be so good fhoure yew."

lubricant coats his faceplate when he hears your wicked amusement murmur against his valve instead.

his processor is fuzzy. he can't grab at anything because his strength will collapse the support beams, or you'll shoot that domineering leer that makes him feel like he's tipped over a vase.

rodimus whines, bleats. after lapping and swallows, your mouth has lost patience and drifted to his pulsing shaft instead. your lips are so much softer than a cybertonian, pillowy and velvet.

meanwhile, you are lazy. still pumping up to the elbow, in and out, in, out, innnn, outttt.

"let me see you cry, honey. so cute when you do. so handsome. so pretty."

the captain ex-vents sharp. his optics are cerulean. they glow in the darkness and drink you up.

"y-yeah?"

greedy! he's too obvious.

"you're the prettiest cybertonian i have ever seen." there it is, that engine growl. it vibrates your form with a tickle.

"my little light. my perfect...", you know what you're saying is going to make him overthink. you keep going because you feel how close he is already. "perfect prime."

that does it. rodimus tries to reboot his vocalizer as he shrieks out, dopey and bursting. a large, pink pool puddles at his aft, a single servo snatching you by the waist by instinct and dragging you up, up, up, up.

his glossa shoves down your throat and you paw at his helm.

he wants this burnt into his very being. his spark is thrashing.

"give. more. c'mon."

smoothing away tears, you suckle. his glossa slithers out and spit and fluid makes spider-web bridges between your mouths.

"you know i am not that mean, right? relax your pistons."

rodimus looks at you, albeit too tenderly. you close your eyes and distract you both instead by kissing him again.

"hah. as if. you're evil."

"you seem to have a habit of letting evil people around you, roddy." clink. the suit on your body phases off. he looks like he wants to stick you in his intake, drool and all.

"... touché."

[munsonsmixtapes]

Hi, I was wondering if I can ask a request for Eddie Diaz x Female Paramedic Reader smut, where they both can't keep their hands of each other and in means of finding a private place end up in the back seat of Eddie's pick up truck and do some 'things'. I am just dying for some soft Dom! Eddie Diaz smut, thank you.

Yes, yes! Thursday’s episode, I could keep my eyes off him! What a beautiful man!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) slight dom!eddie

“You’re so pretty,” Eddie tells you as he lies on top of you in the back seat of his truck. His hand travels up your thigh and gives it a soft squeeze as his lips find yours once again.

This has become something you've done almost every single night after your shifts. Since you want to keep what's going on between the two of you a secret, you always end up meeting in a random parking lot when you always find yourselves in the back seat of Eddie's truck.

"No I think that's you," you argue as your hands slide into his hair as his lips find their way to your neck. You gasp as he gives it a rough suck and he chuckles against your skin in response.

"How about we both be pretty then?" He asks before nipping the spot right under your ear as his hands move to undo your bra.

"W-works for me."

"I think this is where you look the prettiest, though," he says, as he tosses your bra into the passenger seat before moving down to your chest, kissing all the way down your torso. "When you're underneath me."

He always knows exactly what to say to get you wet and he knows how good he is at it. You can see it in the look in his eyes. His hand unbutton your pants and he pulls them down, not missing the wet patch on your panties. He's quick to take them off along with your socks and shoes and he spreads your legs wide to get a good look at what he's working with.

"Is this for me? Honey, you shouldn't have."

The teasing was funny at first, but now you're getting desperate. You need him to do something now or you're gonna finish the job yourself.

"Eddie, please," you whine.

"Please what, honey?" He knows exactly what you want, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you to beg for him, to whine, to cry and then he'll give you what you so desperately want.

"Please fuck me. I need you." Your whining always does something to him and now he's tenting in his pants. He's so hard that it's starting to hurt. He needs to get inside soon or he thinks he might explode.

"Well that was all you had to say. Now relax. I'm gonna take care of you."

You watch him retrieve an condom from his pocket and he sets it to the side as he gets himself undressed as quick as possible before rolling the condom onto his cock. Once he's ready, he doesn't hesitate to fully sink himself inside you just how he knows you like, watching your face the entire time.

It seems that no matter how many times you've fucked, he has to stretch you out every time. He can tell that it's still a lot for you to take in and he can see that you're already crying. He asks if you want to stop because of your obvious discomfort, but you just say not, shaking your head furiously. You're not going to be fully satisfied until you can feel every inch of him.

Once he's fully in, Eddie stays there, seeing just long you can hold out and when you ask him to keep going, he pumps in and out, fucking you fast and hard and deep as his hands pin your wrists to the seat, nothing but filthy words coming from his mouth as he does so.

Your moans are nothing but delicious as they fall from your lips, and mixed with your labored breaths, the windows are fogging up pretty quickly. Eddie has barely even done anything, but you already feel so tired from it all.

"You're starting to slur, hon. Already fucked out, huh? Does my big cock wear you out, baby?" All you can do is nod in response. "Alright, well, give me one more and then I'll take you home. Just one more, baby. You can do it."

Eddie gives you a few more thrusts and you're orgasming, your back arching as you do so. His hands slide underneath you as he talks you through it, encouraging you the entire time. And once you come down, Eddie lays you down on the seat and then he cleans you up with what he has in his glove compartment before he helps you get dressed. He then helps you into the passenger seat before he takes you home where he cuddled you until the both of you fell asleep, wrapped up each other's arms.

[the-himawari]

A3! Magazine Interview Translation - B’s-LOG March 2024 [Cover Boys Interview]

The true faces of today’s flourishing young actors

This month’s cover features Hyodo Kumon & Izumida Azami. Azami didn’t have any particular school he wanted to go to. So when Kumon invited over him to Tsukushi High School, the two became senior and junior. The two of them show close they are by walking to and from school and eating lunch on the rooftop together.

We bring you a newly written interview that provides a closer glimpse of their true faces.

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

Q: Do you have anything that’s been important to you since childhood?

Kumon: Since childhood, huh~? Ah! I thought of something!

Azami: What is it?

Kumon: A home run ball from my favourite baseball player! One day when I was little, I was watching a game at the stadium. While I was cheering as hard as I could, it flew right by me and I caught it.

Azami: Oh, that’s pretty amazin’. That’s not something you can get no matter how many times you go.

Kumon: Exactly! Do you have anything like that, Azami?

Azami: I’ve… always had a cheek brush with me. It’s kinda like my good luck charm.

Kumon: Ooh, right. I know which one you’re talking about!

Azami: Yeah, I’ve used it on you before.

Q: Would you rather be called “cool” or “cute”?

Kumon: I’d definitely be happier being called cool! You’re the same right, Azami!?

Azami: If it’s between those two choices, then I guess it doesn’t really matter what you call me. But I don’t like it when people call me cute to tease me. I hope they'll quit doing that.

Kumon: Now that you mention it, Azuma-san calls you cute every now and then, right? Like it’s so cute and innocent how you immediately get embarrassed whenever you talk about love.

Azami: That’s why I keep tellin’ him to quit it.

Kumon: That doesn’t make you happy?

Azami: Azuma-san is totally just makin’ fun of me.

Kumon: Eh~? I don’t think he’s teasing you though. I think he genuinely means it.

Q: Tell us the truth. Are you actually a scaredy-cat?

Azami: Nah, not really.

Kumon: Me neither! Actually, Azami and I went to a haunted house together the other day!

Azami: Right, Kumon said he wanted to go to one outta nowhere.

Kumon: I thought it’d be interesting so I invited Azami and we went right away. That haunted house was loads of fun!

Azami: Well. I guess I’m glad I went since I could use their makeup as reference.

Kumon: Maybe I’ll go with Summer troupe next time!? Ah, I wonder if they’d come though…

Azami: It wouldn’t hurt to try invitin’ them. …I can’t say for sure that all the members would go though.

Q: How would you confess? In-person, by phone, or by LIME?

Azami: H-HUH!? Who the hell would answer that!!

Kumon: It’s fine, it’s fiiine! By the way, I’d do it face-to-face for sure! I’d like to see their face as I tell them and make sure I'm getting my feelings across properly.

Azami: …I see.

Kumon: C’mon, Azami. How about you?

Azami: I’m not gonna say. Lay off me! Get to the next question already!

Kumon: I sure wonder when we’re gonna get to hear Azami talk about this stuff~.

Q: When you’re on a date… would you hold hands, link arms, or do something else?

Azami: Another question like this? You gotta be kidding me!

Kumon: Now, now. Chill out, Azami! Considering the distance with my girlfriend… I guess I’d like to hold hands. But I bet both are out for Azami! So for him, it’d be “something else”?

Azami: Hey, why’re you answering for me without askin’?

Kumon: I knew you wouldn’t answer so I figured I’d say something for you!

Azami: This isn’t somethin’ you talk about with other people!

Kumon: You weren’t saying anything though. You gotta give an answer here! For the Azami in my mind, I don't think he’d be interested in doing PDA outside—or rather, I don’t think he’d be able to do it in the first place… Ah, you see, Azami’s a serious guy! But I’m sure there’s someone out there who’ll say they like that about you!

Azami: Uh, why am I being encouraged right now…?

Kumon:: Anywho, what do you really think? Did my answer hit it out of the park?

Azami: Urk, don’t fricken ask me! No comment!

---

[gayferrari]

okay i am coming to you as carlos fan who loves charles to my core (he is my soul sister!!!) but only ever roots for him for ferrari reasons, trying to see this from charles fans pov how is anything that happened tonight carlos’s fault and not just ferrari’s fault… like i try to be critical and i love to shit on carlos when he is stupid (bc he is stupid a lot) (for example spain24 i fear i am not on his side there) but ferrari fucked carlos over so bad today with his pit stop like i truly believe the thing that happened with charles was more of a fuck you to ferrari and not anything to do with charles at all so like i get why charles fans are upset but… i don’t know again would like to hear your thoughts on tonight

DISCLAIMER VIEWS MY OWN (as in. I don't speak for all Charles fans and probably not even a majority of them about this. and I enjoy it when athletes are petty and angry and grudgy and let out their ugly sides)

my first takeaway is that it's truly not that deep. Like, yeah, it's race day emotions are running high but so are the emotions of the guys in those cars. they're gonna get out of the car, calm down, shower, go on with their lives, and not think half as hard about this stuff as fans do, and some fans will remain upset for far longer than their blorbos will ever remember this. I think it is good to keep in mind before getting worked up

what happened: [regardless of garage 55 brainfart moment] Charles was ahead before the pit stops. At the pit exit, Bryan told Charles that Carlos had been told not to fight him and he should just focus on tyre temp instead of defending; Carlos went ahead and overtook him anyway. (That's when Charles said "Next time tell him in Spanish") Later, when Max was right behind Carlos and Charles was trying to overtake Max, Carlos was really slow. Like, there's speculation on reddit that he was feeding Max DRS <- not saying it happened (WE will never know) BUT he was slow enough that other people went "Wait this is weird," and his frustrated teammate would have noticed. If EYE was fighting for the wcc and I even suspected my teammate put someone else between the two of us (costing the team points) to protect his individual race, I would also go off about it. Regardless of whether it's true. Again! Not saying this is what happened and we will never know, but earlier in the race Carlos was definitely told not to overtake, and did it, and between the two of them he's the one with a history of ignoring team orders.

EYE (tumblr user gayferrari) have my own opinions. nuance button. I don't think you should get a gold star for being a "good teammate" or that following team orders is always the right thing. But CHARLES clearly values it, and in the past he's actually put his money where his mouth is and pulled his weight even when it cost him individual points, and I can understand he'd go on a heated tirade for 4 seconds when he's high on adrenaline. I don't think any of this should be a big tell about Charles's personality, team dynamics, his relationship with Carlos or whatever. I think he just spoke without a filter for a couple seconds, and I believe in taking these kinds of radio moments with a big pinch of salt. I'm gonna RPFy the shit out of this because I am on f1blr to have fun not to get angry. But I don't agree Charles was mad at the team, it was a very much "other side of the garage" kinda moment.

(*) note also that Carlos was told to swap with Charles earlier and DID do that, but after a few laps / because he was struggling with pace + very early on, when Charles dropped P2 -> P4, he was the one who spontaneously brought up letting Carlos pass because he knew he was struggling. So they both had moments where they were collaborating this race. I'm bringing this up for completion's sake, like, yeah Carlos swapped when asked even if late! But he also overtook when told not to

I hope this clears it up! Again, it's MY view that it's not that serious because we all choose how to enjoy sports and I'd much rather get angry about other things I feel matter more, and leave the petty drama as RPF fodder. But everyone enjoys sports differently so I can't speak for others

[hyperions-light]

okay everyone today let’s talk about profound, overwhelming emotion as a theme in Veilguard

Sounds fun right

Gonna do like a sort of deconstructed essay thing (or I WAS, but this is an actual essay. Sigh)

Thesis: DATV is exploring how its characters confront and process emotions and events so overwhelming that they could define the characters entire lives if ignored or pushed aside; the player is encouraged to provide the characters with the appropriate emotional tools to dismantle the seemingly impossible obstacles that stand in their way, in order to complete their character arcs and contribute to the resolution of the central conflict.

WOagh this got way long, like REALLY long, so I am cutting here. I hope you didn't think the Grey Warden essay was verbose, bc this is much longer! You've been warned lol

PART I: ISATUNOLL

I feel like we have to talk about Harding first bc what’s more overwhelming than having the entire history of your race shoved on you at once? (I've decided to relocate to the computer, so you know I'm taking this seriously) So Harding gets magic rock powers, and then you have that sort of lull in her story where she's just trying to feel them out, but you can already see the game setting up the dilemma, because she's constantly checking against Rook to see what they think about it. She doesn't know how to feel-- should she be worried, excited? You can encourage her down different paths, but whatever you choose, you're providing a way for her to conceptualize this thing that (as far as she knows) has never really happened to anyone else.

And then when you go to meet the Oracle, the game introduces the idea of this overwhelming rage, this intense frustration that IS hers, but also isn't. She (probably) doesn't know what happened to the Titans by that point (you can do Regrets of the Dread Wolf pretty early but idk if it's able to be finished at that point?) but I think the stone giant you fight there is her inborn anger resonating with the much larger, dormant anger of the Titans. And you see her deny her own anger and her own feelings generally (the coffee scene with Lucanis, while tonally lighthearted, is intended to set this up). Again, Rook can intervene, and this time you also see your companions providing their own advice (Lucanis and Taash both tell her not to hide her anger/try to make people happy and Davrin repeatedly urges her to stand and face 'whatever it is' directly). So both Rook and their friends are supplying tools to deal with this upcoming confrontation.

So, the culmination of the arc comes in Isana Negat, where Harding faces the physically manifested anger of the Titans in the form of herself. She says it is her anger, and it IS, she is angry and they are angry, together; Isatunoll-- I am, we are. She did not know what to do with it, and that is why it is here; the game is positing that avoiding confrontation and acceptance of one's feelings can lead to harm for oneself AND for others. It IS Harding that is attacking you, because it was her raising the enemies in the cavern. But, at the same time, Harding is here out of a desire to protect others, and she is compassionate to this manifestation; she apologizes for not knowing how to confront it and letting it run wild in this way.

Fortunately, by this point Rook and company have already provided her with the tools to be successful in this encounter. She does not turn away from her anger, she does not attempt to run or dissemble as she might have done before. By the time Rook reaches the platform she has already absorbed the being; she is just having a hard time fully accepting it. Rook and the other companion physically grab hold of her, as Rook directs her down the path of acceptance through compassion, or acceptance through embracing anger. It is important that neither choice offers a denial. Through the strength of the unity of the team, here represented by physical closeness, and because Harding herself has changed as a character, she is able to integrate the Titans' anger and affirm that she and the other dwarves will continue to persist in spite of what was done to them. DAI players may recognize this as a well-placed echo of the conversation thread between Solas and Varric about the man who persisted in spite of losing everything; Varric said then that the fact that the man lived, that he continued, was a triumph in itself. The dwarves triumph as a race here, by not allowing the horrific violation committed against the Titans destroy them, and so does Harding.

The final piece of Harding's journey is her meeting with Stalgard and his sister outside of Isana Negat, in front of the mountain that was/is a Titan. She returns to them the knowledge that was lost for centuries, and the anger that comes with it, but affirms that they cannot return to what was; this brings change, GOOD change, to the dwarven people and will redefine them. By successfully accepting this outsized emotional trauma, Harding has helped her people, and becomes a more effective member of her team. Catharsis, acceptance, and emotional growth make her stronger.

PART II: I AM NOT THIS

When Rook meets Lucanis, he has been kept in a prison for a year, being tortured and violated by the Venatori, who have been attempting to turn him into a demon. It hasn't worked correctly, because Lucanis and Spite have an accord. However, you first see him just kind of running around killing whoever he comes across; Rook provide direction and a specific target, a chance for freedom. It is significant here that the prison is underwater; Lucanis is, metaphorically, drowning. The prison is also referred to as the Ossuary, which is a place you store the bones of the dead; the outside world believed he was dead, and, metaphorically, he did die here. You kill his torturer, but it is not enough; the woman who kidnapped him and the orchestrator of his violation still lives.

Rook returns to Treviso where Lucanis finds out that he has truly lost almost everything. His grandmother, Caterina, appears to be dead, and his city, Treviso, is occupied by the Antaam. The only thing he has left is Illario, and he immediately grabs onto the idea that Zara, who he believes killed Caterina, is going to kill Illario, too. He panics in response, but he is trained as a Crow to shut down his emotion, and practiced at doing so from his year spent constantly disassociating in the Ossuary. He says he needs to work; Illario and Teia protest, but he insists. He is returning to the thing he knows how to do, grabbing for a sense of normalcy when everything else is lost and he believes the little he has left is in danger. He will destroy the threat and this will also conveniently allow him to put off his real emotional trauma from the prior year.

Every cutscene Rook has with Lucanis between his major plot events in this section involves him trying to contain and ignore Spite. He tries to constantly stay awake to ensure that the demon cannot take over, and he tries to befriend and placate his new associates by buying them stuff (a VERY rich person thing to do) and taking care of them. He is trying to convince himself and them that he is NOT dangerous; he is not a demon, not an abomination. But he is not confronting his fear, he is only putting it off; often, in conversation with others he will be flippant about Spite, or he will deflect their concern about it. He chooses his 'bedroom' in part because it can contain Spite, and because it is the farthest possible location from the Eluvian, where Spite keeps trying to go (I just noticed that! Very fun!). In the meantime, he is also ignoring the fact that Illario is being extremely suspicious, because he doesn't want to know that his brother is the one who hurt him. Lucanis is an astute person by nature, and could certainly have observed this, had he not been deliberately trying to obscure it from himself.

Davrin is a huge problem for him because he is the most direct person in Veilguard. He shows up and tells Lucanis that if Spite overtakes him, he will kill him. This touches on Lucanis' fear of his own lack of control and drives too directly at what he wants to ignore. They are immediately at odds, which is made worse by Lucanis' 'failure' at Weisshaupt, which causes him to lash out at Davrin. He believes that the fact that he was unable to kill Ghilan'nain is indicative of him losing his abilities as an assassin, which is one of the only familiar things that he has left. Fortunately, Rook and company are there to reassure him; the situation is helped by the presence of Taash, Emmrich and Neve, who are unafraid of Spite, and whom he can rely on to control the demon if he cannot. However, the problem remains that he refuses to seriously deal with Spite in any way. As the inextricable representation of Lucanis' trauma (it would LITERALLY kill him to remove it), ignoring him means Lucanis is unable come to terms with what has happened.

This comes to a head when Illario kills Zara, and Lucanis is unable to stop Spite from almost murdering his brother with his own body in response. This is the final, most devastating loss of control. He apologizes to Rook for the lapse, and tries to refocus on Illario, who he now has definitive proof betrayed him. He says he is going to take everything away from him, but truly this is just another distraction; revenge is not going to be enough because it will just mean that he has nothing on which to focus his and Spite's combined ire, and then he will still have a demon inside him and no accord. What saves him is Rook, and finding out that Caterina is still alive. This is fantastic news because it means he hasn't lost everything, but it also presents a dilemma; is it more important to attack Illario, to seek revenge, even if it endangers Caterina's life? Does he risk what he values most-- his family-- to pursue his vengeance?

I was going to write an entirely separate post on the mind prison, my favorite part of Lucanis' arc, so I'll (try) to be brief here. The metaphorical Ossuary is a prison of Lucanis' fear; those he is scared he will hurt, or who will see him for what he believes he is: a demon. In order to get him out of it, Rook needs to cooperate with Spite, and confront each fear individually, breaking down their flawed presuppositions about Lucanis which are trapping him there. It is also significant that Lucanis himself is unable to articulate that he is trapped, and is even unable to ask for help; it is Spite who invites Rook in and concretizes Lucanis' emotional state. He can't get out alone. When Rook reaches Lucanis he admits that he has been avoiding his emotions but that, "It's just... so much. I don't know where to begin."

What happened to Lucanis was life-alteringly traumatic. It is unsurprising that he does not have the tools to effectively confront it. However, Rook encourages him here to begin the process by creating an agreement with Spite in the short-term. Process your trauma by breaking it down and taking it one step at a time. After this section in the game, the player can hear Lucanis converse with his friends about trying to work with Spite; about how the spirit is learning to understand the physical world, and they are no longer fighting. Again, we see that ignoring his emotions was hurting both Lucanis himself and other people, and that by moving forward, no matter how slowly, he can regain control of his life and build a new one alongside Spite, accepting the new circumstance.

When he confronts Illario for what he did and, incidentally, control over the Crows, he does not kill him. He never loses control and he and Spite work together to resist the blood magic that Illario attempts to use on them. Working through his problems with the support of his team allows Lucanis to preserve what he values-- his family, the Crows-- instead of pursuing an endless and ultimately pointless crusade of death in an attempt to avoid his problems. He makes the Crows stronger and heals himself through confronting and accepting his emotions.

PART III: I WILL GO AND SEEK ATONEMENT

Hey it's Solas! Remember how this game used to be called Dreadwolf? That was probably because he's the thematic anchor of the narrative. So, here we go. (This section is going to discuss the 'good ending' for Solas, because I don't think the others really feed into this theme much.)

Solas is the instigator of the conflict in Veilguard, and he may be an antagonistic force throughout the story, depending on how Rook chooses to deal with him. This game gives confirmation that Solas is a spirit, and so the generally established rules apply: he acts as you expect him to act, he is what you expect him to be, so the player is likely to have wildly variable experiences with him.

Throughout the game the player can encounter sections which depict his greatest regrets in his life so far; taking physical form, creating the weapon that severed the Titans' dreams, incidentally creating the Blight, accidentally sending Mythal to her death, and accidentally creating the Veil (dang, nothing goes right for this guy lol). This series of decisions led, in Solas' time, to monumental harm for countless people, and it is what has led him to his current course. He cannot stop because he is utterly trapped in his regret; these moments, though degraded, surrounded him within the Lighthouse while he planned for a decade. The Caretaker tells you that his regrets are so vicious that they are the teeth with which Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are tearing into the Crossroads. Solas is destroying something beautiful he helped build because he is unable to let go of the past.

Although you, dear reader, may have your own opinion of him, Solas is undeniably compassionate. In DAI, he will give you massive amounts of approval for simply helping out villagers and performing menial tasks that serve no greater purpose than to alleviate suffering. The amount of suffering he (mostly) unintentionally caused could do nothing but horrify and pain him. His regret is oceanic. If you decide to persuade him to your side at the end of the game, one of the reasons he cites for continuing down his destructive path is because it would dishonor those he has wronged if he were to abandon his work. He is sunk cost fallacy-ing himself into mass murder, basically.

Part of the reason that he is doing this is because, like with Lucanis' issues, the emotion, the weight of the repeated failure is almost too big to effectively reckon with. But Rook can help him do it. Throughout the game Solas watches through his avatar in the Lighthouse; he sees Rook build their team, sees them solve the problems of the people around them and find strength in unity, and so when they appear in Minrathous he does actually believe that they can solve the problem that he cannot. He is deceiving Rook when he gives them the dagger, true, but this is his most valuable asset in the fight; if he did not believe in their success, it would be extremely foolish to give it to them and to commit himself to the comparatively lesser evil of Lusacan. So, Rook has effectively proven the Power of Friendship, as it were, through their actions in Veilguard.

To achieve the 'good end' for Solas, you need to have finished Regrets of the Dreadwolf and successfully confronted the fragment of Mythal that lives in the Crossroads. She will be impressed by your work in proportion to the amount of things in the game you've finished, so you must have bonded with your companions and you must have freed the Crossroads from the ravages of Solas' regrets. He helped make the mess, but other people can help him fix it, which is essentially the point that Mythal makes to him at the end; that he's not literally solely responsible for actually every bad thing that's ever happened.

You also have to tell the Inquisitor to attempt to reach him, which will lead to them saying something about forgiving his past actions if he stops trying to destroy the Veil presently (I assume the dialogue is similar in the friendship route; I have a Solas-romancing Inquisitor and that's basically what she said. I felt that part was general enough it probably carried over). All of these people and various pieces of Solas' past and present are here to break down the gigantic wall of regret that's preventing him from doing the right thing in this moment. All of his arguments for why he must keep going are refuted by these people he cared for, and to whom his regrets are attached.

Through Rook's actions they have demonstrated their ability to solve seemingly overwhelming problems. You can help Harding tame the anger of the Titans, you can help Lucanis confront his trauma, and you can help Solas finally see past his regret and be the hero he has always wanted to be. This is obviously not the only route the player can take through the game, but if they do, they help create a narrative that repeatedly deals with deconstructing and resolving overwhelming emotion. (Dear readers, remind me to make a post about Bioware games and participatory storytelling.) The story examines how intense emotion, ignored or denied, hurts oneself and others, and presents several solutions which all begin with asking for help. There is strength in unity, in compassion and togetherness, and if you cannot see the way forward alone, you will find it with other people.

WhEw okay if you actually finished reading that give yourself a high five and take a lollipop from the basket on your way out the door

on any other platform I think I would have hit a word limit of some kind, so thanks tumblr

edits incoming? very tired rn. Think I had some other point to make about Solas that I forgot maybe. I also think I could've added some of the other companions to this (Taash and Bellara were top candidates) but imo these two are the strongest for this particular theme. And it was already so long lol

okay I sleep soon. you can lmk what you think if you want? don't be a dick tho, I hope that goes without saying lmao

[nerdasaurus1200]

A little fix it fic cause the Zaun family deserved a better ending. Also, I just realized, this is my first Arcane fanfic, so I hope y’all like it!

Not Over Yet

“Is that singing I hear?” Caitlyn’s voice pulled Vi away from the fire for a moment. Despite the teasing smile, she still tried to covertly look at the plate on the table beside her partner. The sandwich was half eaten this time. That was at least some progress.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just this..silly little song my mom used to sing to me and Jinx when we were little.” Vi laughed under her breath. It was still a little strange calling her sister that.

“Before she…you know.” Vi looked back at the fire and shrugged, and she could see Caitlyn nodding slightly. The fire was a welcome distraction, but it still put her on edge. It reminded her too much of Vander dy-…of the accident. She swore she could see all their faces in the flames if she looked hard enough. All those she lost…or maybe she was just starting to see things too. Was this how Jinx felt all those years? That weird sense of…of emptiness while never being alone? Like some ghost was always watching over her shoulder?

Well, it wasn’t like she could ask her now.

“How did the service go?” Caitlyn wrapped an arm around Vi and leaned her head on her shoulder.

“Alright.” Vi shrugged again, unable to pull her face away from the flames, “I don’t know how I didn’t break down by the time it was my turn to get up there and spew sappy shit.”

Caitlyn chuckled, a dry and bittersweet sound.

“I think little man’s taking it pretty hard. He couldn’t even look me in the eye.” Vi recalled.

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed for a moment as she took in Vi’s words, trying to think of anything that would provide some comfort, “…I think Ekko just needs a bit of time. We all grieve in different ways.”

“Oh yeah, cupcake, some people go crazy, and other people decide to play dictator and declare martial law.” Vi remarked with a playful glare. Caitlyn huffed affectionately and flicked a strand of Vi’s hair, which in turn made Vi chuckle.

But then as soon as the happiness came, it vanished. It was so hard to be happy these days, with all that had happened.

“Have, uh…have the reports come back yet?” Vi asked cautiously.

Caitlyn’s eyes softened in sadness as she leaned forward to kiss Vi’s cheek, “Still no signs of any remains in the Hexgates. Only the bomb shrapnels we were able to initially recover.”

Vi’s jaw clenched ever so slightly and her eyes hardened for a moment. Damn it all, three times and they still couldn’t find any sign of her family??? Weren’t Enforcers supposed to be good at sticking their nose in stuff like this?

“However, I was looking at the schematics of the Hexgates, and…” Caitlyn let herself trail off as she dropped a piece of paper into Vi’s lap.

Vi’s eyes narrowed as she looked it over, some of it made sense but some of it was just nonsense, “Cupcake, what the hell is this?”

“If you and I know anything about your sister, it’s that she’s always two steps ahead.” Caitlyn pointed out, “The Hexgates have plenty of air ducts that she could’ve used as an escape route and we’d be nonethewiser.”

Vi’s eyes widened as Caitlyn’s implication hung in the air. So Jinx and Vander could be…her family really could be…

“If she’s alive she’ll turn up sooner or later. But we have a lot of work to do until that happens. For Piltover and for Zaun.” Caitlyn spoke softly, a gentle determination in her voice. Vi was helpless to the smirk that appeared on one side of her mouth. There she was, there was the Cupcake she knew.

“…Are you still in this fight, Violet?” Caitlyn couldn’t help but ask. At her question, a fond huff escaped Vi. She turned to look at her partner with a smile as she interlaced their fingers together.

“I am the dirt under your nails, cupcake.” She declared, “Nothing’s gonna clean me out.”

Caitlyn’s eyes sparkled with love, and then she smirked playfully, “That’s Sheriff Cupcake you you, creampuff.”

The couple shared another laugh as their forehead gently pressed together. For a moment, the world fell away…it was just them.

“…could you teach me that song?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi blinked in surprise, and then nodded, “Yeah sure.”

Then she began to sing, “Dear friend, across the river…my hands…are cold and bare…”

~~~~

“Dear friend, across the river, I’ll take…what you can spare…”

Jinx alternated between humming and singing as she steered the airship, just staring out at the horizon before her. She wasn’t even sure how far away from Piltover they were now.

A familiar little shove pulled her attention away however.

“Heyy, do not distract the driver.” Jinx scolded, though her tone betrayed that she wasn’t actually that serious. Not that she ever was.

Janna above, Jinx was more grateful than ever for that mischievous that little smile now. If Ekko hadn’t saved Isha, then, well…

Jinx thought it best not to dwell on that. Or else Mylo might start up again and the last thing she needed was his smart mouth. Either way, she owed Ekko a solid for it. And of course, for helping her steal an airship.

Isha giggled and hugged Jinx, but still made a bit of a stink face as she saw Jinx’s hair.

“What, you don’t like my new haircut?” Jinx teased, and rolled her eyes fondly when Isha shook her head.

“Ah, you’re just mad cause you can’t play jumprope with my braids for a while.” Jinx reached out and gently pushed Isha’s helmet to cover her eyes for a moment. Isha giggled again as she pushed her helmet back up. Jinx stepped back and let Isha take the wheel.

“Sooo, what next Fishbones?” Jinx pulled her shark rocket launcher out.

“We’ll do our laundry, wash the dishes, pay some bills, and get Isha into a good school!” Fishbones ‘spoke’ sounding rather excited about such mundane activities. Isha looked excited too as she steered, while Jinx looked incredibly annoyed.

“Stupid dumb rocket launcher.” She muttered, giving Fishbones a firm smack. At the sound, a rough old growl was heard a few feet away. Neither Jinx nor Isha flinched, they were used to that sound by now.

“Hey, don’t worry, Vander.” Jinx set the rocket launched down and sat beside her adopted father, “We’ll find another way. We always do. In the meantime, Vi can relax a little playing housewife to the Hat Lady.”

Isha pulled a lever near the steering wheel of the airship and moved over to sit next to Jinx and Vander. After she was settled all snug and cozy in Vander’s fur, she signed at Jinx.

“Oh, you want me to keep singing, huh? Mmmm…well alright.” Jinx agreed.

“You still haven’t mentioned where exactly you plan on going.” Silco’s voice could be heard, his hallucination lingering in the shadows by Mylo and Claggor.

Jinx smiled and shrugged in acknowledgement. She still hadn’t quite figured that part out yet. For now, the top priorities were keeping Isha safe, and getting Vander’s mind back.

This time, Jinx chose to ignore Silco for once as she sang, “We raise…no mighty towers, our homes…are built of stone, so come…across the river, and find…the world below…”

[rottenpumpkin13]

......... so could we perhaps get a bit of genzack? just a few things to chew on? :3c

Sorry this took forever, but I woke up this morning and went "I GOT IT!" so it is now time to be not normal about GenZack 🥳

The way I see it, Zack is bright and sunny, but there's something volatile lying dormant beneath his positivity, just as Genesis is composed but hiding a lot of bite beneath his dramatics. They bring out the raw and ugly parts in each other, but they also share the same dreams and lust for life, creating a tension that neither knows quite how to handle.

"one thing leads to another" in an AU where it's 2004 and nothing bad has happened, and now they're:

• Golden Retriever Boyfriend x Black Bird Boyfriend.

• Comic books boyfriend x classical lit boyfriend. They absolutely get each other to give their favorite books a try, and it usually ends in "this comic book dialogue is rubbish" paired with "how am I supposed to read this? It doesn't even have pictures??"

• Quoting famous Poets x quoting cartoons. It's Genesis quoting fine poetry and Zack countering in his own way, then Genesis pretending to be annoyed but secretly he's hiding his smile behind his wine glass.

• Zack hyping Genesis up when he gets dressed up, proudly (and loudly) showing him off— he'll whistle, he'll sneak an arm around Genesis' waist, and keep repeating "doesn't Genesis look look awesome?? He's my boyfriend, you know :)" to literally anyone who'll listen.

• Zack pays attention to even the smallest things Genesis says X Genesis taking everything Zack says seriously.

• Financially irresponsible boyfriend x rich boyfriend who buys him things.

• They spar aggressively, and Zack wins frequently. Zack has a knack for catching Genesis off guard during training. After one sparring session, Genesis began complaining, and then Zack to threw him over his shoulder and ran off laughing, ignoring Genesis' protests.

• Genesis calms Zack's ADHD spirals, like when Zack gets overwhelmed or restless, Genesis sits him down and reads to him while holding him gently until he settles down. Zack tends to fall asleep in his arms.

• Zack matches Genesis' dramatics, except to him they're completely valid concerns, he doesn't brush them off and lets Genesis rant to his heart's content because he may or may not look really hot when he's mad.

• In fact, where Angeal or Sephiroth might disprove of Gen's temper, Zack empathizes entirely. Once, when Genesis ranted about a perceived insult, Zack grabbed a hammer and said "just say the word!" which managed to completely disarm Genesis, who's anger dissipated into laughter.

• I think the sweetest part of their relationship is Zack working hard to understand Loveless, reading not only the books but Genesis' annotated notes. The look on Genesis' face when Zack counters one of his tirades with a flurry of Zack-ified opinions is priceless.

• Genesis makes it a point to make the first two letters of every word of the emails he sends Zack bold, because he learned bionic reading is easier for people with ADHD.

• Their shopping trips are a blend of Genesis selecting fine wines and artisanal cheeses while Zack tosses in energy drinks and chips. It's Genesis' "Do you need six types of gummy worms?" Vs. Zack's "As if you're gonna use that truffle oil!"

• Their fights can be intense and explosive, with their opinions often clashing. Genesis thinks Zack can be too naive while Zack thinks Genesis can be hard-headed. Although Zack is usually the one to end the argument by walking up behind Genesis an hour later, right before bed, and pulling him into a hug.

Genesis: What do you think you're doing, Puppy? I'm still mad at you. Zack: Okay cool, but can you be mad at me in bed while you cuddle me? All that yelling made me sleepy. Genesis:

[delumineight]

i’m in tears 4000 reblogs… this is tumblr i would be so embarrassed of that i don’t even tell anyone in real life that i use this app. that aside im gonna skip that second paragraph because everything else is going to answer that. i’m assuming you’ve been here a while so i know changing your opinion won’t work too well, but you’re looking at this all so one dimensionally.

first off, that happens in year six. there is no “year seven.” and i am glad that you’re bringing up hermione’s faults because usually it’s all about ron! i just don’t think you’re familiar with Being In Love and to be honest i don’t care if hermione beats up on ron. he doesn’t either!!! am i supposed to hate women hit men? no. why would i? that’s praxis. when hermione jokes about it in the next book, he laughs. and if she did it then, he definitely would have deserved it if we’re going to be honest. ron probably likes her for any of the following and perhaps more: she is funny believe it or not, her vindication, the fact that she rides so hard for him and harry, how she cares about him, how she’s kind enough to want to kill some random chickens for them on the horcrux hunt, how insanely passionate she is about everything, and probably so much more that i don’t care to list or think of.

when harry’s away they could be doing anything. hogwarts is a big school. they canonically go to the library a few times, play wizards chess as you’ve mentioned, and do some homework/studying (much to ron’s dismay, i’ll admit). the book is told from harry’s perspective. we aren’t supposed to know what ron and hermione are doing 24/7 and that’s part of it all. this is where you use something called your imagination. they’re prefects together. which means that they spent hours walking around the school alone together. probably just chatting about whatever or even in silence, which can sometimes be so much more intimate than a chat.

ron’s opinion on house-elves doesn’t just change randomly throughout deathly hallows. the two elves in this book are insanely important to the plot, defeating voldemort, and the trio’s survival if you’ve forgot. kreature tells them about the locket and the story of how it originally was removed from the cave. dobby dies for them and saves hermione from being raped by greyback. the reason for the kiss is so big because it does in fact show that ron is growing up and changing, because they are children for the entire series minus a few months during deathly hallows.

and are you serious about this one? why didn’t they tell harry? dude, they didn’t tell each other for seven years and he was, i dunno, the center of a fucking war by the time they realised that they liked each other for real??? like, again, seriously?

they have “no development” in the epilogue because you’ve skipped 19 years and it’s like six pages long and not about them. it’s about harry’s gay son who is scared of being a slytherin, not ron or hermione or rose or hugo. they’re just little figurines in the background of harry’s small dilemma with his son that only have a few lines of small talk with their best friend/in law.

also, acting like ron and hermione’s relationship was out of no where just proves that you probably haven’t read the first two or three books in a while. some venture to say that seed was planted during the first book when ron sarcastically calls hermione “a lovely, sweet tempered girl” or the wingardium leviosa scene or when he beats her at wizard’s chess and it’s the first thing she’s ever lost at. jkr herself said once that they were meant to be a bit “love at first sight”-y (they’re 11 so i’m not 100% a fan of that) but if you can’t see it when he nearly jumps draco malfoy in chamber of secrets for wishing hermione dead or when he keeps looking sadly at her empty seat while she’s petrified you’re being purposefully dense.

if you’d like to try some more arguments please go ahead, but make them harder. this was entirely too easy and elementary. i could’ve given these same answers when i was thirteen.

“I used to ship Harry and Hermione together but that was back when I was 12 years old. Now, I’ve grown up and realized that Ron and Hermione make much more sense together and are good together” is a sure-fire way to tell me you didn’t “grow up”.

[whumpsoda]

WSFSP - “That’s all I am”

Masterlist

This takes place pretty far in their recovery!

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, Institutionalized slavery, conditioned whumpee, past abuse, multiple whumpees, arguing, blood mention

——————

“Graham.”

Every slice of carrot cut through, the knife hit a grunt against the cutting board. “Mm?”

Wesley held his arms crossed, rubbing at the fuzz of his sweater. “Can I talk to you? Please?” Graham did his best not to fall for the eyes he would always use on their master, pleading and doe like. Trained yet mesmerizing.

“Sure.” He shrugged, sticking his gaze to the task at hand.

Wesley sighed, as if he had a reason to. “Not… right here. In private.” He mumbled, face scrunching up in a wad.

“Well, I’m making dinner.”

From the corner of his vision, Graham caught as Wesley’s expression angered. “Why are you… being so weird? About my hair?” Gripping the edge of the countertop, he did his best to get in Graham’s face, bangs freshly cut and no longer falling into his hard gaze.

Graham sighed this time, nearly slicing through his thumb. “It looks good, okay? I already told you I like it.”

“Yeah, I know Graham, that’s not what I’m asking about and you know it.” He scoffed, before softening, just a smidge. “Are you… mad at me?”

“No I’m-,” his mouth twitched downward. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“If I could be there when you did it. If I could help.” Then he looked up, hazel eyes meeting brown. “You only ever ask her anymore.”

“I- I mean-,” Wesley spoke with his hands, just a little, before swiping one through his hair, “that’s just how it happened. I didn’t plan it or anything. I just wanted to.”

Chop, chop, chop. “Yeah, but you didn’t think of me at all. You never do anymore. You only think about her, all of the time, like she would get you. Like she knows what you have been through.”

“She literally does!” Wesley huffed a chuckle, arms out wide in disbelief.

“You know what I mean.”

He bit his lip, eyes growing moist. He always cried when he was angry. “Graham, our time with sir was completely different!”

“She doesn’t know you like I do!”

A slice of pain, a drool of red.

Wesley gasped. “Oh, Graham-,”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, reaching for a paper towel.

Wesley crossed around the tight kitchen, arms out and ready. “Let me help-,”

“I’m fine!”

Wesley stumbled back, hand on his chest at the place of impact. It wasn’t a real shove, but enough that it was a stinging shock to the both of them.

Wesley laughed then, quick and low. “I, I thought you were supposed to protect me, huh? Now you’re just gonna shove me around?”

“Well I’m not your fucking- your stupid puppy anymore, okay?” Graham growled, shaking his head and cradling his bleeding finger with a quivering hand.

“So then why are you acting like one trying to follow me everywhere, try- trying to be there for my every move? Being all needy?”

“Because-!” Pounding his fist to the wood, Graham roared, “Beacause I have to! You just don’t get it!”

Wesley’s voice lost it’s edge then, begging, “Then make me get it, Graham.”

“I…,” he swallowed, pausing, brain turning, “It feels like my head is going to- to fucking explode whenever I don’t know where you are because, like, what if you’re hurt or someone’s hurting you, and I hate it because I know you hate it and I just want to be me but my whole life revolves around you-,”

“But, Graham, I just-,” he sputtered a laugh, sour, “I thought you were past all of this, y’know, ‘cause you’re you, and we’re apart all the time now I… I thought you were fine.”

Graham hung his head. “Yeah… I lied. I did. I’m sorry.”

You are nothing without someone to serve.

His expression hardened, grip on his finger twisting. “I am nothing without someone to serve.”

Wesley grazed his arm, yet Graham yanked back. “Don’t- don’t say that-,”

Shaking his head, Graham clenched his fists to his side. “It is true, Wesley. Tell me one thing about me that’s not pet related. One thing.”

One second Wesley’s mouth fell wide, before it snapped shut. “Hey, that, that’s not-,”

“You can’t. Okay, Wesley?”

All you are is some stupid, loyal mutt.

“That’s all I am.”

Wesley’s brown eyes were filled with a moist redness, brows furrowed over them. “Fine. Fine! You tell yourself that and you’re not even trying to get better.” Pushing past the other rescue, he stormed back to their room, slamming the door behind him.

Graham didn’t mean to think it. He did, anyway.

Good.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

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[lurkingshan]

Every You Every Me

The Final Story (Part 2)

Time to finish this! [Edit from the future: I did not like this finale, so there's your warning!]

Ngl once the reveal was done and we were just in a bl about two annoying actors with a bad relationship this got less interesting. Still love the narrative device of this being about an actor pair across shows, though, that was clever. I just wish this actual story about Pun and Inn was better.

Part of my issue with this final plot is I still don't even know why Inn broke up with Pun in the first place. I don't really know what Inn's supposed to be apologizing for, other than this vague idea that he was self-absorbed. Meanwhile we actually did see Pun shut Inn out of his career decisions which directly affect him, so this one-sided apology feels weird.

I also don't love the connection they drew here between their personal and professional relationships, like they couldn't do their jobs if they weren't getting along. We know actors can act through a ton of BTS strife and still turn in good performances (EarthMix MLC divorce era, anyone?).

Like, why is Pun sobbing this hard after dumping Inn? Why dump him if he's still this attached?? Why ditch him for a new partner without ever discussing it? I don't really get Pun's deal here.

"Years later" well that's nice and vague, thanks chyron.

Why are the bad actor side pair here in this film? We saw them together and they were terrible, it was part of the plot!

Suddenly, a flashback? Inn is drunk so it's def time for a bl white towel sponge bath.

I am... so confused. When did this drunken heart to heart take place? Before or after the dramatic breakup? And why would they have to wait years to be together? But Pun assumed Inn didn't even remember??

Okay so if I have pieced this together right, they had this drunken convo the same night we saw them out with their friends, then wrapped the show, then had a dramatic breakup despite having already had this conversation and Pun knowing that, but Inn didn't remember/thought it was a dream, and they just didn't speak for years until Inn showed up with the flowers. This is so convoluted and I am just baffled over here.

Anyway, I guess they're gonna get married now even though they have a really bad and non communicative relationship. Sure!

Quite a choice to skip any physical intimacy scenes for the "real" couple after all that. I don't think I like it.

What a mess of a final episode. It's so strange that they went to the trouble of coming up with this interesting and creative narrative and executed it pretty well only to falter on coming up with a basic romance arc to finish the story well. I'm disappointed this didn't end stronger so I could recommend it to people. Ah well, at least Mick and Top are a good pair; their chemistry did a lot of the heavy lifting. And it was fun watching the shows within the show and puzzling out what was going on. I'm glad they tried something different even if they didn't land it in the end.