#i still don't entirely understand what it is

[frogsandfries]

I think I was in like, fourth grade when I first learned there was a group of people called Jews, and that even though most of them look white, like me and about 75% of my peers at the time, they're "other".

I've never, ever been religious, even growing up in a moderately religious family.

Maybe this is where my confusion comes in about why I, a white person, should hate another white person for their religion. Or maybe I'm focusing too hard on the religion thing. After all, in this age of leaving religion behind us, people are Jewish in a way that people are not Christian. Being Jewish is also like being Navajo or being Celt.

My entire childhood, it was hammered into me "don't stare at people just because they look different from you; be kind to everyone; treat everyone in a way you would want to be treated".

My parents are, obviously, older than me. They are chronologically closer to the socio-political upheaval that WWII unquestionably caused. My maternal grandfather could have been in WWII, but I'm not positive about his service record. I guess I've never thought to ask my dad why they didn't teach me about Jews or like, make some kind of point about it. Too little, too late. They didn't make a big deal about how groups of people who look white, like the Romani, the Irish, and the Jewish, are "not white" and why people shun them.

Now, maybe we're getting into the part where, I'm undiagnosed but unquestionably autistic. I still don't understand why black people were chosen to be othered and then traded like livestock. I still don't understand why Catholics and Christians seem to have gotten together and been like "those believers in an Abrahamic god, they're bad and other and we should spend generations upon generations othering and shunning and excluding them."

Honestly, I think there's a lot of nuance about neurotypical humanity that I'll probably never grasp, because when I look at humans with dark skin, I see the usefulness of their dark skin to help them survive the places where their dark skin evolved. When I see humans with pale skin, I see the usefulness of their pale skin to help them survive. When I see humans with epicanthic folds, I see the usefulness of that trait too. All I see in humanity are the ways that we have evolved to live all over this planet, in the mountains, on islands, near volcanos, in wet places, in dry places, in cold places and hot places.

I just can't get over how beautiful the vast variety of humanity is, to get to a place of hate.

I'm not sure there will ever be a sufficient explanation for me to fully grasp why Jews are other and why I should want them eliminated. The Jewish people have also made it for hundreds of generations over thousands of years. At the very, very least, they're as suited to this planet as any Brit or Celt or Navajo or any other group. At the very least, they bring something genetically unique and useful to the human species. They also have their own culture and stories and art and ways of dress. They have their own language and ways of existing in the world, and I think maybe that's blinding me to what seem flimsy and pathetic excuses to cling onto outdated ways of being.

We might share a common ancestor with chimps, but we are not chimpanzees. We have sophisticated language. But instead of using it to appreciate each other and appreciate that we've made it millions of years of evolution to reach this point, we use our sophisticated language skills to hate and hurt, to develop weapons and to use those weapons against each other.

And somehow, this is okay with way too many people???????

“Elon didn’t mean to sieg heil, he’s just autistic”

Do you guys remember when Kanye said he was gonna go “death con” on all the Jews? Do you remember how his apologists said he was just off his bipolar meds? Do you remember that he doubled down, said he didn’t actually have bipolar, and he had been misdiagnosed by a Jew doctor? Do you remember he proceeded to meet with prominent white supremacists and told infowars he was a Nazi who loved Hitler?

Nobody ever believes the Jews the first time, even though our culture has spent literally thousands of years learning the warning signs. We know what we’re looking at. It’s two consecutive Nazi salutes on a white supremacist’s inauguration day. You can downplay it all you want, but this coal mine’s canary isn’t coming back to life.

[euniexenoblade]

A thing about the "transandrophobia is real" "transmascs don't hold any power over trans women ever" "trans women saying transandrophobia isn't real are terfs" lot is they are so attached to biological sex and assigned sex and the gender binary while trying to claim they're the group against that stuff.

like, i was trying to hold off whining about this again but so many of them keep popping up on my posts so like. look at their blogs. just read. in one post they'll be like "I'M NOT AFAB IM NONBINARYYYY" or "SEX? I HAD SEX WITH YOUR MOM LAST NIGHT" or "AMAB TRANS WOMEN SAYING I CANT BE A TRANS WOMAN CUZ IM AFAB ARE ENFORCING THE GENDER BINARY" or "TME/TMA IS A NEW BINARY" keep scrolling. You'll eventually come across a post that keeps insisting on afab and amab and male and female and if they're really old school you'll start getting mtf and ftm.

And, I hear you, "not everyone knows modern terminology," these are not uneducated ignorant people, these are people who spend all day, every day, arguing with trans women about transmisogyny. Their entire presence on this web site is calling trans women they don't like "scum." They know male/female and mtf/ftm are old and done, they know tme/tma exist and specifically hate it cuz it's language that empowers trans women to talk about their oppression, and their over dependence on afab/amab is 100% because they know male/female on it's own is frowned on.

At one moment they're talking about how they're gender punk, be anything you want forever, the next moment they want you to remember, you're amab. that trans woman? also amab. Amab, amab, male, amab. But you mention they're afab and whoa, a bomb just got set off. You're misgendering them. You're literally committing bigotry against them. Yet, scroll down their blog, you'll find that they refer to themselves as such all the time. Like....

This is just terf ideology dressed up in afabs and amabs. If not terf ideology, it's just one small step from it. But, almost all of them say this kind of thing. But, they turn around and call trans women who are familiar with feminism, and transphobia, and theory "terf" for saying misandry doesn't exist. Or they say "terfs" hate men and that's why they hate trans women cuz they see us as men and it's like. If you are familiar with feminism or misogyny you'd know that, no, terfs don't treat us as men, they treat us as oppressed women. But they aren't well read, they don't understand nuance or deep understandings of bigotry and oppression, so they just take the terf misgendering a trans woman as like. Literal. And they build their entire idea of what a terf is around this, but not the ideology that actually defines what a terf is.

"Transandrophobia is real" people are absolutely upholding biological sex. That's why they get the trans women that ID as male and the trans men that ID as female to join them, "my gender is just complicated don't be mean to me" - you're constantly implying trans women are male and denying our oppression and supporting people that misgender us, your attachment to "male" through all this is not beyond critique, your bigotries absolutely can cause that "complicated" feeling you have.

Every day is some new transandrodork dropping the act. Whether they're saying they want to hunt and kill trans women, or that they think it's ok to stalk and lolcow trans women, or that it's ok to pedojacket trans women, or that it's ok to misgender trans women, or that "sex based oppression is real and trans women are male," or "tma/tme are specifically meant so trans women can groom young trans people," or "dont say men suck :( trans women will see that and think you mean THEM," or whatever. Just watch what they say about "baeddels." Remember, baeddel is a slur for trans women, but if you take it from their perspective it's still trans women. All the horrid shit they say about baeddels, they are saying that specifically about trans women.

Sex as society uses it doesn't exist. It is a scientific enforcement of gendered oppression. I do believe you can be whatever you want. But, I also think you have to remember that we do not live in a gender utopia, free of societal oppression. A "trans woman" is a specific thing in the eyes of society.

[edwinspaynes]

Do you think there is a way to ethically watch Sandman and Good Omens? What about Dead Boy Detectives?

Andddd this was why I originally turned off anons. I knew this was coming eventually, but I guess I'll respond just this once so everyone knows where I stand.

I don't love that I feel the need to disclose this, but I have personally experienced grooming and sexual assault in the past. So this post is coming from someone who has Been There and understands the importance of supporting victims. I also love all of the efforts NG-related fandoms have been putting into raising money for sexual assault charities. It's wonderful to see people rallying behind the survivors and supporting them so vocally.

- DEAD BOY DETECTIVES: NOT A GAIMAN WORK

I do not think that there is a world where Dead Boy Detectives would be unethical to stream. It has virtually nothing to do with Neil Gaiman, by his own admission, and is the brain-child of Steve Yockey.

Besides the first chapter where Charles and Edwin were introduced (with no development), he didn't even write the comics! Several artists did, including Toby Litt and Mark Buckingham - whose run the show is based on and who the sprites are named after.

Yockey was the sole person to pitch DBDA to Warner Brothers. Gaiman did not do that.

Streaming Dead Boy Detectives primarily supports its writers, cast, and crew - Gaiman, who only wrote 2 scenes, is getting essentially nothing in terms of royalties.

Someone on Twitter did a really good job of unpacking why Dead Boy Detectives shouldn't be lumped in with Gaiman stuff - I'll link it here.

But this leads me to the next section.

- HANDLING GOOD OMENS AND SANDMAN

I think that there are a lot of valid reactions to the way people handle the consumption of Gaiman's shows after what he has done.

Some people are going to be unable to stomach anything he has written, and that is okay. Others whose lives have been massively impacted by his work aren't going to be able to let go since - and I know people like to deny this, but it's true - the art you love more than love itself is going to have a serious material impact on your personality.

Both of these approaches are alright! The only incorrect approach is to harass those who disagree with your personal choices.

It also is, in my opinion, Bad to give Gaiman money. Purchasing his books and buying Good Omens official merch puts cash in his pocket.

Streaming the shows, though, is a little more nuanced to me.

I'm going to use Good Omens as an example here. I personally will not be continuing with Good Omens. It gives me a Yucky Feeling. I may one day change my mind and stream a pirated version, but I don't think so.

However, I don't think Sheen and Tenant's fans are wrong to stream it in support of the actors who have brought their favourite characters to life.

But this leads me into my next point, and the point that will probably get me Canceled.

- THE IMPACT OF SHOWS ON PEOPLE

The way that people handle their favourite shows post-allegations is going to depend on the impact that the show had on their life.

I like Good Omens. It's a fun show. I enjoyed it while watching it, and think (see: thought) positively of it. But it had no real deep impact on my life - it's not part of me. When I look at Good Omens now, I see Gaiman's work above the finished product. It puts a sour taste in my mouth.

But in a hypothetical world, if Dead Boy Detectives were a Gaiman production? I have the self-awareness to know that I probably would still stream it to support the cast and crew. I am attached enough to it that I think I would divorce it entirely from Gaiman (if he were the creator, which he is not.) My point is that other people who are still streaming Sandman and GO probably don't look at it and see Gaiman. They see something that they have absorbed into themselves.

The part that's going to get me canceled is that if George cameos in Sandman, I will stream that one (1) episode to support George Rexstrew (Edwin Payne's actor). This is because Edwin has had a material impact on my life (hilariously, because I am a sexual violence survivor who did not get justice, and Edwin did not get justice for his murder and fights for that.) I feel that Edwin is part of me and my life, because Edwin (and George's work as Edwin) has made me feel less alone.

A lot of people feel that way about Crowley and Aziraphale.

I think that asking people to ditch a show, characters, and performers that have had a deep impact on their lives is unfair to them. Like, yes, Neil Gaiman is a bag of shit! Anyone who defends him is also a bag of shit! But I don't think that it's fair to stop people from supporting works that have had big material impacts on their own lives.

- HOW TO PROCEED

TL;DR

My personal ideal outcome here would be:

Wrap up Good Omens with the 90-minute movie and nothing else.

Wrap up Sandman with season 2, and do not renew.

Revive Dead Boy Detectives WITH THE CAVEAT that Gaiman gets his name removed from it, even if he currently isn't making much money off it. Take the Sandman characters and references from DBDA and let it become its own standalone thing.

Cancel all future Gaiman productions and never hire him to work on television or anything else again.

Let Gaiman's career die entirely and let him fade into obscurity.

Arrest Gaiman, which will never happen but it should.

I think people should:

Stop giving Neil Gaiman money through books or merch.

Make their own decisions about whether or not to officially stream the shows in support of the actors and crew members who have worked hard on it.

Not harass anyone for either their decision to stream the show, not stream the show, or stream a pirated version of the show.

Engage as much as they want with fandom and fanworks, as they are divorced from the source material's creator.

Vocally speak up against Neil Gaiman. Amplify the voices of the survivors, and don't let fear for the future of your show get in the way of that. At the end of the day, real women were put through the most traumatic and horrifying experience of their lives, and that's what matters most.

[tahbhie]

The Act of Writing Psychotic Characters 

Part 1: Attention vs Intention

It's been a while since I received this request, and I ensured I took my time with the thoughts, evaluation, and analysis. This topic will be covered in three parts, so here's the first.

Before we proceed, please note that I am not a psychiatrist, psychologist, or any professional in that field. This is just an insight into how this kind of concept can fit into your novels.

Okay, let's begin.

The Attention vs Intention part of this topic will discuss two ways of portraying these type of characters in scenes. 

First, you need to understand that psychotic characters aren't psychotic based solely on their speeches or actions. If that's all you have in mind before approaching a story, you might leave a huge gap in the execution.

Rather, it's how they feel—the desire to satisfy their current emotions.

They have drives and motives, but most especially beliefs which, in most cases, are hardly understandable by other people. It's wrong and unacceptable by society, but to them, they wouldn't do it any differently.

That's why most psychotic characters have no remorse. You simply can't apologize or feel sorry if you don't 'believe' that you're in the wrong.

➜ Attention Psychosis

Psychotic characters whose main purpose in a story is limited to presence (i.e., showing up in scenes and visibly serving the role of a psychotic character) are attention psychotics. You don't flesh out their backstory or why they are who they are.

Their drives and motives aren't talked about enough to the point of justification. Readers hardly care about them, but the action they bring to the scene creates a rich narrative with the purpose of psychosis.

In summary, their role is minor. We see such cases in movies like The Babysitter.

Let's agree that none of the cult characters in that movie are exactly sane, as their main aim is to end their victims’ lives in the sickest ways possible. However, there's a certain character, Max, who simply enjoys the idea of "killing and seeing people bleed."

That has exceeded the central idea of being a cultist who gets involved in blood sacrifice to achieve their 'dream life' like the rest of the characters. It's now something more and different.

Something that has to do with homicidal ideation.

Max worked in a diner where he dealt with people that annoyed him so greatly that he wanted to kill them. So he got the opportunity to join a cult and do just that.

It was plain clear this guy had something else going on for him, but throughout the movie, his character had no special attention or even a peek into his thoughts. Although, it still worried the audience. Job done.

➜ Intention Psychosis

When a story is centered around a character's mental state, their motives, drives, beliefs, actions, and the story actually unfolds by going deeper into this concept, you have intention psychosis.

If not entirely, at least mostly, it defines the entire plot surrounding that character. People get to understand why they are who they are, their mode of action, what drives them, and even a peek into how they perceive the world around them.

Such scenarios are seen in movies like The Joker and Pyramid game (Korea). The audience gets a glimpse into their overall life and understands at least to an extent why they are the way they are.

Their beliefs get twisted for certain reasons, and there was just no stopping them. Here the characters were more than a presence; they were a central core.

In the movie Joker, we watched Arthur’s impoverished life unfold, with every event and incident worsening his condition further.

Baek Ha-rin in Pyramid Game literally created an entire game system to watch a student, who happened to be her old friend, suffer both physically and mentally. She went to great lengths to carry out this nefarious act under the guise of the game. Although this movie encompassed more than just this storyline, it was hard to ignore the unhealthy drive and actions of the young lady with an innocent face.

Before incorporating a psychotic character in your novel, determine their form of portrayal and appearance in the overall story. Are they going to serve as an attention psychotic or an intention psychotic?

Inspired by @sothera

Stay tuned for the next part!

۝ Before you go! ۝

My Characters and I is an extensive one-on-one coaching session designed to create characters that leap off the pages and become best friends with your readers.

What's a great story without remarkable characters? Spots are filling up fast, so grab yours now and get ahead of millions of writers out there.

👇👇👇

[lonelyroommp3]

originally put this in the tags and realised it made a massive unreadable block of text sooo putting it in the body instead

i also think it is very very helpful - especially with things like denser political/economic/scientific articles - to see if you are able to neutrally paraphrase the content into your own words (your OWN words!! not feeding it into chatgpt etc!! the work of doing this is the entire point). you want to check if you are able to answer basic questions based entirely on facts provided within the body of what you are reading, with minimal inference/filling in gaps/jumping to worst (or best) case scenarios.

the best questions to ask deal with those fundamental question words we all deal with in primary/elementary school

what: what is happening? what has been discovered or proven?

when: when was the article published? (<- arguably the most important question; check you're not reposting content from, for example, the previous trump presidency as if it's current news). when did the events being described happen, or when are they planned to happen?

where: where is it happening? (in particular, check that you are not falling victim to phenomena like us-centricism here. e.g. it's wild that i have to say this but seeing as it's a real mix up that's happened on here, if an article mentions "georgia", are they talking about the country or the state?)

who: who is making it happen? who are they working with? who are they working against? who are these people in a broader context (e.g. if a government official is mentioned, can you identify what branch of government they work for? if a scientist, economist, businessperson, etc, is mentioned, do you know what company/institution they're affiliated with and what their specialty or industry is?)

why: why is a politician (in their own words) enacting a specific policy? why is this economic phenomenon happening?

how: how is this policy going to be enforced? how did scientists make this discovery?

and some bonus what questions: (in the case of e.g. government policy) what barriers might they face towards enacting this? what are some potential (realistic/tangible/short or medium term - this is not the place for long term catastrophising) consequences if it does/does not come to pass?

if you are unable to answer these questions (or you just can't be arsed - happens to us all sometimes) you have two options: don't repost the content at all, or repeat the process finding additional sources that fill in the gaps you were unable to answer the first time round. because either you don't understand key fundamental factual aspects of what the original was trying to say, OR the source itself is too vague/biased/unreliable/uninformative to be used as a worthwhile source of news in its own right.

it should go without saying that this goes hand in hand with op's original points about checking for bias, credibility, etc - you may be able to answer all of these questions based on a single article but the "facts" presented to you therein could still very well be total bullshit. but i see so many examples on here of people reposting articles where it's very clear they have skimmed it and filled in what they think it is saying, so i think it's very important to not just check how reliable & trustworthy your news is, but also to make sure you actually understand it before you share it any further.

it's completely okay to not understand things on your own, but sharing - and unquestioningly believing - things you don't fully comprehend based on what you kind of think is going on (especially if you append some sort of fear-mongering summary based on the worst case scenario you could possibly glean from the headline or a brief skim or an explainer from your favourite generative AI model) is a very common way not only for misinformation and panic to permeate, but also for propaganda to sink its teeth into you.

(p.s. you don't need to actually write down and paraphrase every single news article you read - just asking the questions in your head can be enough and it becomes a pretty much automatic process once you've had enough practice at it - but if you're really struggling with a particular article writing it down like it's a proper school worksheet can be helpful. yes, it's extra work, but combating the spread of misinformation is worth that work.)

Not perfect and not always right but basically:

Is it a screen shot?

Is there a link?

Did you click/read the link?

Was it a real source (AP wire, local news, the original online post - not Fox, not the Sun, not NY Post, etc)?

Did you find any confirmation?

Did it strongly confirm a bias or suspicion?

Did it make you feel angry, smug, disgusted, superior, and/or helpless?

Is it important enough to you that you think it needs to be shared?

Do you have the energy, time, ability to research, confirm, and provide sources, links, and some additional clarifying details?

Generally I have this in mind, not necessarily always and not always observed, and I forget and blah blah. But it's a pretty simple guide to remember, and honestly items 1 and 9 cover me most of the time.

[secret-moonstruck]

STUCK ON ME | Y.JW

— Pairing: Jungwon x fem!reader | (Masterlist)

— Synopsis: Y/N found an abandoned kitten in the rain but she didn't expect things to end this way.

— Genre: smut

— Warnings: unprotected sex, cum inside, making out, begging, hickeys, blood, overstimulation.

— Notes: I'm new to this writing thing, and English is not my first language. Sorry for not writing so well, I wish to improve and bring better and well-written stories.

The rain fell heavily as the shadow watched Y/N typing on her laptop. 

When he noticed that she started to pack her things to leave, he smiled, his fangs showing. 

- This is going to be an interesting meal. - He said before transforming.

Y/N was focused on finishing writing a chapter that she didn't notice the heavy rain or how dark it was, as soon as she noticed this, she started to packing her things to leave.

Running home she heard a meow and stopped to see where it was coming from, she then saw a kitten hiding from the rain in a corner, without thinking she picked it up and hugging it to protect it from the rain took it to her apartment.

Y/N dried the kitten and fed him, when she made sure he was comfortable, she went to take a shower and warm up as she was still soaked from the rain.

While sleeping that night Y/N woke up nervous feeling like she was being watched, but she ignored it and went back to sleep.

The next day Y/N returned early from the cafe after finishing a chapter of her book. She looked for the kitten but couldn't find it, until she heard a noise coming from her room. When she opened the door she screamed in panic and tried to run away after seeing an unknown man lying comfortably on her bed. But barely taking two steps out of the room she was grabbed and thrown against the wall.

- A panicked prey always makes the meal even better. - He said, inhaling her scent, feeling her fear.

- Who are you? - Y/N asked shakily.

- Who i am? I'm Jungwon and you're Y/N, my sweet prey.

In the midst of her panic, she remembered the kitten and asked if he had done anything to him.

- So sweet, worried about me? - A falsely sweet smile appeared on his face. - Don't you understand yet? There is no kitten, it was me all along. So easy to fool, a little transformation and you're down immediately.

As soon as he finished speaking, he bit her. The pain at first was horrible, but soon she felt something strange, a shiver ran through her entire body, she was feeling pleasure.

When Y/N moaned Jungwon stopped immediately, he didn't expect that, she must have been screaming to death in pain. Only then did he realize how there was something different in his blood.

- What are you? - He asked confused. - Whatever, it doesn't matter

Before she could think about running away he bit her again. Her blood wasn't just sweet, it wasn't just something that satisfied his hunger, there was something more powerful, something that was messing with his head and his body. He wanted more, but not only that, it made him want her. Her body, her soul, everything, she should be his.

Fear still hovered over Y/N, but at the same time she wanted it, the feeling was too good, she wanted him to devour her in every possible way.

- Damn, I can't believe I'm going to do this. - Jungwon decided to keep her alive at least for now.

- Do what? - Y/N asked scared. But instead of giving an answer he kissed her.

This shocked her more than if he had killed her. The kiss was fierce, his body pressing hers against the wall, while he firmly held her waist, the other hand grabbed her right leg, his claws squeezing it tightly, making it bleed. 

- Please, devour me. - Y/N begged between moans. He more than immediately obeyed her. 

Both clothes being quickly removed from their bodies, he ached to possess her.

He picked her up on his lap, his cock desperate to be inside her, and soon it was. 

She could die there and she would be happy, the way he fucked her as if he had been waiting for this for centuries.

Y/N was grateful that he was holding her because she was sure she couldn't stand, her legs were weak, her whole body was losing strength as she felt him going so fiercely deep inside her. 

Nothing felt like enough, Jungwon wanted more from her, more and more, as his head spun with the sensation of being inside her, he varied between kissing her roughly or drinking some more of her blood. 

With her blood dripping down his lips as he sucked her, he knew he couldn't take it anymore, the way she clenched around him as she felt the pleasure as he drank her blood.

Y/N's moans could be heard in the distance as she reached her orgasm, tears streaming down her face as he finally came inside pushing more and more into her. Y/N head falling onto his shoulder in exhaustion when it was finally over.

Even overwhelmed she thought about how she would probably be killed next, an ironic smile on her lips as she thought that at least it would be a good death. Soon after, she fainted.

When she woke up Y/N was confused, she thought she would be dead by now. She tried to get up, but felt her hand trapped. Of course she was alive, but it was too much to ask for him to leave and let her live as if nothing had happened.

- Finally woke up. - Jungwon's voice came from the other side of the room.

- Why am I arrested? - Y/N didn't mind asking rudely, death no longer scared her.

- Because my sweet Y/N, I don't want to have to chase you if you try to run away. - I don't have the patience for that kind of thing.

- But why haven't you killed me yet? Are you going to keep me trapped here so I always have a snack at your disposal?

- I wish that was it. - His expression was a mixture of anger and disappointment. - Unfortunately, I can't kill you. 

Jungwon sat on the bed next to her touching her face with a smile full of sarcasm. He looked increasingly angry.

- There is a story, which I never believed, about how vampires are supposedly always destined to find someone, the person they would give their life for in exchange to protect. A person to whom they would give their entire being, whom they are destined to serve. Baseless idiocy. - He said, squeezing her face while analyzing her.

- I always thought they were just stories, but guess what? Apparently this is real. - He released her face angrily, moving away.

- Why did I have to drink your blood? Why didn't I choose another victim? Just you with your stupid blood that bewitched me. - If I didn't want to have you so much for myself I would kill you now, not because it's normal for me, but because I hate you so much for doing this to me. - He was clearly in agony.

- Is that what they call karma? - Y/N said laughing loudly. - You tried to terrorize me and kill me. And now you're saying you stuck with me?

He looked at her in disbelief. Y/N was nothing like he imagined, she wasn't afraid of him, the look of superiority and control she had over him made him feel small. It should be the opposite, he is the monster here, he is the one who should have control over her, not the other way around.

- Let me go. - Y/N ordered. Even though he was angry, Jungwon couldn't help but follow Y/N's orders, her voice had some kind of power over him, it was like a spell, and now he was the one who couldn't escape.

— Note2: Sorry if it's not good, I'll try to improve it.

[rosiehrs]

TWO STEPS BEHIND ✧ 09. they might sell

⤻ in which sophia laforteza, praised for her all-round skills and leadership, is tasked with guiding the new trainee to catch up with the others. but as y/n l/n struggles to keep up, sophia can't help but see the girl as a burden holding her back from her own success – and with each misstep, her resentment grows.

wc: 728

you watched nikky critique megan's lack of detail with a terrified look on your face. although the girl was younger and.. weird, you looked up to her and her work. she excelled at everything and she raised the standards for every girl in the room.

you hadn't even noticed the small misstep she had, yet nikky was tearing her to shreds about it. everyone expected more from her, and well, you didn't know a thing.

while nikky focused on helping those in higher levels, you and the other girls practiced on your own in the other side of the room. you stayed in the back, silently struggling with the position of your arms and the sway of your hips. you made glances to your fellow trainees and immediately felt a rush of embarrassment flowing through your veins. you couldn't shake off the fact that these girls were light years ahead of you. they moved with such ease, while you still stumbled over your own feet.

sophia listened as nikky pointed out a flaw in emily's moves, the sound fading as soon as her eyes landed on your through the mirror. she saw the way you sheepishly tried to dance with the other girls as you watched from the back. she turned to nikky and saw how she was preoccupied and silently made her way over to you.

"you alright?" she asked, smiling softly as you stopped your moves and stood up straight. "i- uh, yeah. just.. trying to get this, but i look weird."

"show me."

with that, you felt your entire body stiffen. this always happens; this is the reason why you're never able to perform well during your practices. she made you so nervous to the point where you felt like your bones were glued together.

"y/n?" she called out again, snapping you out of your thoughts. "hm? oh, right. sorry."

you sang the part of the song and showed her what you were struggling with.

this is the part when i say i don't want you,

i'm stronger than i've been before

sophia nodded, understanding the issue. "ah, you need to hold your arms up higher, like this." she demonstrated, lifting your arms out in front of you. "and lock your elbows–yeah, like that." she moved behind you, squinting her eyes as she observed. "your legs have to be further apart, and bend your knees a little." you obliged, your movements feeling a bit more aligned.

"okay, yeah. now do the move again."

you repeated the move, watching her through the mirror. "better! but your hips, watch me." she said, and your brain turned to mush as she demonstrated the move, swaying her hips fluidly.

"you saw that, right? just pretend like you're using a hula hoop. try again." she suggested, standing behind you once again. you tried following her instructions, but your movements still looked off. "hey, hey, hey." she started, placing her hands on your waist and you immediately felt your muscles tense under her touch as warmth flooded your cheeks. "loosen up, y/n. you're stiff, do it again but i'll guide you, okay?"

you felt your voice caught in your throat, nodding as you stared ahead at the mirror. you did the move again, but slowly as she directed your hips with soft, precise adjustments.

sophia didn't realise how close she had gotten until her front brushed against your back. she stepped aside and pulled her hands back as she felt her own cheeks begin to burn. "it– uh, sorry. but that was good. i–"

"okay, guys! let's start from the top!" nikky called over, cutting sophia off. "um, okay. let's practice more later then. good job." she smiled, before walking back to where the higher levels stood.

"jesus christ, what was that tension in the air?" manon asked, sneaking up behind you and making you jump. "fuck! don't do that!" you scolded, slapping her away. she burst out laughing. "bro, i nearly pissed myself just then, i do not know what that was."

"that was so gay, it genuinely made me itch." she grinned, wrapping her arms around you as you swore at her. "you're such a dick, manon."

what none of you realised was that missy and mitra watched your every move with sophia. the two women exchanged a glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

masterlist | next

a/n - guys ITLL GET BETTER HOLD AWN

TAGLIST CLOSED! @ssamlovr @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @meganskiendielsbtc @falling-intoo-deep @arihiu @nyssalvr @1luvkarina @ssryv @vrtualstar @hazel-tanthamore22 @lafortezalover @yeetaberry127 @leeseulss @saysirhc @gtfoiydlyj @bbanghanni @c-yerim @chaesitonmyface @en-chantedtomeetyou @jellaaa @artrizzler19 @soobnotfound @yukianism @perfectsunlight @meizinisnumberone @linnnsworld @thepurin @goofymickeyr @kristalag @cassiespoiler @blushmimi @meiphobic @taikabui @cceanvvaves

[ch0llies]

EARNED IT | MATTHEW STURNIOLO PT.2

read part one here

brothersbestfriend!matt x innocent!reader

You're an 18-year-old high school senior, the innocent little sister of Matt's best friend. Which means off-limits in every way. But 22-year-old college hockey player, Matt can't ignore the way you cling to him, asking dangerous questions with trusting eyes. You don't understand the fire you're playing with- but Matt does. And he's burning to teach you what happens when you get too close.

story warnings: oral (fem reviving), masterbation, lowkey corruption kink (if u squint), brothers best friend, pet names (sweetheart, angel), age gap (four years), etc. all characters are of age. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 6k

ib: @ariestrxsh ‘s young god

You pause in the doorway, your breath catching at his words. Earn it? Your stomach twists. Matt watches you with that lazy, knowing smirk that makes your skin itch.

Your fingers tighten on the doorframe. “How do I… earn it?”

Matt’s smirk deepens. He steps forward, closing the space between you just enough to make your pulse stutter. His hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, barely touching but enough to make you feel dizzy.

“You’ll know,” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “When you deserve it, I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath shudders, heat crawling up your spine. You don’t even know what you’re asking for but the way he’s looking at you, the way your entire body is reacting, makes you desperate to find out.

You swallow hard, shifting on your feet. “But-”

Matt just chuckles, shaking his head as he backs away, hands sliding into the pockets of his grey sweatpants. You look down. His arousal is gone now, or at least, hidden well enough that he’s in control again. Unlike you.

“Go to bed, sweetheart.”

His voice is final, dismissive, like he’s already won whatever game you didn’t realize you were playing.

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a second longer before turning on shaky legs, stepping out into the hallway and returning to your room.

The next morning you try to act like nothing happened, but the moment you step into the kitchen and see Matt leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, wearing that damn fitted black tank top and grey sweatpants again, you feel your entire body react.

His gaze flicks to you immediately.

He notices the way you freeze.

The way your thighs instinctively press together.

The way your lips part slightly, like you’re remembering exactly what they felt like against his.

He smirks. Like he knows. Like he owns every single thought running through your head.

Your brother, completely oblivious, slaps Matt on the back as he walks past. “Dude, you good? You look like you slept like shit.”

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, eyes still locked onto yours and that’s when you finally notice the deep purple eyebags under his eyes. He always had eyebags, but your brother was right. These looked worse.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, taking a slow sip of coffee. “Didn’t get much sleep. Mind was elsewhere.”

Your breath catches.

Your brother shrugs, already grabbing cereal from the cabinet. “I told you not to stay up. We gotta commute back to campus tomorrow morning. We only got today to get our sleep schedule back in check.”

Matt exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his smirk growing as he watches you shift on your feet, still burning under his gaze.

You sit at the kitchen table, trying so hard to act normal, to pretend that your body doesn’t still burn from last night. But it’s impossible when Matt keeps looking at you like that- like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, exactly what your body still craves.

“What the fuck?!”

Your brother’s sharp voice shatters the illusion, making you flinch. Your eyes snap to him just as he’s stepping closer, his expression twisted in disbelief, his gaze locked onto you.

No- your neck.

Your stomach plummets.

His eyes widen, his jaw tightening as he glares at the unmistakable mark just beneath your jawline. The dark, deep, evidence of everything you were trying to keep secret.

Panic floods you.

“I-”

“Who the fuck did this?” His voice is sharp, angry, his fists clenching at his sides.

You freeze, heart hammering, throat dry. You can’t say Matt.

Matt is right there.

Standing beside you, silent. His expression unreadable. He’s watching you, waiting- not stepping in, not making excuses, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You scramble for something- anything- to say, but before you can, your brother scoffs, his lip curling in disgust.

“You kidding me right now?” His voice is lower now, sharp with anger. “You know who gets hickeys?” He takes a step closer, voice cold “Sluts.”

Your stomach drops.

Heat rushes to your face- not from embarrassment, but from humiliation. You shake your head quickly, trying to explain, but nothing comes out.

Matt stiffens beside you.

“Yo,” his voice is calm but firm, cutting through the tension like a blade. “Lay off, dude”

Your brother whips his head toward him, eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”

Matt crosses his arms, jaw tight. “She’s eighteen now, man. She can make her own decisions.”

Your brother laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, fuck off with that bullshit, Matt. That’s still my sister.” His glare snaps back to you. “And you? You let some random asshole mark you up like that?”

You flinch, your breath shuddering. “I-”

“You have no fucking self-respect, do you?”

Your throat tightens, burns. Your hands tremble as you grip the table, heat stinging behind your eyes. You feel exposed, humiliated, like a child being scolded for something you barely even understand.

Matt’s jaw flexes, his fists clenching at his sides. His whole body tenses, like he’s barely keeping himself in check. But he still doesn’t step in. Not unless you decide you want him to.

Because this is your secret to tell.

Your brother scoffs again, shaking his head. “Fucking pathetic.”

Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you shove yourself up, your vision blurring. “Fuck you.” Your voice cracks, half anger, half tears, but you don’t care.

You turn on your heel and storm out.

You hear Matt curse under his breath, hear your brother mutter something, but you don’t stop. You run down the hall, slamming your door shut behind you before collapsing onto your bed, pressing your face into your pillow as hot, embarrassed tears spill down your cheeks.

It was late now. Almost midnight- maybe even one in the morning. You’ve barely moved from your bed since breakfast, too embarrassed, too humiliated to face anyone, especially Matt.

He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t defend you the way you wished, but he also didn’t throw you under the bus. He let you decide whether or not to reveal what happened. But still some part of it was just so embarrassing.

The house is quiet, everyone already in bed. You shift under the covers, your oversized t-shirt sliding against your bare skin, your thigh-high socks still hugging your legs, providing some comfort.

The door creaks open.

A dark figure slips inside, moving carefully, deliberately. The door shuts again with a soft click and you hear the lock slide shortly after.

Your heart stammers, your stomach flipping as the shadow moves closer, the dim light from the hallway illuminating just enough of his face.

Matt.

You sit up quickly, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, your voice a hushed whisper. “Matt?”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice low, soothing.

Your pulse races as he steps closer…. closer…. until he’s right in front of you.

He drops to his knees.

Your breath stutters.

He’s kneeling in front of you, his broad hands and long fingers resting on your thighs, his eyes flickering up to yours, dark and unreadable.

Your lips part, confusion swirling in your chest. “What are you-”

“I’m sorry.”

His voice is soft, rough around the edges, like he’s been holding onto the words all day. His hands squeeze your thighs gently, his gaze never leaving yours.

“For what?” you murmur, genuinely confused.

“For leaving marks,” he says, his fingers tracing lightly over the sensitive skin of your thighs. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You blink, still dazed. “I- I didn’t even know they were there.”

Matt exhales sharply, his jaw clenching.

“I don’t even really know what hickeys are,” you admit, your voice small, unsure.

His lips part slightly, his brows drawing together like your innocence physically pains him. Then, slowly, he drops his forehead onto your thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“I’m still sorry,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your legs. “It’s my fault.”

Your stomach flutters, your fingers twitching at your sides. You should probably be upset. But all you can focus on is the weight of his head resting against your thighs, the way his hands grip you so gently, as if he’s afraid to hold you too tight.

“It… didn’t hurt or anything,” you murmur.

Matt huffs a quiet laugh against your skin, his breath hot against your bare legs. “That’s not the point, angel.”

There’s a pause, heavy, thick with something you don’t understand.

“What did it feel like?”

Your fingers twitch where they rest against the sheets, your legs pressing together slightly on instinct. You weren’t expecting that question.

“I…. I don’t know,” you stammer, heat creeping up your neck.

Matt lifts his head slightly, his dark eyes flickering up to yours, waiting. “Yes, you do,” he murmurs.

You exhale shakily, your entire body buzzing. You hesitate, then admit, “It… felt like it did yesterday.”

Matt’s gaze sharpens. His fingers flex against your thighs, his grip tightening just slightly. “And what was that?”

Your lips part, but the words won’t come. You’re too flustered, too hot, your thighs squeezing together again as the memory of last night floods your mind.

Matt just watches you.

“Warm,” you whisper, barely audible. “And… and needy.”

His jaw clenches, his fingers sliding higher.

“Where?”

You suck in a breath, unable to say it, so instead, you let your gaze flicker downward. Down to where his hands are still crawling up your thighs, where the warmth is building again, pulsing, aching.

Matt follows your gaze, and when he looks back up at you, his expression changes.

He moves slowly and lowers his head, his breath warm as his lips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingers dig into the sheets, your stomach flipping, your entire body locking up as he keeps going.

Lower.

Lower.

Until his nose brushes the soft crevice between your thighs, his face pressing directly against the heat radiating from your core.

Your breath shatters.

Matt doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

Just stays there.

Breathing you in.

Letting you feel it.

Your entire body tenses, frozen in place, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His hands tighten on your thighs, keeping you right where he wants you.

He does nothing. Just lets the weight of his presence sink into you. Like he’s claiming you. Without even touching you.

Matt stays still for a moment, just breathing against you, the warmth of his face pressing into the heat radiating from your core. His grip on your thighs tightens, and then slowly he nuzzles his head deeper, his nose pressing against the soft, sensitive space between your legs.

A soft, strained groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your skin.

Your entire body jolts, a sharp gasp ripping from your lips as your back arches involuntarily, your fingers gripping the sheets for something to ground you.

“Matt…” your voice comes out breathy, shaking. “Why are you… putting your head… there?”

He doesn’t answer.

Not at first.

He just stays there, pressed against you, breathing you in like he needs it, like the heat between your thighs is suffocating him but he still wants more.

Slowly, he lifts his head.

His pupils are blown, dark and hungry, his cheeks flushed, lips parted slightly as his gaze locks onto yours. His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling like he’s trying to control himself but he can’t.

His voice is thick, strained.

“Because it doesn’t just make me feel warm and needy.” His grip on you tightens, his jaw clenching. “No… it makes me feel even better than on fire.”

Your lips part, your stomach twisting. “Even better than on fire?”

Matt exhales sharply, his eyes flickering down, back to where his face had just been.

Then without hesitation he drops his head again, his nose pressing into you even firmer this time. His arms slide around you, wrapping around your lower back, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer against his face like he needs to feel you.

You let out a small, shaky whimper as your body jerks forward, pressing even more against him.

Matt groans again, his fingers digging into your skin, his breath hot against you.

“Yes,” he rasps, voice muffled against your thighs. “Even better than on fire.”

Matt stays pressed against you, his warm breath fanning over the sensitive heat between your thighs. His grip tightens on your hips, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he pulls you impossibly closer.

And then he pushes his nose deeper.

A sharp, unexpected shock runs through you as he nudges against something sensitive, something that makes your entire body jerk. A moan slips past your lips before you can stop it- a high, breathy, and completely foreign to your own ears. Just like the sound yesterday but even worse.

Your eyes widen immediately, a gasp catching in your throat as you slap a hand over your mouth. Your body tenses, heat flooding every inch of your skin.

“Matty-” your voice is shaky, breathless. “What was that?”

Matt stays still, his nose still buried between your thighs, his breath slow and deliberate as he exhales against the damp fabric of your underwear. When he finally pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression is unreadable.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing.

Before you can respond, he does it again.

Another press of his nose, deliberate and slow, right against that same spot.

Your entire body twitches. Your back arches slightly, another sound escaping your throat, softer this time- more desperate.

“That,” you gasp, your fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you, your head tilting back slightly. “That feels really…”

You trail off, your face burning, your breathing uneven as you struggle to even form the words.

Matt watches you carefully, his lips parting slightly, his jaw tight as he exhales through his nose. Then, he leans in again, pressing another slow, intentional nudge against that same spot.

“That’s a spot on girls,” he murmurs against you, his breath hot through the fabric. “It helps you feel really, really good.” His thumbs rub soothing circles into your hips. “Do you feel good when I do that?”

You whimper, the sound soft and helpless as your hands instinctively fly to his hair, your fingers gripping the strands without thinking. Your thighs tremble slightly around his head as another rush of warmth pools deep in your stomach.

A shaky breath leaves your lips as you barely manage to whisper-

“…Yes.”

Matt watches you carefully, his breathing slow and controlled despite the tension crackling between you like fire. His hands, still gripping your thighs, slowly slide up, slipping beneath the oversized t-shirt hanging loosely over your frame. His palms are warm against your bare skin, fingertips tracing soft, teasing patterns as he pushes the fabric up, exposing more of you to him.

“You want me to keep goin’, angel?” His voice is low, rough, thick with something dangerous.

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod.

Without thinking you press your fingers deeper into his hair, giving the slightest push, an unconscious plea.

His pupils darken instantly, his lips parting as a low groan escapes him. But it’s not just that. It’s the way your thighs instinctively spread wider, granting him more access without even realizing it.

“Fuck,” Matt breathes, his grip tightening on your hips for a moment before he leans back in.

The first press of his nose is slow, testing, just like before.

And then- he flicks it.

A sharp, teasing nudge directly against that sensitive spot.

Your entire body jerks, a gasp breaking from your lips, your thighs twitching around his head. But Matt doesn’t stop. No, he keeps doing it. Slow at first as always, up and down, teasing motions that make your breath stutter and your grip in his hair tighten.

Then he groans. Low, deep, and vibrating against you.

The sensation sends another shockwave through your body, and a soft, helpless moan slips past your lips.

“Yeah?” Matt murmurs against you, his voice thick with need. “That feel good, sweetheart?”

You can’t even respond properly. Just a breathless, desperate whimper as your hips shift slightly, pressing closer.

Matt smirks against you before dragging his nose up, then back down, rubbing slow, torturous circles against you before flicking against that sensitive spot again.

A choked moan rips from your throat, your body reacting before your mind can catch up, your thighs trembling around him.

“Fuck, angel,” Matt groans again, his voice gravelly and wrecked, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

He presses harder, a slow, teasing drag, and your body shakes, another desperate whimper slipping free.

Your head tilts back, fingers gripping his hair tightly, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Matt lets out another ragged groan, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he keeps going, his voice muffled but still deliberate-

“Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

And when he flicks his nose just right again, you do.

Matt groans against you, the vibrations sending another sharp wave of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your thighs tighter, his fingers flexing like he’s desperate to hold you in place.

You are a mess.

Your breath is ragged, your legs trembling as he keeps going, dragging his nose in slow, deliberate motions against that sensitive spot. Every flick, every press, every little nuzzle makes your thighs twitch, makes another helpless moan spill from your lips.

Matt loves it.

You can feel how much he loves it. The way his grip tightens, the way his breathing turns heavier, the way his groans slip out with every little movement.

“Fuck,” he mutters against you, voice wrecked. “You’re shaking.”

You are. Your thighs are trembling under his touch, your hands fisted tightly in his hair, your entire body burning.

“Feels so- mhphh- feel so good,” you gasp, barely able to speak through the overwhelming sensation.

Matt groans at that, his grip on you tightening.

“You like that, yeah?” he murmurs, flicking his nose against you again, making you arch. “Like me making you feel good?”

You can only nod, breathless, your fingers tugging at his hair as another moan slips from your lips.

Matt smirks against you before dragging his nose up again, then back down, teasing you, working you up so slowly you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

“Matty,” you whimper, voice shaking.

He hums in response, the deep sound sending another shudder through your body.

“You sound so fuckin’ sweet, angel,” he groans. “So perfect.”

And then he does it again. A slow, firm press, his nose nudging against you just right, and your entire body jerks, another sharp, desperate moan breaking from your throat.

Matt can feel it- the way your body is trembling under his touch, the way your fingers are gripping his hair tightly, like you need something to anchor you through the overwhelming sensations rolling through you.

His lips part against your nearly soaked through panties, his breath hot and ragged as he presses in deeper, his nose dragging slow, deliberate movements that make you whimper, make your back arch off the bed.

“Oh my- Matt,” you gasp, voice breathless and shaking.

He groans, his grip on your thighs tightening. “That’s it, angel,” he mutters against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through your core. “Let me hear you.”

You barely register what you’re doing. Your body acts before your brain can catch up. Your thighs spread more, giving him better access, and he takes full advantage.

His movements become more focused, more precise, flicking his nose against that exact spot over and over again, pressing firmer, dragging the tip up and down before pushing in harder.

Your breath shatters, a high-pitched whimper slipping from your lips.

“Oh-”

Matt groans deeply, his voice thick with need. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “You’re shaking so much.”

You really are, too. Your legs trembling around his head, your stomach clenching with each movement he makes.

“Feels…” You gasp sharply as another flick sends you spiraling, your hands tightening in his hair. “Feels so-”

Matt hums again, the deep vibration sparking another moan from you.

“I know, angel,” he breathes, dragging his nose in slow, torturous strokes against you. “I know. Just let go.”

Your entire body tenses, heat pooling low in your stomach, coiling tighter, tighter. The pressure is overwhelming, so much more than anything you’ve ever felt, building and building until-

A sharp flick. A firm press.

You break.

A soft, desperate cry escapes you as your entire body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you, your thighs clamping around his head as you tremble, gasping for air.

Matt groans as he feels you come undone beneath him, his grip firm, his voice wrecked as he murmurs, “That’s it, angel. Let me feel you.”

Your hands tighten in his hair, your body writhing beneath him as he keeps going, drawing it out, letting you ride the high until you’re left breathless, limp against the bed, completely spent.

He finally pulls back, his breath heavy, his lips parted as he looks up at you with pure hunger.

He watches you, his breath still ragged, his pupils dark and hungry as he takes in the sight of you. Of your body trembling, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, your thighs still twitching from the overwhelming sensation coursing through you.

Without a word, he leans back in.

Your breath catches as he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up the soaking wet fabric of your underwear, the heat of his tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive spot he had just been teasing mercilessly with his nose.

Your whole body jolts, a small whimper slipping from your lips as he finally pulls away.

Matt exhales heavily, his breath warm against your skin as he lifts his head, resting his cheek against your thigh, his hands still gripping them firmly, keeping you open.

And then he looks up at you, his expression something almost possessive flickering behind his gaze.

“You know how you asked me what cumming was?” he murmurs, his voice low, deep, dangerous.

Your breath stutters, your stomach flipping violently as you suddenly feel it- the way your body is still pulsing, the wetness between your thighs making everything too real.

Your face burns.

You inhale sharply, trying to press your legs closed out of instinct, out of sheer embarrassment, but Matt’s hands immediately tighten around your thighs, keeping them spread.

You let out a small, flustered whimper, your body still oversensitive, still buzzing, and Matt’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk as he trails a single finger along the wet fabric, pressing just lightly, just enough to make your breath hitch.

His voice drops, his tone laced with something smug, something possessive.

“That was cumming.”

Your chest rises and falls as your body continues to hum with the aftershocks of what just happened.

You swallow hard, blinking down at Matt, who’s still resting his cheek against your thigh, watching you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

You shift slightly, trying to process everything, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as your mind struggles to catch up. “Oh,” you whisper, your voice soft, dazed. “That was the… release you were talking about.”

Matt exhales sharply, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice still thick with desire. “That was the release.”

Your body shudders again as you feel it- another slow, warm trickle of something leaking through your already soaking underwear, your thighs twitching at the sensation. You shift slightly, uncomfortable, still feeling so sensitive.

Matt notices.

His eyes darken as he watches the way you move, his grip tightening on your thighs. He pulls them further apart, just slightly, just enough to get a better view of your cum leaking through your underwear.

Your breath catches, your face burning, and you stutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “W-was that what you meant when you said you were going to be inside me?”

The instant the words leave your lips, Matt’s entire body tenses.

His fingers dig into your thighs, his jaw clenching as his head drops for a moment, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

You blink down at him, confused by his reaction, watching as he visibly composes himself before finally lifting his head again.

His pupils are blown, his cheeks flushed, but when he meets your gaze, he manages a smirk, shaking his head slightly.

“No, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough, strained. “Not quite.”

You pout, shifting slightly again, still feeling the lingering ache between your legs. “I haven’t earned it yet?”

Matt huffs a quiet laugh, his smirk deepening as he tilts his head, dragging his thumbs slowly up your inner thighs, his gaze locked onto yours.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with promise as he stands up and kisses your forehead. “Go to sleep.”

You simply nod, closing your eyes and flopping back on the bed, eyes already fluttering shut.

Matt watches you turn over and then walks toward your door.

The moment your door clicks shut, Matt exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against the wood and gripping the door handle hard. His knuckles turn white from the pressure, his breathing still ragged, still uneven. His entire body is tight- burning, aching, straining against the very last threads of his self-control.

Jesus Christ.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to steady himself, but it’s fucking impossible. Not after what just happened. Not after you looked at him like that, asked him those questions with your wide, innocent eyes, spread your legs for him like it was natural, like you trusted him with your body in a way that made him feel both honored and fucking ruined.

And then your sweet oblivious little mouth just had to ask if that was what he meant when he said he’d be inside you.

Matt groans under his breath, his jaw clenching so tight it aches. He can still see you, still feel the heat of you against his face, the way you twitched, gasped, moaned for him. His name had slipped from your lips like a prayer, and fuck- he had almost lost himself right then and there.

He had barely. Barely. Held himself together.

But now?

Now, he’s alone.

Now, there’s nothing stopping him.

His hands shake as he shoves down the waistband of his sweatpants, the thick pressure of his arousal almost painful at this point. His cock is aching, flushed and leaking, proof of just how much you had affected him- proof of just how fucking desperate he is for you.

A harsh breath leaves his lips as he wraps a fist around himself, finally getting the friction he needs. His head tilts back slightly, his other hand pressed flat against the wooden door as he strokes himself, letting his mind wander exactly where it wants to go.

You.

Your flushed face, your swollen lips, the way your breath had stuttered every time he pressed against your clit, how you had gasped when you came, how your fingers had tangled in his hair, tugging, holding him there like you never wanted him to leave.

Fuck.

Matt squeezes his eyes shut, his jaw tightening as he picks up the pace, his breath turning uneven, ragged. His hips jerk into his fist, and his mind spirals further- what if he hadn’t stopped? What if he had really shown you what it meant to have him inside you? What if he had been buried between your thighs, licking into you, tasting you properly, making you come again, and again, and again, until you were crying his name, begging for more-

His breath shudders, his stomach tightening, his grip firm as he chases it. He was so fucking close, so wound up, his body on fire, his thighs tensing as a low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest.

It crashes into him fast, hard- his release ripping through him in sharp, pulsing waves as he cups his tip with his other hand, catching the release in his palm so he doesn’t cum on the floor. His hand slows, his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths, his entire body thrumming from the intensity of it.

For a moment, he just stands there, his palm still wrapped around himself, hand full of his cum, and his head tilted backward.

He quickly rushes himself to the bathroom, and clean up. it isn’t until he washes his hands in the sink that the thought briefly crosses his mind. He drags a hand down his face. What if your brother had walked out? Or worse, your father?

But Matt wasn’t truly thinking about that. Not at all.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his body still buzzing from the release and somehow still aching for more.

It should’ve been enough. Should’ve. But it wasn’t.

Not even close.

Because the second he dries his hands and leans against the counter, gripping the cool edge with both hands, his mind betrays him, replaying every single fucking second of what had just happened all over again.

The way you looked at him. The way you gasped when he touched you. The way your voice had trembled when you whispered his name, all breathless and needy, like you needed him, like you had never felt anything like that before.

His jaw clenches, his fingers flexing against the counter, his body already stirring back to life, heat curling low in his stomach again.

He groans under his breath, shoving a hand through his hair. His body is still so wired, still so fucking hard, and he knows there’s only one way to fix it.

He turns the faucet on, letting the water run as he braces himself over the sink, staring at his own reflection. His pupils are blown, his skin still flushed, his chest rising and falling too fast.

He can still smell you on his face.

His grip tightens on the edge of the sink, his breath coming out in a slow, shaky exhale.

Then, without hesitation, he shoves his sweatpants down again, his cock already achingly hard once more.

He barely has time to wrap a fist around himself before his hips jerk into his palm, the sensation making him groan low in his throat.

His hand moves so very slow. He was teasing, taunting, and dragging the pleasure out in long, torturous strokes, just like he had done to you.

Fuck, angel, his mind taunts, replaying his own words against his skull. You sound so fuckin’ sweet.

His breathing shudders, his grip tightening. A deep groan rips from his throat, his strokes faster now, his hips chasing the sensation.

But it’s not enough.

He needs more.

He needs to see you again.

His jaw clenches as he yanks his phone off the counter, flicking the camera on and angling it towards the mirror. His pupils are blown, his chest flushed, his cock thick and leaking, his hand wrapped tight around himself.

He groans again, dropping his own dick to grab his shirt, pulling it between his teeth before returning to the throbbing member, pumping it a few times before snapping a few pictures.

After talking that he tilts the phone downward, recording for a few seconds as he slowly strokes himself, watching the way his abs tense as he fucks into his own hand.

He imagines sending it to you as he puts the phone facedown back on the counter.

Imagines your innocent little gasp when you see it.

Imagines your wide, curious eyes as you whisper, Matty, why does it look like that?

Imagines himself teaching you.

A ragged moan tears from his throat, his body tensing, his stomach tightening as the heat coils in his spine, building- building- building-

Until he shatters again.

His breath stutters, his hand slowing, his body pulsing, his release spilling over his fingers in thick, hot waves.

His jaw drops, his head tilting back, his chest heaving as he rides it out, so fucking spent that his knees nearly buckle.

He stands there for a moment, panting, gripping the counter, waiting for his body to stop shaking.

He barely has time to catch his breath before the need creeps back in for the third time. He was so sensitive and so overstimulated that he didn’t think it was even possible to be still hard. But here he was. His muscles were still tense, his skin overheated, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of release.

His cock is still hard, twitching against his abdomen, a constant, aching reminder of what he just did- and what he still wants.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his damp hair, his jaw clenching as his fingers flex against the counter. The mirror reflects the mess he’s become- flushed cheeks, sweat-slicked skin, pupils blown so wide that his irises are barely visible.

He knows what he’s about to do is reckless.

He knows he shouldn’t.

But that innocent little pout you gave him earlier? The way you whispered, I haven’t earned it yet? The way you looked at him with those wide eyes as if you had no clue what you were actually asking for?

Fuck.

His phone is still face down on the counter.

He grabs it.

His other hand is already sliding down, already pushing his waistband down. He tilts the phone in one hand, aiming it downward as he presses record.

His fingertips skim down his stomach, dragging over his tightened abs, the muscles twitching under his touch. He hisses softly, teasing himself, delaying the inevitable as he traces the sharp lines of his obliques, feeling the tension coil again, deeper, tighter.

His cock jumps, aching for attention, the head still slick and sensitive from his last orgasm. But he doesn’t grip himself yet- not yet.

Instead, he lets his fingers tease, barely brushing the flushed tip, smearing the remnants of his cum across his skin, feeling the hot, sticky slickness coat his fingertips.

A low groan vibrates from his chest as he swirls his thumb over the head, his body jerking at the overstimulation.

“Fuck-”

The sound echoes in the bathroom, rough and needy.

He sets the phone down on the counter, leaning against the wall so his face is now in frame too, his breath coming out uneven as his fingers finally wrap around himself again.

The first stroke is a torturous drag from base to tip. His grip was firm but not tight, just enough to make his hips stutter forward, chasing the friction.

His breath shudders, his stomach tightening as he squeezes just a little harder, dragging his fist back down.

He rolls his hips into his hand, setting a rhythm. Slow but deep, each stroke sending a sharp pulse of pleasure up his spine.

He starts to buck his hips up, his thumb circling the leaking tip before dragging back down along the vein running the underside of his shaft.

His pace picks up, his grip tighter now, his strokes longer, firmer, his abs flexing with every sharp movement.

A growl rumbles in his throat as he tilts his head back, his jaw going slack as his pleasure builds, stronger, heavier, deeper.

His thighs tense as he pumps his fist faster, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants, sweat beading at his temple as his body coils tight, tight, tight-

The tension is blistering, a sharp, almost painful heat curling at the base of his spine, twisting through his muscles, spreading everywhere.

His chest heaves, his entire body locking up as his strokes turn sloppy, desperate, chasing the sharp edge of release that’s so fucking close-

“Fuck, Y/N-”

The moment your name falls from his lips, his body shatters.

A deep moan tears from his throat as pleasure crashes through him hard, blinding and nearly unbearable.

Thick ropes of release spill over his fist again, streaking hot across his stomach, dripping onto his abs as his body shakes, his thighs genuinely trembling with the aftershocks.

His strokes slow, his breath stuttering, his muscles clenching and unclenching drastically as he rides it out, his head dropping forward, sweat dampening his hair.

For a few moments, the only sound in the bathroom is his ragged breathing, the soft hum of the ventilation fan, the faint creak of the counter as he braces against it.

His hand is still wrapped around himself, sticky and hot.

His phone screen flickers.

And that’s when he realizes-

The video was still recording.

The entire thing.

The sharp, filthy sounds of his pleasure, the way he groaned your name, the way his body unraveled for you.

And before he can think, before he can talk himself out of it, his finger hovers over send.

And then he presses it.

a/n: yall wanted a part 2 so bad so here you go🧡🧡 lmk if u want a part 3

for @mattsobvimyfav

tags: @ilovejohnnieguilbertsblog @mattsturnii @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @watercolorskyy @strangecatpeach @katie1002 @1ovesiick @slut4christopherr @mattgirl4eva @mayalovesturn @chriss-slutt @sturniolohohoho @courta13 @izzylovesmatt @matthewsturnsgf @aaa-mi @bigbeefybitch @hopelesslydevotedsstuff @wastelandzella @yourmother29 @whore4-chrissturniolo @idefinitelyhateu @madisonnxtdoor22 (if u wanna be on the taglist, just comment)

[emperor-of-the-hill]

I think you maybe misinterpreted what I said, or maybe I needed to explain myself better, or maybe I just didn't understand what you were trying to say, but I've reread this a couple times and it seems like you think I'm saying "ai art is like collage" but I'm not. All I'm saying is if I make a collage from 30 different sources and one of those is gen ai, does this one part devalue the entire piece and if so why. It still took basically the same level of effort and creativity to make. I think maybe I was wrong from the get go and all you're saying is fully or mostly generated images are worthless and making no broad statements about tool or processes that incorporate some small amount of gen ai, in which case I 100% agree, but I don't want to put words in your mouth and really want to understand the argument

i literally dont care what your excuse for using AI is. if you didnt put your own effort into making it im not putting my own effort into interacting with it.

[imujings]

Of course I am requesting emidiatly...

What kind of future by Woozi... with Woozi 🫡

I apologize in advance. Feel like this one is gonna be an agaty one.

although i don't wanna see you, i miss you although i hate you, i miss you i don't understand myself so well

wc <1k. warnings angst, cursing, missed chances, childhood friends to lovers to ??? jay’s musings (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) …

You’ve been avoiding your phone all day.

You saw the notifications from high school friends, got the pings on various social medias. Twitter has been going particularly insane about the news, SEVENTEEN’s producer trending with edits of his raw vocals turning into a fully furnished song.

After what felt like the hundredth message from your best friend, telling you to just listen to the goddamn lyrics damnit, you promptly put your ringer on silent and slipped your phone into your bag without a backwards glance.

Trudging into your apartment bedroom, you fall onto your comforter, tears caught in the back of your throat. You hated how you instantly knew what the song was about when you saw the title.

Like, come on—What kind of future? Could he be anymore obvious?

Your eyes subconsciously trail to the sticker-decorated headphones lying on your desk. They taunt you, promising secrets that only you would be allowed to unlock via the key of childhood memories. You huff and sit up.

Fine. You’ll listen to the damn song.

You don’t even realize your body is shaking until the cold settles into your bones, making your teeth chatter with goosebumps prickling your arms. There’s a tense silence that envelopes you in your room.

You’ve done everything you could to stay off his radar: moved cities, started new social media accounts, hell, even gone as far as to block some of the official accounts when you spontaneously gained the courage to. You can’t bear to look at any of them, even when you promised yourself you’d do your best to be happy for him.

Well, you wouldn’t be the only one breaking promises, you think bitterly, sliding your headphones on and connecting them to your phone.

You hit play on the new single before you can convince yourself to do otherwise.

In another world, you like to imagine that things between you and Lee Jihoon would have worked out. That at the end of the day, you’d be the one he’d come home to after a long day at the studio, wired and in need of comforting cuddles and a relaxing evening.

He was your everything, and you were his. You still remember his shy, lingering glances growing up; his small smiles whenever you praised his ever-flourishing musical skills; the feeling of his lips at your shoulder, quick and gentle, before tugging you along to wherever your next adventure was.

Before he belonged to stress, before he was SEVENTEEN’s, Jihoon was yours.

You couldn’t tell if the selfishness you hated was yours or his.

The song is on its second run of the chorus now. You’re caught in place, feeling trapped in a wide open room, biting your lip with so much force your teeth cut into your gums and draw blood.

It’s breathtakingly heartbreaking, his voice.

When Jihoon told you he was being recruited to potentially become an idol, you were ecstatic. You knew deep down this is what he was made for; to create for those he loved, perusing his dreams with no end in sight. You had hugged him tight, peppering kisses to his cheeks and the beauty mark underneath his eye, showering him in good wishes.

What you weren’t ready for, however, was the news that you wouldn’t be able to continue seeing him. The exact words were lost to you, too tuned out to remember entirely. Something about the company being incredibly strict. Something about passing tests, about having incredible self-control and appeal to the media.

“What’s going to happen to us?” high-school you whispered hoarsely; you have the feeling of being held in his arms etched into your brain so effortlessly.

The post-chorus lyrics catch your attention and you choke back a cry. What kind of future comes before us?

“Wait for me,” he had promised. “I’ll become someone you can be proud of. You’re my future.”

You wanted to scream at him back then that you were already proud, that if no one in the world knew and saw and loved Lee Jihoon, it would mean you were wiped from existence. But you were young, and foolish, and you only nodded at him, hope shining in your eyes.

Jihoon left the next day, and you haven’t seen him since.

The headphones are ripped off your head the second the music stops and his voice fades. You furiously dab at your face, clutching your chest with your other hand like you could physically grasp at your heart to stop the bleeding.

But really, what’s there to do when the organ that pumps blood and love to the other parts of your body fails itself, baring your soul to the entire world in the process?

A tear hits the blanket. Then another. And another.

And then, so many more that you’re wiping ugly, thick snot away with your fingers, sobbing violently into your hands.

You hate him.

And fuck, you miss him.

When did the two become the same word?

wanna queue a song?

[justallihere]

Okay, I did some laundry, I've had lunch, I've breathed fresh air and taken some deep breaths (did not touch any grass because it's covered in snow), and we're back. My wrap up thoughts of Onyx Storm are below! Be warned it's chock full of spoilers, and these are all my honest opinions. I haven't even given this a rating yet because I don't really know what I want to rate it! Nothing's really in order so sorry about that. But I look forward to hearing everyone else's thoughts!

I loved that the importance of the bond between dragon and human was emphasized so heavily in this book. That Asher called Aimsir Lilith's first love, Violet telling Tairn he's the gift of her life, that even Halden knew that the true barrier to her would be the dragon bond - and especially that when Xaden channeled again, in a way that he knew would irreversibly damn him, he did it for Sgaeyl. To keep her safe, because she chose him before and above everyone else.

I adored the Riorgail of it all. They were open and honest with each other, saying I love you practically every other breath, declaring their loyalty and devotion to each other in front of anyone who would listen. I loved that we got them as a team, facing stuff together and trusting that what they couldn't the other could handle it.

On the other hand, it may just be me but they didn't quite feel like themselves. Maybe because it was the first time we've truly seen them be public about their feelings, but they didn't feel like the same Xaden and Violet from the previous two books. Xaden felt so intense that everything he said gave me anxiety, devoted to the point of obsession. I would actually call Violet morally gray here, but it came out of nowhere; there wasn't a great transition into that change in her character, none of the hesitation or guilt I'd expect.

In short, they kind of felt like my Xaden and Violet and not canon? I loved them, but I'm not sure it matches what we know of them from FW and IF and the change in character didn't feel entirely smooth.

But Xaden IS her sword!!!!

The worldbuilding was ridiculous. Violet was dropping facts left right and center like the details of the aristocracy and politics at play were common knowledge - and maybe they are in world, but if they're that obvious then I feel like those details should've been worked into earlier books. I felt like I was floundering trying to keep up with all the new names and titles and roles.

In the same vein, the lore about magic made no sense. So only the Continent has magic but why? Was it drained from other places? Does it only occur naturally in certain areas? Dragons don't have magic that exists within them - they also draw from the source which? Hello hypocrites much? That was another thing that was said so casually, but that should've been one of those things we learned in Fourth Wing, at Threshing or right after.

There was too much happening with the plot to the point that I lost it completely. The trips to the isles were overwhelming. I know the venin and the irids were tied together, but those two things competed so much that I kept forgetting about whichever one we weren't talking about. Literally just. . . forgot about the venin there for a bit in the middle. We were looking for a cure but we were looking for Andarna's kind but we were trying to stop the venin and we were also gathering allies and making trade deals and none of those points were fleshed out completely.

The ending was vague and confusing in a way that made me frustrated instead of interested or anticipatory. I read the last two chapters three times and I still don't know what the fuck was going on there. So the Sage is. . . Fen? Is Garrick the one who also turned? Bodhi? Brennan? Ridoc? Fuck if I know. I understand the point of the marriage, to give Violet control over Tyrrendor legally, but I'm also pissed at the way it happened.

I know we don't want anyone to actually die, but I literally didn't even flinch when Mira's throat got cut open because I figured she'd be fine. There were no important deaths. Trager and Quinn didn't hit that hard. Not putting any of the main characters in significant danger makes the stakes feel lower than they should.

The fan service made me roll my eyes. I get it to a certain extent, but there were several times when I legitimately kind of felt like RY had been in fandom spaces or someone on her team was just feeding her popular theories to include.

The marked ones having second signets was. . . not my favorite choice, because logistically it doesn't make much sense. We should statistically see at least one of them go mad from the power instead of developing a second signet. And I actually think if that had been included it would have been more interesting! I'd like to see the reality of the risks that were taken to make the rebellion happen, but instead they just got really really lucky a bunch of times?

The use of the word Riorgail in print sent me to the fucking moon. No.

Violet's second signet. . . I don't want to talk about it.

Actually no I do. Since when are signets based on situational need and not who a person is at their core? Was that not what we were told previously? Am I tripping? I don't mind the power itself but I am confused.

Professor Riorson had me on the ground laughing. What the hell was that. There are enough barriers to their relationship, and that one felt too forced (but great fodder for smutty fic).

The characters and their relationships are the standout of the book and the series. I already said I loved Xaden and Violet here, but I also loved their friendships and how real especially the relationship with Brennan and Mira and Violet felt. The humor and the quips and the squad's constant support of each other was wonderful.

I'm holding onto those Sloane and Dain crumbs like a teddy bear you all have no idea. I love them.

Aaric being the one with precognition I didn't see coming, but I surprisingly liked it! I loved him stepping more into his role as prince and seeing how cunning and smart he really is.

Halden was unnecessary but I live for possessive and jealous Xaden.

Overall I think the pacing was crammed and the worldbuilding left me with more questions than answers, but did I still like it? Yes! I don't think it's my favorite in the series but it still was an enjoyable read. I'll want to read it again at some point I think, but not immediately!

[wato1876]

wato im halfway thru parrots unstable vid and the way you left actually hit me so hard. ARGHAGAGRG

everyone else acting: yeah, I don't know if this is it... wato1876: *on the verge of tears, staring at Wifies, "always have a way out"*

you make me sick /pos

I’m glad you enjoyed my amateur voice acting! Everyone puts in a lot of effort, I just find it very easy to put emotion in my words, and its fun, it adds depth to an otherwise very high octane. Disappointment is very common in unstable and that tone is heard a lot, but Wato wasn’t sad because *they themself* didn’t have a way out, yes they wanted to be safe, but essentially their entire world was crumbling around them, all their friends went every which way. Wato may have a hard outer shell, and extremely blunt, but what hurts more is seeing someone who cares so genuinely much about something being ripped at one by one. If Wato was the first to go, it wouldn’t have been as bad, but seeing everyone leave before him sunk him deeper and deeper into pain. The idea of Parrot seeing his final hope seep through his hands and the devastation he must feel really is what broke Wato.

I have experienced things like this IRL (obviously not as severe, but the sensation you get leaving high-school for the very last time, and standing alone as the field slowly clears for the very last time). I react the way I do because my character has a lot of empathy (the point it hurts him emotionally), and understands why people do things they do. Wemmbu abandoning Sky Civ -> He wants to save himself and truly didn’t care if it meant risking himself. Wifies leave Parrot last episode when going to Farlands -> He just wanted what was best for Parrot since he too saw Parrot ripping himself apart.

Wato secluded himself for so long because he knew he was susceptible to being hurt, and he knows having friends/attachments is a weakness. He knows they are but still cares about people. I tried to show Wato as a dynamic character that changes throughout the videos and reacts how any normal human would. Confused and scared. Not every line is perfect and every action won’t make full sense, but when have we- humans- been perfect.

I like the humanity in a character, the imperfections. That is what makes a good character. Not their tragic downfall, but just the limits of a being.

If I had a beefier computer, I’d make something insane. Editing speed because of lag is my only bottleneck. I love stories, always have. This is just a small slice of stories I want to convey. Even End Barrens was not to what I wanted it to be.

Wato1876

Thought I should at-least give y’all one big character lore drop before I go to bed for the night. What can I say, writing is fun.

[paimonthearchivist2]

except for the fact that this "framing" is not mine. read the third (fourth? i cant be fucked checking) reblog and you'll see that this framing was in fact provided to me as the actual explanation behind the "pro-communists" in the original post, sparking my original point. also, im a fucking trans woman myself and "you guys" 1. is not misgendering in any sense, that is not remotely what those words mean in that order and 2. you could've just. said "i dont like being referred to by 'you guys'" and got an apology, but instead you decided to be smug and wrong instead. my apologies for being an asshole during this argument however, i just got told i should die by somebody on this same post making just about the same style of argument so i was understandably pretty salty when people kept taking my words and twisting them. and I don't disagree that orwell was an anti-communist snitch, remotely; this argument only happened because snitching on "pro-communists" while entirely a plausible thing for him to do does not exactly reconcile with his time in Catalonia, and i wanted a source for that and was promptly told it was specifically marxist-leninists (which is completely in character, had the original post been specific i wouldn't have even questioned it. although that is an (unrelated) issue in and of itself) and i made a comment about how the original post probably should have been more specific and said it was marxist-leninists because that is both an extremely important piece of context and also makes it sound completely like orwellian behaviour, in the sense I'd literally be surprised if he didn't do that. but of course the human psyche somehow can't handle mild criticism, so you decided to spend some hour in total making a dumb argument because i said you should have been more specific. still not as bad as the other one who told me they hope i die, of course, so what do i care.

It's called Orwellian because George Orwell wrote a snitch list of people he thought unsuited to working for a propaganda arm of the UK government because he thought they were pro-communist, anti-white, or had homosexual tendencies,

[makeyoumine69]

helloo, can you do something like where patrick has a crush on you but your with someone else, how do you think he’ll react?

𝐀/𝐍: Hello dear anon! Thank you for your ask!💕

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: [MASTERLIST]🪓

Thoughts: Well, if we're talking about the canonical version of Patrick, he probably wouldn't care if you had a partner, because this man saw no obstacles on his way to the object of his obsession. It could also be that Bateman would first try to get to know you better and find useful information about your partner to play around with. This bastard would manipulate the facts and try to gaslight you, he would try to instill the idea of you breaking up with your date as if it was your own decision. But if you still didn't buy it, Patrick might eventually turn to what he was so good at—killing people he didn't like.

Drabble:

Sitting on one of the benches in Central Park, you watched Patrick walk back and forth in front of you, his hands hidden in the pockets of his dark blue coat. 

"I still don't understand one thing," the man murmured thoughtfully, glancing at the cloudy sky from time to time. "You told me your partner didn't treat you right. And I remember it so well, you can't fool me by saying that you didn't."

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. "Uh, if I only knew that you would use all my words against me... I would never tell you this," you replied, but there was no negativity in your tone, just a slight hint of nervousness. "My partner...he's a complicated person and we're having a really hard time in our relationship...but that doesn't mean I'm going to have an affair behind their back." You explained, and it made him stop pacing and focus his attention entirely on you and you alone. "Although... I do enjoy spending time with you."

Oh, that little praise of yours was like balm to his ego. Bateman grinned haughtily and gave you a devious glance. "Of course you do," his low chuckle, the way he smiled as if he already had you in his hands, only caused more anger to build up in your chest, but you managed to keep your composure. "I doubt your dear friend will ever be able to take you to the places I have... do they even know about it? About all the dinners, launches...dates we've had?"

"They weren't dates!" You retorted and quickly got to your feet to face him, and even though you tried to look confident next to him, his looming figure still made you weak in the knees. "We never kissed, we never... I never even thought about it!"

"Really?"

A broad, foxy smile still played on his smug face, and it became even more cheeky as he took a step closer to you, almost brushing your noses. The unexpected closeness hit you like a sunstroke in the middle of fall, it was abnormal and you didn't even know how to react. Patrick's lips were only a few inches away from yours, they looked so plump and kissable, but then you shook off all the little thoughts about how his lips would feel when the two of you finally kissed.

"Patrick, we can't," you turned your head to the side in protest at the last moment, and Bateman pecked your cheek instead. "Uh...listen..."

"No, you listen to me," the man cut you off and placed both hands on your shoulders, their weight feeling oddly comforting, almost euphoric. "You say you need them so much, yet you keep seeing me," his words were only a whisper as he drew near your ear, the heat of his steady breathing scorching your skin. "Something's definitely not right. Don't you think so?"

Your mind was a total mess, at some point you even felt disgusted because Patrick was right. Your current relationship had come to a standstill, and your partner wasn't really trying to fix it. Such relationships were only draining, but did you really know Bateman well? What kind of man was he? Money and wealth could make almost any person act like a master of the world, but the nature of Patrick's arrogance was different and twisted.

Tilting his head to the side, Bateman tittered and slowly, almost imperceptibly, pressed the knuckles of his hand against your cheek. "I know you have a big heart, darling," he muttered, leaning closer, his thumb tracing invisible spirals along your jawline. "And I know you even care about people like your partner, but they don't deserve it, believe me. It will do them good... if you gently tell them that it is all over. You don't want them to get bruised, right?"

Why did his words sound so... disturbing?

Ignoring the knotting feeling in your stomach, you didn't flinch and let him plant another kiss on your burning cheek, the sweet scent of his cologne wafting around you like a cobweb, binding you to him and you could swear you were literally paralyzed for a moment.

"I need... I need some time to think things over," you finally managed to say, raising your dizzy eyes to his walnut ones. "If you really...are interested in me, I hope you will understand and give me some space."

He hummed at first, but didn't remove his hand from your face; in fact, he placed another hand on the back of your neck to hold you in place. Then the man pulled you closer so that you nestled against his strong chest as he hugged you tightly.

"Well, hmmm, I guess you're right," Patrick's heart was thumping against his ribcage and you could literally feel it, somehow surprised that men like him could have hearts at all. "But don't make me wait long."

And there you fell into this man's trap.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my writing community to know when I update!💞

[michaelwheelerdefiodental]

Saying that the Duffer Brothers robbed us from Max and Will interaction is kinda too early (and theory of how they'll defeat Vecna)

The Hive-Mind

As we know, Vecna said that all of these people he killed/consumed are inside of his head, and Brenner said that he takes everything from his victims, not just kill them.

Will has a connection with Henry and the Mind Flayer since he was twelve, and at the end of season 4 Will says he can still sense and understand how Vecna thinks. With these informations, what exactly stops Will from entering Henry mind like he does to him? These scenes of him distacing himself from the group and looking at certain places could be him entering accidentaly in Henry's mind and seeing Max, so by this way they would communicate with each other and strengthen their bond and understand how to defeat Vecna.

The zombie-boy who lived

It's known that Stranger Things takes a lot of inspirations from Harry Potter, and Will has some similarities with Harry himself. Surviving an attack from the main antagonist (until now, i think the Mind Flayer will take this role back for himself) of the series, having a deep connection with him, both of them been boys that feel like they don't belong in this world, feeling weird compared to other people, and apparently Henry had a girl friend that helped him like Mike helps Will. I don't really know the entire plot from The First Shadow.

What if, just like Harry had a part of Voldemort's soul on him, Will has a part of Henry's soul on him too? This would end with Will "dying" alongside Henry's soul, then coming back to life, and Max's would finally be back at her body. So then The Bridge (episode 7 title) would be broken because their connection was the real thing keeping Vecna away from the real world. The Upside Down would come full into Hawkins and the final battle would begin.

The rest of this theory would interfere with my theory that he Mind Flayer will betray Henry, so i will leave it for another post 👌.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

i'll be honest i haven't done as much Illario Pondering up to this point as some others. but i am Rotating Him now so gonna do my thinking out loud on my already too long post just because...

obviously Illario and Lucanis responded to their childhoods in very different ways/grew up into very different people but i think if you want to trace Illario's Issues back down to this level you can see how that would turn him into who we see in the game/stories too.

while Lucanis ends up as a loner with "no one else" (that he Counts anyway), Illario seems to have way more connections when we meet him as an adult--he flirts with anyone, he's into nightlife, he hooks up with random people at parties, the other Crows will mention him like he's a known presence in their lives--yet none of them know what he's Really up to. So his relationships outside Lucanis & Caterina do seem to exist in plenty, but they also seem to be very shallow. Unless he has some offscreen never mentioned confidant, no one seems to know what he's up to, with either Lucanis's or Caterina's "deaths", or his alliance with the Venatori/Gods. he's kept that part secret while keeping up all these other social connections. in theory maybe he got some of the other off-screen talons on his side who knew the whole story but we don't have any evidence for that either way I think (though I don't remember all the codex details so I could be wrong).

[sidebar: yes, Zara, i know. apparently they were deep enough in whatever they had going on to have love-y pet names but like... clearly not enough that Illario wasn't willing to kill her to cover his own tracks; and personally i have my doubts that the relationship was without any ulterior motives on Zara's part either. even if they did care for each other on some level they were or weren't willing to admit (since that's entirely within our realm of interpretation now) it clearly took lesser priority than their other goals)]

SO. Illario's a conniving man (intentionally!) who isn't sharing everything he knows with his "allies" probably on either side, but at the same time... he is still a very emotional man. i don't think the whole "use people and drop them" thing is his actual desire as much as how he's gotten used to operating in the world. while Lucanis seems to have self-isolated as a way to protect both himself & those around him, I think you can interpret Illario as instead learning that he can achieve the same result by instead having a large amount of very shallow relationships. By spreading around his desire for connection he creates a situation where Caterina can't possibly remove them all from his life, but has the plausible deniability of not being actively close to anyone so he doesn't risk punishment falling on himself either.

and i don't necessarily think his approach was a WORSE one compared to Lucanis', at first. in many ways something's better than nothing and Illario seems to have a better understanding of himself & his emotions (not saying he always does or it's a GOOD understanding, but "better than Lucanis" is not a very high bar), plus way more experience in general at just. social anything. because now that they're adults, ILLARIO is the one who has managed to stand up to Caterina, and change the direction of his own life, even if he did pick the most ruthless path to it. Unlike Lucanis (in The Wigmaker Job & first parts of Veilguard) he DOES show great deal of autonomy, understanding that his tiny family is the thing holding him back from what he really wants. But he also has no one else jumping over to help him, no one left he can manipulate, and so he reaches past the crows to the Venatori/Gods as the next step.

so the true downside to this is in fact based in reputation more than anything else. because he's spent years seemingly playing with the emotions of everyone else while never really giving them a way in, as a coping mechanism... he's already burned those potential bridges in a way Lucanis hasn't. people aren't willing to extend extra graces to him the same way. possibly it even contributed to why Caterina liked him less as a successor, since he was less controllable by her personal rules/whims. i dont really have a thesis statement here like before since i haven't been mulling it over as long but i think it's a fun way to interpret their dynamic.

man... in Veilguard it really is so so clear how much Lucanis yearns for connection, how much he laments having barely anyone who is a tangible long-term presence in his life. Illario and Caterina are IT until he meets Rook, he tells them.

but he grew up in the Dellamorte estate. A huge, huge manor that would not just have servants, but STAFF. payrolls full of people who clean and cook and keep the place running. And we know he had some amount of free reign around the place. He explored in the tunnels and basements and found the secret entrance/exit while playing alone. He learned how to make churros and cook other food from the kitchen staff. Someone taught him to knit. So... where are those people? Where's the kindly cook who became a second mother, or the maids who watched him play? He would know their names and remember them, if they were around long enough. And it's NOT just some rich boy privilege that makes him forget they're there, because we know he sees the working class as people who with real lives. In The Wigmaker Job, he knows elves in the alienage, who think well enough of him to let him use their secret routes around the city. He risks the whole mission and breaks rules to let one single serving maid go--they're not invisible or somehow lesser to him. He was raised as a Crow, he's been trained since he was a boy to be observant--he'd listen for the names and details about the lives of servants who were around him all the time as a child. And he is also kind and gentle, so he would reach back if they offered him any kind of affection

Which means their absence in his life is intentional. Caterina must have had the staff rotated often enough that he couldn't learn who they were, and discouraged anyone from talking to or connecting with the Dellamorte boys--she probably thought she was keeping them safe. Keeping them from having people who might matter and therefore could be used against all of them--not to mention it's way easier to slip a poisoned treat to a trusting child, or convince them to follow you out of the estate to an undisclosed location. Her paranoia after losing all her children and other grandkids warped into isolating the Dellamorte boys utterly from any kind of connection and affection outside of herself, and then she withheld it anyway, because she was afraid of getting hurt again too (<- not an excuse, still abuse). And she is NOT a kind woman, who would look over a transgression--servants disobeying her orders about staying away from her grandsons would mean losing their job at best and probably physical punishment along with it. Or maybe you just never saw that coworker who dared say something kind to a crying child again.

It's so sad. And makes it so much more meaningful that there WERE occasional times he got away with it anyway. I wonder how much those cooks risked when teaching him how a kitchen runs, and to make his favorite dessert. If they had some excuse for it, or were all sent away once Caterina found out. Of course he'd stop trying to make friends with any children of the staff his age, if any time he did, the whole family got moved to work at a summer villa in the country instead. If the people who cleaned his rooms were different every month. He'd notice that anyone who he tried to get close to just ended up out of his life entirely, and so eventually Caterina wouldn't need to keep isolating him intentionally as he grew. Lucanis learned. He started doing it himself.