#it's easier when someone breaks up with you

[meanbossart]

So I've noticed you've been getting a lot of asks along the lines of "how do I make good porn like you?" and I just thought to add in my two cents, and if you agree with what I'm saying perhaps you could publish this and it might help others, if not feel free to just ignore xD

So first of all the fact that you're also a horror/gore artist adds to your skill, there's a lot of overlap between erotisim and horror in artwork because it involves being extremly familiar with anatomy and how the body moves, and in art, like a lot of things, you needs to know how something works before you know how to break it.

People also really don't appreciate how difficult horror is as a genre, it's not enough to draw someone covered in blood holding a knife, it's mood and lighting and expression, and these are also transferable skills to erotica as so much of what sells an image as erotic is everything happening around the people involved. Colour choices, the lines around the eyes, how you depict the shine of their sweat and saliva, all these little things are part of the greater whole.

Finally, I think when it comes to improving your craft when it comes to depicting erotica is that you have to make peace with the fact that the physical act of sex is wierd and gross when you look at it objectivly. You're in wierd, undignified positions, there's a lot of mucus involved, you're sweaty and red-faced, and if you're looking at it without your brain swimming in sexy hormones it's just kinda rediculous. I think once you get over that hump of "no, I have to try and make this as pretty and aesetic as possible" and reach "okay, sex is wierd and ugly IRL" you're able to start creating things that feel more real and seemingly paradoxically become able to create things that people find arousing, because it reads as 'true' to them.

Your art is beautiful and erotic because I can believe that these guys are sticky, covered in sweat and working hard to bring each other pleasure.

Like, IDK that's how I ended up being a fairly decent erotica author, you let go of the dreamy hollywood version of sex and embrace something a bit dirtier and closer to life. If you draw enough silly 'O' faces you'll eventually find one you like!

Anyway, I hope someone finds this helpful. Also the picture of Astarion with Cazador's skull is my new favourite, the way he's pushing his thumb into the eye as the head burns in the sunlight and the blood drips down is just... so powerful, I wanna print it out and stick it in my BG3 scrap folder xD

A really useful breakdown of what makes compelling erotica and/or effective pornography!

Not a disagreement perse, but I just want to clarify to anyone reading this that being familiar with horror and gory art isn't a necessary step in this process - it just so happens to have a lot of skill-overlap, like eyesofthrone said, making the transition from one to the other easier.

Thank you for doing this write-up, and I'm extremely flattered if you or anyone reading this finds my saucy art especially compelling for any of these reasons!

[joonjuul]

choked on smoke. jjk

pairing: exboyf!jk x reader

wc: 3.2k

warnings: exboyfriend!jk, softdom!jk, kindasubby!jk, jk is a switch??, bro is yearningggg, lots and lots of angst, reader is slightly depressed, breakup mentions, choking, light mouth play, lots and lots of cigarettes, crying mentioned (non sexual), pet names, slight impreg kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up), slight creampie mentions, more pwp don’t hate me

a/n: this was a lot of fun to write. it’s like all my favorite things in one: desperate jungkook, cigarettes, and angst. reqs open!!

╋━

you still remember how it felt. so close to him yet so far. the way your heart thumped in your chest, your cheeks hot with tears, mind racing, palms sweaty. you remembered it almost like it was yesterday. the way he looked into your eyes deeply, before breaking you in ways you never knew were possible.

“this isn’t working.”

you could still hear him now if you focused really hard. you could still hear his laugh. feel his skin against yours. the way he used to twirl your hair, or circle patterns along your bare back as you laid beside him. you missed him more than anything, and every time you thought about him it only deepened the wound.

it’s been a month now. a month since you last saw him. last touched him. you feel the cold gust of wind rustle against your clothes as you bring the dainty cigarette butt up to your chapped lips, inhaling slowly before feeling the intoxication fill your lungs. even dressed in your warmest clothes, you still couldn’t escape the icy january wind, or the coldness that consumed your insides from sheer loneliness.

you look down at the cigarette in your hands, watching carefully as the ashes fall to the ground, the wind picking up pieces and allowing them to float off, find another spec of air to pollute. but the thought of you being a smoker now is only nauseating. you only started smoking so you could feel closer to him, so you could experience his scent one last time. it wasn’t a habit you picked up by your own means, just another way for him to poison you for the rest of your life.

you flick the half smoked cigarette off your balcony and turn to face the slider door, entering your now slightly chilled apartment.

everything was dark now, it wasn’t something you could fully explain or put into words, but your life was dark, your apartment was dark, everything about you was dark, and you knew he was the reason why.

you daydream as your feet carry you to the kitchen, eyes dancing over the messy sink, the fridge that was practically empty, and the cupboards that were collecting dust before turning back around and slumping down on your couch.

you weren’t sure what to do these days. it always felt like you were waiting for him to come home, but he never did. you could easily kick your feet up and watch a movie, do something to distract yourself, but you never did. you simply wallowed in the pain and memories of your last moments together, wishing you could’ve done something differently.

your mind drifts as you hear the subtle patter of rain begin outside.

at least it wasn’t snow.

how could he give up on you so easily? after all those years? it was never something you could fully comprehend. how one day he looked at you with his eyes full of love, and the next like you never existed to him, like he never loved you at all. you sometimes entertained the idea that he had found someone knew, something to make you hate him, make him easier to forget instead of having to live with the fact that he simply didn’t love you anymore, but it never worked. he was the most loyal man you knew, even during your hardships. it wouldn’t be fair to him to paint him as the bad guy when in reality, neither of you did anything wrong.

you’re quickly brought back to reality at the sound of a knock at your apartment door. it was almost strange, you never had visitors, in fact you didn’t really have any friends either. it could very well be your mom checking in again, but it was late, and she never liked to walk in the city at night.

before you can finish the thought, you’re in front of the door, your hand on the doorknob as you turn it slightly, the chill of the hallway gently caressing your face as your eyes fall on a very tall, very wet man standing before you.

not just any man.

“jungkook?”

his eyes are bloodshot, his face cold, and his clothes dripping with remnants of the weather outside.

“can i come in?”

his voice felt like your very first cigarette, the way you inhaled it perfectly the day he left you, the way the poison immediately swept through your bloodstream and straight to your head, leaving you dizzy and desperate for more.

you’re unable to garner a response, only able to stand beside your door, allowing him space to brush past you and into your once bright and welcoming home. but somehow, he doesn’t notice how your apartment has changed, and he doesn’t notice how you’ve changed either. how much weight you’ve lost, how you’ve cut your hair at least 3 times, how your undereyes are littered with bags instead of freckles.

you shut the door behind you as you watched him nervously pace throughout your kitchen, eyes dashing between you and the floor. his lips were pouty, like they always were after he cried. why was he here?

“jungkook, what’s going on?”

he stops in his tracks, turning quickly to face you, but never stepping closer, almost as if you’re too fragile for him to be near.

“i fucked up, y/n.”

silence fills the space between you, only the gentle, distant sound of raindrops filling your ears. you want to answer, you want to scream, you want to fall to your knees and beg for him back, but you don’t. instead you stand still, watching him intently as his eyes narrow in on you.

“i fucked up, bad.”

he takes a step closer, watching your reaction carefully, examining your body language. he looks desperate, like his life is filled with anguish, like he’s as broken as you are.

“i quit smoking.” he mutters under his breath. “i knew how much you hated it, so i quit.”

silence.

“i started smoking.”

his gaze shifts at your response, his brows furrowed together in a way that makes your knees weak, a way that makes your body crawl with need.

“why?”

he steps closer again. you watch as his hands go down instinctively to your waist, but stop before he’s able to make contact.

“because they reminded me of you.”

your eyes meet perfectly, dancing between each other as you feel the air between you thicken. the distant rain now turning into something of white noise as your mind zones in on one thing; him. you can see the hurt on his face, but you’re sure he can see the hurt on yours as well.

“why did you leave me?”

it comes out barely over a whisper, and you’re not sure why you said it, but it was a question that had been repeating in your mind for weeks. you thought you knew the answer, but seeing him here in front of you now, you weren’t so sure.

“you really don’t know do you?”

you shake your head no.

“you’re like a flame, y/n.”

he takes another step forward, his hand falling to the side of your face as he cups your skin gently, his touch igniting something within you.

“so beautiful, so warm, but always burning. i’m covered in scars from holding you to close.”

his words cut deep, but for some reason you still can’t understand. he was your world, your love, you never would’ve done anything to hurt him.

“i never asked you to break yourself for me. i just wanted you to stay.” your voice is hushed, breaking the barriers between you as you feel your chest get heavier, like you’re smoking him now, like he’s been the real poison all along.

“you pushed me away long before i left.” he continues to lean in towards you, his touch on your face only deepening the crimson on your cheek.

“you’re the one who gave up.” your voice is raw as you stare up at him, watching as he carefully tucks a hair behind your ear, hie eyes filled with desperation as you now realize how close you are to him.

“do you think i wanted to? you don’t even know how badly i wanted to stay, or how much i still do.” his stare intensifies as his gaze shifts down to your lips. his hand against your cheek is tender, but his face screams urgency as you both linger in the silence for a minute, your breaths mingling as you each wait for the other to respond, or to come closer.

“i still do.” jungkook mutters before tightening his grip on your face gently, pulling you towards him as he engulfs your lips in his. the kiss starts slow, tentative, as if he’s testing the waters. but soon the hunger strikes, mouths turning desperate as the weight of everything left unsaid pours out into each touch, each movement. before you know it your hands are tangled in his hair, your back pressed against the wall as he feverishly moves down your body, his lips finding every patch of skin he missed so deeply while you were gone.

“i never stopped wanting you.” he mutters in between kisses as he dives into the crook of your neck, peppering you with tiny bruises and marks, imprinting you in any way he can.

your movements are in sync, like everything you felt the last few months was mimicked within him, like he was struggling just as much as you were.

his hands quickly find the hem of your pants, pulling them down with intensity as his hands push your hips further into the wall. his strong arms holding you in place as he begins to rut against you, every moment he spent missing you now rolled into a tight coil within his stomach. every bone in his body yearned for you, for your touch, your scent, and he was painfully overwhelmed, his hard on probing you with every needy grind of his hips.

you moan out carelessly, his name seeping from your lips as your hands pull and tug his damp hair, finger nails falling to his back and scratching gently as his shirt, almost instinctually.

“need you.” he whimpers, swiftly picking you up and carrying you across the room, effortlessly tossing you on the couch before he falls on top of you, his crotch zeroing in on yours as his movements build in intensity.

“you made it so damn hard to forget you.” his voice shakes as he leans down into your ear, each word coming out in a desperate gasp as he tangles himself between your legs. your hands quickly fall to the hem of his pants as you tug gently, silently signaling for him to take them off, to which he obliges, removing his shirt as well in the process.

it was like seeing him for the first time, bare in front of you, sweat glistening on his forehead, cheeks flushed. it was more than you could’ve ever asked for, it was worth every cigarette, every tear, every lonely night.

you feel his fingers fall to your panties, pushing them to the side gently as he inspects your cunt feverishly.

“so wet and warm, just how i remembered it.” his breaths are shallow and quick as he strokes your folds gently before carefully aligning his cock at your entrance. his gaze shifts from your bodies up to your face, carefully examining your features, awaiting for your confirmation, but you’re only able to respond by bucking your hips forward with a gentle whine.

you watch as his features soften, the corners of his lips turning up into a gentle smile, a smile of familiarity as he places gentle, reassuring strokes on your thighs, and leaning down to whisper sweet nothings to you as he engulfs your mouth into another hot kiss, pushing his hips up with ease as he stretches you out.

the sting is long and rough, worse than you remembered, and it’s obvious that he’s affected by your tightness, his face falling into the crook of your neck as he whimpers, falling victim to your cunt’s subtle praise.

“god you make me crazy, i just can’t resist you.” his voice is filled with desperation as he bottoms out inside of you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he struggles to hold himself in place, allowing you the time to adjust.

you moan out at the feeling of his tip nudging against your g-spot, he always fit inside of you so perfectly, but you knew how needy he became when he wasn’t able to move immediately after entering you. one of the subtle sides to his unspoken submission for you.

“please. please let me move.” he begs, each word coming out in a desperate gasp as his hips gentle twitch and flick against you, his body filled with an overwhelming heat.

“go ahead, baby.”

at the sound of your words he immediately falls on a quick but gentle pace. his hips rolling into you perfectly as he watches your face contort with pleasure and desire. he was completely at your mercy, he had never been so desperate to see you cum, the way your face lights up and your eyes roll back into your head. it’s all he’s been able to think about since the day he left, and he wanted nothing more than to bring you to the edge over and over again, until your body has had enough.

“fuck i missed you so much.” he groans out, his body melting into yours completely as he sets on a steady pace, the head of his cock perfectly brushing against your g-spot with every thrust. you can’t control the way your hands lose their place, bouncing from his perfect hair, to leaving crescent shaped marks on his back, to his ink scattered arms.

you’re a moaning mess, his every move perfectly aligning within you, as if your bodies were made for one another. you could feel the intensity in the room shift the moment his eyes laid on yours, staring deep into your soul as he quickly snaps his hips back, your walls constricting at the sudden force, causing a dark chuckle to leave his mouth.

“forgot you liked it rough, baby. forgive me i want to savor this as long as i can. you look so perfect right now.” his voice is dark and raspy as he slows his thrusts, bringing a hand down to slowly circle your clit, the touch sending shivers through your spine as you toss your head back, releasing a guttural moan. he hadn’t touched you in so long, you hadn’t felt him in so long, and the way he was making you feel could only be described as euphoric.

“there you go, baby.” his praises only spur you on more as you bring your hips up to meet his, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity.

“i’m hopeless, baby. hopelessly yours.”

“keep going, that’s a girl.”

“god i’m addicted you.”

“you’re so beautiful, it’s torture.”

every word, every phrase spilling from his mouth go in one ear and out the other. all you can think about is how perfectly his cock slides in and out of you, the sounds of your wetness mixed with the now distant pattering of rain and his quick breaths all you can hear as you feel a coil build in your stomach. you wanted nothing more than to cum on him, to watch his face twist as your walls tighten around him, to moan his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. he was yours, and you were his.

jungkook looks down at you, watching as your eyes clench shut, your lack of response only telling him one thing; you were close.

“sweet girl-“ he mutters, pulling his cock out of you and bringing an arm under your back to quickly flip you over, your stomach consumed with the warmth of the bed as he easily slips back inside, his breath hot against your neck. “i’m desperate to see you cum.” his pace quickens, his voice shaky as he begins to fuck into you faster now, watching closely as your constricting hole tugs him back in with each thrust.

your head is spinning, your body on fire, the feeling only intensifying as he reaches forward, gently tapping his fingers on your mouth as you engulf them fully, tasing the sweetness of your slick mixed with his precum. he curls his fingers, flattening them on your tongue as he draws them over your chin landing on your neck to grip it tightly. a finger on either side of your throat carefully cutting off your breathing as you feel your stomach tighten.

“cum for me pretty girl.“ his words linger in the air as you feel yourself get drawn towards the edge, hurtling over it before you have time to think. your legs shake as you feel a wave of bliss wash over you, your mind going blank as you feel your cunt gush around him.

jungkook watches intently, his thrusts becoming messy as he feels you tighten around him, his cock stalling within you as he relishes in the sensation.

“fuck.”

his hips falter as he tries to fall back to his original pace, fighting against your sealed walls.

you moan out loudly, causing him to quickly remove his hand around your neck and place gentle kisses along your back, his touch soothing any pain that may have occurred.

“shhh, it’s okay baby, i’ve got you.” your body doesn’t even process the overstimulation because you’re stuck on a high. you didn’t care that it burned, that it was practically unbearable, because it was all for him.

he brings a hand up to your hair, gripping it tightly as his thrusts deepen and increase in speed. his high not far behind yours as you silently pray for him to stay inside you, for him to coat your walls and tie you down, make you his forever.

“god you drive me insane. you have me wrapped around your finger, baby.” the head of his cock hits places inside you you never knew were reachable as he becomes frantic behind you, his body hot to the touch.

“gonna fill you up, baby. you’re never leaving me again.”

and just like that, you finally feel like your life is filled with a sense of light again. whether it be from the brightness of his cum leaking from your cunt, or from the lighter as he brings it up to your lips, carefully igniting the cigarette placed between them.

your eyes flick at him next to you, a sheet of sweat covering his body as he pulls the lighter away. you inhale deeply as you feel the smoke fill your lungs, but it doesn’t feel bitter this time, in fact, it’s rather peaceful.

you exhale, watching as the smoke fills the air between you as you bring the cigarette between his lips, watching his eyes shut in bliss as he fills his lungs with the same sensation.

“you’re pretty when you smoke.” he says as he breathes out, admiring the way your chest heaves gently.

“i learned from the best.”

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

BREATHPLAY

ex!leon kennedy x fem!reader

notes: this year has been a lot so far LOL but part of this fic is based on my meditations after a breakup from a long term relationship so enjoy. descriptions of a rocky relationship, maybe a makeup? drunk sex (both lol), sub!leon and dom!reader, some religious tones. also shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet for safe when i fall i think i got inspired by that one :).

Leon and you never really meshed. Rough edges against other rough edges doesn’t mean sanding down so you’ll fit together nicely.

He’s uniquely good at pissing you off. He leaves the toilet seat up (you put it down), he doesn’t like cooking (“I have cereal,” he says, but muscles like those in his arms don’t live off cereal), he refuses to leave his shoes by the door and tracks in mud/dirt/snow/slush/leaves on the floor and your heart (no matter how many times you make him mop up his mess), he’s contrarian for the sake of having something to argue about (read: talk about).

Sheepish schoolboy through and through, no matter how old or grizzled he gets.

The one thing you two could agree on was always the bedroom, he was much easier to bear when he just shut the fuck up for once and put his mouth to better uses. He was always happy to worship at your altar, anyway.

You, oh, you. Leon loves you to bits, you’re his favorite mule. On one hand, stubbornness got you almost everything you wanted, him included. On the other, you’re almost impossible to deal with when you get in a certain way.

Leon likes to feel manly every once in a while, you know?

You also don’t tell him when you’re pissed, you just shut the hell up and shut him out until you’re ready to talk to him, practically scrubbing the dishes until the nonstick coating comes off.

Something you two implicitly agreed on was to hang on—and, boy, was that a mistake. People always say that you should stick it out, a rough patch is just that, you’ll come out stronger together.

What they don’t tell you is that some things are past the salvageable point and it’s better to know when to quit.

There was a lot of yelling that night before Leon packed up his shit and finally left.

You’d had a while of peace, it felt good, organic even, to get Leon out of your system in all the ways that could be meant.

Story of your fucking life that nobody else could get you off the way Leon can. It doesn’t even come down to skill, it just comes down to good old capacity to give a shit—but that’s what you get when you fuck a guy or three after your ex, who you were with for a handful of years, who had the opportunity to learn what makes you break open.

To you, this breakup felt like swimming to the surface after a few years under water.

Leon had the opposite sort of idea. He didn’t want to touch anyone else, he didn’t want to look at any other woman but you. He deleted your nudes off his phone in a drunken haze, so it’s only memories that get him off when he’s drunk—that is, if whiskey dick hasn’t struck him yet again.

(Another one of your complaints.)

Every time you said you’d go to your friends, they discouraged you from ever talking to him again. They went so far as to take your phone and change the contact name to DON’T EVER FUCKING CALL, changing the profile picture from Leon giving you bunny ears in a mirror selfie to a red stop sign.

You kinda miss Leon the way you miss a bruise, pressing on it a little longer for the hurt and for it to stay. Oh, the love was there too, and you two still yelled at one another or gave the silent treatment until someone (him) broke, walking to you on his knees.

Half a year goes by without you thinking about Leon as much as you could perhaps be. You came real close to breaking after about month two without freshly mopped floors because someone was so excited to be home with you that he forgot to take off his shoes, your friends saved you at the last second.

Month seven is when things get a little rocky. Spring’s coming again, even if the ground’s a little frosty still. Leon texts you first around eleven-fifty at night, when you’re scrolling on your phone in bed.

Hey.

What the fuck? You have to stare at the screen unseeingly for a moment, then blink, squeezing your eyes shut and opening them again to a simple greeting. You can almost imagine the tone he’s taking—he takes that one with you after he starts an argument with you just to talk to you about something.

God, back. Get a fucking hold of yourself.

Oh, hell. He’s texting.

I miss you.

Fuck.

Sluggish thumbs pause and hover over the screen.

Do you?

Like a limb. Is his immediate response. The next, a blurry pic of him raking his hand through his hair, gold chain glinting in the flash.

Christ on a cracker.

You can almost feel the chain in your hand the longer you look at it. The pleasantly surprised look on Leon’s face when you first grabbed the chain to carefully tug him closer is still burned in your mind, that’s what gets you off some days. Well, that and the other things you two did.

Come over? Startles you out of your reverie. Baby Christ in the manger with the sheep. Is this really you? Are you the type of bitch to go back to your ex, even for a night? Would future you be disappointed?

Yeah. Be there in ten. Future you is gonna be well-dicked, if and when she beats you up about this.

All Leon sends is his address as you kick off the covers and dress hurriedly, practically running out of your apartment.

You got there in seven. You take care to look nonchalant as you get out of your car, shutting it with a hip and locking it. You shove your keys into your pocket and scope out the apartment numbers as you get up onto the curb, then the sidewalk.

Your foot skids on a stair and you curse, glad you had a hand on the railing as you pause before continuing your ascension.

You barely finish knocking before the door opens, Lazarus fresh from the tomb in all his disheveled glory before you. Your heart’s in your throat. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Leon twists to the side, allowing you in.

Talk about a bachelor pad. You scope out the place as you toe off your shoes, leaned halfway against the wall.

TV’s on, he’s watching something. There’s vodka bottles littering the coffee table and only one light on in a corner of the room.

The door latches behind you and Leon stifles a hiccup into a fist. “You got here quick.” He says, sidestepping you fluidly and going over to the couch. He sits back down, swallowing some more vodka.

Your face goes hot. “I was overcompensating to not fall asleep at the wheel.” You shrug off your jacket, revealing your baggy shirt. There’s nowhere to hang it, so you drop it on the floor and walk over to the couch, plopping down. Ew, it’s pleather.

Leon snorts into his drink and you try not to gawk at his biceps. “Right.” He agrees solemnly, swallowing a little more vodka before he gets up, getting you a tumbler. He looks fucking delicious. “One or two.”

You hate straight vodka. “One.” Why the fuck not? That’s the flinch, isn’t it?

Leon pours you a shot and clinks your glasses together, passing it to you with his finger inside the rim.

You down it without tasting it, and so does he. You lean forward and pour another, swallowing it down with a burn lingering in your nose. When you have about four shots in your system, Leon speaks up.

“You know, people were right when they said that love is not enough.” He muses, swirling his glass around. Some sloshes over his hand and he slurps it up loudly. “Wasn’t for us.”

Your tongue feels heavy. Despite that, you don’t disagree.

When you’re silent for a little while, buzzed mind attempting to work, he scoffs. “Stop clamming up. It’s me.”

“That’s why I’m clamming up.” You snap after a moment, offense cutting through your buzz. “Because it’s you.”

Leon looks a little less pleased, pink mouth twisting and dipping at the corners. He downs a shot and pours another. You follow, plucking at your shirt to cool down as you sit back against the pleather upholstery.

“We were good, though, right?”

You watch the light play off his face, the blue light and shadows sharpening his features. “Sometimes.” You muster after a while, looking down at your shot glass. “When it was bad, it was bad.”

“Rough patches.” Leon mutters back, though he doesn’t seem to really agree. He sets his empty shot glass on the coffee table and sits back, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he watches the muted TV.

That v-line, he always made such pretty noises when you got to that. “Seems like the patches were the relationship.” You take another shot.

Leon shrugs without looking at you. Prick.

Another shot, more silence before you break it, feeling hot all over. “Did you call me over just to drink?”

Leon’s eyes flick over to you, skating over your features. He loved you, maybe. Loves? “Not really.”

Right. You always come when called.

“I just needed you close to me. Even for a moment.” He admits, eyes dropping from the TV to the coffee table.

He stinks of vodka and sweat when you crawl into his lap, ultraviolet eyes flashing wide for a moment before his hands settle on your hips, thumbs swiping over your bunny pajama pants. Muscle memory.

“You know what they say.” You lean in, eyes flicking between his eyes and his mouth, “Drunk words—“

“Are sober thoughts.” Leon finishes for you, chin tipping up as his eyes lid halfway. “You really are a broken record.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will.” Leon tastes like vodka and iron when he closes the distance between you, his lips slightly chapped. Nervous habit of his, he bites his lips.

It’s a little like being able to breathe. Maybe. It just feels really fucking good.

Leon pulls off your pants somehow, landing a smack to your ass to see the offended look you give him. You scratch him a little in return when you tug down his pants, he turns redder than his alcohol flush and dick jumping behind his boxers.

“Missed these most, fuckin’ hell.” Leon squeezes your tits when he gets your shirt off, leaving a kiss on the right side.

“Did mommy not breastfeed you?” You mock him as you tug his boxers down, rising up on your knees as he leaves you to struggle with his clothes. That vodka left you a little wetter than usual, it seems.

Leon leaves a half-gentle bite and you hiss, digging your nails into his thigh. “Dunno—“ You cut him off with a slow descent, back straightening as you hold in what could be a very incriminating noise. “You wanna try?” He says behind gritted teeth, eyes falling shut with a relieved expression.

You give a strained scoff, digging your nose into his cheek as you lace your arms around his neck, rolling your hips against his.

Leon whines behind a closed mouth, pressing his cheek against yours as his hands wander up and down your sides. You get to watch his eyes roll back when you lace your fingers in his hair and tug. His blunt nails dig into your skin, another louder whine leaving him.

Hitting all his weak spots coupled with the first time with you in a few months has him hurtling over the edge sooner than expected. Honestly, you too.

“In?” Leon pants, eyes opening behind his sweaty bangs, hips jumping to meet yours midway. “Out? How do you want me?”

Thank God, your thighs are beginning to burn. “In.” You leave a wet kiss on his cheek, reaching down with your other hand to fumble with your clit.

He comes right before you do, a pathetic sounding whine leaving him as he spills inside you. You collapse against him, panting for breath and sated in a way you haven’t been for a while.

While you collect yourselves and your dignity, Leon’s hands keep moving up and down your back and sides, soft puffs of breath blowing your hair.

It’s dead silent in the apartment, save only for your breaths. Sweat sticks you two together, you grimace as you peel yourself off him, flopping off to his side and making a mess (what a waste).

Silence reigns for a while longer as you pick at Leon’s fake leather upholstery, a million and one things on your mind. “We can’t be friends.” You mutter after a while.

Leon watches you, sweaty hair sticking up at every angle. “No.” He agrees after a silent moment, not bothering to slap your hand away as you keep picking at his fake leather couch. “I don’t think we ever could be.”

You shake your head, eyes on the patchy upholstery. “And we aren’t lovers.”

Leon shoves his hand beneath yours and holds it so you stop picking at the upholstery. “We could be.”

“Maybe.” But you know him and his soft heart. Beneath it, your heart’s soft too. “We’ll fight, though.”

Leon’s finger runs across your palm. “I like our fights.”

You close and open your hand around his finger. “And we only ever seem to communicate when you’re inside me.”

Leon shrugs. “We should just be physical.”

Round and round in circles we go.

[thedemonofcat]

I’ve seen soulmate fics where being rejected by your soulmate makes you very sick.

And that is really unfair. I think the reverse should be true.

Geralt gets sicker and sicker after the mountain. Only his soulmate returning to him will cure him. Geralt doesn’t want to be controlled by destiny, so he stubbornly refuses to find them.

Eskel or someone begs Jaskier to save Geralt. Even though he’s hurt, the bard makes the journey to Kaer Morhen.

He finds Geralt barely breathing. He leans down and kisses the Witcher’s forehead, whispering that he forgave him.

Once he sees that Geralt is breathing easier, Jaskier leaves before the witcher can wake up.

After all, Geralt would surely send him away again. It would be rather silly for them to go through all of this trouble only to have to immediately repeat the experience.

"Jaskier!" Geralt shouted through the trees. The wind was picking up, a storm looming on the horizon. "Jaskier, where are you?" he called again, his voice rough with frustration and worry.

Jaskier—his beautiful, infuriating, perfect soulmate—was out here somewhere, lost in the mountains and forests surrounding Kaer Morhen. And all because Geralt had been too much of a fool to say something sooner.

After what felt like hours of yelling, a faint voice finally reached him.

"Over here, Geralt."

The bard’s voice was smaller than usual, almost meek. Geralt followed the sound and found him sitting against a tree, clutching his ankle. Even in the dim light, he could see the swelling.

"The snow covered the root—I didn't see it," Jaskier murmured, wincing. "I think my leg is broken."

"Let me see," Geralt said, kneeling. Jaskier hesitated before finally letting him touch his leg.

"Good news," Geralt said after a moment, his tone lighter. "It’s not broken. Just a bad sprain. There are plenty of beds at Kaer Morhen where you can rest." He reached to lift Jaskier, only for the bard to shove him away.

"I'm not going back," Jaskier snapped.

"You’ll freeze to death out here," Geralt argued.

"Better than having my heart broken over and over again when you get bored of me," Jaskier shot back, his voice shaking.

Geralt froze. Then, softer this time, he said, "I love you. I'm not going to break your heart." A pause. "Not ever again."

Jaskier turned away. "You love the idea of having a soulmate," he whispered. "You don’t even know me."

What he didn’t see was Geralt moving his fingers.

"Sleep," Geralt murmured, using Axii to lull him into unconsciousness.

As Jaskier’s body went slack, Geralt scooped him up with a sigh, holding him close against the cold.

"I’ll love you," he murmured, pressing his forehead to Jaskier’s temple. "Or any version of you. As long as you’re not frozen."

[babsworlds]

I HATE YOU, I MISS YOU.

pairing. Sergei Kravinoff x fem! reader

synopsis. You are tired of your ex boyfriend and his visits.

warnings. possessive behavior towards reader, kinda giving toxic relationship, angst, Sergei being stalker, something like Stockholm syndrome?

THERE WERE SO MANY VALID REASONS FOR BREAKING UP WITH SERGEI. You two had started dating as teenagers, and yeah, it was great—typical teen love everyone wanted.

Until Sergei became a “hunter,” as he liked to call himself. He believed he was making “justice” by killing people like his father—ruthless killers.

How sad that Sergei potentially became one of them.

Your relationship with Sergei had once been full of innocence and youthful passion. The memories of your time together were filled with laughter, late-night conversations, and dreams of a future together. You had seen a future with him, filled with love and possibilities.

But as the years went by, things began to change. Sergei’s obsession with avenging his father's wrongdoings started to consume him. He became more secretive, driven by a dark sense of justice that led him down a dangerous path. You watched helplessly as the boy you once loved transformed into someone you barely recognized.

The love you had for Sergei was still there, but it was overshadowed by fear and concern. His actions became increasingly reckless, and you couldn’t ignore the toll it was taking on both of you. The once carefree days of your relationship were replaced with worry and tension.

You tried to reason with him, to bring him back from the brink, but it felt like you were losing him to a world you couldn’t understand. The realization that Sergei had become one of the very people he claimed to be fighting against was heartbreaking.

Breaking up with Sergei was one of the hardest decisions you had ever made. It wasn’t just about ending a relationship—it was about letting go of the dreams you had built together and accepting that the person you loved had changed in ways you couldn’t accept.

You can guess which was easier—to move on from the relationship or to move on from the fact that your boyfriend was killing human beings. For you, it was the first one.

But Sergei wasn’t the understanding type. He saw his own truth and didn’t want to hear anything else.

It didn’t take long before he became obsessed with you in a really unhealthy way. It was like you were his next prey.

He began to see you as the one thing he needed to protect at all costs, even if it meant resorting to extreme measures. The once sweet and innocent gestures of affection turned into acts of control and possessiveness. Sergei started monitoring your every move, his paranoia growing with each passing day.

You felt the walls closing in, your once free-spirited life now overshadowed by Sergei’s obsessive behavior. The fear that had initially been for his safety now became fear for your own. It was like living in a nightmare, constantly looking over your shoulder, not knowing what Sergei might do next.

The realization that Sergei had become a danger to you was heart-wrenching. Breaking up with him was no longer just about ending a relationship—it was about escaping a perilous situation that threatened your well-being.

You knew you had to make a clean break, to distance yourself from him completely. But Sergei’s relentless pursuit made it difficult. He wouldn’t accept the end of the relationship, his obsession blinding him to the reality that his actions were pushing you further away.

It was nights like this when Sergei would often come to surprise you at your apartment, letting himself in and waiting for you to come home. He would greet you with news from your life, updates on people you both knew, or just casual conversation as if everything was normal.

At first, his unannounced visits frightened you. The unexpected presence, the way he seemed to know your every move—it was unnerving. But over time, you grew accustomed to his appearances, knowing that eventually, he would leave.

Yet that very predictability scared you even more. The fear that his constant presence would wear you down, making you forget the reasons you had left him in the first place. The fear that you would forgive him and take him back, trapped in a cycle you couldn’t break.

You stepped into your apartment, a place you had waited all day to get back to. The past few weeks had been overwhelming, and it felt like your already broken life was falling apart even more.

Sergei smiled as he saw you walking in, sitting there in the dimly lit room. You spotted him and rolled your eyes. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you again, my scary obsessive ex who invited himself,” you said with the most sarcastic tone, letting him know you were not in the mood for these games tonight.

Before Sergei could say something, your sarcastic smile faded. “Get out before I call the police,” you said with an icy tone, your eyes narrowing.

Sergei stood up, his tall and muscular body towering over you. You weren’t scared, not anymore. Just fucking annoyed. “You know these things don’t work on me, Принцесса (princess),” he said with his thick Russian accent.

He reached for you, trying to rub your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t fucking touch me!” you pushed him away, your nerves on the edge.

“You don’t understand, I’m trying to protect you. I always did,” Sergei said in a possessive voice, stepping closer as you instinctively stepped back.

“No! You don’t understand!” you yelled, your voice echoing through the room. “You’re just an asshole who can’t admit it’s over!”

Sergei’s eyes darkened, his expression a mix of anger and desperation. “I can’t let you go,” he said, his voice trembling with intensity. “You’re the only thing that keeps me sane.”

“Sane?” You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound ringing out in the tense room. “You are far from a sane person.”

Sergei's expression tightened, his eyes narrowing at your words. “I’m doing what I have to,” he said, his voice strained with a mix of frustration and desperation.

“I never asked you for this protection or whatever you think you’re doing!” you screamed, your nerves stretched to the breaking point.

Sergei’s face twisted with a mix of anger and confusion. “I’m just trying to keep you safe,” he said, his voice rising in frustration.

“I fucking hate you!” you continued, the emotions pouring out uncontrollably. “You ruined my life!” Tears started to form in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Sergei reached out, his expression softening slightly as if he wanted to comfort you, but you stepped back, not wanting his touch.

You started smiling at the absurdity of the situation. It felt like you were in a twisted movie—a movie where the obsessed ex ends up killing his obsession, to be more specific.

With a wide, almost hysterical smile on your face, you looked at Sergei. “I wish I had never met you,” you said, the words dripping with a mix of bitterness and heartbreak. The tears continued streaming down your face, blurring your vision. You didn’t know what emotion to feel first—anger, fear, sadness, or perhaps even a twisted sense of relief.

Sergei's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he absorbed your words. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice low and filled with a dangerous edge. “You’re just upset.”

“No, Sergei,” you replied, the smile fading from your lips but not from your eyes. “I mean every word. You’ve destroyed everything good in my life. You’ve turned it into a nightmare.”

For a moment, Sergei seemed to struggle with your words, the truth of your pain piercing through his delusions. The room fell into a heavy silence, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions.

Sergei didn't say anything. He had no arguments left because deep down, he knew the truth—he was your nightmare. He knew that.

Instead of speaking, he stepped closer, and this time, you didn’t step back. Something had broken inside you, leaving you too tired to resist. Sergei put his strong arms around you, his large palm gently patting your hair.

You didn’t fight. What if you didn’t want to? You missed his tight hug. You missed him.

“I hate you...” you sobbed, your salty tears mixing with his scent.

“I know...” he sighed, his voice heavy with regret.

As you stood there, wrapped in his embrace, you felt a whirlwind of emotions. The anger, the sadness, the longing—all of it mixed together in a confusing, heartbreaking storm. You had loved Sergei once, and part of you still did, but the reality of who he had become overshadowed those feelings.

His arms felt familiar and safe, yet there was an underlying tension, a sense that this couldn’t last. You knew that this moment of vulnerability couldn’t erase the pain and fear he had caused. It was a temporary solace, a brief respite from the chaos.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I can’t keep living like this.”

Sergei tightened his grip slightly, as if trying to hold on to the last remnants of what you once had. “I don’t want to lose you,” he murmured, his voice filled with anguish.

“You already have,” you replied, pulling away from his embrace. “You need to let me go.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Sergei’s eyes were filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination, but you knew that you had to stand your ground.

He looked at you with a look filled with something you couldn’t really recognize. Without another word, he turned around and left.

He really left.

The sudden urge to stop him washed over you like a tidal wave. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to run after him, to call his name, to reach out and hold on to the fragments of what once was. But your mind was stronger. Even though you needed to feel his touch again, his body against yours, you didn’t move from your place.

You stood there, paralyzed, as the reality of the situation began to sink in. The man who had once been your protector, your confidant, your lover, had become your nightmare. The twisted irony of it all made you almost want to laugh, but instead, a bitter smile formed on your lips.

Just imagine how pathetic you would be, you thought.

Stopping a man who had stalked you for months from finally leaving you alone.

He left you alone, which was all you wanted. So why did you feel sad and like you had lost something?

As you stood there in the silence of your apartment, the conflicting emotions swirled within you. Relief, fear, sadness, and a sense of loss all mixed together. You had fought so hard to break free from Sergei’s control, and now that he was finally gone, you felt a strange emptiness.

[fawnduu]

Heyy, butch genderqueer dyke here who has been contemplating going on T for a long time, I'm just not really sure about where to get started or what to expect? As another anon mentioned, i didn't know tdicks could be a thing! Im just really curious about the kinds of things to expect or what i need to maybe look into? Any info helps, im asking here to get some pointers from someone actually on T and experiencing the changes (who also wont try to sugarcoat it to me lol) Thanks for your time ❤️

There were a couple of you who asked about what its like going on low dose T.

So~

In general all the effects happen slower and less than a full dose of T. A lot of it is genetics dependent as well.

All of these effects can vary depending on you so don't take these as gospel:

First noticeable change will be bottom growth. It can be uncomfortable/ overly sensitive when its growing but its awesome and getting boners rules.

It will be easier for you to get horny/turned on. Visual stimuli will be way more likely to get you horny.

You might turn into a faucet. Ill be honest there are some days where I've had to change my underwear like 3 times because they were soaked through. (im talking about discharge not piss before anyone asks)

Youll also sweat more/be muskier.

The hair on your thighs will get darker and thicken starting on your inner thighs.

Youll get a happy trail and hair around your nipples as well.

Youll break out as your body gets used to the higher levels of T in your system. Probably on your chest and back in addition to your face at first.

Youll grow a baby T stache (darker longer hair on your upper lip) + some stray hairs on your chin/face. (easy to use a dermal razor/ tweezers to get rid of these)

Personally T has improved my mental health spectacularly and not even in a 'i was dysphoric' type of way just straight up i can shut down anxious thought patterns instantly where as before I would have been battling myself silently all day.

Also on low dose typically your voice wont really deepen much if at all. It can still happen though!

Feel free to add your own experiences on low dose T~

[toa-archive]

Bellroc Design Path

As per Anon request there's going to be three posts regarding the Arcane Order consisting of any and all concept art we have of them. As ever with these it is far from impossible something else will belatedly turn up. Should this occur (And in this specific case would not be surprised), wherever it is added will have a [/edit xx/xx/xxxx] which includes a date marker. Just makes it easier to find the "new" thing :)

Also per Anon request we're starting with Bellroc! As a fun bonus fact, the voice meandering from masc to femme is both really cool and a Angel of Death from Hellboy reference. Particularly in this climate, we support non-binary they/them wrongs. So let's get to it!

First up is some initial concepts from Yingjue Chen! While this was originally figuring out Nari and thus forest themed, the left most one was repurposed into a fire wizard. Never went any further of course but still very neat to see how just changing some shapes and adding colour make something fresh from old ideas.

Source

Francisco Ruiz Velasco had his own stab at a bunch of wizards which are nigh impossible to pin down if it was for any of the Arcane Trio specifically or not. Still important to include tho :) This one will very understandably appear in all three.

Source goes to Linkedin so may require an account.

Then seemingly all of a sudden Bellroc as we know them pops up, also by Francisco Ruiz Velasco, who would finalise their design. This is a crop from a height chart shown during the Art of Wizards panel and when you compare it to the artwork below (Also from the panel), they do seem to get tightened up considerably.

Now this was uploaded outside the panel as well, which is great as can see it at a decent size, though does lacks one sketch and the specifics of their eyes. It's very possible that someone else drew/painted those though who if that is the case is currently unknown.

Source

The next one to appear is their texture markup by Isaac Orloff! This is an absolute goldmine for your reference needs, particularly all their little details.

Source

Decided to add a trio of bonuses just for fun. You might have noticed the Order pops up in the Wizards credits sequence though unlike Trollhunters and 3Below, it is not Headless Studios. They were drawn in a similar way though! They are by Alison Donato.

Source

Ivan Gozali, who boarded on Wizards, had a bunch of Bellroc sketches on his website which were likely related to boards he may have done that are not public. Sadly, said sketches suddenly vanished one day and to date only one of these has been recovered. This is a good a time as any to show it.

This is also a great excuse to yet again break out Francisco Ruiz Velasco's Order band poster again! In part due to them only appearing in colour keys for RotT otherwise. Well, there's one exception but want to save it for it's own post...

Source goes to Linkedin so may require an account.

Can't forget Bellroc's staff! Presumably it was modeled after Fruiz's design as Alison Donato mentions her texture work here was painted over a blank. Unlike the other two which do have 2D reference art for the design, it's not been seen publicly at this time.

Source

On the more magical front there is a tiny screenshot from the Art of Wizards panel which shows the magic effects for Bellroc. It is unknown who the right two images belong to however -

We do have a bigger version of the left image which we know is by Yingjue Chen! Aren't effects neat?

Source

Poking Rise of the Titans a moment, thanks to Andy Murray we have the glow up eye effect for Bellroc. This has been cropped from a larger image for fitting this post reasons only. Have to scroll back up for the Wizards version!

Source

And for fun since we also have it, this is the Arcane Circle for Bellroc which is shown on the Fire Titan including the Genesis Seal marker. As above it has been cropped for fitting this post reasons only. This time they are by Sean Wang.

Source

To close up a fun little tidbit! Thanks to Bianca Siercke we have the temporary name for Bellroc before they became, well, Bellroc. It was Belrog!

Source

When all three posts are up there will be a link here to the other two members. For now it is a placeholder:

Bellroc - Nari - Skrael

Anon if you could say who you would like next will appreciate it~

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Ain't that a lotta love - Chapter 2

A/N: A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too...

Need to catch up? Chapter 1 is here.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Dorothy Valens

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: None, really. Tinge of angst and mention of Elvis taking pills to sleep.

Dorothy eventually surfaces even later than Elvis, exhausted from staying up until the early hours of the morning and struggling to sleep in the unfamiliar environment of the NBC dressing room. She sits next to Jerry, hands wrapped around a coffee mug like it's a lifeline. Elvis is, indeed, practicing some kind of choreography or other and doing a lot of cussing about it. Jerry hands her a croissant and she leans her head on his shoulder, heavily. 

“Fuck me, I'm tired.”

Jerry laughs. Although she tries to keep herself prim and proper, a lot of the time Elvis’ girlfriend has a real potty mouth. His friend finds this very funny, especially when Elvis calls everyone he ever meets “sir” and “ma'am”. The contrast is hilarious.

“You up late last night? I saw you go out.”

“Mmm. El wanted me to ditch our girl.”

“Ah. Noticed she wasn't around this morning.”

“She was getting in the way, apparently.”

Dorothy moves her head and pulls the end of the croissant off, popping it into her mouth and chewing. The coffee cup has made its way to the floor. 

“You ok?” 

She sighs. “I guess so. I did like her, y’know, Jer. But she wasn't subtle enough. Or smart enough.”

Jerry looks at her quizzically. She takes another bite of croissant. 

“The fat man.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

He puts a comforting arm around her. “I'm sorry.”

“Thanks. Just wish Elvis would do the breaking up for a change. Why it always gotta be me, Jer?!” She asks, in a silly, fake New York accent. 

Jerry laughs. “Because we are all just his subjects,” he teases, in his own silly version of an English accent, pulling the other end off the croissant and eating it. She puts the rest in her mouth and licks the crumbs off her fingers, chuckling at the all-too-accurate description of their position in relation to the King, Elvis Presley. 

“Seriously, though,” he continues, after a swig of his own coffee to wash down the pastry, “you should put yourself first, sometimes. You're always doing things for him.”

“Mmm. I guess you're right. Easier said than done, though.” 

Drinking the rest of her coffee in several large gulps, she reflects that she's feeling better already. Although it was probably more to do with the company than the caffeine, yet. 

“Who's that over there?” She waves her empty cup in the direction of a man walking quickly around with a clipboard. “Saw him outside the room last night.”

“Oh that's Steve Binder. He's directing this whole thing.”

“Oh! The fabled Steve.”

The man comes a little closer and she gets a slightly better look at him. Shorter and stockier than Elvis but not bad-looking. Fashionable hair and a ruggedness to his features that she doesn’t mind at all. 

Jerry snorts. “Yeah. The only man to have stood up to the Colonel and won. So far.”

Dorothy has heard a lot about Steve. Elvis gushed about him when they first met, and then gushed even more after the recording sessions with him. Everything recently has been Steve this and Steve that. “Sounds like you want to marry Steve,” she'd teased him at one point, making him blush. 

“Yeah I've heard plenty about him from Elvis. Nice to finally put a face to the name.” She pauses to brush crumbs off her skirt. “What d'you think of him?”

“Seems like a good guy. Knows a lot about the business. Doesn't take any shit from you know who.”

She nods, settling her head back onto Jerry’s shoulder. At least she'll have someone different to talk to this evening. 

***

Elvis stands behind Dorothy with his arms wrapped around her waist and his chin on the top of her head. 

“Good day?” She asks, looking from the inner part of the dressing room through to the outer part, where the guys are already assembled, singing and laughing and messing around. 

“Mmm. Tirin’ but good. You ok?”

She nods. They stand there for a little longer and then he speaks again.

“You think my hair’s too black, Dodo?”

She turns around in his arms to look at him and sees his serious expression. Someone must've been joking with him about it but he's obviously hurt. Worried that people think he looks silly. 

“I think it looks perfect, El,” she tells him, reaching a hand up to touch his cheek. “You're perfect.”

He smiles and blushes and his tongue pokes out over his lips cheekily. 

“You think?”

“I know.”

Bowed up by the affirmation, he kisses her quickly before pushing the door open, making an entrance as usual. Grabbing her by one hand he spins her around in front of him, manoeuvring her to the side so that they can walk in together. The rest of the guys whoop and cheer, asking him where he's been, how his day was, what he wants to do. Dorothy settles down on the sofa and he flops beside her, an arm casually thrown over her shoulders. Steve has been watching them since they first came into the room, and as they start their cigarette ritual, he has to admit to being fascinated. Elvis’ girlfriend is petite and striking, with thick black hair and bangs. Her eyes are large and flick around the room, taking everyone in without comment. They meet his briefly, and then she's stretching out her arm for the cigarette and bringing it to her lips when she receives it. She and Elvis seem to communicate without talking, all little looks and gestures, and once he's stubbed out the cigarette it’s like that portion of the evening is over, and things move on to the usual talking and laughing. Charlie passes Elvis a guitar and he starts to strum, he strikes up a tune and people sing. 

Dorothy ruffles Elvis’ hair affectionately as she stands up, making her way over to the drinks cabinet and pouring herself a scotch. When she turns back, she sees her seat is now occupied by Alan and makes her way to another chair between Steve and Joe. 

“You got a light?” She asks Joe, as she brings another cigarette to her lips. As if her mirror, Elvis grips a cigarillo between his teeth and lit matches appear around him instantly. 

Joe is too far away to join in, and anyway he's captivated by Dorothy’s cleavage, something she's well aware of as she leans towards him deliberately. He flicks the wheel on his lighter and a flame kisses the end of the cigarette. She inhales. 

“Thanks, doll.”

Joe laughs and blushes a little. “Shouldn’t it be me calling you doll, not the other way around?”

“Sure,” she replies, then turns to Steve. “Hi. I hear you're Steve. I'm Dorothy.”

Joe sighs quietly at her giving him the cold shoulder, as she does so often once she’s got what she wants. 

“You heard right. Nice to meet you.” Steve proffers a hand and she takes it, giving him a firmer handshake than he'd anticipated. 

“How're you enjoying hanging out with these reprobates?” She asks, waving her hand around the room and producing a cloud of smoke in its wake. 

Steve smiles. “Well, they're kinda fun.” He pauses to look around as Elvis moves to the piano and the other men flock around him. Dorothy gestures to the now empty sofa, and they move there to better observe the group. “How do you enjoy hanging out with them?”

Dorothy takes a long drag on her cigarette as she contemplates his question. He's a little more direct than she's used to, but she decides to play along. 

“Joe likes my tits, Alan and Charlie like being told what to do, and Lamar likes whatever's left.”

She looks at Steve, eyebrow arched, ready for however he decides to respond. He feels a little spark of excitement in his belly. She's fun. 

“Sounds like you have them all worked out.”

She shrugs. “I guess so. I've been around for a while.” Another drag on the cigarette. “How'd you like dealing with the Colonel, then?”

Steve laughs. She's not beating around the bush, that's for sure. 

“I don't,” he replies, honestly. “How do you like it?”

That earns him his first proper laugh, her head is thrown back and her eyes are merry. “I don't either. Annoying little shit. Big shit, actually.”

“You really don't like him?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, I'll let you in on a little secret.” She leans close to him so she can speak more quietly, even though the amount of noise the guys are all making singing she's sure she could shout and they wouldn't hear. “Joe’s his dirty little spy. So don't tell him anything you don't want the fat man to know.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You trust me with all this? You've only just met me.”

“Ah, I've only just met you, but I've been hearing about you from El for weeks now.” She takes a sip of her scotch. “And you're not some kinda hick, which helps.”

Steve laughs again. They carry on sitting and chatting, Dorothy telling him more about the guys and him taking it in. After a while he realises she hasn't mentioned Jerry, who's standing up somewhere near the back and trying not to sing too loudly, having been told about his tunelessness in the past. 

“What about Jerry?”

She blinks. “What about him?”

“Well you mentioned everyone else.”

“Jerry is a sweetheart,” she replies, entirely without irony. “He wants to get into the business. You know, movies, music, whatever.” She waves her hand about. “You should give him some advice.” 

Steve is just trying to swallow being given such a direct order by a girl he's only just met when she stands up, finishing off the end of her drink and clearly signalling the end of the conversation. 

“Nice to meet you.”

He takes her hand and kisses the back of it this time, telling her how nice it was to talk to her and that he'll go and chat to Jerry. She smiles, pleased with both the kiss and the fact he's agreed to follow instructions, and then turns towards Elvis and the piano. It takes her mere moments to insinuate herself into the middle of the group and between Elvis’ legs on the piano stool. 

Her boyfriend greets her with an enthusiastic kiss to the neck and then asks what she wants to play. Moving towards Jerry, Steve is surprised that the next thing that comes out of the piano is a duet, and that Dorothy can play very well indeed. He shakes hands with the other man and strikes up conversation, first about the industry and then about Dorothy, finding himself oddly fascinated by her.

“She's a good girl,” Jerry enthuses, with a smile. “Good for E. Keeps him sane.”

Steve nods, wondering about the mutual admiration that Jerry and Dorothy seem to have for each other. He's surprised that Elvis would be so relaxed about their relationship, but now he comes to think of it, he's sure he saw them together earlier that day. Jerry with his arm around her too. He doesn't seem to fall into the category of the other guys, who she treats largely with disdain and orders around as if they were her lackeys, not Elvis’. Then he wonders about her telling him to go and talk to Jerry, and getting up to leave so quickly. Which category does he fit in, exactly? Friend or foe?

***

It's the early hours of the morning when Jerry finally persuades the rest of the guys to go home. Steve had left around the same time as Charlie, Alan and Lamar, but Joe stuck around for a frustratingly long time. Jerry knows he's a snitch, but surely even the Colonel has given up on trying to get rid of Dorothy at this stage. There are a couple of other hangers-on too, but once Jerry manages to persuade Joe that it's bedtime they don't stick around. It doesn't hurt that he's filling out his t-shirt nowadays, and at 6ft cuts an imposing figure. 

“Thanks, Jer.” Dorothy puts her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. 

“Yeah, thanks man. Thought they were never gonna go.” Elvis sighs. 

“I better go myself or Joe'll be back in here assuming I'm saying something I don't want him to hear.”

Elvis hums. “I bet it was him shopped our girl to the fat man.”

“You ever think of demoting him?”

Elvis shakes his head. “Nah. Better he's not sure if I know. Also better I have him where I can keep an eye on the bastard.”

He doesn't like the fact that Joe snitches on him to the Colonel, but he still enjoys the other man's company, even if he knows Dorothy thinks he's a letch. He likes all the guys, despite their shortcomings. 

Jerry nods. “Fair ‘nough. You know best, EP.”

Elvis laughs. “I think you'll find it's Dodo who knows best.”

He pulls her to his side with one arm and she smiles up at him, her hand reaching up to dig into his hair. 

“She sure does,” Jerry replies, looking at them for a moment, lost in one another's eyes. He's amazed they're still like this after so long. That a girl has managed to keep Elvis’ attention for so long. And that someone could keep Dorothy’s. He supposes they are ideally suited, though he worries a little about her. She has a hard exterior but he can't help thinking that breaking up with so many girls must be doing her some damage and he hopes Elvis realises. Though his boss has had enough problems of his own recently, so the change in Dorothy over the years might have gone unnoticed.

“Anyway, I'll head off. See y'all tomorrow.”

Elvis and Dorothy bid him goodbye and go to bed themselves. Elvis is tired anyway, but he swallows his usual handful of pills and relaxes into the mattress. He never could persuade Dorothy to join him with the tablets. She's never said anything, but he has the distinct feeling she disapproves. She's always slept like a log though, so he doesn't think she understands what it's like to have insomnia. He slowly traces the contours of her face with the backs of his fingers as he waits for the drugs to kick in. 

“You're so pretty,” he drawls.

She smiles, sweetly. “You're so pretty.” Her hand catches his and she brings his fingers to her lips, peppering them with kisses. 

He snuggles into her, nuzzling her neck. “You'll always be here for me, wontcha, Dodo?” It's only been a few minutes, but his words already sound slurry to her. 

“Always, pumpkin.”

He mumbles something else she can't quite hear into her hair and then his breathing deepens and he lets out a little snore. 

“And you'll always be there for me, won't you?” She whispers back to him, knowing there won't be a reply. She strokes his hair and traces the contours of his face with her fingers, just like he had been doing minutes ago to her. “I hope you will,” she whispers again, into the dark, closing her eyes. “I really hope you will.”

☆☆☆

Taglist:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

[ingydar-phan]

Aghhhghhhh. I’m so so aware that this is said nearly every day I know like I KNOW. But still. I was talking to my dad and stepmom today and the topic of buying a house came up, specifically the fact that they made sure to get married before they settled on the house they own and share. They’ve been together for many years and are very much in love, but that’s not really why they got married. They got married because they wanted it over with so that all things legal and financial when it came to their new house would be 1000x easier. And like agghhfhh. I started asking like, if two people were not legally married but wanted to go through the process of designing, redoing, and mortgaging a house, in what ways would that be harder / marriage would make it easier? And of course this is the obvious like of COURSE I already knew this but hearing them say it was just so gahhh. That if the two people ever were to break up/part ways, or one of them died, it’s a hell if a lot easier to settle who gets what and whatnot if you’re already married than if you’re not, where you’d have to manually go through each and individual thing and fill it out how you want things settled and divided and who gets how much money based on how much they put into the house blah blah blah blah blah. And like. I’m not saying this is a new take or evidence that Dan and Phil *are* married. But what I’m saying is that buying a house is enough to convince someone to get legally married, almost as though the house *IS* the marriage, yknow? Going into buying a house (and at that, redesigning one absolutely custom for yourselves) is a commitment that you intend to be with this person forever. That you have such a deep trust in this person financially, emotionally, and for your entire future, that this is a commitment you’re making, so much so that this alone can be people’s push to get legally married. Idk idk. Like I said I’m not using this as evidence that Dan and Phil are or aren’t legally married, but that they don’t need to be, because the house itself is the marriage. It is the hard launch. You know what I’m saying???

[awakenedevildays]

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

"Babe," the silence that filled the room for five, incredible minutes is interrupted by Stiles, again. You sigh and close your eyes, reminding yourself that if you kill him now you won't find another Stiles and that it's probably easier to just answer another one of his dumb question and then move on with studying again.

"Mh?"

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" he asks, it takes a few seconds for you to process that he interrupted you a fifth time to ask this, but when you do, you turn your head around to meet his eyes on the opposite side of the bed: unlike you, he's leaning his back against the headboard of his bed, with his book is closed on his legs and the pen he's lazily gripping hits the book cover over and over again.

You move to rest on your side and prop yourself up on one elbow, "seriously?" you ask without any humor in your voice… if Stiles hadn't interrupted you every five minutes for the last hour you would have already finished your homework, but from what you can see he is not in the mood to get any work done today and that means that you can't do anything either.

He rolls his eyes, "just answer the question," his right foot closes the notebook that's in front of you on the end of the bed.

"Will you let me get my homework done if I answer you?"

He shrug his shoulders, "depends on what you answer."

"…ok." A huff leaves your mouth as your body unwillingly moves to sit up straight on the bed, "that depends, would I be a worm, too?"

His mouth hangs agape and his eyebrows furrows in shock, "what do you mean 'it depends'!?"

"If I were still a human I wouldn't even think of falling in love with a worm."

Silence falls in the room for a few seconds while Stiles nods repeatedly with his tongue poking his cheek in the way he does when he is annoyed… "ok then, I see how it is." He opens his book and diverts his eyes from you to it.

Thinking the conversation is over, you resume your initial position on the bed, with your belly resting against the soft mattress and the notebook now open in front of you again.

...

"I can't believe you actually said that." Your head hits the notebook in front of you with a loud groan.

Your head hits the notebook in front of you with a loud groan. "Stiles…"

"No seriously, what if I get turned into a worm tomorrow? Will you break up with my worm form during the lowest point of my life?"

You turn back towards him again, "of course not! I would find a way to turn you bac-"

"what if it's not possible?"

"then I would turn into a worm, too."

Stiles shakes his head, "you're purposely avoiding the question." He sits up straight and pushes the books off the bed and onto the floor, yours too. "Okay, pretend that I get turned into a worm tomorrow and there's no way you can turn me back into a human or you into a worm… would you still love me even though we're two different species?"

"I was using those boo-"

"Babe!" he whines and you giggle.

"Okay, okay... I mean... we could try to make that work? But I don't think it would honestly last." you answer with way too much sincerity for such a dumb question.

"So you would be with someone else? damn."

"Not necessarily! What if you're the one that finds a cute worm to share your life with?" you ask amused but it doesn't affect him in the slightest, instead, he smirks proudly.

"That's impossible, I would still love you."

"Then I would still love you, too." You answer and crawl closer to him to kiss his cheek, hoping he will let this topic drop if you kiss him stupid.

"I don't know if I can believe you now..." still, his hands move to caress the sides of your thighs.

"Come on, you're being a hypocrite! You would never love me if I was a worm either... I would be small, slimy, ugly and with too many disgusting feet."

"I would! I would buy a jar, fill it with lots of soil and grass and put you in it so that I could carry you everywhere I go!"

"Aw, you know what? I would do that, too-"

"Don't steal my ideas, find your own way to love the worm-me."

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Do not copy or repost.

[pardonmydelays]

taylor swift lyrics that keep u up at night?

*takes a deep breath*

remember looking at this room, we loved it cause of the light now i just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time.

(oversharing in the tags)

[5a-alf]

I fear Kevin Day is the type of person whose struggle always came second. He funcioned enough that while everyone knew he wasn't alright, it was also nobody's problem, as someone else was actively having a harder time and they took precedence. He internalises all his problems and keeps going and going but he is fueled by alchool and sheer desperation a 100% of the time. If he were to stop for even a second he wouldn't know how to start again.

Did he ever, at somepoint in his life -away from the ex foxes, a pro player, married to Thea- wish he had it worse, just so that maybe it would have been his turn being saved? Being first? How badly would he feel, just one second after thinking it, because he knows damn well he has enough trauma to fill a stadium and he isn't actually jealous of his friends that had it worse, he isn't . That's a fucked up thing to think, stop it, stop it.

Would he still drink himself into a stupor to shoote the ache, to banish the thought? That's the help he got, when he was at his worst, a drink, and then two, and then a thousand. And it worked, it made him go, it picked him up when he was down, and now he can't get down without crashing.

Did he wish to be saved? Did he hope somebody, anybody, took the time and put in the effort to help him, just because they saw him down, not because he begged, but because they noticed he could use a hand. Or two, actually. Was it torment, to always be under the spotlight, yet never been seen? Did he run toward fame hoping the more eyes on him meant it would be easier to be noticed?

[multiocular-mushroom-art]

francis madoka magica crozier

(the witch designs are here and also posted separately with some lore under the tag 'the soul gem passage')

[thewalrusespublicist]

overthinking paul mccartney BUT it is my opinion that his no cuddles testimony is about how he feels about that time rather than what he thinks literally happened. like he feels like he held something back with john and george, like he was a little protective of his space and his ego and especially as things got bad didn't really want to put himself out there all the way and face yet more rejection, and it comes out like "we weren't cuddly" because it's a translation of how he feels being projected back across the whole relationship. and he's very old and has done a lot of drugs. but he's in his eighties so it's probably relatively easy to be like "god they were just babies we were all so young and dumb i should have just held them and told them i love them literally who cares if the dumb baby is mad at you and makes a face and says you're a loser you've gotta offer affection anyway." which yes repression but also is something that's really only possible in retrospect.

Hi anon!

Yeah you know what I agree with this. I think the whole 'non-affection' thing partially started from a lie, not-lie that kind of warped into a 'truth' over time. One reason for it was the aftermath of John's death where Paul's comments were all over the place because he was all over the place. There's some in the mid 80s where he was going 'yeah we weren't that close and didn't open up to each other because men but also we were the best of friends' (this was like in the same sentence btw). I know he told Julia later it was because he wanted to play down the relationship, which is a very Paul thing to inexplicably do. I think then that 'oh we weren't affectionate' thing stuck as part of his narrative.

The second was I believe as you said, some retroactive projecting on an emotional regret onto the landscape of the past. The thing about John's change and transition from the 60s to the 70s was it was clearly a bit baffling to Paul. He never understood John and Yoko in his own words and he never quite got why John turned on him. When you're as self-loathing as Paul and faced with that, if one of the criticisms you constantly face is that you're too aloof and closed off to let people in (we know George critiqued him for his 'pleasant insincerity'), you might cling to that as a reason for the whole shit-show. We know Paul regrets not putting his arms around John and saying listen when it comes to the break-up, suggesting that he sees physical affection as part of being open and openness as a potential solution that he didn't do. It's also weirdly self-soothing. If he blames the break-up on not being more emotionally available, he can also rationalise it and take some of the 'blame' off himself. He was a 'northern man', how else was he meant to behave? It's not on him if he couldn't open up.

God actually it just hit me, if Paul associates physical affection with being truly open and honest it does shed a whole new light on the fact that Paul keeps going back to physical affection when asked what he would do if John was alive. Ow.

[mamawasatesttube]

i do think that despite being the squad's designated nerds, kon and bart struggle to watch lotr together because kon physically CANNOT stop infodumping through any of the movies (and of course they have to watch the extended editions only), but bart's like. you want me to sit in one place and watch one screen for 12 fucking hours. and on top of that you WON'T SHUT UP the ENTIRE TIME? i already can't focus on movies and you TALK THROUGH THE WHOLE THING? im going to fucking bite you--

[giantkillerjack]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.