#it's good enough and my perfectionism can shut up

[aleki-lives-here]

shhhh, don't interrupt, he's watching some juicy ✨drama✨

[mrsparrasblog]

Advice from Price

Sometimes it feels strange, but as a writer, it's like the characters you create live in your mind - rent free, and you sense them judging you every move. "Why are you not writing my happy end, babe?" - Kyle. Let's just overlook my midnight thoughts for now. I promise I'll be fully focused next week- finishing the Makarov fic and my requests, but these days have been quite shitty. I had my first final exam today, tomorrow is the state Championship of my Apprenticeship, and I'm having numerous interviews for an exchange year. Anyway, enough rambling.

At times, I think about Price and the advice he shares with me throughout the day- always sitting like an Cartoon Angel on top of my shoulders. I thought maybe I'd share them with you, in case you need advice from Price too :)

If this fic isn't your cup of tea just ignore it I clearly made it for myself and don't want to be judged lol:(

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Overcoming Perfectionism

You: "What if I don't win? What if I'm not the best? What if my grades slip?"

Price: "You're one of the smartest and most capable women I know, if not the smartest and most capable. You've worked hard for those grades, and I'm confident you'll ace whatever test comes your way. But let's entertain the idea that you don't. It wouldn't change how I feel about you one bit. You're already my best girl. You don’t have to be perfect to earn my love, Darling."

You: "Sometimes I feel like if I don't have good grades, I lose the only special part about me. Having good grades is the only thing I can do, and if I fail that, I'll just be ordinary."

Price: (He would sigh at your words, acknowledging your fears even if they aren’t logical to him) "Darling, you're so much more than just your grades. You have a bright personality, you're sweet, kind, and beautiful. No matter what happens, you'll always be special and extraordinary. There's not one thing in the world that could make you ordinary to me."

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Gaining Weight

You: "John, love, I gained weight again," you sighed, looking at your body in the mirror. Of course, you were incredibly beautiful, but sometimes the monsters in your head just didn’t want to shut up.

Price: "Where's the problem?"

You: "You don’t mind?"

Price: He would smile warmly at you, his smile like in the campaign you know what I mean "No, you're already perfect just the way you are. That slight extra meat on your bones makes you even cuter, besides, there's even more of you for me to love and manhandle." He would make you laugh, letting you forget all your concerns.

Needless to say, he showed you just how much he didn’t mind your body. All night.

[negobeauriva]

A deep analysis of Konstrakta's "Novo, Bolje"

I know that there are maybe many articles about this song already, considering it came out a week ago or so, but I am so in love with both the song and Konstrakta herself that I needed to put my two cents on this song and why I think it's such an awesome entry. I'm also going to make a comparison to In Corpore Sano and relate both of the songs. I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Btw, I've gotten the necessary translations from here and here.

Let's start out with the title: Novo, Bolje means New, Better. It's already an indicator that sets the pace for what is coming.

Musically, the song is quite simple - It has only three chords that keep repeating in an uniform pattern, with a distinctive synthesizer that repeats itelf throughout the song as well. It's fast paced and eclectic, very modern, to fit the theme of the lyrics. It's worth noting that the backup singers are taking a very important function here. I'll explain it later on.

Now, let's get to the lyrics. Through the entirety of the song, Konstrakta is speaking to an imaginary doctor, to which she's telling of her latest affliction: She craves novelty. She only wants new things, new improvements, nothing seems to be enough for her, and she considers this as something wrong, something to be cured. This is about addiction to novelty and consummerism - modernity has made us addicted to updates, the newest phone, the newest device, the newest social media, every new thing is exciting and we eventually run for it.

The chorus is proof of it: New, better, faster, bigger, higher, prettier, stronger. The things she has aren't somehow enough, and she claims that all of this is coming. She wants something better than good. Good isn't cutting it anymore. It needs to be better.

Konstrakta proceeds to elaborate on her point saying that if she was smarter, she could turn a kilo of bread into two, and that ever since she was born, she has been knowing about better than good, which is another jab at modernity: New generations are addicted to new things since they are little. Let's think back, how many of us in our childhoods wished for better, bigger toys or electronic devices? It's an actual reality. And with the rise of phones, tablets and similar devices in infancies, this is more present than ever.

This also speaks about self-pressure about being better than good, the line "the performance could've been better" is a reference to our modern perfectionism, and the wish to reach even higher heights everytime, with innovations that sometimes aren't necessary. Why would the Pacific ocean need to be more pacific, anyway? The grandiosity and the exaggeration are marketing elements to draw you in, to try and show you that you can, indeed, be better than good. It's exploitation disguised as motivation and self help.

Then she says that she feels set up everywhere, because she is seeing anomalies, which is another point. Consummerism is a social issue, but if you point it out in a consummerist society, you're most likely to get laughed at or gaslighted in the sense that you're not being brainwashed by the consummerism. Which leads us to the next line, Konstrakta asks the doctor what's wrong with her, why is she seeing anomalies everywhere? Why is she addicted to novelty and perfection? She's trying to break the cycle of self-awareness, and at the same time, she wants her head to shut up about the pressure of novelty and perfectionism. She might believe nobody else is going through this, which is, ironically, an anomaly on itself.

When she sings the word "better" over and over again, it eventually gets distorted by the end of the phrase, which shows us that she's losing herself. In trying so hard to reach better, to improve, she's losing and destroying pieces of herself to try and build something new. The backup singers are repeating the other adjectives: better, faster, bigger, higher, prettier, stronger. Another proof that her head presses her further than she can actually reach.

In a more calm section of the song, she says that everything is fluid, and if she stops, she'll fall through, stating that she needs to constantly go full speed, up, towards higher heights. This is very telling. At the beginning of the section, the music gets calmer, almost quiet, but as Konstrakta starts repeating the words "going up, constantly going up", the synthetizers and the fast pace are back again, supporting her claim and her "illness" - the need for speed, novelty, perfection. Nothing is enough. Nothing will ever be enough. Konstrakta is trapped on a cycle of perfectionism and addiction to novelty. In trying to break the cycle, she's perpetuating it at the same time. It's a vicious cycle from where she can't escape.

When Konstrakta asks again what's wrong with her, this time she doesn't even get to explain what affects her. Here is where the backup singers reveal their real role: They are the voice of society. While Konstrakta tries to figure herself out, the singers appear to reinforce her need for novelty, the need for something new coming, the thought that nothing is never and will never be enough. And in this final section of the song, they shut Konstrakta up: "For God's sake, there's nothing wrong with you". They're gaslighting Konstrakta into thinking it's all in her head, and that she needs to keep striving for more.

During the final section of the song, the singers chant, almost like madness, that it's coming. Novelty and progress are coming, and nobody, not even Konstrakta herself, can stop it. While all of this is happening, she screams, calls out for the doctor to help her, but she receives no help - she's being consumed by the spiral. She's being dragged by the tsunami of society, the fast paace of consummerism devouring her as she screams in agony. And then, she says the most beautiful phrase I've seen in a song in a while:

"The wish doesn't know about what is unreachable."

We can strive and wish for perfection all we want, but wanting something and being realistic about it are two completely different things. We can try to reach the moon, but we are too far to actually do it. And in our search for perfection, not only can we lose ourselves, but we can go to dangerous heights: Security breaches, the end of individual liberties, violence, stepping over people's heads to get whatever we want, however we want. The wish doesn't know what's unreacheable. Therefore, there are no limits to modernity. This is a hurricane, and it's going to destroy us all.

There is no escaping this. Which is why she closes by saying "it's coming" - Modernity is coming. We can't do anything to stop it.

Now, let me compare this masterpiece to her former Eurovision entry, In Corpore Sano.

It's curious to notice that both songs have the same length. In Corpore Sano, in case you need a reminder, speaks about how an artist must keep themselves healthy, appreciating our health and the moments in which we have it, to be thankful for being healthy and our body properly functioning. It's a jab at the Serbian medical system for it's negiglence with artists and the lack of medical insurance for them, also stating how health is a privilege, citing Meghan Markle's hair as an example to kick off the song and start speaking about hydration and health problems and how to identify them.

A healthy mind in a healthy body, a sick mind, a scared mind... Where do we go from this?

This song is more ominous, and the beautiful staging was also very ominous, setting the atmosphere for Konstrakta to become an advocate for Serbian artists and their health system. Art and social criticism, hand in hand.

Both In Corpore Sano and Novo, Bolje speak about health, one being physical, the other being mental. In the case of In Corpore Sano, the background singers don't take as big of a role as they do in Novo, Bolje, and when they do, they reinforce Konstrakta's message, instead of being dismissive about it or trying to shut it down. Both the songs are written in minor keys and are limited to a couple chords, keeping it simple.

In Corpore Sano is slower paced, as if trying to get people to understand the point. We also get a hint of grief - Konstrakta lost her bandmate and friend Miroslav Ničić to leukemia in 2019, which inspired this song to come to fruition. Novo, Bolje, is faster paced, showing us the chaos and the need to rush that the song tried to criticize, and it's repetitive, highly repetitive, to catch people in. The catchy tune is meant to make you forget the point of the song, showcasing how tone deaf society can be sometimes.

At the same time, In Corpore Sano has a hint of divinity. God grants us health, but I don't have medical insurance. Latin has always been a language related to holiness, to purity. Novo, Bolje, has no divinity to it, it's quite banal, vulgar if we try to compare it to Latin - in the Middle Ages, any language that wasn't Latin was called vulgar, meaning "of the people". This song is nowhere near God. Our society has killed God, and has gone beyond divinity. Holy Modernity, mother of our Society, has taken over.

In Corpore Sano is meant to be a ritual song in all of its aspects - we see Konstrakta moving and clapping her hands, cleaning them ritually with her backup singers as assistants, overseeing the process as if to take care of her. They are dressed in black, Konstrakta in white, showing herself as a pure, healthy being, trying to teach others about health and how to keep it. We haven't seen anything about Novo, Bolje's staging, but the concept Konstrakta has shown with her in blue skin and an eccentric white attire, with the caption "The Kilimanjaro could be higher" (a brilliant reference), is meant to scandalize, to be weird, to make you think about the absurdity of things. Again, there is no holiness, no ritualism, nothing. It's banal. It's empty. And that banality, along with the message, is what makes this whole concept beautiful on itself. It's what makes it so brilliant and so well crafted.

I hope you've made it so far and that you have liked this analysis. In short, Konstrakta is a genius, a musical and lyrical genius, and I can't wait to see her again setting foot on Eurovision's stage. I hope this helps you look at her song with new eyes.

She's definetely gotten newer and better.

---

I'm adding a new section of this analysis, to further it, now that Novo, Bolje's staging has been revealed.

First off, I want to thank every single one of you who gave support to the original version of the analysis, from the fans, to people from Serbia, to Konstrakta herself! I'm super honored to have been shared and promoted by her. It feels amazing.

Now, onto what's important: The staging.

Many people have put criticism on the fact that "this is just the same as last time", but they fail to perceive this is the exact message Konstrakta wants to get across. Modernity promises new, better, bigger, stronger, faster, prettier... But in the end most of the things that it produces are the same that they were before. Many new phones end up being the exact same as old models, but with a very small improvement, sometimes hard to see. This is the reason why Novo, Bolje is so similar to it's eldest sister, In Corpore Sano. A sequel that doesn't feel as much as a sequel, and in there resides its charm.

I've also been pointed out to the fact that this is supposed to be a satire against returning artists and their efforts to make something "new, better", and I really like that approach. It's a very interesting artistic satire.

Konstrakta is once again dressed in white, and her singers in black - A contrast between divinity and evil. But this also reinforces the fact that she is the "odd one out", she's questioning modernity, she's the one going against the norm. She's different from everyone around her. The fact that we can't ever see the "doctor" she's referring to, also helps reinforce this message. This will come back later, so keep it in mind.

This time around, she is not washing her hands, but instead making bread. Bread has many symbolisms, but in religion, bread symbolizes the gift to God to humankind - a stark contrast to a godless modernity, as stated prior in this analysis. Bread is the most basic of meals, and one of the easiest to put together, it's universal, every culture has its own version of bread. Just like modernity, universal, basic, stripped out of all value when you truly look into it. Bread is one of humanity's turning points. Modernity is, too, one of humanity's turning points. The creation of the Internet, the introduction of cellphones and computers, the invention of social media, didn't they all change humanity as we know it, just like bread did? Also, just like bread, these novelties are "food" - a basic need, something we can't live without now that we have discovered it.

Interestingly enough, the words "Not new, not better" flash around the first minutes of the song. This "episode" is so similar to the past one, it seems to contradict its title, but then again, therein lies its charm.

In the background, we always see eyes on the sides of the stage. "Big brother is watching you" - rings a bell? Modernity has its eyes everywhere. You are constantly being watched, you have to keep on track, not question anything and just lift your head and pretend everything is normal.

Konstrakta is constantly kneading the dough, never do we see her putting it into the oven - this can also make a reference to the "it's coming" line of her song. The bread is coming, it's supposed to come out soon, just as novelty is coming. Evo sa'ce, how the song would say. Inbetween, Konstrakta lets the dough rest, covered. Anyone who's made bread or seen a bread recipe, know that this is so the dough rises up. Just like a further section of the song, rising up, constantly up. If we tie this to the political meaning I've seen people add to the song, this could also double up as the gestation of an uprising against politicians, or even the fake promises they make.

During the first part, her backup singers are huddled in a corner, and from there they scream at her "it's not enough". This is a perfect parallel to what I put in the first half of the analysis, about self-pressure, perfectionism and how they play a big part on modernity's declining mental health crisis.

In one part, Konstrakta uncovers the dough and just stares at it, along with her backup singers. They all stay there, perfectly still, like Mary watching Jesus in many religious imagery. They stay so still one wonders if something's really happening. As this section ends, a gate opens behind her as she adresses the "doctor", showing a white glow. This is the only time we get that the "doctor" is not really there, it's more like a self-reflection device. And this, once again, symbolizes the divinity amongst the profanity. Holy Modernity, mother of society. Once this happens, Konstrakta goes back to kneeading the bread. It's in the part where she talks about the need to go constantly up, putting up self-pressure and the anxiety of not being perceived as a perfect, functioning piece of society. It's a brilliant parallel.

As that section goes on, we can see one of her backup singers wave their white cloth around. The others stay perfectly still. This is also a symbolism of being the odd one out, how the one that's anxious and constantly on the grind is also frowned upon in some sense.

After the section where the singers tell Konstrakta to calm down, they start circling her while she keeps up her work. It becomes erratic and chaotic, just exactly as I had pictured in my head. Ultimately, Konstrakta is left alone on stage. Covering the dough once more, she claims "it's coming". The bread is coming. Modernity is coming. "Food" is coming.

I'm once again fascinated, throughly fascinated and thrilled by this woman's thought process. As I write this, I got the news she made it into the final! I'm so happy for her. March 3rd, I turn 26 years old. And it'd be the greatest early gift to see her win.

This was, indeed, new, better, and brilliant.

[turbulentscrawl]

hiii!!! could i maybe get a matchup?

i go by all pronouns and im currently questioning :3 (so perferrbly match me with a male? its all up to you though!)

Im an INTP, 6w5, my love language (giving) would probably be something like acts of service and words of affirmation and receiving would probably be gift giving and quality time. I'm into singing, cooking (i make soul ascending grilled cheeses/melts), color/winter gaurd (flag dance/normal dance, usually performed at school football games or in competition), and unusal history (like history not normally talked about in a classroom)!!! A couple of dealbreakers would be instigating my anger issues or comparing me to others through appreances, tastes, personality…etc.

In life I've been trying to aim into getting into the law field, but if that doesn't work out I'm considering going into hospitality or culinary. I have been told I'm an extreme perfectionist and I shut down if I feel like I don't do good enough, I have a bad memory and I have issues talking about things I enjoy that may be 'out of the norm', I have something called 'older sister syndrome', which bleeds into the previous mentioned anger issues and perfectionism

regarding appearance, im very pale with dirty ginger hair (maybe a little darker…? im not very sure) and i have a lot of freckles!! My usual aesthetic is acubi but I love wearing friendship bracelets that might make no sense with the outfit im wearing lol! I'm also really big into artists like PinkPantheress and Mitski !!!

I ship you with Naib Subedar!

-Naib’s seen some shit, and handles tension well, so your anger issues are pretty much a non-issue. And frankly, he’s a little hot-headed too, so he understands the struggle. Even if you get riled up and point it in his direction, he can shrug the majority of it off without much issue. He will expect an apology later, though, depending on how far you take things.

-While you’re a perfectionist, Naib is a realist, and I think you could both benefit one another in this regard. Naib can help draw back your self-imposed expectations a bit so you aren’t as hard on yourself, and you can remind Naib that he’s allowed to reach for the stars sometimes.

-He’s an only child to a single mother, so he doesn’t get the “Eldest Sister Syndrome” thing, but he’s very protective and inclined to stick up for you even when you won’t do it yourself. Like, he gets the fear of disappointing people, but you’re a sister not a parent and you shouldn’t be saddled with unfair expectations just because of when you were born. It’s not healthy, and he considers it his job to look out for you now. In all regards.

-Once again, he’s a walking trashcan. You liking to cook is a godsend. Fuck yes he wants a bomb-ass grilled cheese, do you even have to ask?

-I think you’d both look good in that acubi aesthetic! Power couple, anyone? He cringes a bit at the bracelets but he’d wear one if you really insisted….

Runner Up: Joseph

[seafoamchild]

i had another panic attack yesterday in the car on the way to the cacao farm. i'm not totally sure why. i just got super hot and starting sweating uncontrollably, felt tingling in my limbs, my whole body was clammy, and i thought i was going to be sick. i had to close my eyes even though we were driving through beautiful countryside and i wanted to see the landscape. i just kept telling myself that i'm in an adult body now and i don't have to be scared, i am safe.

examining my own psyche and confronting my past traumas has been a lonely experience. i feel isolated as i uncover the effects trauma has had on me. i know my pain is not unique, but it's a painful process to face things that have caused me so much anguish. i did not get to feel safe in my home while growing up. i had a volatile father prone to unpredictable and uncontrollable fits of rage, a mother who never stood up to him and made it our responsibility to "keep him happy", and a brother who was physically and psychologically abusive to me. i spent YEARS in hyper-vigilant fight-or-flight mode whenever i was around my family. i knew there was something wrong, but i always thought there was something wrong with ME, not my family.

i've been reading a lot about Complex PTSD and emotional flashbacks. it makes a lot more sense for what i've been experiencing. my mood swings always felt like something deeper than just depression or anxiety, but i could never quite figure out why i felt so bad, and why i felt so bad about my own existence in particular.

this article by Pete Walker resonated deeply with me. he writes about emotional flashbacks being "sudden and often prolonged regressions to the frightening and abandoned feeling-states of childhood... Typically they manifest as intense and confusing episodes of fear, toxic shame, and/or despair".

he also writes "toxic shame obliterates an individual's self-esteem with an overpowering sense that she is as worthless, stupid, contemptible or fatally flawed, as she was viewed by her original caregivers. Toxic shame inhibits the individual from seeking comfort and support, and in a reenactment of the childhood abandonment she is flashing back to, isolates her in an overwhelming and humiliating sense of defectiveness... When stuck in this state, they often polarize affectively into intense self-hate and self disgust, and cognitively into extreme and virulent self-criticism".

"Ongoing experience convinces me that some children respond to pervasive emotional neglect and abandonment by over-identifying or even merging their identity with the inner critic and adopting an intense form of perfectionism that triggers them into painful abandonment flashbacks every time they are less than perfect or perfectly pleasing".

i never knew about emotional flashbacks until recently, and i feel a sense of relief reading about them because that is precisely what i feel has been going on for all these years. i do ONE THING wrong and all of a sudden i can feel my heart sinking because i have once again proven myself to be a worthless, pointless waste of life who can't do anything right and doesn't deserve respect from anyone, much less love. i deserve to be hated, ridiculed, and abandoned. that's what my inner critic tells me.

it's a message from my inner child, letting me know that my wounds still haven't healed. i numbed my emotions as a child, and did not understand what was going on. but the emotions are still there, swelling up within me, begging to be addressed. what i really needed was for someone to tell me my emotions were valid, i was good enough just the way i was, that my needs were important too.

this process makes me tired because i just want to shut it all out and keep distracting myself with busyness and substances, but i won't. i wrote this down, for starters!

[steamworksfairy]

For the fandom ask thing: 1, 15 & 16 🎤

Thank you for the ask!!! 💚

1) Otp?

Verde/Everyone

I'll be real, I don't have a true otp for khr. I like too many characters, and Verde never had enough interactions with other characters for me to gravitate towards someone in specific. I do enjoy a lot of Verde/Arco content with Skull/Verde being a tried and true classic. But Reborn/Verde is also so good, and Fon/Verde-

You see what I mean? If I had a true second favorite character, this wouldn't happen. Amano made too many good characters!! But yeah, if you mention a Verde ship to me, chances are I ship it.

15) Have you noticed your style change over time?

I'll answer this for both art and writing!!

The simple answer is yes to both.

Art wise---I've seen so much improvement! I'm actually trying to actively develop an art style. Turns out learning anatomy really does help. Which is crazy because I've only been trying to improve for a year, and the growth I've had is phenomenal!!! I've actually noticed that I'll do this thing in my head where the right way to draw a line so I can draw x thing will just come to me. And I've developed an art beast!!! Whenever I doubt myself, this guy will pop up and tell me,'Shut up, keep going,this is good shit!!!' It's actually more aggressive than that, but I love that I'm developing something to combat perfectionism.

Writing wise---I went from terrible to omg I'm a genius to I'm rusty as hell...so there's definitely been some change lol 😅

I know I'll get to a place in my writing where I am satisfied again. I just need to start writing more. On the upside, I am writing something that I find to be really fun. I keep spaming one of the servers I'm in with my live blogging of it because I can not contain how insane I am over what I'm working on right now. It's so good!!!

16) Do people irl know you participate in fandom?

They do! My family knows I write fanfics and draw fanart. I don't share any of my writings with my family (I'm too embarrassed lmao) but they have seen my fanart. My mom, in particular, has said she wants to see my original stuff again. She says, and I quote, " It's better than whoever designed what you're currently drawing." She went on to give the tried and true mom response of 'My child's art is the best thing in the world. No one compares.' And then asked me to draw my ocs again.

And she's right. I really should, but Verde has a hold on me and refuses to let go. Maybe one day I'll be able to draw ocs again. Maybe one day.

[musical-chick-13]

The workshop thing wasn't great in that respect but it wasn't that bad either because it was so clear that people were jealous when they were being harsher than the professors, who did step in at points when it veered from critiquing stylistic choices into doing exactly what people who think tagging fics on that post is okay are doing. It didn't discourage me from writing but it did solidify my decision not to major in creative writing (this is probably also why I in particular was a target: it wasn't my major, it was a hobby, but I was as qualified as them and got as much praise as they did and even one time more than them on the very first exercise of my first workshop, which probably didn't sit right with them, but only fueled me further because I am nothing if not a creature of spite).

And that's the thing too: so many people can't grasp that there's a huge difference between "this isn't for me" and "this has a lot of issues". Which to preface, unless someone's asked you to beta for them keep your mouth shut. They're doing this for free. Exit out if there are too many errors or whatever (and errors isn't even exactly the word I want but I'm exhausted and didn't sleep enough last night). Not that those people SHOULD beta either even if they were asked, honestly, because they clearly do not have a grasp on what constructive criticism actually is or how it works. You don't need a workshop to learn that either, just basic human decency and Google.

But like anyways. In the workshops I read plenty of things I just Did Not Vibe With, but were objectively very, very good art and you could tell how much care the author put into them. Sometimes things just aren't for you and the author didn't poorly execute that concept, actually.

I ran into this a lot in Performance World, too, back when I was trying to get a singing/stage performing career off the ground. There are SO many threads of that part of my life I can relate to this discussion and it would take far too long to explain them all, but there VERY much was a culture of perfectionism. Jealousy and extreme competition were incredibly prevalent, lots of "stay in your box," lots of complaining if people didn't stay in their box. Even when we were learning (or doing community theatre just to stay in practice or build up a resume), the stakes always seemed astronomically high. Someone could do a passable or even genuinely good job; but if it wasn't good in the "right" way, then it was still seen as meaningless.

For courtesy's sake, I'm putting the rest of my thoughts under a cut, because. Well. This got long. As answers by me are wont to do.

There also was a lot of "pick a genre" and "this is the only MEANINGFUL type of music/art/etc." The opera crowd hated that I liked musicals and pop music because those styles were all "stupid" and "frivolous" and "simple" (which isn't. even true, no art form is a monolith, and what those words mean is going to be different for every person, but, you know). Everyone else hated that I sang opera because it was a "pretentious art form" and "boring" and "sexist/racist/etc." (Those first two are incredibly subjective, and plenty of modern opera works exist that seeks to not uphold those forms of prejudice.) There was "if you look like [x], then you can't do [y performance type]." "If your voice sounds like this, then you can't EVER pursue ANY roles outside of this small pool of stuff because you need to know your place; if you don't, people will think you're making Bad Art." And then you, at best, get shamed, and, at worst, can't make a living.

All of this, of course, was a matter of opinion. Most of it, like you said, boiled down to the fact that people were doing things that weren't, actually, bad or untalented or ineffective--they just didn't work for people. They didn't meet some arbitrary, subjective standard that had no real, concrete, actual meaning. But when people with any degree of power start taking their artistic opinions as immovable fact, we end up with...well, we end up with the current theatre climate, and we end up with whatever is happening in fandom communities right now. (Because just as there are some people who, for insisting on a lack of constructive criticism, should not be beta readers, there are some who should not be educators or directors.)

There were a lot of reasons that I eventually stopped performing publicly/on stage. But a big part of it was that I just didn't want to deal with that culture anymore. When I made the decision to walk away, I had gotten to the point where I'd started to hate singing. My primary form of expression, of catharsis, of solace, since I was eight or nine years old. And luckily, withdrawing from a professional pursuit of art has helped me get some of that back. But I see those same issues--that same negativity, that same judgment--starting to pop up in something that isn't even meant to be for money or a career or anything other than personal expression. I see so many people getting discouraged, starting to lose the love they had for that expression. My love of art was almost taken away from me, to the point where for a very long time I couldn't even do it for fun, alone, in the private comfort of my house. And if I can do anything to prevent that from happening to someone else, I sure as hell will.

I'm glad that you were still able to get some good out of that workshop, because that's not always easy to do when the people around you are acting like that. (And kudos to realizing that you didn't want to do this as a major/career, that's not always easy to do either.) And I know I've talked more about professional art, but this is so prevalent in the way people talk about community theatre, too. Being upset that a student production doesn't have Super Stellar Voices/Acting, ragging on amateur singers just for posting a karaoke video on their personal Facebook page, expecting Met-opera-level singing quality or Shakespeare-scholar levels of acting text analysis from a group of volunteers who are spending their precious few after-work hours to put on a musical, just because they want to share that story with people. I've seen lots of comments that it's not meaningful because it's "bad." When. I've done a lot of community theatre. Plenty of it is not bad, actually. If you hate it that much, you don't have to attend a production. (Just like how. if you hate a fic. you can hit the back button.) And even if it is "bad." It's still going to be meaningful to someone. Even in a "bad" production, at least ONE of the actors or crew members will have a good time helping create it. And at least ONE audience member is going to have a good time; whether that be because they simply love theatre, someone they love is involved with the production, or because they don't care about an arbitrary "quality" measurement. And I absolutely think the same thing is true of writing, and of fanfiction especially.

If, for example, someone goes to karaoke and screams "I Dreamed A Dream" from Les Mis extremely off-key and grating, because they're experiencing a shitty situation and just need some catharsis? I don't have the right to rag on them for that, I would be an asshole. If someone posts a cover for fun on YouTube of...I don't know, "Take On Me" and can't hit the high notes, but wants to pay tribute to a song they love, who the fuck would I be to take that away from them? So if someone writes a "silly" or "stupid" or oh-God-forbid "cringe" piece of fanfiction (which. AGAIN. do not have any concrete meaning because those are SUBJECTIVE TERMS) to get some feelings out or to talk about how much they love a fictional character. Well, I think if you call them names over that and try to publicly shame or harass them, then, quite frankly, you are engaging in pointless, cruel, and braincell-less behavior. And you can stay 10,000 feet away from me.

[fumikomiyasaki]

“ i love these lips ” Geoffrey and Julian

“ let me make you feel good ” Chizuko and Flynn

Sweet nothings

Around the late night many of the students went back to their dorm room, however Geoffrey could still make out a flimmer of light from the dance room. Julian was still practicing a little, letting his perfectionism get to him and eventually stopping as he heard Geoffrey come in.

“Shouldn’t you be resting up already?”

“I am just a worker, what can I say.”

“You are a moron, that is what.”

Julian smirked and drew closer to him.

“At least I was lucky enough to catch you alone, say would you at least give me a little reward for my work today?”

He sighed but then pulled Julian closer, clashing his tongue with his... him wrapping his arms around Geoffreys neck and smiling.

“I love these lips. They keep me motivated and up at night.”

“Just shut up and get to sleep already.”

“Oh you don’t want to join me.”

He smacked him on the ass and glared at him.

“I am serious Julian.”

“Alright well that is enough for me. See you tomorrow boss. Hope we meet inside the dream world.”

[cyanomys]

Being a DM with OCD sucks >:(

I wanna vent a little bit about how my stupid brain makes my hobby (running D&D and ttrpgs) suck

If I want to run a game in an established setting, I feel like I need to know EVERYTHING about the setting before I am "qualified" to run a game in it. I feel like I have to read every single thing that has been written/made about it and remember it all, which is impossible and never-ending.

Even if I'm not running a game in a certain setting but instead in a certain genre, I feel like I must consume enough media in that genre to be "qualified", which is, again impossible because the goal posts for how much is enough always move further and further away

Even if somehow don't have those problems, then I feel like I need to know the RULES inside and out and there is never an end to where I feel like I have studied the rulebook enough

Even if I did somehow meet all those criteria, I have a really bad memory (well actually, I remember stuff, but it's more like I have really bad recall.) So even if I do ALL the research I can't actually remember any of it anyway and feel like I'm never going to be "qualified" to do it right regardless

If I decide to make my own setting or pursue a unique genre, I once again find myself on a neverending treadmill of needing to fractally add infinite detail to every single thing -- IN EQUAL AMOUNTS. So if I write 3 paragraphs on one thing of a kind (a certain nation for example) I have to write exactly 3 paragraphs on every other one. Then if I get creative and write 5 paragraphs for one, in my pursuit of making them all equal I have to GO BACK and make them ALL 5 paragraphs. This also happens when I prep.

I struggle with not seeing the trees for the forest. That is to say, I often take a really top-down, zoomed-out view of things which leads to me getting really overwhelmed because I'm unable to figure out how to make the small scale stuff (where play actually happens) meet up with and make sense with all the big scale stuff. And when I get overwhelmed I shut down completely.

On top of all this horrible OCD shit going on in my head, I have ADHD. So I can want to prep really bad and then be unable to sit down and do it, or unable to focus on what I'm reading. Or worse, if I have an idea I'm really excited about, because of the emotional disregulation I will get so excited about the idea THAT I CAN'T PREP. Like I will literally be too physically excited and have to go do zoomies and can't write down my ideas (which I will then, FORGET. In the process of being excited)

And then on top of THAT there's the normal social pressure to do a good job. Which is often the straw that breaks the camel's back yknow. And also tends to feed right into my moral OCD. "I'm letting my friends down" -> "I'm a bad friend" -> "I'm bad I'm bad I'm bad I'm bad I'm-"

Like obviously I know all of this is irrational but that doesn't really help :[

Anyway OCD sucks. 0 stars. Do not recommend. Honestly it's a miracle I ever run games at all. 😭 Doing my hobby, WHICH I AM SUPPOSED TO ENJOY, requires actively fighting against some of my worst compulsions (completeness, perfectionism, and scrupulosity.)

I had a therapist once say "well if it causes you so much pain why do it" and I was like clearly you haven't been listening because I can make almost anything painful lmao. Actually the fact that I care about it is the REASON my mental health issues interfere so bad. It makes me want to control it more and make it perfect. So no matter what I do really, my mental health interferes. Might as well try to do the thing I like, even if I mostly fail :(

[nathanloydndungu]

Fear of Failure, Perfectionism, and the Prerequisites of Success

Overcoming a fear of failure is a prerequisite to people attaining their very best, in business and in life. When failure is forefront in one’s mind, the consequences of not succeeding take center stage. One becomes hesitant to engage in any action that holds significant risk, for fear they will once and for all have to give up the dream of that specific achievement.

At root, this fear is often related to perfectionism, as both tendencies reflect underlying issues such as being overly sensitive to criticism and having low self-esteem. Placing overly high standards on everything, perfectionists are often critical of their own behavior, as well as that of others. Striving to ensure that their work has no flaws, they avoid situations that leave them exposed to criticism. This constricts life’s options, as one lacks the will to fully spread one’s wings and fly.

Another aspect of the fear/perfectionism matrix involves battling through a sense that one is never good enough. Many people with these issues are constantly holding themselves to, and measuring themselves against unrealistic models, goals, and aspirations. When this takes a mild form, it can actually be an excellent motivator, keeping one working toward milestones, without being satisfied with the first draft or attempt. However, when such a way of thinking dominates, it can easily feed into anxiety and lead to a shutting off from experiences that one cannot master. Fear of failure in this case translates to procrastination and the failure to complete, or even attempt, challenging projects.

Beyond unrealistic expectations, fear of failure often has to do with having incomplete information, or not quite knowing what the exact steps are to achieving success. Being fixated on an overly broad goal, without understanding the details of what makes something work, can lead to frustration and giving up too soon.

One way of diminishing fear of failure is to embrace failure as a learning opportunity, for learning the nuts and bolts of what enables consistent progress. Even those success stories touted as “overnight” were often years in the making, and involved multiple moments when no headway was made and the person almost gave up. Gradually, through falling and learning how to get on one’s feet again, one gains a sense of balance, whatever winds are buffeting one’s external reality.

As a corollary to this, it’s best not to take failure personally, even if it impacts one’s personal life. When it comes to guiding the success of a project or organization, it’s key to realize that any successful organization is built on the efforts of many, not just a few. While taking responsibility is an important trait, that does not mean that one must bear the weight of an entire operation, or others’ mistakes, fully on one’s shoulders. Rather than being hyper-focused on an organization’s failure, and overestimating one’s role in the outcome, accentuate the positives that come from competing at a high level and use past failures as a stepping stone toward future growth.

One proponent of this view is Kenyan entrepreneur Nathan Loyd Ndungu, who in his book My Successful Failures proposes the idea that “sometimes we win and sometimes we learn.” He emphasizes the importance of “dark nights of the soul” in bringing people to their essential qualities, stripped of artifice or ego. From this bottom place, one is in a position to clearly reassess and pinpoint overarching goals and objectives that shape a journey that will provide progress, despite setbacks along the way.

[morganmerylhodgepodge]

Maybe its because I can't seem to draw at all right now, but I've been thinking a lot about the preceeding issues perhaps leading up to it. Namely, my frustration with the backgrounds I drew and how they didn't hold up to my idea if professional work. A while before that, I gave up on boxing myself into the skinnier, taller American format of comics by being inspired to make Bande-Desinee inspired wider pages. I even used rectangular balloons.

The more I think about everything the more I'm unsure of everything.

How does one reconcile their abilities and personal style with what is conventional to get work?

How do you reconcile your perfectionism to make things look good, with actually getting things DONE, finished... getting things OUT THERE?

Do you just... make things and hope for the best? How do you know you have something people will want? Will hire you for? In an industry that tends to not respond at all if they aren't interested, instead of telling you what you did wrong and what needs to be changed. And in a world where web comics are ubiquitous where people can just say "just post it online, that's enough."

Because it isn't enough. I want to make things for other people. I want to be paired with a writer. I want to work on existing IP. I'm not a good writer and I'm way more interested in drawing. I want to be put on assignment. But how do I do any of this in the first place?

I've never finished a thing in my goddamn life, 3 decades + on this earth. Is it my perfectionist tendencies? Do I just need to accept my art, flaws and all? Or is that the professional in me that's making sure that I don't just put out crap? That's making things that publishers will actually want? Or am I not good enough for that and should just give up already?

What do you guys think? Do I need to learn to let go when I get back to it, and just do the best with what I have, because finishing things is better than not finishing things?

Or is this a good thing because I'm doing my best to put out professional art?

Or does it not matter at all because I'll never be good enough anyways in this competitive market, so I should just either have fun with it or shut up already?

Let me know.

[carolineasweet-blog]

The Uninvited Guest

I have an uninvited guest - constantly - an uninvited, invisible guest. It pokes up, most violently, when I am trying to socialize. At a dinner party, a show, any social event these days, really. My invisible guest, my mind, which keeps talking to me and won’t shut up, goddamit. I want to name you. I strive, constantly, to give you a label. Anxiety? Depression? Narcissism? Perfectionism? None of them fit you perfectly. But I know one thing - I hate you. You are loud, you pull focus. You are judgemental and self involved. You are the worst of me. My ADHD? Nah, that’s not right either. At times, I can quiet you, and sometimes we coexist. 

It’s gotten worse since the pandemic, to be sure. I am at peace in my home, by myself - with no additional eyes to gaze upon me. If I’m being generous, you’re my Libran tendencies to put the shoe on the other foot. As I write that sentence, you sit next to me and ask, “Is this the time? Is this the time you feared when they all find out you can’t write anything good?” Man, you sure lack boundaries. Boundaryless, limitless - these things have positive connotations for me, but you’re an asshole. 

I often wonder when we get a break from the self work. Some people, it seems, are always on a break. (There you go again...) But most of us are working toward something, and when does it end? I know the answer is never, but why? Fuck that. I’d like to arrive. It’s like a city constantly under construction - when will we ever let well enough alone? When?? A city is not itself when marred in scaffolding and orange cones. And if it is, that’s not a city I’d like to visit. At some point, we gotta call it. 

I’m ready for my jaw to unclench. I’m ready to let go of this idea that there is a perfect version of myself. I’d like to remove the scaffolding and the signs around my potholes. But you, my guest, won’t let me. You, who were not invited to this dinner, have somehow dictated the entire thing. I served the appetizer, and you held court through the entirety of dinner. To say ‘I hate you’ would be to say ‘I hate myself,’ but that’s not true. I love myself. I love part of myself. I generally have a good personality. I’ve got a great ass, and a wonderful sense of style. No wonder you like to stick around. 

I’ve given up on the idea of happiness - that’s too much pressure, so they now say - and I’m focusing on contentedness. To be content. With you beside me, I suppose. So let’s work this out, shall we? You’re uninvited, but you’re here. So how can I love you too? Well, let’s see... you’re judgey, so I’m judgey. And while that’s not always great because it’s a projection of my own need for perfection, it does also make me the occasional good comedian. Everyone loves a well-timed criticism, yes? Let’s maybe just stick to common enemies. Ok, so you’re funny. I suppose you’re also health-oriented, though I could stand to take a break from the constant ‘Am I dying?’ narrative. I have seen doctors regularly and kept an eye on myself, potentially saving me from long term high blood pressure! What else are you good at? Well, you can always pick up on who is uncomfortable and shift the tone of a conversation. You’re constantly thinking about how others feel, and you do want what’s best for me. You really do, even if you have a funny way of showing it. You are the funny, dark, goth friend who sometimes concerns us, but really is an interesting trip. 

Ok friend, I take it back. You’re ok. You’re invited. Sit next to me, and saddle up. Just try to be a little quieter? And come back next time with wine. Or not. We have been trying to cut back - or at least you’ve been telling me to. Thanks for always looking out for me. 

[whisperedfury]

Megara Character Parallels, aka queer coded mean girls

Heather Chandler (Heathers) A Mean Girl. Vain and selfish - likes to be in control and will ruin you if you cross her. Very little patience for stupidity, killer one-liners. Honestly just an Icon 
 “Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? First you ask if you can be red, knowing that I’m always red.”

Theo Crain (The Haunting of Hill House) Literally the Worst at feelings. “A clenched fist with hair”. Says fuck way too much, also thinks she can fix everything. Has one (1) emotional outpouring per year. 
“And I’m just floating in this ocean of nothing, and I wonder if this is it, if this is what death is, just out there in the darkness, just darkness and numbness and alone, and I wondered if that’s what she felt and that’s what mom feels, and its just numb and nothing and alone.”

Amy Elliot-Dunne (Gone Girl) Vengeful and cold. Playing the long game and probably has at least three plans to frame you for something. Knows how to craft herself into what people want and expect. Old Testament God vengeance. “You are a man. You are an average, lazy, boring, cowardly, woman-fearing man. Without me, that's what you would have kept on being, ad nauseam. But I made you into something. You were the best man you've ever been with me. And you know it. The only time in your life you've ever liked yourself was pretending to be someone I might like.”

Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99) Unknowable (TM), Actually a very supportive friend, knows most people’s secrets. Always armed. “You can’t let other people’s opinions get in the way of what you want, especially because other people suck.”

Josh Lyman (The West Wing) Human Disaster with a brilliant political mind, works in a constant state of panic. Repressed tragedy and trauma. “He goes through every day worried that somebody he likes is going to die and its going to be his fault. What do you think makes him walk so fast?” “President Bartlett’s a good man. He’s got a good heart. He doesn’t hold grudges. That’s what he pays me for”

Azula (Avatar the Last Airbender) Child soldier energy, repressing trauma through perfectionism. Low key about to breakdown at any given moment. Competitive sibling relationship that can get violent. Has absolutely had a crisis and cut her own bangs before. Coup by girlbossing. “Don’t flatter yourself. You were never even a player.”

Margo Hanson (The Magicians) THATS MY HIGH KING. Willing to do whatever it takes to keep her power. Loves very few people but would literally go to the ends of the earth to save them (wow how tragic that season four ended with episode 10?) A manipulative cunt. “But he didn’t tell you that the world makes you choose. You can be one of the smart ones or one of the pretty ones or even a strong one. But...try to be all three...you better learn to smile and shut up... Because the second you’re you, the second…” “I’m loud, pissed off, it's ‘what a bitch.’ ‘what a slut’ ‘who the fuck does she think she is?’” “So you never give them a chance. You hit first. And anyone dumb enough to hit back soon finds that there’s no hurting you, sheathed in all that hard, glossy armor.”

Beth Dutton (Yellowstone) Burn it all down to defend your home. Quite literally does not have a limit of what she’d do to protect those she loves. Desperate to prove herself to parental figures. “I subscribe to Neitzsche’s thoughts on right and wrong. He was a German philosopher who died of syphilis after he corn-holed some prostitute, so not exactly a life to model yours after, but his thoughts on right and wrong, good and evil... Which were: there’s no such thing. That, I believe. I believe in loving with your whole soul and destroying anything that wants to kill what you love. That’s it. That’s all there is.” 

[gubler-me-up]

Perfectionism

Request: HELLOO, I’ve had an idea for literally months in my head but I wouldn’t be able to write it as good as you 🥺 Would you mind doing a Spencer reaction to his crush having bad body dysmorphia that they’ve been hiding from the team (they’re working for bau) but at a case or smn someone they’re interviewing comments negatively on their body and they break down once they think they’re alone? But Spence sees and reaches out and it’s really wholesome and soft? I’m a sucker for angsty fluff I’m sorry 😔

A/N: Thanks for the prompt anon, much appreciated! I hope this does justice to your well thought-out idea. I hope it satisfies all your angsty fluff needs! Side note, to everyone of my followers/readers I hope you know you’re beautiful and finding love/happiness within yourself takes time, but trust the process, loves ❤️ Enjoy! 

Category: Angsty fluff

Content warning: Swearing, mention of violence, self degradation

Word count: 2.3k

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

You stood in front of the mirror inside the police department’s washroom. You finished applying another thick layer of foundation on your face. You knew applying this much makeup to your face wasn’t good. Your dermatologist even recommended against it and advised you to let your skin breathe for a while to prevent over clogging your pores. He didn’t understand the problem of doing that though.

Without the concealer masking the dark circles under your eyes, you’d probably look dead. Maybe even worse. Without the foundation, your acne and healing acne scars would definitely bring unwanted attention to your face. It was certain to happen.

You had to wear them all the time, especially at work. You thought of how JJ probably never had to go through this. Her face was free of any sort of marks or blemishes. She always looked alive with her bright blue eyes with no heavy bags insight. No wonder Spencer had a crush on her a few years back.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of your phone on the bathroom counter. You looked down to see Spencer’s name pop up informing you it was time to interview the suspect. A sigh left your mouth as you started packing up your products into your travel beauty kit.

As you walked out of the door, you noticed Spencer at the end of the poorly lit hall leading back out to the main lobby. When he noticed you were walking down the hall towards him, he smiled and waved. Sometimes you thought he was the cutest genius in the world.

“Hey, didn’t know you were waiting for me,” you said.

He shrugged. “Thought it would be nice for us to walk to the interview room together.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nodded as you both started walking towards the interview room. You couldn’t help noticing he kept on looking at you. Especially your face. What if he saw your acne scars? Or even the acne itself? What if he was just noticing how strange your face looked?

You stopped walking. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

He stopped walking as well as he gave you a questionable look. “What?”

“Is there a reason you keep looking at my face?” You asked.

He shook his head. “No, no reason, I just-”

“You just what?” You said before he even finished his sentence.

Spencer was taken back by your tone. Your words made it seem as if he was attacking you. You could tell from his confused facial expression. Before he could get a chance to pull his words together, you started walking again.

“Forget it. Let’s just focus on this interview.”

Spencer watched as you walked by him. He trailed behind you, trying his best not to say anything else. You knew you shouldn’t have snapped at him the way you did, but you couldn’t bear the possibility of him pointing out a flaw. You just knew he could see everything you tried so hard to hide.

As you two reached the interview room door you felt Spencer gently grab your arm. You turned to him to see how concerned he looked. Before you said anything he made sure to get the first few words out.

“Y/N, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable back there. Whatever’s troubling you I’m here to help you get through it,” he assured you.

You smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate you, Spence. For now, let’s put what happened behind us for now and go interview this guy.”

Reid smiled as he gently squeezed your arm before letting you go. It felt nice having him reassure you, but he didn’t even know what he was reassuring you about. Maybe he didn’t notice your facial imperfections at all. Maybe he was genuinely admiring your face.

You opened up the interview room to see a dark-haired, middle-aged, white man sitting across the table. He was well put together with a buttoned-up blue shirt, black tie and his hair was slicked back. Physically he matched the profile perfectly. He looked as if he exuded arrogance as your profile detected the unsure would be like. He tried to keep a cool and emotionless demeanour, but by his furrowed eyebrows and wrinkling forehead, he was becoming impatient.

“Hello, I’m agent Y/N Y/L/N and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Adam Boyer, correct?” You said as you and Spencer took your seats.

“Glad you can read documents, agent,” he scoffed.

“I wouldn’t get so smart-mouthed yet, Boyer. According to some sketchy transactions between you, John McNeil and Robert Morrison it seems as if you have a lot to hide for someone so vocal,” you said.

He squinted his eyes at you. “What does this even have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those two men are dead. You were the last person to contact both of them the day they died. A transaction of over half a million dollars goes missing and you get mad and-“

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, agent, but I didn’t murder my colleagues over money. My company makes more than that in a day, so spare me of your pathetic accusations.”

Before you could reply, Spencer jumped in to level out the tension between you and Boyer. He opened a file on the desk and pointed to a bank statement.

“It says here on your financial records your company is $1.5 million dollars in debt. We discovered Robert Morrison and John McNeil both gave you back their shares of the company to equate $500,000, which is legally a breach in the company’s contract for workers, including yourself, to share, distribute or give away company shares without a reasonable cause. According to the list of reasonable cause you failed to mention bankruptcy or were too arrogant at the time to force something like that happening to you,” Spencer said.

With everything he said, you could tell Boyer’s cool exterior was wearing off. He looked glossier in the face, started fidgeting with his tie and refused to look directly at Spencer. He decided to direct his attention to you instead.

“Well, isn’t that a huge mistake on my part, ain’t it?” He asked directly to you.

“Huge mistake or huge flaw in your plan of getting away with murdering your colleagues? I think it’s the second one, Boyer,” you said.

He leaned back in his chair without breaking any eye contact with you. He folded his hand in front of his chest. You had to admit he made your feel a bit uncomfortable.

“What else do you think?” He asked.

“I think you murdered your colleagues when they found out you had taken back their share of the company to pay back your debts. They would have ratted you out, got you fired from your own company or even worse, the whole company would have shut down and you’d have nothing left.”

“Nothing left,” Boyer said seemingly to himself.

“Yes, absolutely nothing. Your wife divorced you, took full custody of your two boys and now you spend your days throwing your money-approximately $1.5 million dollars-on trying to buy love from escorts,” you said.

It was as if something had woken up inside of him as he almost pounced across the table. Both you and Spencer got out of your seats with Spencer using his arm to block the front of you. It was as if it was a natural instinct for him to protect you before bracing himself.

“Sit down,” Spencer demanded.

“At least I have escorts willing to ride my dick. You couldn’t even pay a male stripper to look at that face of yours. Where’s the pretty agent who was in here before? If I’m going to be accused of a crime, I’d rather be accused by someone half decent looking. Get my fucking lawyer on the phone,” he proceeded to yell.

Though you shouldn’t have felt as bad as you did by the words he said, you did. The blunt force in his voice was vicious. The way he looked at you in disgust. His disgust was too real. He was bold enough to look at you the way everyone wanted to, but was too cautious to do it in front of your face.

“I’ll get your lawyer on the phone, you psycho,” you whispered before turning around to leave.

“Don’t forget to bring the real eye candy in as well, sweetheart,” he said.

You didn’t bother looking back at him or even Spencer. You felt your eyes get heavy with tears and knew it would be terrible to show weakness to such a vile suspect. You rushed out of the room before Spencer could stop you or even follow you close behind.

You rushed towards the washroom as your tears were at the brim of your eyes. As you reached the door, you paused. What if someone was in there? What if Emily or JJ saw you crying? You retracted your steps and decided to go to the family washroom instead.

You didn’t even wait until the door was fully closed before letting out your tears. You heavily wept to yourself as you replayed everything he had said to you. Spencer probably stood there agreeing with everything he said, word for word. Your face being hideous, JJ’s beauty surpassing the little you had, no one wanting you. You backed up against the wall to avoid the mirror, to avoid the disgusting reflection in the mirror.

The only reason you looked up was that you heard the washroom door open. You saw Spencer peak in. When he saw the tears running down your face, he didn’t hesitate to go over to you with concern written all over his face.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? I hope he didn’t get to you,” he said as he reached out his hands.

You assumed he was going to try to wipe the tears from your face, so you pushed away his hands. You couldn’t stand the thought of him touching your face if he thought it was hideous. You didn’t even want him looking at you directly. You looked down to avoid your face being in the presence of his.

He attempted to lift your head up by placing his hand on your chin. You flinched at his touch and moved your head out of his grasp. New tears started to spill from your eyes as you looked at him with despair.

“Can you stop, Spencer?” You wept.

He looked at you confused. “Stop what?”

“Looking at me. I know my face is ugly, okay? Everyone knows and it’s just degrading for you to pretend not to notice,” you snapped at him.

“Y/N, what are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

“Spencer, I know you see it. My acne and acne scars. It doesn’t help that my face is always shiny and my cheeks are chubby. You don’t have to pretend to be blind to it for the sake of my feelings.”

“You thought I was looking at you earlier because you think I think you’re ugly? Y/N that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then why were you looking at me? Be honest.”

“Because I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Ugh, Spencer, you don-”

He grabbed both your hands in his big ones, grasping them tightly. You looked down at your hands in his and then looked up into his eyes. He looked longingly at you. You could see the genuine look of love in his face.

“Y/N, I know what you’re going through. Body dysmorphia’s not an easy thing to fight off by yourself, but I want to assure you every day that I think you’re the most beautiful person I know; both inside and out.”

You let out a deep breath as you felt round three of tears coming to your eyes. Honestly, you couldn’t think of a moment you felt genuinely pretty. His words could move mountains.

“But if Adam Boyer could-”

“Please don’t let a psychopath make you feel unsure of yourself. He only belittled you because he lost control of the situation and decided to target you. His idea of a perfect girl is someone he can dominate, which makes him disgusting not you.”

He let go of your right hand as he wiped away a tear making its way down your face. You grasped his left hand hard as he touched your face. It still made you feel uncomfortable, but you were happy Spencer cared deeply for you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched your face if you’re not comfortable with that yet. I know it takes time to breakdown this idea of what perfect is especially with so many beauty standards being pushed by society, but I’ll be here to help you realize you’re the most beautiful you. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way,” he said.

You smiled at his words as you wiped away the few stray tears running down your face. You had to admit you liked it better when he did it. You leaned your head back, took a deep breath, let it out and then looked at Spencer.

“Thank you for being you. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way as well,” you said.

He smiled. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. If you want me to be that is.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Maybe after we’re done with this case we can do something together to help you remember the beautiful person you are.”

“I’d love that.”

You both walked towards the washroom door. Spencer made sure not to let go of your hand until you two left the washroom. You felt as if he wanted you to grasp onto the positive energy he had for you. You felt uplifted in a way. This must be the benefit of the Spencer Reid effect.

—–

MASTERLIST

[northofdespair]

Well. This was going to be a 500-character anonymous ask. I had no plans of using this forgotten Tumblr account. And then I wrote 2k in one sitting this afternoon.

So, Clem, this is for you! Hats off for drawing me out of the abyss to pen a little pseudo-fic for my favorite pairing of all time. Forgive (m)any mistakes and the informal style, I suppose I really could have refined it, but I wanted to get this out here before it went to collect dust with the rest of my 30k+ of Obikin WIPs due to crippling perfectionism. 😅 I will say it’s a bit angsty and a departure from Anakin finding Obi-Wan’s fighting nothing but sexy… there is nothing to say he didn’t in the past, but my brain just went on auto-pilot and this is what happened. Hope you get a little enjoyment out of it anyways! 😘

For those of you who have not read it yet, you’ll get a lot more out of this post if you read @obiwanobi’s posts here, here, here, and here. <3

~*~

So Fight Club AU, right? What if Ahsoka and Anakin make their way down to the lower levels, following a lead on their latest undercover assignment. They decide to split up to search for what they’re looking for and Ahsoka soon finds herself weaving through the cheering and jeering crowds of a club that is far too loud and flashy. She peeks curiously over the tops of various creatures’ heads to see what they’re shouting about and sees a human and a Devaronian trading blows. A fight, whatever. They happen all the time in the lower leve-IS THAT MASTER KENOBI?!

That is DEFINITELY Master Kenobi and boy, she’s never been one to rat out fellow Jedi, but even if he’s grinning like a madman, he is hurt, and oh she is getting Anakin right now, because she doesn’t know exactly what to do, and Force knows that if Obi-Wan will listen to anyone, it’s Anakin. He’s not far away, and when she drags him into the club, he goes a little pale at the sight of Obi-Wan in the ring, standing victoriously over his opponent. 

 She thinks that he’s going to go get him, pull him aside and do something to fix this, but suddenly someone else in the crowd spots him. Suddenly the cheers and taunts are directed at Anakin, and Ahsoka has no idea what the kriff is happening. All at once Anakin is being pulled and pushed, and then both of her Masters are in the ring, eyeing each other up and down and squaring off. Obi-Wan flirts with Anakin as though he expected him to be there, as though he were an enemy, and her jaw drops as Anakin flirts back. Anakin quickly glances at Ahsoka over the crowd, and they begin.

 It is both everything and nothing like watching them spar at the Temple. She sees all the ways in which they are familiar with each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but here the graceful arcs of lightsabers have been traded for brutal, bare-knuckled blows. They sweep under and over each other, deftly avoiding blows as much as landing them, and the crowd loves it. She spares a glance at the bookie, who looks like the tooka that caught the mouse-droid.

 As the fight goes on, Ahsoka realizes two things. 

 One, this is not the first time that they have fought in this ring. Even for Jedi–an identity that they are suppressing extremely well considering the circumstances–they are altogether too at ease with the brutal hand-to-hand combat. The way they dance around each other and strike viperously quick would be beautiful if it weren’t so horrible. It is certainly awe-striking, and while all Jedi are trained in hand-to-hand, she’s never seen them fight like this.

 Two, Obi-Wan is incredible. Anakin is holding his own and powerful in his own right, but even after knocking that Devarionian to the floor, bruised, bleeding, and tired, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a force to be reckoned with.

 In a flurry of movement, Obi-Wan pins Anakin to the ground, just managing to overpower his former student despite his injuries. Ahsoka can barely see over the crowd as he sits on top of his Padawan, then offers him a hand up. She can’t discern their expressions, but they do not say anything to each other and make their way out of the ring, going in vaguely the same direction. 

 Ahsoka presses her lips together and follows Anakin to demand what in Sith Hells just happened. Suddenly the mysterious bruises that Anakin had started showing up with–the ones that he thought he was hiding well–make some sort of surreal sense.

 She catches up to him in an abandoned alleyway seven blocks or so away from the club and opens her mouth to lay into him, but before she can draw breath, Obi-Wan’s figure melts out of the shadows from the other direction. Neither man has seen her, and something about the intense look on Obi-Wan’s face makes her slip into the shadows herself. 

 She has to slap a hand over her mouth to tamp down on a surprised squeak a second later as Obi-Wan takes Anakin by the shoulders, slams him into the wall, and kisses him hard. Anakin kisses him back, hands coming up to scrabble at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and breaks the kiss to get out, 

 “Wait, Obi-Wan,“ he gasps as Obi-Wan bites at his neck and Ahsoka wants to flee, but she feels rooted in place. “Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, she- hhhn- stop, would you?” He finally brings his hand to the side of Obi-Wan’s face, catching his attention for long enough to realize that he’s serious, if a little dazed. “Ahsoka saw us fight.” 

 His voice is quiet, but Ahsoka has always had good hearing, even for a Togruta. Obi-Wan freezes, and the two stare at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily into each other’s space. 

 “She led me to you because you were hurt,” Anakin whispers, and the tender concern on his face as he brushes a thumb over Obi-Wan’s swollen cheekbone is enough to cause Ahsoka to avert her gaze. 

 “Anakin, you know-“ Obi-Wan’s voice is different from any time she’s ever heard it, deep and rumbling with an emotion she doesn’t... quite want to think about, but Anakin cuts him off. 

 “I know, Master. I know. But she was worried, and I don’t... think she was wrong to be,” it comes out hesitant, and she looks up to find that Anakin looks like he’s prepared to flinch away from a blow. 

 Before tonight, Ahsoka never would have thought that her Grandmaster was capable of dealing any such hit to Anakin, but Anakin’s split lip and blackened eye prove her wrong. She still can’t believe it, and her heart tells her that even now he would never hit Anakin outside of the ring or the training salles, but it’s a hard thought to reconcile with as her Master stands before her with such prominent injuries.

 Obi-Wan stares at Anakin again before sighing softly. “You don’t want to fight. You don’t want me to fight,” he says, and it’s a flattened-out question. Anakin bites his lip, wincing at the painful reminder of the cut there. 

 “Not- not like this,” he whispers. “Obi-Wan, I... I know that this is an escape from everything. I’m not saying it’s even bad, Force, I’d be one hell of a kriffing hypocrite to tell you that. I know I’ve given in to my own methods of escape, but Master, I-“ His voice cracks and he breaks off, working his jaw as he stares at Obi-Wan with an expression so open that it hurts. “I have you now, and you’re- you’re all I ever wanted. You’re all I need. Obi-Wan, if I’m not- if I’m not enough, then tell me how-“

 Obi-Wan cuts him off with a kiss, raking his fingers through Anakin’s golden curls and holding him there. Anakin’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a whimper from the back of his throat, and Ahsoka has to avert her gaze once more. She’s intruding on something so viscerally personal, but she still cannot command her feet to move. 

 So she listens to the sound of lips parting for little kisses that make a larger whole, that bring a low moan from Obi-Wan’s throat in answer to Anakin’s desperate pitch. She listens until they part, and then risks a glance up at her Masters. 

 They are somehow closer than before, foreheads resting together with their eyes shut, breathing each other in as Obi-Wan strokes Anakin’s hair and Anakin shivers. 

 “Dear one,” Obi-Wan whispers. “You are enough. I… was afraid, my love.” Anakin’s eyes open in shock as the confession falls from Obi-Wan’s lips. “I was afraid that this... was the only way I could have you. It’s different down here. What happens here stays here, and I thought-“ 

 “Obi-Wan. I only ever came down here in the first place because I want you. All the time. Force, I want you so badly it hurts. I don’t want this to stay here. I- do you really-“ 

 “Yes.” 

 Anakin chokes a laugh and fixes Obi-Wan with a fondly exasperated look. “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he accuses, resting his head back on the wall. 

 Obi-Wan leans forward to pursue him, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, then another directly on his lips. “I do, darling. Of course I do.” 

 And as Ahsoka watches Anakin’s expression change from incredulity, to wonder, to overwhelmed adoration, she knows that her Grandmaster was not simply speaking of knowing the question that never left her Master’s lips. 

 “Me too,” Anakin whispers, voice thick, and Ahsoka can see the shape of Obi-Wan’s grin even from the severe angle that her perspective offers. 

 Anakin smiles back and flinches again as his lip pulls taut. Obi-Wan hums and reaches up to brush his thumb over the wound.

 “Not a good look on you, is it, darling,” he remarks. 

 Anakin scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. 

 “You should see the other guy,” he smirks. 

 “Ha, ha,” Obi-Wan intones dryly, and Anakin laughs. 

 They sober quickly, and Ahsoka holds her breath as the air and the Force around them seems to charge once more. She knows by the look on Anakin’s face that he’s working towards saying something, and Obi-Wan runs bloodied fingers through his curls in patient strokes.

 “I won’t tell you to stop,” Anakin finally speaks quietly, looking down between them. 

 “But you want me to,” Obi-Wan matches his volume and sincerity. 

 After a moment, Anakin nods quietly, still averting his gaze from Obi-Wan’s face. Her Grandmaster lifts Anakin’s chin with a gentle hand, and their gazes meet once again. 

 “I meant it when I said you are enough, my dear. This habit... if I’m honest, it started when I failed to release certain feelings into the Force. The fighting cleared my mind and it was a good physical release. I don’t need it. Not if I have you.” 

 Anakin’s eyes grow wide, and Ahsoka thinks that she sees tears glimmering in his eyes in the low light. 

 “The Code, Master,” he croaks softly. 

 Obi-Wan shakes his head and strokes Anakin’s chin before tapping it lightly and resting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’re good at that, you and I. And we shan’t break the Code if we’re simply in a relationship, you know that.” 

 Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, and tears at last track down his cheeks. “It’s not just a relationship. Not to me. I- I love you, Master. I’m atta- attached. I’ve struggled with this all my life and I can’t let go. Of you, or Ahsoka.” 

 Her heart skips a beat at her name, then warms with a sad fondness for her Master. Oh, Anakin... he really thinks that Obi-Wan doesn’t know? That she doesn’t know? They do and they love him right back just the same. Ahsoka hadn’t truly known about the nature of her Masters’ feelings for each other before tonight, but she had suspected. Both she and Obi-Wan love Anakin with all their hearts.

 “Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan pulls him into his arms, and Anakin clings to him desperately and buries his face in his throat. “Dearest, love is no trespass, and attachment can be conquered. It is a part of human nature. It is nothing to fear. I am sorry I ever led you to believe otherwise, Padawan.”

 Anakin gasps a single, muffled sob into Obi-Wan’s throat, and his Master presses a kiss to the top of his head. They stay like that for a while, rocking slightly back and forth and holding each other tightly until Anakin’s breathing evens out.

 “You’ll stop fighting, then?” Anakin asks softly. 

 “Yes, dearest. I’ll stop,” comes the quiet affirmation. “And Anakin,” he steps back slightly so they are both looking each other in the face once again before murmuring, gentle as a spring breeze, “I love you too.”

 Anakin’s face crumples before a smile overtakes his expression and he lets out a tiny, overjoyed laugh. Obi-Wan’s hands slide up to frame his face once again and draw him into a gentle kiss that slowly deepens. They break apart to smile at each other before coming together more urgently than before, and Ahsoka knows that it’s time for her to go.

 She lets out a little breath–hopefully silent–and steps backward out of the alley. Once she has crept well away, she slumps against the wall herself. She... she’ll probably have to tell Anakin what she has witnessed. She really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop for so long, but she had needed to hear that promise from her Grandmaster almost as much as Anakin himself. As it is, she breathes out a sigh of relief knowing that for the moment they are both safe, happy, and that better times are coming. For all of them.

  They’ll figure this out together.

[younghosfavewhore]

valentine’s day gift   2.14

xl [dr] [s]

wc; 1.9k

plot; birthdayboy!jaehyun x girlfriend!reader, harddom!jaehyun x sub!reader

you finally give into jaehyun’s dirty fantasies

prompts; [s]2 “Hands behind your back.” [s]43 “God, you love it like this, don’t you?”

warnings; MATURE CONTENT, smut, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving), kinky, furry cuffs, choking, hair-pulling, name-calling, alternates between praising and shaming, all that jazz hehe, !THIS WILL BE INTENSE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

the slow jazz music blares through the speakers in you and jaehyun’s shared room. the room was decorated with an obvious theme: valentine’s day. that wasn’t the only thing special about today though, it was also jaehyun’s 24th birthday, which meant that this moment had to be that much more meaningful.

you and jaehyun had discussed what to do for this day. there were a few choice ideas that jaehyun wanted to experiment with- in bed, specifically. he had introduced some kinks that he wanted to try. at first, it was so foreign that you didn’t think about it too much. but there would be times when you and jaehyun would fuck, that his fantasies would creep into your head. 

“pretty slut...” 

you’d imagine the words falling from his lips while he was fucking into you.

“cumslut...”

the thoughts would come again when you’d play with your pussy. you were left with no choice but to give in. it was too tempting not to.

you throw on the valentine lingerie that you purchased just a few days prior. the crimson colored lace wraps around your neck, a small heart-shaped perforation outlines your chest. the fabric drapes over your curves in such a perfect way that you know will drive jaehyun mad. candles line the windowsills and atop dressers. bouquets and petals of peonies and roses are prettily scattered on the bed and floor. you went all out; and for good reason. 

you add the final touches to the décor and receive a text from jaehyun.

jae: 5 min away 😉

a grin plasters on your face as you scramble to adhere to your perfectionism; your mind runs through a mental checklist: hair, makeup, nails, etc, etc.

the door to the suite opens and you get into position. 

“y/n? i’m here!” you could already here the smile on his lips as he calls for you from the living room.

you remain silent, wanting him to explore and discover this surprise on his own. he then enters the room, his eyes widen. he gazes at the garniture before his eyes fall upon you. he admires your body, exactly the way you hoped he would. the bag that was in his hand falls to the ground. you’re sitting on your knees, he watches as you run your fingers along your half-nude frame.

“something for me?” you tease gesturing to the bag.

“yea.” a smirk spreads across his face, those beautiful dimples contrasting the lust in his eyes. he pulls out a box tied with a ribbon. 

“why am i getting a gift on your birthday?” you smile as he walks closer to you. 

“it’s a gift for both of us. open it.” he says, now glaring down at you. the sight of his lean physique hovering over you was enough to make your heart race.

you open the box and see furry cuffs. “ooh, this is new.” you tease at the thought of using them. “this will go perfectly with what i have planned for you.”

“oh, yeah? and what is that?” he cups your face and bites his lip. the lustful look on his face couldn’t be any hotter. 

“you’ll find out soon enough.” you stand up before setting the handcuffs down on a nightstand.

his gaze followed your body, he watched as you walk to the nightstand and back towards him. “that lingerie is so fucking sexy on you, y/n.”

you bite your lip. “i’m glad you like it. i got it just for you.” 

he replies with a smile and looks you up and down again. you walk up to him, making sure to lock your eyes on his. you push him down onto the bed, he tenses and hesitates at first but he gets the idea. you climb on top of him, straddling his lap. his hand find their way to your hips, and he places a tight grip on them. you couldn’t help but smile.

“tonight,” you whisper as you slightly grind on his growing bulge. “i want you to take control.” you press kisses against his neck, earning a small murmur from his lips. “just like you’ve wanted to. it’s my gift to you.”

“can i start now?” his voice is husky in your ear. 

“yes.”

and with that, his grip on your hip tightens. he hikes you up and your legs wrap around his waist, but it’s short lived. he throws you down onto the bed, spreading your legs; he silently adores your body for a second.

“if you need it, the safe word is, ‘bananas’.” he slides off his shirt. a smile spreads across your face as you wonder just how rough he plans on being with you. 

he hovers over you and the angle is heavenly. he flashes that same smile with those same pretty dimples that you know won’t match how he fucks you.

“i didn’t say it earlier, but thank you. for all of this. you look so sexy and i love what you did to our room.” his hands trace along your thighs, sending chills up your spine. 

he doesn’t give you time to reply before he smashes his lips onto yours. he presses his chest against you and you hanker after the feeling of his firm abs pressed against you. he grinds his rock hard bulge against you and presses soft kisses on your neck. you bring your hand up to run a few fingers through his hair, but he smacks you away.

“no touching.” he says harshly. “you’re too eager already. be patient, i’ll fuck you soon.”

“not soon enough.” you tease under your breath.

“fuck did you just say?”

your eyes widen, he’s never talked to you like this.

he wraps a hand around your neck, not tight enough to completely cut off air, but tight enough to make a point. he sits up and pulls your face up to his. 

“watch your mouth.” he whispers. “i was going to take my time with you,” his grip gets a bit tighter. “but i guess impatient sluts like you just don’t know how to wait.”

the name sends butterflies to your stomach. jaehyun was turning you on so much now with just his words, imagine the way he’ll be later.

“on your knees,” he commands. “now.”

he takes his hand off your throat and you hesitate before climbing off the bed and falling to your knees. 

“good girl,” he smirks before sliding his pants off. “take them off.” he says, gesturing to his boxers.

you’ve never been so intimidated by jaehyun. you do as you’re told and slowly slip off his boxers. his thick, long shaft springing out of the tight boxers. his veiny girth was already leaking precum that you were quick to lap up. he inhales a sharp breath as your tongue meets his tip.

“you’re so big...” you whisper, letting your lips graze his dick.

“shut up, slut.” he responds in a gruff tone that turns you on more than you’d like to admit.

you wrap your lips around his cock, sucking slow enough that it pisses him off. he grips a handful of your hair and shoves his dick down your throat. 

“you don’t seem to learn, huh? a dumb bitch like you can’t do anything right.” he barks and sucks his teeth. 

you choke and gag on his cock as he fucks into your face. your throat was sore already. tears well up in your eyes as you attempt to grab his legs for more stability. his grunts reach your ears and you realize just how good you’re making him feel. you gaze up to allow your eyes to meet his, but there’s only so much you can see through the blur of your tears.

“you take me so well. sluts like you are useless unless there’s a cock shoved down your throat.” his strokes slow down, as though he’s teasing your throat. “that’s enough.” he pants and pulls his cock out of your mouth.

you gasp at the new intake of air, finally able to wipe your tears and meet his eyes. 

“on the bed,” these blunt commands turned you on so much. “ass up.” he bites his lip and walks to the nightstand where you placed the cuffs earlier.

an unexplainable rush of excitement hits you. you climb onto the bed. you arch your back, your ass is tooted upwards with your face resting in your hands. 

jaehyun turns to face you, handcuffs in hand. “finally being a good girl?” he smiles and teases as he sets up behind you. he places a light smack on your ass, giving it a squeeze while he admires your pretty pussy displayed in front of him.

“hands behind your back.” he dictates.

you follow his instructions, no longer hesitating or wanting to tease him. now, you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you. you bring your hands behind your back, clasping them. the furry, red handcuffs clicking and locking in place.

jaehyun is silent behind you for a bit, just tracing your ass and teasing around your wet labia.

“jaehyun-” you cut yourself off, regretting speaking out of turn.

“sorry.” he says. you assume he’s apologizing for teasing you, until you hear the lace fabric on your pussy rip.

“jae-” you’re ready to exclaim in anger, but just as you fix your mouth to yell, jaehyun rams into you.

he fucks into you hard and fast, right off the bat. you can’t contain your moans and he didn’t expect you to. 

he lands a hard slap on your ass that makes you yelp in pain, but it was quick to mix with the pleasure. “your little pussy can’t take this. i fuck you too good, but you don’t really deserve it.” he grunts, still fucking into you at an ungodly pace.

he slipped in and out of your wet folds, the loud, languorous sounds blaring in your ear. the restriction of your hands was another thing, though. not being able to touch jaehyun was completely new. he was fucking you senseless and you couldn’t move a muscle even if you wanted to.

“jaehyun!” you exclaim as your eyes roll back into your head. he grabs a handful of your hair. his other hand placed with a tight grip on your hip, guiding it to hit exactly where you’d wanted it to.

“don’t cum until i say so.” he pants as he fucks into you harder, which you didn’t even think would be possible. 

“so close, please, jaehyun.” your mind was numb and the only thing your brain could string together were pleas. pleas to jaehyun to let your aching pussy release around him. 

he spanks your already bruised, sore ass a few more times. “hush.” his own climax was coming before he knew it. he started rambling, “god, you love it like this don’t you? you filthy fucking slut.” the lewd words made your pussy soak and throb around his cock.

“fuck...now.” he groans, signaling for you to cum. just as you cum, he shoves your face into the mattress, leaving all of your moans and swears to be muffled by the sheets.

he doesn’t cum with you, though. he fucks you through your own orgasm until your pussy is tender from overstimulation. it's then that he finally fills you up, leaving ropes of his sticky, hot cum dripping out of you. he pulls out of you when he’s too fucked out, releasing his grip from your hair and your hips.

“you alright?” he says, lying down next to you and taking off the cuffs.

you nod, still speechless from the events that just unfolded.

“i love you.” he whispers. “happy valentine’s day.” he takes another glance over your body. 

“i love you, too, birthday boy.” you reply with a smile.