#just balance the goddamn game

[xbuster]

It’s so funny how controversial the EXP share is among Pokémon fans as if every RPG ever doesn’t distribute EXP among your whole party. Pokémon fans would know this if they played another RPG.

[blimbo-buddy]

I hate Jimmy but I like him in the fact that we’re supposed to genuinely hate every fiber of his being. I think the story tricks us into thinking he’s a good person, or at the very least a morally grey character, and it’s like the story itself shows annoyance toward it while also giving us a sense of sympathy for falling to the same manipulation that Jimmy puts others through. But that is only if we actually realize the truth.

it shows annoyance towards us as the player/viewer but saves its special hatred for Jimmy. Not us, Jimmy. It’s annoyed that we show some kind of good will towards Jimmy before the silent reveal in the text that he assaulted Anya. It’s like the game acts like how an actual person would realistically react to this stuff: the player/viewer glosses or barely acknowledges the aspect of rape (as many have while playing the game) and the game shows fury towards you. But if you piece everything together about the assault, then it’s like the rose-tinted glasses fully come off and you see the horrible situation for what it actually was, for who Jimmy truly is

the game is like a test for its player/audience.

do we gloss over the horrific actions of Jimmy, the smaller details in the conversations between Anya and Curly, and the context clues of what Jimmy did to Anya; and thus allow the game to show its righteous fury towards our incompetence

or

Do we realize the truth of everything, of the actions of our protagonist; actions that we were led to ignoring by the main character himself before learning about what he’s done to everyone on the Tulpar; and thus allow the game to still show sympathy towards us while also rightfully being frustrated and maybe even hating us still

in other words: Do you eventually see the tiny, dead pixel in the vastness of it all; or are you so used to seeing the bigger picture that it never crosses your mind until it’s too late

[in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene]

Other reasons Wyll having devil wings would both rule and make sense as a punishment (and why he should have them for me, specifically):

It'd be impossible to pass him off as a weird looking tiefling/he's more obviously fiendish

Maybe even requiring Disguise or Charisma checks at some points of the game to bring Wyll with you?

Hotter? Somehow??? Turns out Wyll can get even hotter

More visually evocative of devils like Mizora and Raphael whose insincerity and "help" contrasts Wyll's sincerity and genuine kindness

But also wings look very noble. Regal, even. It fits Wyll's prince charming aesthetic

Especially contrasts with Raphael's whole farce

Very visible. Can be seen from a distance. Hard to hide

He'd have to alter all his clothes (a pain!)

An excuse for a shirtless Wyll scene? Mayhaps

Bulky. Constantly getting in the way and knocking things over

He'd probably need a bigger tent as well

Sitting or lying down comfortably is even harder than if it were just the horns

Aylin can dismiss her wings at her convenience. Wyll cannot. He'd be stuck with them all the time

Imagine the horror of suddenly sprouting two extra limbs against your will

Using them to shield people

Using them as an umbrella from the rain/sun for a lover/friend like a gentleman (especially for Astarion)

Wrapping whoever he's cuddling or hugging with his wings

As Aylin has shown wings are peak romance. Wyll is a romance guy

Also Aylin-Wyll parallels more visually obvious?!

Wings evoke the idea of a cape. Capes are very heroic

Perhaps he can't fly at first (that'd be OP) but maybe around Act 2 he can glide?

At level 11 or 12 he learns to fly with them or maybe as a character event in Act 3

This would also be around the time Wyll can be freed of his pact(or not) so… symbolism!

Mizora isn't expecting him to escape his contract so his punishment both isolating and making him more useful fits

Plus a punishment that also doubles as a "gift" would fit her vibe. "But I'm so good to you Wyll! Look at the wings I gave you to help you be a hero better even though it was a horrific violation of your bodily autonomy! You owe me!"

Also wings look like a reward instead of a punishment to outsiders, even if Wyll tries to explain. "You did something presumably evil to be rewarded with cool wings by your devil patron" is much more damning and more believable than the truth

Mizora becomes even more insidious and smart in her abuse of Wyll as a result which makes her a more effective villain

Tadpole also nerfed him so Mizora's got to keep her pet warlock alive somehow

Winged but caged symbolism! Wings as ironic symbols of bondage! Wings of bondage reclaimed as symbols of freedom!

Kids would probably think Wyll was even cooler somehow with wings and that'd be cute

I think Wyll specifically would fucking love the freedom of flight. This man would love jumping off cliffs

Literally swooping in to save the day

[holdharmonysacred]

Started writing a post about unit blorbofication and story depth in FE in light of the latest round of past FEs VS 3H VS Engage discourse, someone remind me to go back to writing it later when I get my brainpower back.

[death-rebirth-senshi]

Of course they buff critical hits AFTER I beat Malenia with my stance breaking strat.

[violet-dragongirl]

Secondly, surprise enemies should have an extremely higher chance of dropping the highest quality of the typical WGBPY/OE quality set up like hands fucking down they should give that shit out like candy if I can't fucking have the option to keep them out of my gameplay loop when I really don't fucking want them in my gameplay loop

[satorurize]

𐙚 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄¡!

cw. 18+ flithy smut, Sub!Gojo, Dom!Reader, Enemies to lovers, gojo is a virgin and the word loser is used a lot.

AcademicRival!Satoru believed he'll have a merry time getting paired with you for your upcoming assignment, afterall, you were fun to pick on and he adored the way the vein would pop on your forehead after he says something to completely throw you off the tracks. His plan was to make you do all the work while he gets on your nerves to pass his time.

Satoru prides himself in being jack of all trades, he's the captain of the collegiate basketball team, student body president, has 4.0 GPA in his astrophysics major and is on the dean's list, his stunning good looks were to kill for and to add to those never ending positive attributes he's filthy rich, if it wasn't so obvious by his sports car's raging engine whenever he drifts it around in the campus. Gojo Satoru was a star. Gojo Satoru was game.

Admirers and people lining up for him was no big of a deal, it is the routine when you're him. You're one of the many people who find him fascinating, find him attractive (which was something you would never admit to, even if a ceiling fell over you) but still, why was he shaking his legs underneath the table while he watches the furrow of your brow focused on the screen in his dorm room? He's way too distracted to read this paper about Aesthetics and Marxism—he only took up sociology because it was a humanities requirement within his course and also because he was utterly, out of his mind bored.

Feeling the burning gaze of his abnormally blue eyes, you slam your fist onto the table and anyone who was in their right mind would be able to decipher that your expression was twisted in unfiltered annoyance, the mask of a small, pleasant smile as your veins popped on your forehead was failing miserably. "We could get a lot done if you didn't think this was a staring contest"

"Wow, really? I did think it was a staring contest with how boring all this is" He mocked knowing it would only agitate you further, his eyes shamelessly trailed over the plushness of your thighs and how the skirt fabric sat on top of it, his thoughts were digressing, wondering about the colour of your pant—

"What are you looking at, pervert..?" You point it out to break the unholy chain of his thoughts immediately, his eyes widened by being caught off-guard, evading away to focus on the papers in front of him, lasering his eyes to aim at understand at whatever 'Russian constructivism' meant, his fist gripped the pencil tighter and tighter as he felt unbelievably panicked at being caught, the trance of embarrassment breaking away along with a sharp 'snap' of the pencil.

With a faltering attempt to maintain his cockiness, Satoru looked at you. "Just looking at how much of a loser you look, even broke a pencil because it's annoying how nerdy you dress" a painful roll of his eyes followed by, but his ventures to cover the way he felt were too poor and what was the parameter? The goddamned seductive smile on your pretty lips.

Gojo Satoru was game, but he was a fucking virgin.

"Lying is not going to save your ass, I can literally see the tent in your pants, what are you..a teenager..?" The mockery in your eyes and the superiority you had over him in that very moment was enough to make him let go of his guards and feel his knees buck. You were beautiful and he was so pathetically down bad for that.

"Unlike you, I have many things to excel at..who has time for something as stupid as this anyway" You had to give some kudos for the fact that his voice remained balanced despite the throbbing erection in his pants, and you made a face with slanting pursed lips that was to show him you believed him, although anyone could tell you didn't.

"what is with that face? You think you're better than me? What do you know about sex, having your cute nose burried in those stupid books all day.." And that statement makes you raise your brow, Satoru Gojo, called you cute? This was something, this was when he knew he messed up and you had all the power.

"Why don't I show it to you then? You wanna be a loser in this one area? Come on.. you're better than that, right?" Satoru gulped, the offer was beyond tempting, all those fantasies he ran his mind for while wrapping his hand around his cock in his dark dorm room, relieving himself while yearning for the warmth for your mouth and cunt—finally had the chance to be fleshed out to life. It was tempting indeed but what about his ego?

"Sure, I bet you suck at this too" He huffed a laugh with his faux confidence, only to be miserably proved wrong within a few minutes.

"Please— fuck! Your mouth feels so good.." He breathed heavily with an almost violent rise and fall of his chest, his legs sprawled wide as he was on the couch of his room and you, his beautiful arch-nemesis was skillfully using his cock like it was your personal toy. Satoru didn't feel he was being sucked off for his pleasure, he was being sucked off to be proven of the fact that you were in control here.

He reached his trembling hands to tangle within your locks as you let a thick glob of your spit fall onto his tip with a grin, tantalisingly rubbing it on your glossed lips. "Better than your stupid fist right?" And he moans at that degradation, his eyes marbeling with glassy tears, your pride swelled more than anything.

"Ever seen tits in real life? Or are you that much of a loser to have Inoue Waka as your wallpaper.." You teased further, unbuttoning your blouse and unfastening your bra from the front to spill out your breasts and Satoru's brain simply short circuits the moment the cushiness of your tits gather around his cock and he feels the tightening sting on his abdomen, dripping out loads of his cum onto your tits, painting you like the masterpiece you were with thick ribbons of his ejaculate.

You hum, licking a long strip from his base, swirling your hot tongue around his softening, sensitive frenum as he is limp by the pleasure.

"There's no way you're this good.." He spoke, almost sounding as if something unbelievable happened, almost angry.

"Such a good boy 'Toru.." You giggle in response, kissing his abdomen and he feels pathetically, helplessly in love with you.

Gojo Satoru was game, but you were a roulette.

[bitterbutblue]

jane doe with a cat thiren...

come get me, baby~ ☆ jane doe x reader

~ guys do u want more x reader i can do x reader but for girls i think. i think i cant write men. also i wrote this for my pookie dearest friend if she sees this she knows who she is this is for u bbg

edit: i made part two for yall ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⤷ what a CHAOTIC relationship

⤷ you both met at the N.E.P.S. and you honestly never talked much at first because she was a rat thiren and you were a cat thiren. every time you two were in a room together the tension was goddamn unbearable

⤷ but it wasn't because if you. it was because of HER. it was like as if she was the cat thiren with the way she eyed you up and down like you were her next prey to catch. and you always felt very flustered under her gaze

⤷ you guys played this game of cat and mice except the roles were reversed because you were the one scrambling away in embarrassment and she was the one flirting and cornering you to ask you the dumbest questions because she knows just talking to you will have you blushing

⤷ because you're both thirens you do have VNOs and can detect pheromones... although it's cross species the thiren breeds in general all have a heightened sense of smell and she can always tell when you're flustered or... you know....

⤷ zhu yuan told her to stop playing with you like you're a toy but she just finds it so fun!

⤷ you know how in genshin, yae miko is tormenting gorou? this is exactly how jane torments you.

⤷ asks to pet your ears often, which is a very sensitive spot on your body so you always sputter out an embarrassed 'no!'

⤷ asks to pet your tail, which is even worse and more embarrassing so at that point you just run away

⤷ eventually zhu yuan is like "dude this is NAWT how u pick a girl up" and she was like oh :/

⤷ can be very sincere when she needs to be. is a very loving girl deep down and prepared for weeks on how to ask you out. you could sort of tell something was off the day she was going to confess because her usual charm and confidence had wavered

⤷ her ears were flopped down the entire day, eyeing the area around her so anxiously. you thought there was a stalker.

⤷ then she confessed and you became the one with folded ears and had eye contact issues.

⤷ confessed very simply but also very sincerely. it was just the two of you in the parking lot of the N.E.P.S. and you thought she was gonna tease you again. instead she pulls out sunflowers (because they're safe for cats) and asks you so softly if you wanted to go on a date with her

⤷ combusted on the spot btw. you evaporated. gone. out of the world. she just giggled at you.

⤷ the most loving girlfriend you can ask for. she will murder anyone who even dares to look at you in a slightly off putting way. you guys balance each other out in that sense

⤷ kisses are always very soft and passionate. every time she kisses you it's like she's kissing you for the last time with how much love she tries to convey through a simple act.

⤷ has a very good way of making you blush all the time and getting you worked up for her.. (i could try writing a separate thing for that if you guys are interested)

⤷ loves calling you "darling" or "honey" to get you blushing around your coworkers. people love teasing you because of how shy you get around her too. but she just has a way of charming people

⤷ you do get jealous of her and seth, because they seem so close- especially after the latest mission. but she always assures you that you're the only one she loves and will go out of her way to show you that.

[beebazooka]

just happened to land on you, who else?

----- pt. 1/2

daisuke x gn reader fic 𓆩⟡𓆪 word count; 1.1k

content warning: later smut, non-established relationship, awkwardness, NEEDY 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴suke, angst(post crash doomed-ness)

You were Anya's intern— you didn't know what career to pick so you followed whatever your parents thought was best. The money balanced out the negatives; long and unpredictable hours, patient interactions, and differing opinions from coworkers on how to deal with someone. All you needed to get that was a good recommendation and your parents would deal with medical school's expenses.

So you signed up for every advertisement that didn't look scam-y. Until no one would call back, it made sense. You had nothing on your record but a summer job you had at sixteen and a high school diploma. Not exactly the top candidate.

Your last hope was a faded-out pamphlet stapled to an electric post. Reluctantly, you ripped off one of the phone number handouts printed between the dotted punctured lines. That flyer was no doubt, the sketchiest thing you had ever seen in your life. That cartoon horse mascot smiling at you didn't ease any worries despite how much the company probably wanted it to.

<⟡>

Now you were boarding the Tulpar, you could see your new coworkers through the small crowd of higher-ups and last-minute maintenance workers; a bunch of sad sack adults, and a guy like you. Small carry-on bags either held or settled by their feet.

He was friendly, really friendly. He ran over to you immediately, imaginary tail wagging at the mere sight of someone in his age group.

"Daisuke Juárez." He blurted out, extending a hand for you to shake.

"Uh, what?" His eyebrows furrowed as he dropped his hand, looking away. You could see his lips mutter a swear but no sound came out.

"That's my name, sorry for no intro before that..." He gave a nervous chuckle before he offered his hand to you again. You took it, why wouldn't you? It would just make this already weird conversation worse.

A quick shake between new coworkers. Nervous sweat passed back and forth, a cold feeling and a 'clink' sound from his rings bumping against yours. This guy would probably be your only choice for socializing. He had a lot of enthusiasm to pass around and frankly, everyone needed it.

<⟡>

A couple of months on board and by some miracle, he wasn't your thirteenth reason yet. Your boredom wouldn't let you hate him. You looked forward to his shenanigans. To Swansea's dismay, you started participating.

Sneaking sugar packets here, teaming up to cheat on crew game nights there.

Then it happened. That fake scenic sunset display quickly changed to a message so contrasting; Crash eminent. You had no clue what to do other than prepare. The blaring alarms didn't stop even when you ducked down behind the kitchen counters.

<⟡>

Everything was ruined, tousled, destroyed. Emergency foam went off everywhere, closing off the sleeping quarters, and a couple of hallways.

Every day, every new experience drained you. You had to hold back Anya's hair four times as she vomited in between patching up Captain— no, just Curly now.

One day, Swansea gathered up everyone, well tried. He only got the interns to sit down in the living quarters, pacing back and forth while he gave a doomed pep talk to the only people who would listen.

"We're fucked. This goddamn company doesn't care about us or that one of their ships went offline. We're dead meat, just names on a fucking list." He kept pacing. He had that little rasp in his voice, probably from the fact he kept pausing his spiel to take swigs of mouthwash. Daisuke told you all about Swansea's drunken rants whenever the two of you got bored enough. He said he liked the burn. The knowledge that he was ruining his life all over again. He loved it.

"You kids do whatever the fuck you want, 'cause I'm not doing shit. I'm not going to spend the last weeks of my life slaving away at the same company that already took forty years of my damn happiness." Then he walked off, too drunk to stomp away. Going to stand in front of the utility room. The only task he wanted to commit to; stopping others from doing something stupid; he always did. Daisuke could be his whole defense for that argument.

"So that's our advice... We do whatever because we're dying soon anyway." You mumbled after some struggle. Someone both you and Daisuke were supposed to look up to and ask for guidance just told you to fuck around while you still can.

"That's it? Our first fucking trip and we die here?!" You stood up, your anger wanted to move and right now, you didn't want to deny it.

Daisuke let out a quiet sigh, leaning back until his body hit the cold floor, he ran his fingers through his hair, in an attempt to ease something... anything. "I haven't lived yet. I partied. I jacked around. I don't have anything to actually be proud of. I haven't done anything."

That made you stop. He was right. He hasn't lived and neither have you. You were getting mad at people millions of miles away on Earth, that for sure didn't know your name or face.

"Bucket list." You whispered in that same tone you used to pass jokes to him during lectures with Swansea... a long time ago. He would give anything for this shitshow to be a dream that he could wake up to and have you joke about Swansea's under-eyes over and over again. "We make a bucket list. We do everything before we die when the food and oxygen supply run out.

<⟡>

They wrote down a small list each. It was cute at first, pranking the unbothered Swansea wasn't as fun as before but it was something. They shared a couple sugar packets, helped Anya out for a bit, and destroyed the kitchen by mismatching recipes.

Then their lists went cold and desperate; in tiny, rushed pen-written letters were four words. "Don't die a virgin."

After reading it from the other's list, they looked up at each other. "This is humiliating, you know," Daisuke spoke up first, despite his words he had a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah... I know." You replied back. This was a horrible way to lose something people said was so sacred, but now, you saw it how it was; just another experience to have before you died.

[munsster]

sober thoughts

A/N: who let the WIPs out? 🙈 nah….. i was gonna continue but….. that was so corny. anyway, i am back from the hiatus No One saw coming. enjoy <3 (gif creds: @raiderlucy)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: If drunk words are sober thoughts, Steve sure is talkative when he’s had a few. 1.3k words

Warnings: fluff, drunk/high steve, pet names (puppy, sweetheart, baby), mutual pining, cursing

It's New Year's, and you find Steve all starry eyed and bubbly in the center of a stranger's kitchen. You know exactly where to find him 'cause he always tells you the kitchen is the best place to hear the music without the fuss of the party. His hair's all tousled and you're pretty sure he lost the top button of his shirt somewhere. You can see the dainty chain looped round his neck in the warm light. The one you gave him.

You catch his eye, and suddenly he's grabbing for your hips like he can't balance without them. He's definitely been smoking with the way his smile reaches his eyes before anything else. Any other night, he would've stayed sober, but you promised to get him and Robin home safely before he could beat you to the punch.

He's hot like an oven up close. All pink in the cheeks and warm at the temples. You push his hair our of his eyes and squint up at him.

"Hi, puppy," you coo. His fingers press a little harder into your soft skin on impulse. Some kind of nonessential reflex or something, but it feels so essential holding onto you like this.

"I like that." The endearment, your eyes right now, the way you're holding his bicep, this song. "I like you."

He dies when you chuckle.

"I like you, too, sweetheart." But he knows you don't mean it like that. Not like how he means it. Everyday he's reminded you like him as a friend. And everyday he's reminded that he likes you as something much more and much less attainable.

Robin tells him it’s noble to play the long game, but in all honesty, he's not sure he's playing any game at all. If you like him one day, hallelujah, it's a goddamn miracle, but if you never like him like that, then that's it and he'll still be your number one admirer forever. Even if that means admiring you from afar.

Still, he whines about it: "You don't get it." You roll your eyes with a lighthearted smile. He's high. But to Steve, that doesn't matter. What matters is the way you let him look at you. He leans a little closer, brings his hand to the side of your neck. On instinct, his lips pucker a little and he bats his long lashes at you.

You put a pause on him with your hand to his chest.

"I'm not gonna kiss you while you're drunk. And high," you tease. You almost feel bad with the way he pouts, his hair all over the place even after pushing it out of his eyes.

“Why not? It’s New Years!”

“Yeah, an hour and a half ago.”

“Well. You kissed Robin, and I kissed no one.” And you think he’s laying it on real thick, playing into the bit for a little too long. You might even suggest it’s less of a bit now and suddenly something much more real and grating.

“Poor baby,” you coo, frowning sweetly in response to his more dramatic frown.

“Yeah. Poor baby. Nobody cares about baby.” Steve huffs like a discontented horse.

“I care about baby.”

“Then kiss me,” he whines.

“You’re inebriated.”

“No, actually. I’m sober as can be, I’ve got no juice in me at all.”

You try and act surprised but you both know he chugged and crushed four beer cans just to impress you. And that was when you first arrived several hours ago. You’re more impressed he hasn’t hurled, yet.

“Steve, I’m only not kissing you because I care. You must know that,” you sigh with your hands gliding easily back over his shoulders, fingers taken with the soft nape of his neck. The warm clasp of his chain.

“Ugh”—he rolls his glassy eyes, grumbling—“o’course I know that. In fact, it’s very thoughtful of you. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

You wish he didn’t seem so sad saying it like that. You wish it didn’t make you so sad to hear it said. Of course, he knows that. Steve is the sweetest, most considerate guy you’ve ever known, and those big, brown eyes are to die for even when they’re a little pink around the edges.

What really matters is that when he looks at you, your heart races like someone’s betting it’s the fastest. It beats even faster at the possibility that his ‘crush’ on you isn’t a joke. That it hasn’t been this whole time. That maybe his feelings are real and that would mean they’re reciprocated.

“Okay, fine, I’ll kiss you.”

Steve assumes the position almost immediately: puckered lips fighting a smile, eyes pinched closed, fingers subconsciously pulling your hips towards him.

You hook around to kiss the apple of his cheek. He groans, setting his heavy head on your shoulder. You pat his back, resting your temple against his peachy ear.

“You can have your kiss if you still want it sober.” At that, he lifts his head, and with it goes a presumptuous eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting it sober since I was thirteen. Don’t think that’s gonna change overnight.” He states it like it’s a fact of life; what an idiot! He wasn’t supposed to say it like that! He had planned on some totally romantic picnic or late night drive or some extravagant, life-altering, near-death-experience to set the mood. Anything but at the very beginning of a new year, intoxicated in every sense of the word.

“Steve!” You holler, “Since thirteen?!”

“Well, duh! You just have zero googoo eyes radar. I make ‘em all the time at you,” he says, shrugging it off. But you can only imagine thirteen-year-old Stevie waiting for the bottle to point to you, only for it to skip you every lousy turn. And thirteen-year-old you somehow jinxing the rotation of the bottle. No matter how hard you willed it to choose you, it never did. Not for Stevie.

“Well… stop that!”

He chuckles. “You can’t make me.”

You’ve never been more nervous talking to Steve. You’re so nervous, you can’t even remember when it used to be easy. His eyes are locked with yours, big and shiny and so brown and wide and soft. Windows to the soul, eh?

“You are so plastered,” you scoff. Who says he can peer into your soul. You divert him to the ceiling instead, knuckles to his strong chin.

Steve shakes his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” you look at him to find a painfully familiar lopsided smile. “It changed everything.”

He tilts his head. Sweetly. Mischievous as ever, but sweet.

“So, you’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

You sigh. “Only if you ask nicely tomorrow.”

“Fine!”

What you don’t expect is for him to run out of the room. There’s muffled shouting, the slam of a door, a triumphant ‘yes’, and a beat of silence before he returns, scuttling across the floor, sharpie in hand.

One of his shirt sleeves is pushed to the elbow. Across his forearm is a smattering of permanent black ink.

“What’s this?” you coo as he excitedly presents his arm to you.

“It’s a reminder.”

Looking closer at the ink splotches, you can just barely make out the message: Ask nicely, coward. You squint up at him, trying your hardest not to giggle.

“It’s a threat and a reminder,” he chirps, brows raised, eyes wide, chest pounding. He thinks you look happy, smiling as you smack his chest.

“You’re really hopeless, yunno that?”

You could call him as many names as you wanted, he’d take them all as endearments. As long as you keep teasing him with promises of sober kisses and your hands in his hair.

He nods, “Now call me your puppy again.”

stranger things masterlist

[ylangelegy]

i love your writing !! 🥹 for the jealousy prompts, han and “i don’t blame them of course, but you’re mine”?

★ jisung x makeup artist!reader ┆ word count: 1.1k ┆ part of my closed jealousy drabble game.

ⓘ established/secret relationship, fluff.

There's a certain level of tenacity needed to survive dating an idol.

You've known this since day one, since the unassuming Tuesday afternoon where Jisung had shyly asked you if you wanted to make it official. In the industry, 'official' and 'public' were two completely different promises.

You're not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. You love Jisung. He loves you. That should be enough, right?

At least that's what you try to remind yourself as you steel yourself for another award show. It's the Asia Artist Awards this time, one of the bigger ones that Jisung has always admitted to having mixed feelings about.

For a celebrity, your boyfriend sure did have an aversion to crowds.

He's gotten good at masking it, at least. You watch from the wings as he glides down the red carpet with the rest of the band. Not a thing is out of place. His hair is flawless; his suit is pressed. Most importantly, his makeup is immaculate, although that's to be expected when the one doing your makeup is someone who knows your features well.

Jisung does everything that he has to. He puts on a photo-ready smile. He waves to fans, makes hearts with his hands for the cameras. When the boys step aside for interviews, he does that, too— slides in a wisecrack, nods in all the right places.

It's mesmerizing, seeing him put on a show, and it's a show that everybody eats right up.

"He's popular today," one of your fellow makeup artists notes with amusement.

You follow her gaze. She's right. The screams for Jisung's name are a little louder. The cameras flash brighter when he moves. Even the interviewer seems particularly enamored, laughing loudly at Jisung's quips and resting a casual hand on his shoulder.

The flash of annoyance that you feel is assuaged when Jisung takes an infinitesimal step away, feigning like he's leaning into Minho instead.

"He is," you finally respond in an even tone, even though the word doesn't quite encapsulate it.

Your boyfriend is more than popular. He's a goddamn star. Everybody can see it, and so everyone wants a piece of him.

Once the boys' five minutes of fame are over, they slink off to a secluded area for retouches. The atmosphere and the lights always call for quick touch ups. A little bit of blush there. A brush of powder here.

Immediately, your team descends on them. Each boy has an assigned artist. When you make your way to Jisung, the shift is palpable.

Blink and you'll miss it. Jisung goes from his idol persona to somebody tired, somebody drained from all the interaction, to someone who is looking at the love of his life. His eyes light up. His shoulders ease. The corners of his lips tug upward in a fond, giddy grin, and you can't help the way you smile as well.

"Hey, you," he breathes, years worth of affection packed in a simple greeting.

"Hi," you say back. "Your lip gloss is smudged."

He chuckles, as though he's amused you're going straight to business. There's not much room for you to be the couple that you want to be. Not when you're in a public place, when he's still got an entire show to sit through and a stage to perform.

The two of you have managed to strike a balance, find your happy middle. Jisung toed the line more often than not, but he knew better than to push the envelope when it was your careers on the line.

He stays still as you go to fix his gloss. He physically can't help but tease, though, his mouth moving against the pads of your fingers.

"You would know a thing or two about smudging my gloss," he mumbles, his voice low enough for just the two of you to hear.

You shoot him a glare. He throws you an exaggerated wink.

This is the Jisung that you knew, the Jisung behind the scenes. Cheerful despite his exhaustion. Awkward in his flirtation but never any less sincere.

You rummage through your kit for concealer. It's not unusual for the artists to be well-acquainted with the boys, and so small talk was typically accepted. Your voice is perfectly casual and conversational as you comment, "You're getting good reception today."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Yeah, well, maybe it's 'cause I have a good makeup artist."

Your lips twitch like you're holding back a smile. Jisung looks like he already won an award for the night at the mere sight of it.

"Just 'good'?" you tease, working on reapplying concealer under his eyes.

"Mmm," he hums. "Meant to say 'the best'."

Even though you give him an eye roll in response, the two of you know that you revel in his affirmation. It's why he's so generous in doling it out.

Jisung sounds like he's treading gently as he question, "You okay, though?"

You return his question with a distracted one of your own. "Why wouldn't I be?" you ask, still focused on smoothing out some of the blemishes around his nose.

There's a moment where Jisung contemplates whether he should go on. You can tell by the way his teeth briefly sink into his lower lip, the way his eyebrows furrow for a moment. His next words are calculated, careful.

"The 'good reception' thing," he says slowly. "Is that about all the— uh, fans?"

The question is vague, but you've known Jisung for long enough to know what he's implying. A part of you melts at how ready your boyfriend is to give you assurance, even if both of you are on the clock.

"I don't blame them, of course." Your own words are matter-of-fact as you step back to survey your handiwork. Voice still pitched for just the two of you, you go on, "But you're mine."

Jisung looks like you've struck him between the eyes. It draws a laugh out of you. You're never outwardly possessive, not the type to kick up a fuss over his thousands of adoring fans or fellow idols, and so it's a bit of a rare treat.

"I'm—" he starts so sputter. "You're—"

"Jisung-ah!"

Chan's distant call barely snaps Jisung out of his flustered state. You have to give your boyfriend a light shove, just to encourage him to get moving.

"Later," you say. A promise.

He doesn't respond immediately. It seems like his brain has stopped working, and when it boots up, he manages a panicked squeak of, "Later!"

Jisung stumbles off, nearly tripping on his own laces. You put your hand to your mouth to hold back your giggles.

He will have to go face everyone else with his cool and collected persona. He will have to go be HAN of Stray Kids, will have to rap and joke and perform.

But there is also a Jisung that you love, a Jisung that's yours, and it's enough. It's more than enough.

[starshipsofstarlord]

locked away

summary. whilst hiding out from walkers in a closet, you grow extremely bored. the only thing to do is daryl, but you have to make sure he stays quiet

warnings. smut, handjob, sub!daryl, dom!reader, praising, mentions of gagging, crying

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

The aroma of cigarette smoke that clung addictively to his clothes filled your nostrils as you hid in union together, avoiding the stream of deadly walkers that marched in their haphazard staggering through the wide hallway. There had been worse that you survived through, so as long as you didn’t alert the parasites that filled the decayed human bodies of your presence, you would be fine.

Boredom struck you after the first hour of leaning all of your weight against the chipped brick wall, listening without consent to the groans and growls of the dangerous passers-by. If you had a nickel for each time you expressively rolled your eyes that had adjusted to the shadows which conjured a graphite colouring to which you could see, you would be astoundingly rich in a world without cash currency.

You had an impulse to blabber out the most random thoughts that appeared intrusively in your mind, although you were sure if you dared to your beloved Daryl would gag your mouth with that dirty red rag and tell you to shut up; and it wouldn’t be a first time for that. Your shoulders slumped defeatedly as the pressing circumstances of the long and drawn out waiting game refused to come to an end.

How many goddamn walkers were out there? Actually that was an answer you’d rather not find out whilst you were contained in a narrow closet which was consumed with lacklustre silence. Daryl wouldn’t even meet your eyes in the dark space, sternly pent up from your antics during the run that had lead you into being entrapped by your own free will and vigilance to live another day. He was pissed, and worst of all in this circumstance; turned on.

His pools of pitiful blue distinctly avoided your gaze, trying his darnest to focus on the stakes that were against you both. But he was pursued by a cloaking of consuming lust, his shoulders rigid as he thought repeatedly of your earlier words. If you’re a good boy, then maybe we’ll have some fun before we get home. It wasn’t likely to happen now, the bowman thought intuitively, sharply discarding the sweet images of pleasing you from his brain.

These walkers were preying risk to more than just his life, he felt like he could explode from the overbearing desire to feel your hands rake upon his entire body, and he mentally cursed as he felt his cock spring to life at just the the sinful thought. He grunted in solitary longing, pacing with light and feline like steps as much as he could in the limited ground that was cemented in the storage room.

“Something wrong?” You almost inaudibly spoke, cocking your head as the corners of your mouth twitched in mocking amusement, and he would have whined in response if there wasn’t the threat of the passing walkers merely inches away. “Come here, let me help you baby.” His head was lowered in a submissive bow as he followed your command, creeping towards you until your chests were all but touching.

It was something you adored, to see Daryl in such a state, and it made you feel powerful without any limits. The flow of your bloodstream began to pound with revelations with what you could make your obedient man disperse himself to. It was like he was a buffet of possibilities, however his arousal was rubbing against your thigh, making you recall his desperation, and it would be satire and cruel for you to allow him to suffer without your amorous caregiving.

You shuffled, keeping a balance on your body weight so that you didn’t accidentally stagger backwards into the buckets or moulding mops that were leant against the wall to your left, as you lowered your hands to his wide hips, giving him an affectionate squeeze before you turned him in your embrace so that his back was facing your front.

Admittedly there were times where you loved to listen to him beg and cry for lustrous attention, but now was not the time; neither one of you could make so much as a speck of noise, it was going to be difficult as often times Daryl would draw out long and pathetically attractive moans each time you held contact with his cock in any manner, but he would just have to be quiet somehow, and if he couldn’t control himself, you had ideas of how to make him.

“Be a good boy.” You whispered with sultry warning in his ear as you reached further around him, slowly and tantalisingly unweaving his belt, pulling the strip of leather through the flimsy loops which granted you access to undo the button and fly of his trousers. With swift motions you did so, carefully shoving them down his sides as his cock was released from its containment. It was leaking defiantly with precum, and he resorted to calming breaths as he steadied his own self into being relaxed despite the nearby danger.

He inhaled immediately as he felt one of your hands wrap perfectly around his achingly hard length, gliding up and down the taught and erect flesh which made him throw his long locked head back in pleasure. His eyelids twitched as he fought against his desire to let you know how utterly amazing you were making him feel, as he bit his own bottom lip over and over. You dared to increase the pace in which you were stroking him, and a shattered gasp tumbled past his bared teeth.

Without so much as a thought, you smothered his mouth with your hand, pinching his nose a couple of times between your thumb and forefinger to restrain the oxygen he was permitted for a few seconds. A vibration riveted against your palm, as a quiet moan was silenced by your restriction. His whole body was rattling, as he began to rut his hips so that his cock was moving in the grasp of your soft hand.

“Such a good baby.” Your breath hit his ear as you forbade yourself from saying anything else, knowing that it would be obscenely dangerous, and the hoard of vacantly minded walkers were more than capable of pushing through the locked door. Your thumb rubbed expertly against his tip, as tears began to fill Daryl’s eyes, however he continued to jerk into your grip, and soon they fled from his tear ducts. His salt water, pleasure filled tears rolled onto your hand, weaving across your flesh as his tongue rolled pathetically around your palm, losing any grounding to reality that he had.

It drove you on farther, moving your hand at a quicker pace to make him spill over the edge, and with one last tough tug, he expelled his seed from his balls, it shooting directly in the air for a moment, and landing vividly on the ground. Daryl continued to shake like a leaf, breathing a kind kiss to your palm as he held your hand against his mouth for a while longer. This was definitely an interesting tale, however you would never tell anybody else. Everyone else thought Daryl was the being of all dominance in your relationship, and it made you inwardly cackle at how wrong you were.

He was as submissive as a human could come (pun intended), and he stood there idly and cautiously as you aided him in tucking his cock back into his confines. You grappled his belt, pulling it back around into its holding as you pulled it tightly around his waist, your eyes glowing with the satisfaction that you could make him so easily crumble. With one last pat to his sensitive bulge, you waited a while longer, until the coast was clear and it was only a few stragglers of the herd to take out in order to make your unruly escape.

[totaly-obsessed]

The Weight of Expectations

Alexia Putellas x reader

-> Happy Birthday to my darling @greynatomy, love ya!

-> Alexia struggles through the IVF journey and turns mean

-> Talk of pregnancy, alcohol and abuse

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

“¡No puedes hablar en serio!”

Oh. Alexia was home, something new. You were currently in the bathroom closest to the bedroom, heaving up anything that you had eaten, even the light soup. 

For a couple of days, you had been like this, and two days ago you had finally done a test. A pregnancy test. This was the last IVF round before Ale and you had to start considering other options like adoption. The first 2 rounds had failed.

Positive. The goddamn test was finally positive.

Immediately you had made an appointment for a blood test to get done. You just had to be sure before telling Alexia. The blonde already blamed herself, thinking she had waited for too long, hesitant to have a child while in the midst of her career before she finally committed to it.

You had been so incredibly happy when she came to you after a game. Tears streamed down your face when she told you that she was ready to have a child. With you.

The disappointment of two failed attempts weighed heavily on Alexia. She desperately tried to console you as you cried, hiding her own tears in her pillow when you finally passed out. How could she be sad when you had to go through the physical aspect as well?

She shouldn't have waited that long, maybe 29 was too old.

After that things changed. She had left for Spain camp, and after that, she threw herself back into work in Barcelona. Her surgery was healing well and she was getting better and better by the day.

Meanwhile, you were sat at home, trying to understand the change in your wife. Did you do something wrong? With the previous tries the footballer had been so involved, checking in on you multiple times a day when she was at training. 

And now? Nothing.

Alone you had gone to the blood test yesterday, not even needing an explanation for your wife, who came home after you had gone to bed and left before you woke up.

Eight Weeks. You were already two months along. In Alexia's absence, you had completely forgotten to test, wanting to do it with her.

As soon as you had gotten the confirmation, the morning sickness hit ten times harder. Who even decided to call it that? Morning sickness… What a stupid fucking name. The whole day was filled with sudden cramps and vomiting.

And you had done it all alone until now. 

But Alexia was here now, yelling in the kitchen, before she stomped up the stairs to the bathroom, looking into every door available on her way. She was looking for you.

She hesitated for a second, seeing you crouched on the floor, head over the toilet, and pale as the white wall behind you.

“¡No puedes hablar en serio!”, she yelled again, now in your face.

“I am serious Ale, what's up?”

This was the first time you had seen her in a couple of days, her roots were starting to show, as did the bags under her eyes. But the rest of her body looked stronger than ever, the countless hours in the gym paying off.

“The kitchen is a mess, you didn’t do the laundry and you didn't mop the floors either. Look how filthy it is in this house!”

Wow.

You didn't know what you had been expecting. But definitely not this.

With slow movements you pushed yourself up, using the sink to help balance yourself. Fuck were you dizzy.

“W- What did you mean?” You hated how meek your voice sounded after your wife practically yelled at you.

Her face was red, and her eyes looked like she had been bitten by the devil, spit gathering at the corners of her mouth.

Crazy. She looked really fucking crazy, and it was terrifying.

“¿En serio?”

“Let’s just go downstairs, I made dinner and we can talk about it.” 

With a scoff the blonde turned on the spot, stomping down the stairs, leaving you in the bathroom. Tears threatened to fall. What has happened?

With your nausea, it took you a bit longer to navigate the stairs. Every step hurt, but Alexia couldn’t care less about your pain-filled noises. She was busy stabbing a fork into her dinner, already scarfing a plate of your favorite pasta dish down.

“Finally. God, you always take so long.”

The words were filled with hate as she spat them at you, not even noticing that a bit of the sauce was flung onto her cheeks. 

You couldn’t help but smile a bit, she had never managed to eat without making a mess of herself and the table. With a damp cloth, you tried to wipe the spot away, but when she hit your hand away from her, the cloth sailed to the floor as you looked at her. Eyes wide in panic.

“I am not your goddamn child. I can take care of myself.”

Your wives' usually warm eyes pierced your heart even more. Was this really the same woman who would carry you to bed every night, even after grueling training and rehab sessions?

The tears you had breathed away were back, a painful sensation in your eyes as Alexia continued to devour the meal you had prepared with so much excitement to tell her as if it didn't mean anything.

“This tastes like shit. Not even good for cooking.” She threw the fork on the plate, the clattering sound ripping you out of your shock-induced trance. “Do you want me to make you something different?

Your wife looked terrifying. Her eyes were wide open with small pupils that moved around quickly, looking you up and down before making their way through the house. The rest of her face was stoic, a facade she had perfected over the years. One that she didn’t usually use with you.

“No. I don’t want new food. I want you to get yourself together.”

The room filled with a heavy silence that nearly made you gasp for air. What did she mean?

“Amore I don’t know what has gotten into you, but maybe we should just go for a quick walk? Get some fresh air?”

That was the final nail in the coffin for the footballer, who stood up with such force, that the chair slid back and toppled over with a startling noise.

“Fresh air? You want fresh air?” She was getting in your face now, hunching a little to really get close. “Do you know what I want?”

Her breath was warm as it hit your nose.

Alcohol. You could smell alcohol.

She was a mean drunk, snapping at anyone who dared to get too close to her, her dog, or you. But just like her stern face, you were usually safe from her drunken attitude. Your wife always pushed you behind her as soon as anything looked like trouble.

This was new and you hated it.

“What do you want Ale?”

the defender had emptied your cup of coffee in one go, slamming the mug down on the counter.

“What do I want? I a housewife that can actually do her fucking job!” She was yelling now, some of the words accentuated with harsh hand movements and slight pushes to your shoulders.

“And look at how you let yourself go. Fucking pathetic! How can I even show myself in public with you?”

Shit that hurt.

You were finally pregnant with a very much wanted child, and she acted like this after leaving you alone for such a long time.

“Gained so much weight it’s-”

“I’m pregnant.”

You didn't yell. You didn’t shout. You said it with a normal voice. Well as normal as you could with tears threatening to spill.

But it was enough to quiet the drunk blonde. 

“Pregnant? You’re pregnant?”

It felt as if she was looking at you for the first time when her eyes softened and her whole body slumped. She fucked up. And she knew it.

In a frenzy you started packing things, throwing stuff into a suitcase while your wife tried to stop you. “Where are you going? Amore, please! I am so sorry!”

But it was too late.

With a suitcase and Alexia’s car, you made your way to Eli’s house, you had no one in Spain, all your family back home, so you decided to turn to your wife's mother who loved you to no end and had spent a lot of time at your house while Alexias had been ‘busy’ the last few weeks.

Alexia watched as you left. You were pregnant with a child that she wanted so badly, and she fucked it up.

Tomorrow she will make up for it. She really will.

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: predicament bondage

☆ pairing: Karl Heisenberg/Reader

☆ summary: Putting you into a tricky situation, Lord Heisenberg takes advantage of your choices.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

"The choice is yours, sweetheart," drawing the last word out with a wolfish grin, Heisenberg remained on his haunches as he crouches before you. "For every candle spilled, not only do you get to feel the scald of the wax, but I'll also add another fresh one to the mix."

On all fours like a dog, your knees and palms press into the cold stone of the factory floor with staunch determination. The game had been his idea and while the terms weren't the most comfortable, the possible reward was delicious as you rolled the image of the new non-metal restraints which he had crafted for himself in your mind.

"Let's set a target of, oh let's say seven minutes," Heisenberg continues, standing to circle your body like a vulture. "If you can survive my play for seven minutes without spilling the three candles then we'll say you've won."

"Okay."

A harsh slap to your ass threatens to spill the first candle and you scowl as your body quickly stiffens to stop the wobble. All three candles are perched precariously on your back, the thick bases giving them enough of a balance to ensure that they wouldn’t fall without sufficient movement, and the slow burn of the wick would only allow the odd droplet to fall down to drip against your unprotected skin.

"Properly, slut."

"Okay, my lord," a title given with a roll of your eyes.

“That’s better,” Heisenberg nodded, standing to his full height as you crane your neck up to meet him. An off-white shirt clings to his chest, the fabric stained from both the oils of the metalwork of his earlier work and also the faintly yellowing marks of his sweat, a constant given the incessant heat of the factory. The sleeves rolled up past his hair-covered forearms, dark pants finish his outfit as his trusty overcoat lays abandoned in another part of the building.

A thick hand pressing on your ass makes your legs spread slightly wider, the stance giving you the best possible chance of keeping the candles still as you focus on maintaining balance. A trickle of wax burns your back at the movement and you sigh at the sensation, heated skin overly sensitive and full of anticipation for what’s to come.

Heisenberg cups your cunt with his palm, the heat of his skin making you shudder and you can feel how easily his skin slides against your own – your arousal coating the skin of his palm despite the fact that he’s barely touched you yet.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he grunts, “can’t even get a good grip of you because you’re so wet.”

Flushing with embarrassment, you don’t answer him and instead gently roll your hips and press your cunt harder into his hand.

A wide thumb pressing against your clit, the skin there calloused and rough, is almost your undoing as the sudden pressure on your throbbing nub sends a wicked bolt of pleasure across your groin.

“Hnng,” you cry out, catching the moan between your lips as you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a proper reaction. Your cunt aches with need and you can imagine how tempting it all looks for him – the spread of your legs allowing him to see just how wet and willing you are and how easily he could take what he wanted.

His fingers thrust with your embarrassingly wet cunt and you tense at how rough his movements are, knowing that he’s attempting to get a rise out of your still body.

“Goddamn! Leaking like a faucet, sweetheart,” Heisenberg comments and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Might need to craft up a new plug to keep you from dripping around the place like a bitch in heat.”

Shuddering at his words, you feel the heat of a fallen droplet of wax as it drops from the side of the middle candle and rolls across your back before hardening. The discomfort only lasts a moment but with the added sensation of the thick fingers stretching out your cunt it feels more intense and you bite your lip with every curl of his digits against your walls.

But it still isn’t enough to get you to fail as you maintain a desperate stiffness in your spine to keep the candles in place.

“I can feel how tense you are, you struggling already?” Asking the question with faux concern, Heisenberg adds a third finger to your cunt and the stretch takes your breath away for a moment.

“N-no,” you reply, “I’m doing fin-oh my god.”

Interrupting your own answer as his thumb returns to your clit, the sudden burst of intense pleasure makes your body flinch in place and you hiss as a stream of fresh wax falls to burn along your skin. It’s heaven and hell, your body desperate to push back and beg for more while your brain forces it to keep still, thinking of the reward to come.

The cold metal of something round presses at your clit and you sigh at the sensation, the cool material very welcome against your heated, swollen flesh. Rubbing slow circles, Heisenberg ensures that every nerve in your clit knows what’s about to happen and the anticipation of it has your spine locking like steel in preparation. It starts off slow, the hum of the metal vibrating every so slightly as Heisenberg manipulates the material with his abilities, and the gentleness of the sensation against your clit is maddening as you fight the urge to push more roughly against it.

Sensing your need for more, Heisenberg ups the vibrations and you instantly regret your own greed as the vibe teases wicked circles around your clit – the movements very quickly dragging you to the edge of release as you carefully try to keep the rounded edge of it from making direct contact with your nub – knowing that it will force your back to jerk and spill the candles.

“Karl, please,” begging with words which are broken up by messy panting, you pound your fist against the floor as you desperately try to avoid his vibe – a pointless venture as the shifting pressure of the vibrations acts as more of a wicked tease. “You can’t do that, it’s not- ah- it’s not fair.”

“Who said anything about fair, sweetheart?” Openly enjoying himself, Heisenberg is every inch the cat who caught the canary as he holds you at the edge with his relentless teasing, “I’m playing to win, just like you are. So stop bitching.”

“Please! If I come then it's going to ruin everyt-fuck!” Again cut off as he angles the vibe in such a way that it brushes across your swollen clit, you jerk messily and feel one of the candle wobble dangerously as it spills most of its accumulated wax across your back – covering more of the skin with red wax that you know is standing out beautifully against your skin. “Please!”

“No. You wanted to play this game, slut. It was your idea after all,” Heisenberg laughs, a full-bellied chuckle that is as infuriating as it is sexy, “And I am always happy to indulge your nasty little gam-”

A shrill alarm, the volume of it making your flinch in surprise, rings out across the room to announce that the seven minutes is up and a vicious squeal of metal puts an end to the noise as Heisenberg growls and crushes the alarm with his powers.

Your cunt still twitching and dripping with need, you can’t help the grin that splits your lips as you realise that you have won the bet.

It was almost worth all the teasing.

“I won, handsome,” you announce, dropping your head to place your warm cheek against the cool floor as you wriggle your body with a teasing gentleness. “So, I guess the big bad metal man is getting tied up and fucked the way that I want.”

Humming as he returns his thumb to your clit and strokes slow circles around it while you grunt at the resuming attention, Heisenberg plunges two fingers back into your soaked cunt.

“Sure sounds like I lost,” he says and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone, “but I don’t think the game needs to be over just because the timer went off.”

And with that, his arm locks roughly around your hips, pinning you in place with his inhumane strength and knocking over two of the candles – the sudden burn of the wax as it spread across your back making you gasp in surprise before dissolving into a discomforting groan. A high-pitched humming noise is the only warning you get of the vibe before the head of it is pressing harshly against your sensitive clit and the intense, almost painful, burst of overstimulation makes you cry out and pound your fists against the floor.

Your brain short-circuits in an instant and you understand that Heisenberg plans on taking out his loss on your poor, twitching cunt until your legs are jellied enough that you won’t be able to support yourself. As though hearing your thoughts, Heisenberg laughs once more as he tightens his grip even more and holds your bucking frame in place as he continues to torment your poor overstimulated clit.

[emiko-matsui]

this is gonna make me a bit genuinely sad to say, but i haven't listened to the adventure zone balance since maybe 2020. episodes here and there, yes, but not listening to it. it's my heart, it introduced me to dnd, my first girlfriend, and those goddamn brothers. i have a point with this post, i swear.

i listen/watch a lot of dnd now and play it with my closest friends. ive watched 17 seasons of dimension 20, not another d&d podcast genuinely changed my life in a way im not even gonna get into, last summer i survived a remote island with my family through dungeons and daddies, i even got into dungeons and dragons and social distancing from watcher for a while. i play d&d with my closest friends, i kept in contact with one of my only high school friends through d&d, and i met my best friend in the entire world through a game. the adventure zone means the world to me. i haven't listened to it since 2020

all this to say—every wednesday i tune in to dropout and every week i turn on my naddpod playlist and i hear someone say, i cast... and then think about what they're gonna cast. and every single time (not voluntarily mind you, not like an inside joke with myself, just on pure instinct, an echo in my mind) i hear him...

any generic dnd player on a show: i cast-

a rumbling echo in my brain: ZONE OF TRUTH

[eddiezpaghetti]

Okay, so my experience with Stranger Things is a weird one.

I didn't care when it first came out, started to watch it out of "might as well" in 2020, wasn't interested in it enough to make it past S2, forgot about it outside of going "oh, hey, cool, there's a lesbian in it now, I guess," in S3, got really annoyed when "Running Up That Hill" got popular from it because it was a song I listened to on fucking loop after one of my best friends died in high school and I fully expected its appearance in the show to ignore the whole survivor's guilt theme of the song (and was very happy to learn later that it did the exact opposite of ignoring the lyrics), saw people drawing Eddie, suddenly got a lot more interested, watched just the fourth season like a fucking psychopath because I was seriously only there for Eddie, then got interested enough to start the show over properly, having mostly forgotten what I did watch of the show before.

And let me tell you something from the perspective of someone who started with the complete fourth season, who wasn't there from the start, who wasn't tainted by ship goggles or this internal battle of hope and despair, who wasn't theorizing about what the painting could be or expecting Mike and Will to kiss when Volume 2 happened or rooting for Mike and Eleven's relationship to go down in flames or whatever the fuck. Just someone who went blind into Season 4.

It's really fucking obvious that Will and Mike are gonna be endgame.

Like holy fuck. It's so fucking blatant I don't even know why people are nervous.

No sane fucking person would shoot this scene this way if they wanted the audience to care about El and Mike as a couple. Despite being all blurry in the background, Will's reaction to what's happening here is smackdab in the fucking middle, clearly showing that the important part is what's going through his head here. What he's feeling. It's like the opposite of that scene from Kingdom Hearts II where Sora and Riku reunite and Kairi just fucking vanishes into the aether while it's happening because, despite the fact that she was standing between them when the scene began, she doesn't matter to the scene, so she's just kind of gone when the camera angle changes. Will could have been behind one of their heads, or so far in the distance he blends in with the background, but he's not. He's so obvious that despite being massively blurred out, he's still the first goddamn thing you look at. What, you think that's an accident? You think he's in the middle of this dramatic fucking scene because of a mistake? He basically has a big flashing neon arrow pointing at him with "THIS IS THE POINT" being screamed through a megaphone.

And then this?

They're paired up like they're taking fucking prom pictures. Each one of these pairs is so fucking close to one another and so fucking far from everyone else. It's not, "Oh, they're standing vaguely near each other in a group shot," it's fucking Noah's Ark out here. Again, there's no way to take this as an accident. It's not just a framing issue. If they wanted to make the shot look balanced while still not hiding anyone else behind El, they would have scattered people around much more naturally. Even if they wanted to keep Nancy with Jonathan and Hopper with Joyce, there's so much room on that hill for three people to stand on El's left and three on her right. But they didn't do that. They put Mike and Will together on purpose in the most obvious way possible.

Like I get that coming up with crackpot theories is fun in and of itself and I'm not blaming anyone for having fun. I totally get the appeal of arguing a point and reaching for every stupid little thing to pull into it because it's like a game, okay? I've done that. But if you're trying to actually convince someone (whether it's someone who wants to believe or someone who's pissed at the very idea that Mike and Will could be in love), stay away from blue and yellow lights, stay away from costume design, stay away from the existence of closets in backgrounds. And don't worry about whether Mike's gay or bi when he's in love with Will either way. I'll give you a little tip about persuasion: You're only as strong as your weakest argument. Even if you've got strong stuff in there, too, the person you're trying to convince is going to dismiss anything you say as complete insanity the second you start going on an entire tangent about the shape of a character's fucking pocket.

Sometimes, clothes are just clothes. Sometimes, there's a closet in the background because it helps establish that a character is in a bedroom. Sometimes, blue and yellow are just a couple of colors that look nice together. And sure, it might be set designers and costume designers and cinematographers smirking and winking at the audience from behind the camera. But if the show was just those things, instead of those things in the context of everything else, they wouldn't be saying anything of note.

But this?

This tells a story all on its own. Someone with no context can look at this and automatically assume that each paired person is standing with someone they care about deeply, seeking comfort as they watch some sort of disaster unfold. And yeah, romantic couples usually come in twos, and we live in an amatonormative society, so that's going to be the first association anyone makes seeing a bunch of people paired off.

It's the same reason you look at this

And go, "Oh..."

"Those two are probably a couple."

And I genuinely don't understand how people could have watched S4 Vol. 2 and gotten scared. Because as someone who went in with no investment whatsoever, I just looked at these two--

--and went, "Oh, those two are a couple. Good for them." And I moved on. Shut up about the trees for five seconds and just see the forest for what it is.

Oh, and if you're still nervous? Little thing from a storyteller here: You don't leave a hanging thread like "Will confessed his romantic feelings for Mike by projecting them onto El, but Mike either didn't understand or at least didn't say he understood," without coming back to that later. That's Chekov's gun hanging on the wall, babes. It's gonna fire at some point. If Mike was going to reject Will's feelings, if they weren't relevant, they would have had that discussion in Argyle's van. There'd be no reason to leave you in suspense.