#like read at your own risk or at all

[art-i-know-yes]

[There's definitely like tw's. just don't really know how to describe it.]

not a god. that's for sure. im lesser in my best form. am i stronger than one. no. can i kill it. never. will i try. everyday.

I play its game. And I've lived and won so many few. Very few many. As an immortal, some can call. But I am measly myself.

Who?

That's the game.

The god, as it calls itself, as it is. Gave those a chance to live forever. Well. Forever isn't right, but quite. More like endlessly for an end. Either way, the game.

You are you. Who that is. Figure it out. Your name, a true name. Your age, this one's hard. Your closest friends, this ones harder. Your passions, that includes everything. And looks. Those are what you look for. You have a century to figure it out. Or the god kills you. That's it. You live your life and then, every century after that, you try to be that person again.

It's gotten easier over the years. With modern technology. Harder with modern views. Modern people. But sometimes the god wants to have fun and it... puts you at a... disadvantage. It starts easy. My shortest year was my first try, only had to make it to 10. Found everything, mostly because I remembered. My longest 36. In years from here at least.

I hated that life.

Very human things make it so hard. The god has worsened my memory, has made me too trusting and then, too defensive. Many, many emotions get in the way. Sometimes it takes some time to even remember the game. I've only recently found my name, maybe at least. The god thinks I've won too many times and gives me more and more handicaps. Stuck in a home with people who were only made to make me struggle. I think I have my friends. Things that are bonuses like gender, one of those modern view things, and shape.

But I have learned a few tips.

Because curse that stupid god. I'm winning.

Tip is. Who you are, for me at least, is what you want.

Not those young, deeply childish wants. True wants that stay, thrive, and hurt so badly until you get it. It's in your soul. Your wants are your soul and your soul is who you are.

Nothing, but that should guide you. You'll be led astray otherwise.

I want to fucking scream.

It's not like it matters anyway. You'll never play this game, will you?

The god is very old. very new. It has made this life round so very very painful and I've thought about quitting, but that wouldn't be very fun. I'm only so young. Too many years. But I've already won so many few. So few many. Time and time over again. Not again. Before. But I refuse to lose. Refuse to lose to someone, something, that wants me to.

So, I guess you can use this if this advice ever seems useful.

Find something to spite. It'll keep you alive forever.

Well. Not forever. But. Endlessly to an end.

Win your round, mortal, being. Human. So very human. So wholly nothing, while being something. So something, nothingly. So nothing, somethingly. With effort, with none. And isn't that so special.

Goodbye. Till the never next time. Maybe the next never. Goodbye, with luck.

- from someone who never existed. not existed, lived.

im killing that stupid fucking god... a damn bastard. maybe i'll find its name.

[dukeofthomas]

I can't find it now but there's a post about suspension of disbelief and how it's broken when the story starts trying to excuse it. "character gets knocked unconscious for hours but there's no further issues from this" okay 👍 "and actually this makes perfect sense because of this and that" um no it doesn't why are you lying to me. like i am willing to ignore the holes and the discrepancies!! all you need to do is let me and not bring unnecessary attention to it!!!

and all that is my issue with the whole robin child soldier argument. like i am willing to ignore it i am willing to engage with the fantasy literally all you need to do is NOT try to convince me that Actually It's Fine Because They Want To Do It or whatever. like literally just shut up about it and i can engage with the fantasy!!

[barkovsasha]

do not read if you hate the panthers lmao

i understand the way people think is different and opinions differ but it's also possible that people can say the o.ilers played dirty whilst acknowledging that the panthers don't play the cleanest? like nobody is saying they are the perfect team (i have literally seen nobody say it but i don't know everyone in the world so...) but all i see are o.ilers fans (instagram, not here but i am avoiding the tag so who knows!) saying the refs favour the panthers and comparing things from game 2 to the second round like....... a sucker punch following a hit and a blatant elbow to the face are different, i think. maybe i'm wrong idk! it's just my opinion but idk how the refs 'favouring' the panthers has anything to do with the inability to score

[astranauticus]

stultifera navis rerun AKA thinking about Iberia hours again because a lot of the Iberians have such fascinating relationships with the concept of home but specifically Thorns and Lumen are eating at my brain. like where do you call home when the place that is your home Just Fucking Hates You? Elysium's rewinding breeze specifically makes a point to hammers home how differently Iberia treats its Liberi and its Aegir

(which is especially interesting since this comes right after a conversation where Purestream commented on how despite Leizi being a high ranking government official, there are still some experiences that are universal for all Yanese people - because the experience of what Iberia itself is like isnt universal for all Iberians)

But all that being said, Thorns also straight up states that Aegir is not his home, and yeah, how could it be? How could a place you've never been to, never truly known, ever be your home? How could it ever feel like a home?

so where do you go when the place that you are from hates your people and the place your people are from is completely unfamiliar and alien to you? Thorns' answer at the end of the conversation with Aya is: my home is where i chose it to be. my home is where there are people I care about and people who care about me

in the complete opposite direction, Lumen's oprec asks: why do you still stay in a place that wants you gone? because the people of Gran Faro like Jordi well enough but when push comes to shove, they will want the only Aegir in town gone

and yet, when Rald the messenger offers him a chance to leave Jordi turns him down and when he's forced to escape Gran Faro after the people there literally try to send him to his death (or worse) at the hands of the Inquisitors he keeps trying to go back because like everyone in stultifera navis, Jordi is clinging to his own dreams of a golden age

but the shape of that dream is unique to every character and for Jordi, his dreams are deeply, inseparably bound to the Eye of Iberia, the legacy his parents left behind

and it's this dream of becoming someone great, of bringing about that golden age that his parents devoted their lives to help create that ties Jordi to this nothing town because despite everything, despite the mistrust of the townsfolk and the hostility of the Inquisition and the danger from the ocean, he simply cannot leave it behind

(or, because i personally dislike the official translation,)

"I just see this place as my home"

so yeah. not sure what overall point i was trying to make here i'm just. deeply in love with these stories about chosing what is and isn't your home, of saying you will not call a place your home because it has given you no reason to or saying you consider a place your home even though it has given you every reason not to. deeply unwell about them <3

[budugaapologist]

still dont see how so many people say that dawntrail is poorly written in comparison to other expansions like. what, did you realize you had to learn about a new culture and immediately not care anymore lmao? you've done it before, was this one not white enough for you?

genuinely i think more people should do side quests during msq so idk you can form a heart about the characters you're interacting with if you struggle with that and understand the land better so when impactful shit happens your illiterate ass can actually read and have empathy. theres no excuse for this.

if you can't handle storybuilding and character introductions from the expansion that feels like stormblood and shadowbringers had passionate gay sex that got one of them pregnant and birthed a beautiful daughter they both love and care about then idk what to tell you, maybe youre just lame and can't read. best of luck with that.

[puppyeared]

When you backread through a fun conversation you had with someone for hours an angel gets its wings

[lollytea]

"there's a bit where hunters life falls apart" HELLO?? MISS TEA ELABORATE (if you please)

Alright. Walk with me. Let's talk.

(Potentially triggering content ahead.)

So imagine you're a teenage boy. Around 17-18. Imagine you're out in public and you've snuck away somewhere discreet to make out with your girlfriend, who you utterly adore.

Someone catches the two of you in the act and snaps a picture. If you were a normal teenage boy and she was a normal teenage girl, this would be a little embarrassing at worst.

But neither of you are normal. So that one little picture means the end of the world for you both.

Since you were little, you've been taught that you have to work extra hard to keep your secrets, because the whole world wants to know them. The whole world is obsessed with you and you should be grateful. However, there are certain things about you that could tarnish your golden reputation so you need to do whatever it takes to keep them to yourself.

And if they find out and make a mockery out of you, it's your own damn fault.

Don't say Uncle didn't warn you.

Do not tell the world the secret to your lean build and muscled limbs. If they found out about the ballet, the rumors would swirl. You don't want them thinking you're gay, do you?

Because you're not gay.

At least not entirely. But they can't know about that either.

Do not tell the world about your Diva Tantrums. About how even insignificant things like the stage lights being too bright or your costume being a weird texture can lead to you having a complete episode on set. You don't want them thinking you have a mental disorder, do you?

Because you don't have a mental disorder. You're perfectly sane. It's just hard to explain why silly things bother you so much.

However, if a rumor goes around that earns you positive attention, then by God, you encourage it.

You are not dating your co-star Emira Blight. Actually you're pretty sure Emira Blight hates your guts.

But neither of you are allowed to say that. It's good publicity for both of you. So you're kinda shackled to each other.

Neither of you are obliged to claim you're dating. But you're not allowed to deny it either. It's the speculation that keeps the interest alive.

She seems like a nice girl but she feels a lot of resentment towards you because all of her magazine/red carpet interviews are questions about you and her relationship with you. For some reason.

"Sexism," Says your girlfriend when you tell her about it. This explains a lot.

Your girlfriend knows a lot about sexism. She knows a lot about various types of prejudice. She deals with at least 4 of them on a regular basis.

She's tough though. Tough as a tree. But she's young too. Young and sensitive. It wears her down, all of this. It really does.

Like you, your girlfriend lives in the spotlight. Unlike you, she's a rather divisive person. A lot of people in Hollywood don't like her for stupid reasons.

You love her though. You love her to pieces.

She's a little like you and you're a little like her. You trust her enough to tell her your secrets. She knows about the ballet. She knows about the way you sometimes look at boys. She knows that your brain does not operate the way it should.

But she loves you. She loves you to pieces.

The little trail of kisses that she leaves down the slope of your nose makes you like it more.

You've always been insecure about your large hooked nose. It makes you a little less marketable so it sometimes sabotages your chance at booking roles.

You're no Edric Blight, that's for damn sure. Button nosed bastard.

But your girlfriend cups your face in her hands and calls you her prettyboy and it makes you melt every time.

It's the nose thing. And the teeth thing. And the hooded eye thing. You'll never be the most attractive young actor in Hollywood.

But you're not doing badly, all things considered.

Especially when it comes to how you are treated compared to your girlfriend.

"The perks of being a slim white man," She says jokingly, cuddling up against your chest.

"Also nepotism," You reply.

Your girlfriend makes you like yourself in a way you've always had to fake.

She also fakes a lot. She fakes confidence when it's not really there. She fakes cheerfulness and nonchalance when she really wants to burst into tears.

So you're determined to make her like herself too.

It took a long time for her to let you hold her. She was afraid you'd notice how soft her body is.

But when you're kissing her neck on that day, you're squeezing her thighs and she squeaks and giggles. Because you're tickling her and not because her thighs are off limits.

You're allowed to touch her now without reservations. Because she trusts you wholeheartedly. Thank God.

You promise you're always going to be there for her. She promises the same for you.

You promise that whatever happens, you'll figure it out together.

You're not allowed to tell the world that your girlfriend is your girlfriend.

There's a few reasons for this. The first being that this is your first relationship. It's hers too. Neither of you really know what you're doing at first but you certainly don't want millions of eyes watching you both awkwardly try to navigate romance.

But the second reason is what really matters here.

If people found out, they would be really really really mean to her.

"I look weird standing next to you," She murmurs. "Nothing like Emira,"

Whenever you tell her that she's the prettiest girl in existence, she grins, flipping her hair. "I know!"

But that's only in the privacy of your dressing room. When it's just you and her and you both feel safe. It's when she steps back out into the spotlight that all that confidence fizzles away.

But it's been a while since you started dating and honestly, it's getting exhausting. A little sad too.

One time you were both at the zoo. A few of the cast members of Hexside and Golden Guard were there too so it wasn't suspicious that you were out in public together.

Your girlfriend saw another teenage boy thread his fingers through those of the girl beside him, happy and carefree. In broad daylight too! But nobody cared about those two kids dating. Because the whole world wasn't watching them.

She had to go slip away somewhere quiet and wipe away a few tears before anybody saw her.

It's not fun living like this. Always nervously glancing over your shoulder. Always checking yourself to make sure you're not smiling too warmly at the girl you are hopelessly weak for. It's extremely draining to live in paranoia.

The two of you have been talking and you're thinking about going public. Not because you want the whole world in your business but after the initial burst of attention, it'll probably calm down.

If anything, you just want people to not care. Indifference is all you could ask for.

But public indifference is a privilege that people like you don't get.

Things have changed over the last year. Your girlfriend is way more popular than she used to be. She has a dedicated fanbase. So....maybe people will be nice?

You're hopeful. So is she.

The picture is snapped.

The picture spreads.

The world knows.

And people are not nice.

This is the part you don't want to talk about. Describing it in detail is painful.

Things were said about your girlfriend that hurts to think about.

And it's because of you. If it hadn't been your stupid face she was kissing, you wouldn't hear her uneven breath over the phone as she tries to keep herself from crying.

The two of you stay up for hours, trying to figure out what to do next and are essentially just talking in circles until your throat hurts.

Neither of you know what to do next. So you give up and call it a night and promise to think about it some more in the morning.

You sleep for 3 hours and when you regain consciousness at 5am you find a long string of notifications on your phone.

Texts from your girlfriend.

Wait.

No.

These aren't texts from your girlfriend.

You don't have a girlfriend.

You reply immediately.

You stand up. You get dressed. You go to work.

At some point you're obliged to be out in public.

You're swarmed by a crowd of cameras with people attached. Questions are hurled at you.

They ask about her.

You black out.

You break someone's nose.

You get punished.

You've never been punished to such an extreme extent before but you understand why.

You have spent a lifetime being perfected by your Uncle. Your image is spotless. You're a polite, charasmatic young actor with an admirable dedication to your Christian faith.

You're considered a role model by many.

And what have you done?

You've ruined it.

You're ruined everything.

The rumors are already erupting in the distance like a mushroom cloud and it's only going to get worse.

Within days, you're somebody else in the world's eyes.

You're a troubled teen star.

You're ignorant.

You're aggressive.

You're violent.

You've lost your way.

Don't you know that children look up to you?

Why would you do something like this?

You're pretty sure it lasted days. Or maybe weeks. But it was endless to you.

It's your wardrobe stylist that discovers the bruises before your attendant can sneak you to the makeup artists (who are apparently great at keeping their mouths shut.)

You and the wardrobe stylist have become close. He likes you a lot more than he used to.

The bruises alarm him.

"I'm sorry," He apologizes but doesn't elaborate. You don't ask.

What happens next is a very long arduous blur.

You're in a contract. This is significant.

There's lawyers involved. The wardrobe stylist fights tooth and nail to get these lawyers.

There are litigations.

You're required to talk about your relationship with your Uncle in painful detail. It's necessary. But there's always a hand on your back to keep you anchored to reality.

You're 18 now. This is also significant.

One thing happens after another.

Until one day you wake up, emancipated.

Your Uncle is no longer your legal guardian.

You're not an actor anymore.

Thank God.

This is good for you, you know that. You wouldn't have lived to see 21 if this had carried on.

But....who are you now?

You're nobody.

You live with the man who saved your life in a nondescript house he bought in a nondescript neighbourhood.

You think it will be nothing but smooth sailing from here. But it's not.

You don't know how to be nobody. You've never been nobody before. You have to adjust.

You've always been discouraged from eating and now you can barely keep down a whole meal. It takes time.

You usually operate on 5 or less hours of sleep so you struggle to stay unconscious the whole night. That takes time too.

Sometimes you think you're fine but you're not.

It's scary not knowing who you are anymore. And when you get scared, you tend to get angry.

You fight with everyone when you're in one of these moods. You fight with the man you live with.

You fight with the woman next door who treats you like her own son.

You fight with her two daughters. The one who also lost her girlfriend around the same time you did. The one who's become your best friend in the world.

You fight with the other daughter. The one who has scars like yours and had a breakdown when you yelled at her and you hated yourself for weeks.

You never knew you were so mean.

Maybe the things people said about you were right.

You have a therapist now. The man you live with arranged it.

The therapist has to come to your house for sessions because you can only go as far as the end of your block.

You have agoraphobia now, apparently. Being out in public makes you have some nasty panic attacks.

The thought of being photographed is enough to make you spiral.

You haven't left that neighbourhood in months.

You miss her.

You also miss your best friend, but he's cut you off too.

It was nothing personal. It's just...you were always a trio. But she's made it clear that seeing you again would hurt. Thinking about you hurts. Having any lingering trace of you in her life would hurt.

He decided that it would be better if he didn't have contact with you either. He was going to stick by her side.

You're proud of him. And thankful that she always has him looking out for her.

You can't bear the thought of them seeing you like this anyway.

Things are bad.

But it's always worse before it gets better.

And it does get better.

It just takes time.

You're 19, going on 20 and your ribs no longer poke out jaggedly against your flesh.

There's fat on your stomach.

Your face is less gaunt. Your skin less sallow looking.

You like to read.

You like to sew.

There's a gym downtown that you like to go to, with a large studio on the floor where you can practise ballet.

You and your family often have barbecues in your backyard when it's warm out.

Sometimes you like to sit by your open window for hours and listen to the birds. There's a bluejay that really likes you.

You're 19, going on 20 and you're lying in the grass as the sun lulls you to sleep.

It's getting you, you can feel it. But you can still hear the birds, the breeze, the kids yelling from three doors down.

And then you hear it.

But you almost don't believe it.

It's a voice that you're advised to avoid.

It crops up on television sometimes and it hurts to listen to.

That being said, you still torture yourself by not reaching for the remote control right away.

You're desperate for that voice to fill your ears again. You know that you might be weak enough to beg for it.

But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The voice is soft, tentatively so. And the single word wobbles like she's about to cry.

But as shattered as it sounds, it's a word that you utterly adore on her lips.

"Hunter?"

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Coming on their body? Decorating Dabi’s body in that aspect ;))

Like on the face, or stomach repeatedly?

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know |

Drabble under cut!

Dabi was definitely being a brat after they took over the PLF. They had a good place to live, unlimited plastic, and a big room with a huge bed and two sturdy locks on their door. He wanted to get fucked god damn it. But first Duster needed to get treated for his injuries, then get his new prosthetics, and they were in meetings all of the time, and the doc was constantly goading him into new treatments, and on top of the Gigantomachia thing, suddenly it had been two months since they fucked. So he was absolutely being a brat when he'd gone right into Duster's office between meetings, stripped down to nothing but his sexiest lingerie, and started to work himself over slowly.

The look on Shig's face when he came into the room is more than worth the punishment that he knew would be coming afterward. And he had finally gotten fucked the way he'd been wanting for weeks, so he was content enough.

Maybe he should have been more concerned when Duster told him that he would be taking the weekend off so they could spend time together, but at the time he had just hoped that would mean more mind-blowing orgasms in his near future. He should have known that he wouldn't be getting any of those until Tomura thought he had properly learned his place and how to be patient again.

"Come here, whore."

His face burns with his blush as he's forced to crawl along the floor, tugged closer by his leash. Duster makes him kneel in front of the mirror attached to their closet door and then moves over to the nightstand, reaching into the drawer and coming back with a thick black body marker.

"I was planning on surprising you and giving you a reward for being such a good boy while you waited for me to have time to play with you again. But you couldn't wait. You wanted something fast and dirty because you're a filthy little slut." He uncaps the marker as he speaks, voice as even and calm as it is when they're discussing their troops. He catches Dabi's chin between four fingers hard enough to strain his staples and make Dabi whimper, as he writes 'slut' across the unscarred skin of one cheek. "A desperate cockwhore." He tugs his leash and presses his foot to the back of Dabi's neck, forcing him to flatten his shoulders to the ground, his forehead against the carpet, and his cock, trapped in the cold metal cage, aching sharply with the need to fill. The word is scrawled across his lower back just above his ass, and he can't help moaning when he gets a hard slap against it before Shig pushes him over. He rolls onto his back, the cage just loose enough to show that he's already as humiliatingly hard as he can get like this. Sir's eyes linger between his legs coldly. "So pathetic that being treated like this makes your needy cock want more." 'Pathetic' and 'needy' go on the unscarred skin on the inside of either thigh and he's trembling against the ground, already close to begging. "If you could have just behaved then I would have been able to pretend for a little longer that you're more than just a hungry hole begging to be fucked."

"Tomura," He can't help it, the whine coming out of him as he spreads his legs a little wider, lifting his hips from the ground. Knows this is a punishment, but it's making him so hot that he thinks he's going to melt and they've barely started.

The slap that lands hard and high on his inner thigh makes him moan even as the pain stings across his skin. "Filthy little painslut.” That goes over one of his hips. He tries to bite his tongue and be patient and Tomura takes a slow, deep breath. "I activated a new quirk that I thought I would share with you. Regeneration. Not to its full potential yet, but," his hand moves across Dabi's stomach, to his pelvis, makes Dabi moan as he cups his hand over his cage and gives enough pressure to make it dig into his skin slightly. "It can speed up recovery time and increase stamina." Dabi goes absolutely breathless under him. Duster can already go for so long and usually doesn't stop until Dabi's gotten off at least two or three times, had made him sob and beg to stop, then promptly passed out when he had pushed that all the way to six one time when they had the whole day to themselves. "I thought that we would enjoy that together the first time. But you had to misbehave."

"I'm sorry, Sir," he tries desperately. He should be expecting the slap across his face, hard enough to leave black spots dancing across his vision and making him go limp against the carpet as he trembles with his need. Tomura shifts above him again and he hears a drawer open again. He's only able to blink back to focus as fingers catch hard at his cheeks, just under his staples, and start to apply pressure to his jaw, forcing him to open. The rubber ball of the gag slips behind his teeth in a solid, heavy weight that only sends him floating higher as he immediately tries to rub his tongue against it and suck on it like he wishes he was doing for his lover's cock.

"So instead, I'm going to enjoy my new quirk myself, and you--" he reaches down and flicks the cage, making vibrations go through it that have him moaning around the gag. "Are not going to cum until I can't read the words on your body anymore. Until then, you get to be my messy little cumdump." And that one goes across his chest in the bold black letters. "There. Now, if you can keep track of how many times it takes, then maybe when we're all done, I'll give you a reward."

///

Dabi tries to keep count, he really, really does. But it's so hard. Because the first one he has the other straddling his chest, pressing his tits together as Tomura fucks them slow and gentle, so he doesn't damage his seam too badly with a few of the staples out to keep from hurting him either. Fucks his chest as Dabi aches in his cage until he pushes in one more time and splatters his cum across his chest and face, some of it striping up to his hair. He sees Dabi's jaw trying to work around his gag, automatically wanting to open wider, to lick away his release, and that earns him a second across his face. He has him press close and jerk him until there's cum dripping down across his hand and stomach, and then smears it into their sheets when Tomura gets him facedown on their bed, his ass raised and Tomura standing, and he thinks as his fingers push into his hole and start to stretch him, that means he's going to get fucked. He's desperate for it, for relief, but he doesn't get it. Sir completely avoids touching his prostate and letting him creep towards that kind of orgasm. He just leaves him aching and drooling in his cage as he holds his thighs tight and fucks them hard. Three times? Four? Dabi doesn't know. He just knows that he's so wet with Tomura's cum by the time he's finished there that he's kneeling in a puddle of it on the bed and he's sobbing with how badly his own cock hurts and how sore his full balls are from being denied his release.

Sir still isn't finished with him. Rolls Dabi over so that he's getting even filthier in that wet spot and only then shoves into his hole and starts to fuck him. Dabi is certain that if anyone came past their room they would think he's being tortured from the sounds he's making behind his gag, and it feels like he is. He wants to cum so badly, but that's not for him. He's just Sir's slut. He only gets to be used because he misbehaved. Pathetic. Tomura fucking him so hard that it's putting bruises against the back of his thighs. Needy. His cum being fucked out of his gushing hole from how many times he's already been filled. Cockwhore. His body screaming because he never feels as good as he does when he's full and Tomura won't touch his prostate. Painslut. Every movement makes his cock hurt more and more, and that only keeps him on the knife's edge of arousal in a way that he's never experienced before. Cumdump. Just made to be filthy and dripping, smeared with Tomura's release, every inch of him used to make sure he feels good.

"Look at that, baby boy," Sir's voice rough as he runs a hand over his chest, smearing away the mixture of sweat and cum dripping all over his skin. "Finally made your makeup run." And his fingers stray, pinching his nipple at the same time his other hand grips his thigh and he changes his angle. The next thrust is so hard and it finally, finally, puts that solid, perfect pressure against his prostate.

Dabi didn't even know it was possible for him to cum inside of his cage, but he manages one hard twitch and then the explosiveness and radiating pleasure of a real orgasm rather than a milking. Cums as hard as he can in the confines and feels the rubber in his mouth warp a little around the heat of his quirk before he's going limp against the bed and blackness is rushing up over his eyes.

///

He comes to a little while later to Shigaraki carrying him to the bathroom to clean up. Dabi's jaw hurts and he's still in his cage which he whines over, reaching for it.

"Don't worry, baby boy, you can still get clean with that on." Tomura murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss against his temple. "You misbehaved again while you were being punished. So we're going to clean up and have dinner, and then I'm going to put in your sound and we're going to try again. Doesn't that sound fair?" He really does wait for an answer. Waits for him to safeword out. But Dabi feels a bit of brattiness still trying to fight its way up through his exhaustion.

"Yes, Sir." He's not going to back down. He'll hold out until his lover breaks first.

It's a stubborn, stupid sentiment that he's certain he'll be regretting when the sound is in and he's in so much pain as the pressure builds all over again, but if Tomura has quantity covered with his orgasms now, Dabi will happily take quality until he earns back the former as well.

[girlivealwaysbean]

pata hai last kuch din i was very busy with my project kyunki final dena tha and binding karni thi etc to wo karwayi then i went to the bookfair bekaar tha then parso submit karne jaa rahi to subah accident hogaya (bhai ki bike skid hogayi and we fell down) and now i have a big ass blue bruise on my upper thigh and my parents don't even know lmao and kal ek science conference thi to i had to sit in an auditorium for 6 hours listening to accomplished people speak. that's what you missed now your turn

omg i knew everything in this except for the accident cause i stalk your blog vigorously everyday are you okay!!!!!!!!!! did you get tetanus shots!!!!!!!!!! also on your upper thigh oh no that's where future jiju is supposed to write MINE na as per our beloved song guilty as sin?

[silverskye13]

I just started reading paladins grace from your recommendation (just as in I've only just finished the first chapter)

INSTANTLY I am intrigued, and I think I can see a bit of how it might've influenced your style? or maybe that's just cause I'm looking for it, who knows. it seems like it has a very interesting world right off the bat.

anyways, thank you for the fic and the book recommendation!

It's definitely influenced my style XD my style fluctuates a lot depending on what I'm reading anyway, and I've reread the SoS books many many times.

The world is definitely very cool! It has an extended universe as well, and if you find yourself liking it, I recommend also giving The Clocktaur Wars and Swordheart a try.

[araneitela]

WHICH SYMBOLIC FRUIT ARE YOU?

Cherry. (Man, this is going to need some tag rambling; because while it's what I suspected and it's very fitting in many ways, I need to address one element).

In popular culture, cherries have come to represent sensuality, sex, and seduction. In the cult classic, Twin Peaks, Audrey Horne expresses her sexual expertise by tying a cherry stem with her tongue. "Cherry" is also used to refer to the concept of virginity: why? I don't know to be honest, but here we are. Much like the cherry, you're a sensual person who enjoys all the creature comforts the world offers. You enjoy delicious food, dynamic relationships, passionate lovemaking and stimulating conversation; however, you may also come across a touch vapid or shallow, due to your quickly fading attention when something has served its usefulness to you. To quote some man on tinder: "you're here for a good time, not a long time". You can come across, at times, slightly tart, carrying a bit of a bite to you that not everyone can handle. That’s okay: you’re an acquired taste!

Tagged: @basbousah (Thank you 🩷) Tagging: I don't tend to tag for quizzes easily but this one was actually fun, so let's harass. @immobiliter (how about Furina?) @kushtibokt @genus83 @genius81 @spiderwarden @delusionaid (Wriothesley, or Zhongli— porque no los dos? 🤭) @apocryphis (Topaz) @aventvrina @resolutepath (Elio) @daybreakrising (Blade) @astrxlfinale @kahakera @cygnor @chasersglow @scrtilegii (Jing Yuan)... and anyone else who'd like to do it, say I tagged you because I'd love to see the results!

[whysamwhy123]

Somebody please write a crack fic where Hook gets high as a kite celebrating after his tag match with RVD, and he ends up calling Danhausen because he misses him so much. But Danhausen doesn't understand what's going on so he freaks out because he thinks Hook's seriously concussed or cursed or something, so he calls Taz and tells him everything. And Hook just sits there in a haze, lamenting the hell that is his existence while RVD and Bowens bust a gut laughing in the background.

[emopulco]

more of my rook thoughts

(with maybe some light spoilers on emmrich romance)

[kulemii]

one thing i can't stand about spending more time on here is that i worry more about being likeable. i worry that people will think im too harsh or bitchy whenever i decide to open my fat mouth about something. and after some time, it's like it's all i can think about.

i know i have bad takes some times- we all do to somebody. that's just part of there being 7+ billion mfs on the planet. i don't necessarily intend harm but i know i'll hurt someone eventually. but should i always keep my opinions to myself or police myself to avoid offending people like i used to when i first started this blog? (hell even then, that didn't keep people from not liking me lmao)

i know that no matter what i do, not everyone will like me. i know that. but when i spend more time here, im more concious of the people that can see what i say and how they might interpret it and i get anxious. i've had more fun since i started doing whatever i want here but i feel too, like i've been a bit of a menace to tumblr society 😭

idk. that's a big part of why i don't tag my rants when it's about specific things. i dont need a wide range of people seeing it. i just wanna get it all off my chest sometimes and then boom, move on. this place really is like a diary to me. but i worry that im not considerate enough of the people that can see it.. hmm :/ i guess that's why too i've heavily been considering moving blogs and if people still wanna follow me after that they can but ya know. i say all the time that i want people to unfollow me if i've become offputting, but i feel like people might feel awkward about it bc they hardly ever do.

im aware too that my current mental state has alot to do with why i'm even freaking out about this rn. bipolar 1 and ocd is such a bullshit combo bro i swear- i oughta give my brain a two piece for that

[kingtankgirl]

this is officially worse than when i had e.coli i can definitely say that now

[simgerale]

just amoria being simtimate 🌿