#losing my mind at this actually WHY DID YOU DO THAT

[legalandnotease]

OK, you got me started.

Maybe you didn't know that. Maybe you honestly had no idea that you were saying something that is a direct attack against people who have gone through the exact mental illnesses Tony had and recognize his struggles as their own.

I have PTSD and depression and let me tell you something straight from the start.

Tony Stark does not represent me or anybody like me. Lose this ridiculous idea that Tony Stark has PTSD. He doesn't. He displays zero symptoms of PTSD.

He has anxiety at best, and is probably a narcissist. Yes, his actions and behaviour are very consistent with Covert Narcissism.

His "fear of loss" is the fear of abandonment, of no longer being able to control those around him.

His "my way or the highway" mentality, his inability to listen to or trust others, his paranoia and inability to accept responsibility.

All are massively consistent with narcissism.

...and before the Tony fans shriek, guess what the main cause of narcissism is? Childhood neglect. QUELLE SURPRISE! That said... His daddy being nasty to him does not absolve him being outright abusive to others. That is the excuse real life abusers use btw.

Whatever he has though: let us stop right now blaming mental health for Tony Stark's shitty actions. The idea that "trauma" absolves him is a harmful and dangerous idea which perpetuates negative stereotypes about mental health.

The sheer amount destructive and harmful things Tony does which cause mass death is what prevents him from being "representation" for mental health.

If Tony was anybody else... nobody would be saying he should not take responsibility for things which actively hurt and killed others because *muh trauma*.

Name a time when Tony was in a safe place to heal. I'll wait.

Every time he retired. He retires MULTIPLE times in between moves. Between Iron Man II and Avengers?

2 years.

Between Avengers and Age of Ultron

3 years.

Between AoU and Civil War

1 year

Between CW and IW

2 years

Between CW and Endgame

5 years.

That is a total of 13 years. Tony had 13 years of relative peace and quiet in which to get some self care and healing.

Compare that to Bucky who is confirmed as having PTSD and gets the sum total of 2 years to recover from 70 years of torture abuse, brain damage, trauma guilt and self-hatred. With NO support network. Unlike Tony, who had various people to support him. And Bucky has to contend with a fuckton of victim-blaming that Tony never did.

You literally just ignored the first part of OP's post, in which they noted that people constantly ignore Wanda's and Bruce's parts in Ultron.

These are excuses designed to absolve Tony of his responsibility for Ultron. Wanda did not mind control him: she gave him a vision.A vision he did not have to act opon. He chose to.

Tony was acting of his own free will and with his own agency the entire time. So was Bruce. This is why people blame Tony.

Unlike say,,,, hmmm I dunno Bucky who was literally mind controlled and had the very capacity for free choice and agency taken away from him, who was literally forced and tortured into doing things.... Tony was making a choice

(But isn't it WEIRD how people- usually Tony Fans) still insist on blaming an actual mind control and torture victim for his actions on the ground that "his body did it" - whilst trying to absolve the guy who was not mind controlled and had full bodily autonomy because "muh good intentions" and "muh trauma"

Yes, that's called victim-blaming.

You ignored how OP pointed out that the illegal arms dealing was Stane's actions, not Tony's, and that Tony shut it down as soon as he learned of it, saying "there are lines we don't cross.

Except... that's not what happened. Tony ran the company for 17 years as an adult. In all that time you're telling me he didn't notice his own stock going missing? He didn't notice the protests against his weapons being used on civilians in places like Sokovia?

The fact that it was only when he realized they were being used on *American soldiers* that he considered the line to have been crossed speaks volumes about Tony.

If he took drugs that were stopping him from doing his job as a CEO that is on him, not anybody else. Just like if somebody took drugs and decided to drive a car, you would not blame the car or the drugs.

Would Wanda not have attacked Tony's mind, then?

Since Tony was alreasdy planning to build Ultron even before he met Wanda, this bascailly makes no difference, but carry on.

Would Nick Fury and Black Widow have suddenly left him alone? Would he not have been dying from palladium poisoning?

How are Nick Fury and Natasha responsible for the stupid and reckless things Tony did when he thought he was dying. Did they make him do them? No. Thought not.

Would he have been able to suddenly change the route his company was taking without his friends turning their backs on him (which they did at first) and Stane trying to kill him?

Actually, yes. He's was the CEO, for goodness sake. He was also a grown-ass 38-year-old man, not a little kid.

You know he could in that capacity just fire Stane right? Right? As soon as he had evidence for his activities he could fire him on the spot? That's what CEOs can do? He could fire the whole Board of Directors if he wanted to.

But even if! Even if he went to therapy! Do you think therapy is a magical cure-all? Do you think people who go to therapy for PTSD suddenly don't have panic attacks anymore? That they don't get triggered, or fall back into their personal hells, or have days where they regress to who they'd been before therapy because healing isn't a straight line?

OK. Let;s talk about PTSD triggers.

People who are triggered may go into "fight or flight" mode. They may freeze. They may lash out. They may start having flashbacks. They may become depressed. They may become withdrawn.

What they do not do is take a highly dangerous object and use it to build abother hightly dangerous object despite warnings that it might be dangerous.

What they do not do is attack helpless unarmed people for 10 minutes with multiple weapons, pinning them against walls and attempting to blow their heads off.

What they do not do is ignore clear evidence for **years** of theft in their company, and ignore evidece their stock is falling into the wrong hands.

Nothing *repeat* NOTHING Tony does in the movies can be put down to him just being triggered. Blaming PTSD for Tony's violent and deliberately reckless actions is vile.

Honestly, shame on you for talking about therapy as if it's the cure-all for the world, as if every single problem life throws at people becomes butterflies and rainbows the instant a person talks to a professional about it all. As if Tony was The Main Problem of the MCU, and his capital sin was in not booking an appointment with a psychologist.

No, SHAME ON YOU.

People already think mental illness is an excuse for bad behaviour and Tony Stans are making this far worse with using conditions like mine as an excuse for everything Tony does.

Whether it be sexually harassing women

Building a murderbot

grooming and blackmailing a teenager,

or trying to murder an abuse victim in cold blood because he was upset about his disgusting daddy being killed.

How many people here, in real life, have mocked and derided Tony Stark as a character because he's a cis straight rich white man?

Let me tell you this right now.

Nobody would make excuses for Tony's actions the way they do if he was not a rich white male.

Just like in real life Tony can get away with things that anybody else would be thrown in jail for because he has money and connections.

Do you really think that poor people can get away with murder like Tony on the ground of abuse or trauma? No. They can't. They also can't get support or therapy. THEY will be persecuted and prosecuted, even for things they were driven to by desperation.

I am going to compare him to Bucky Barnes, fandom's favourite punchbag again because it illustrates this well.

One is working- class from a poor immigrant background who never had the power to say "no" or refuse to do what the high-ups told him. He was conscripted into into the army: if he refused to join up he'd have been imprisoned or worse.

He gets captured, experimented on, tortured, mutilated it, has his "brain put into a blender" and is forced to kill against his will?

What is the reaction? "He's still to blame. He chose to join up, he chose to go on that mission.... he could have escaped, he could have said no...."

Or "his body did it" as is the favourite excuse of Tony fans who want to entirely ignore the fact he had no control, autonomy or choice.

The other is a rich, priveleged guy with inherited money who had the best of everything. He is fully able to tell the government to go screw themselves, to refuse to do what he is told, and to buy his way out of any trouble he might get into.

He *chooses* to to drug himself into oblivion and drink himself silly when there are other options available. He chooses to do reckless things. He chooses to ignore the problems in his company. He chooses to go along with it because alternative is too hard.

He chooses to break multiple laws because his girlfriend is kidnapped. He chooses to mess with a highly dangerous supernatural artefact because he fears loss. He chooses to ignore advice, and people die. Over and over and over again because of his reckless actions and bad choices.

The reaction? "Its not his fault, he was manipulated" "its not his fault, he meant well!" "its not his fault, he's just trying to protect the people he loved"/

Its not about shaming: it is just a simple fact that rich white people can and do get away with the most henious things imaginable because of who they are. If Tony was poor like Bucky or black or Asian he would not be able to.

everyone always focuses on Sokovia and Ultron and Tony's involvement but no one ever thinks about how Bruce was also involved completely because they're both scientists. no one thinks about Wanda purposefully going in and digging in Tony's head, amplifying his PTSD and putting visions of all his friends dead in his head with the intent of making Tony create Ultron

Everyone always focuses on blaming Tony for the bomb that killed Wanda's parents but no one thinks about Tony being so shit faced he couldn't see straight at that time bec he was so deep in self-medicating his trauma that he could not even run his company and that it was Obidiah Stane that was the one in charge of the company and illegally selling the weapons that killed her parents

Everyone focuses on Tony selling weapons in the first movie but no one thinks about how it was Howard Starks company and that Tony was groomed from birth to run it and that he had tried multiple times to make something else of the company but was constantly shut down with guilt tripping until he was kidnapped and he forced the manufacturing to end

Everyone focuses on Tony being "conceited" and "arrogant" and not "caring about anyone but himself" but no one thinks about how every single action he makes in his movies are about protecting the people he loves and cares for. His biggest fear is his friends- not himself- dying. he goes into every battle he's in fully prepared to die and does make the sacrifice play many many times

everyone always focuses on what Tony did wrong, but no one thinks about how much he has grown and how he spends every single waking moment trying to be a better and better man who cares so deeply about everyone and is trying to protect everyone the only way he knows how- and that is with the brain and intellect that had been the only thing about Tony that was ever praised about

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[wonderjanga]

Why’s Cap Acting like an Asshole?

Thavma and Billy have been separated for about two weeks now.

Without Billy, Thavma is simply the Living Lightning. Sure it’s alive, but it doesn’t have morals, opinions, none of that. Instead, all of that is shaped by its host. So, without Billy, Thavma doesn’t really care for anything.

Though, that doesn’t stop it from trying to care about the stuff Billy does.

Thavma: *standing outside of a burning building*

Mother: “My baby! My baby is still inside!”

Thavma: *closes its eyes and takes the biggest breath, sounding so done because he does not want to help*

Baby: *wailing*

Thavma: *floats into the building to save the baby and anyone else with an annoyed expression*

To be honest, all Thavma wants to do is protect the Rock. And Billy. But mostly the Rock. The reason for this is because of the fact The Living Lightning was solely made to protect the center of Magic. It does not care for saving people, but it does care about eliminating threats to the Rock, which most of Billy’s villains are. If that ends up helping anyone but the Rock, that was an extra bonus.

Speaking of villains, like stated earlier, a few of them are threats to Magic. Such as Black Adam. In Thavma’s mind, that means he automatically has to be eliminated. No mercy.

That’s how Black Adam was greeted with the Champion actually trying to kill him and almost succeeding. He’s never seen the man so bloodlusted and silent during a fight before. He’s also never seen the man use the full extent of his abilities. In other words, Thavma is much more in tune with its own strengths and weaknesses and was whooping Black Adam’s ass with extreme efficiency. This is because while Thavma doesn’t have any morals and such, he still has memories from previous champions, and although they had different gods as patrons, their strengths and speed and all that were the same.

In short, this was a guy with about 5000 years of experience fighting a guy with over 100,000.

Anyways, the fight got so bad that the JL pulled up as Thavma was literally about to force Black Adam to say Shazam with MIND CONTROL MAGIC that neither Adam nor the JL have ever seen him use before.

Supes: *sounds disturbed* “Since when can you do mind control??”

Thavma: *looks over to them with a judgmental eyebrow raise cause why’re Billy’s little friends here*

Batman: “Captain, please step away from Black Adam.”

Thavma: *torn between protecting the Rock and not wanting to mess up Billy and the JL’s friendships*

Thavma eventually decided that when Billy became his host again, the boy might be upset about losing these people. The boy being upset could affect his ability to protect the Rock in the future and so he reluctantly stepped away from Adam.

Thavma: *steps away but does a little annoyed sigh reminiscent of a moody teenager*

Black Adam: *flies away, glancing over his shoulder every now and then*

Flash: *zooms over* ”Cap, buddy, what was that?”

Thavma: *really doesn’t want to talk to these guys at all* “Nothing. I must take my leave now. Good day.” *tries to speed walk away*

Flash: *wondering why he’s talking like that* “Dude, wait up!”

JL: *all follow after him kinda like ducklings*

Thavma honestly didn’t know how his host put up with these mortals. They ask so many questions.

GL: “Cap, you haven’t shown up to the last few meetings. What’s up with that?”

Thavma: “I forgot.”

Supes: “Forgot? I thought you never forgot things. You said something about the Wisdom of Solomon making it so that you couldn’t. Has something been making you that busy?

Thavma: “Yes.”

Wondy: “What is it? Some kind of villain?”

Thavma: “It’s nothing, and no.”

The “nothing” in question has just been it lounging around the Rock because that’s what it was made to do: protect the Rock. Being around it often is the easiest way to ensure that. The Champions not staying often was something Thavma always found idiotic. Why did they care about their villages or cities when their duty was to the Rock? At that thought, Thavma could only sigh and shake his head. Mortals.

[truelovepolinator]

Why I'm So Sure It's Luke

I've been pretty quiet here for a while. Much of that is because of the state of the world. I had a bit of a deep spiral last weekend about things happening in my country.

And I confess that the FB comment and funeral hubbub sent me into a corresponding (though temporary) Lukola spiral to which I was doubtless more vulnerable due to my already depressed state. Did I really have to lose my daily dopamine drip (aka, Lukola) just when I needed it most?

Short answer: Absolutely not.

I had already started to pull myself out of my Lukola spiral by Monday (the other spiral is still very deep), and video and photos of Nic that emerged on Tuesday and Wednesday shored me up until I was back to effing rock solid.

I often see things I don't agree with, even on the blogs of folks with whom I usually agree, and I simply move on most of the time. I don't comment. I feel no need to argue with people in their own blogs. In friendly spaces, I'll sometimes share counter opinions because I believe respectful dialogue and debate are important — and have all but disappeared in this era of instant blocks. And we all want to share information and opinions that help us fine tune our perspectives.

But if they're clearly dug into an opinion that I view as wildly wrong, there's little value for me in arguing with them. Let them think what they want. It's not my job to change anyone's mind.

The jakola takes are the easiest to ignore for obvious reasons. I've written extensively about JD's role in Nicola's life and there's no need to do so here. (Feel free to read my other posts if you need clarity around N & J's non-romantic relationship.)

Instead, the takes I find the most frustrating are from the Lukolas who have lost hope, the so-called "realistic" ones who think that we "just have to accept that they're not together," and maybe even that "Luke is with Ant."

To this, I respectfully say, we absolutely do not have to accept any such thing because the evidence is fully on our side.

Truth be told, I suspect I'm most vexed by these posts because I used to be one of those "realists." In late summer/early autumn, I had fallen victim to the fake narratives created by the paparazzi shots of both Nic and Luke, all designed to imply a certain narrative without either of them actually saying those things were true. I always believed NicLuke belonged together. However, I reluctantly accepted that "I guess Luke is probably seeing her" and "not sure about that guy, but the photos of Nic and him do look cozy."

I understand the impulse to surrender. It's so hard to have faith, to keep believing in something when there's an apparent narrative being constructed in the public eye that tells you you're wrong. It's painful (and feels delulu) to keep believing when you've been let down repeatedly by pap photos you assume are true.

It's very easy to accept a false narrative if you don't have the energy to dig in and really pay attention to all the signs and information available when you look for it. (This is true on the world stage as well, and we should all think very critically about the stories we're being told, but I digress.)

I wrote extensively and in gory detail about how and why I'm so sure about Lukola in my blog post "Nicola and Luke Are Absolutely Together...," which I'll link here for anyone who wants persuasion or reassurance. I won't rehash all of that here, but I do want to touch on a handful of milestones & crumbs, many of which are recent, that make me quite sure about Luke being the man in Nicola's life.

One of the recent assertions I saw was that we need to let go of the significance of the Claddagh ring. (I'm not putting anyone on blast. I can't even remember who said this, and I think it was someone I like, so no offense.) But I could not disagree with this more.

Claddagh rings are worn to represent relationship status more than anything. Yes, they can be given in friendship, but the orientation of the ring on the wearer's finger is fundamental to understanding the ring. Only someone with no connection whatsoever to its heritage or meaning would throw it on willy nilly in any direction they pleased.

Not everyone follows the rules closely. I wore mine for years, on my left ring finger, heart down when I was free, heart up when I was taken. I only stopped wearing it when I replaced it with my engagement ring. (Obviously, I was not following the traditional 4 steps.)

Some wear it just on a single hand, whichever they choose. Some might wear it just while single (even engaged), then replace it when married. Some use it to indicate engagement and marriage when that time comes, others focus solely on taken or not. Admittedly, not everyone follows every step closely.

However, Nicola is from Galway where the ring originated. She is deeply proud of her Irish heritage. There is no chance she would put that ring on any finger with the heart pointing toward her heart unless her heart was taken.

Now, let's remember that she picked that ring up while she was in Galway during the World Tour. She modeled that ring in Chupi photographs, with the heart pointing up (heart taken) wearing the same outfit she wore to the screening. The same screening where she hugged her mother to within an inch of her life, then introduced her mom to Luke. That was the most tearful, emotional intro I've ever seen between a guy and his platonic co-worker's mom, huh?

Hypothetically, could her heart have been taken by someone else at that stage? Well, do you really think a secret significant other — who was important enough to warrant a "heart taken" ring orientation — would be okay with Nicola not only getting the ring while she's physically with Luke (and flirting heavily), but also making that showy, deeply emotional introduction between her mother and Luke? If you were her secret, non-Luke SO, would you be okay with it?

There is literally no chance.

Chupi told us that ring was to commemorate Season 3 of Bridgerton. Again, would a secret, non-Luke SO be fine with her wearing a ring that symbolizes her Polin season with Luke as a symbol of this secret, non-Luke SO's love?

I won't even bother digging into the symbolism of the rings on the hands, but say it were true that she just wanted it to commemorate a special season. If her heart weren't taken, that ring on her finger would have pointed down. She told us the moment those photos were snapped that her heart was taken, and logic tells us that, at that moment in time, it could only have belonged to Luke.

Since then, lots of things have happened. There were pap photos galore, all telling a very different story, right? Again, it's very easy to accept a false narrative when it's spoon fed to you. But gosh, wouldn't those pap photos also provide excellent cover for two people in love, possibly nesting together, who also wanted to keep their love very, very private?

I talk a lot more about this in the above linked blog (and others) and I'm not going to tackle it here. If you don't want to believe it, that's your prerogative, but if you're curious about whether it could possibly be true, I encourage you to have a read.

So set aside the adjacents for now and focus exclusively on our girl Nic. What we know is that she wore that ring consistently through the summer and early fall, on her right hand, heart pointing up (heart taken). Then, in October, she switched it to her left hand.

Again, not everyone follows every traditional Claddagh step, but Nicola is a Galway Girl. If she's been wearing it consistently on the right, then suddenly switches it to the left where she continues to keep it consistently, she's not oblivious to the meaning of that switch. That switch is deeply significant.

Remember, the left hand is traditionally the hand where it's worn to indicate engagement (heart down) and marriage (heart up). And when she switched, she kept the heart pointing up.

Does that absolutely mean she's married? No. As always, we don't know any of them personally, so we can't say for sure. But simple, not-a-reach logic tells us that the way she's worn that ring is significant.

With that ring, Nicola has told us in no uncertain terms that she is in a significant, committed relationship (possibly engaged or married since October). And she's been in that relationship (or at least committed in her heart to that relationship) consistently since at least June (really, late April/early May when she commissioned it).

Will we ever know exactly what happened last summer while she and Luke were apart (Sorrento, Spain, Malta, etc.)? No, we won't — and frankly it’s none of our business (as curious as we may be).

But we know that Nicola's heart was taken by the same person throughout. Because logically, would she really have been so into Luke in June when all of the above happened (commission, putting it on, meeting mom)... then break it off... then, by October, find a new person to be so committed to switch her ring to the left hand? The math just doesn't math on that one.

It was Luke in June and it was Luke in October. And she's still wearing that ring in the same direction as of Wednesday night. So yes, it's still Luke.

But I promised you more recent hints and crumbs to support my certainty. Honestly, @frantastical has this stuff so magnificently catalogued that you really should check out that incredibly comprehensive "Multitude of Morsels" if you haven't already.

Still, here's a small handful of (by no means comprehensive) things I've seen with my own eyes in just the last month that have told me I'm sitting in exactly the right restaurant on exactly the right ship:

New Pink News story posted with an old quote (that would have been approved by Nic's team) where Nicola says, "That's all I want, is the girls and the gays. And Luke."

Both Ryan Wheeler and Shondaland openly shipping Lukola ("get married for real")

Nic's year-end photo dump threaded through with Luke, both directly and indirectly

Luke's year-end photo dump threaded through with Nic

Even one of Nic’s Doctor Who photos, which isn't associated with Bridgerton at all, managed to nod at Luke

Video clip re-emerges of the Featherington women giggling when Bessie teases, "Well, two people fell in looove, I gueeessss," then they all giggle and agree that they can't say who

Both of them unaccounted for over Christmas and New Year's (days that are usually spent with significant others) while the adjacents were both accounted for on both holidays

Old story somehow emerges in which Nicola says Luke makes everything better, and Luke says about the "friends to lovers" story that "that's what happened to us when we met." (I'm probably slightly paraphrasing, but close enough.)

Nicola turns up with a tan

Luke turns up with a tan

Luke comes online very briefly, just long enough to congratulate Nic on her SAG nomination, cheering on his queen, and then he's gone

Nicola posts a birthday photo that appears to be a cozy dinner for two with several hints of Luke, most notably the red and yellow flowers (red is for love; most people focused on yellow being for friendship, and I think that's true, but I also very much think it's for Polin. And either way, "friends to lovers" or "love and Polin," those flowers say Luke.)

Luke likes a Jack Rooke post about Big Boys. Bearing in mind that JR is one of Nicola's longstanding, closest friends, this clearly suggests Luke is getting to know him

Nicola swoops in to distract from last weekend's mess with a new, obviously staged pap drop (based on weather, likely from a while in the past and kept on hand for when it was needed), once again protecting Luke and his family

And then there are a handful of crumbs and hints that point to something else that I've been reluctant to talk about. I still won't get into it here, but I will say that there are definitely recent things that are suggesting to me a very specific, very happy story. These include:

ETA: Photo of Nic with two Dunkin drinks & two straws (drinking for two?)

"Shit Stirrer" tee-shirt, holding shirt just so with photo cropped very particularly (who exactly is the shit stirrer in that photo?)

"May your 2025 be as happy as this potato made me" (which potato?)

Video with the hot water bottle

Big Boys (clearly wearing the ring)

And that is literally all I will say about that. But let's just remember that all of this has taken place while Nicola continues to wear that Claddagh ring on her left hand, pointed toward her heart. Even in those silly pap photos with Jake from Monday.

The only times we've seen her without it were when she wore special, fancy jewelry for events (showy hand jewelry that she could prominently display by placing her hands in front of her stomach instead of on her waist or hips). Every other time, it's either there or her hands are (perhaps intentionally) hidden.

Doubtless some "realistic Lukolas" will read this and say, "But you're ignoring all the photos of Jake and obvious proof of how close they are."

To which I reply, "Yes, I am." Because I've written loads about that relationship, what it is, why it is so heavily documented, and what they each get out of it (other than friendship). Again, if you want to know more, feel free to read my blog. But those photos mean nothing to me because I understand the truth that lies beneath them. I have absolutely nothing against Jake. I think he's been a good friend to Nic, but that's all he is.

Meanwhile, we've seen nary a peep from Luke except to cheer on his girl, and going back a bit further, that very happy looking S4 selfie with Nic. Has anyone ever noticed how much more he smiles with Nicola than anyone else? His actual smile ratio with Nic compared to literally anyone else is off the charts.

So, yeah, it's Luke all the way. I don't know for sure when it started (might tackle that in a different blog), and I'm not sure how many times they've pressed the on/off button before locking in, but I absolutely believe they are fully locked in now. The evidence is everywhere.

As always, I say these two things. First, we know nothing for sure until Nic or Luke or both of them together make it absolutely, incontrovertibly clear to us. So could I be wrong? Yes, it's certainly possible. If I'm wrong, I'll admit it, and I admit right now that I will be heartbroken. I'm not going to front about this. But I don't think I'm wrong.

Second, you are very free to draw different conclusions. However, if you wish to do so, I invite you to consider the evidence as presented first. Especially if you've given up the ship because you're afraid to believe.

Have no fear, Lukolas. The evidence is on your side.

[linkcharacter]

Love the difference from how Jimmy rejects the pills aggressively while it’s implied in canon Curly just tries to keep his mouth closed rather than hurt anyone. I also love how Curly thanks Jimmy for letting him help vs Jimmy complaining that he had to in canon despite never really being an asked more than once and talks down to Curly.

It’s an interesting difference in how they both take the duty from Anya where Curly is def trying to salivate her of having to take care of Jimmy due to every pre-crash and the guilt but also because that is his friend still. Just comparing it to Jimmy who only does it cause he needs to feel useful and asserting himself as more capable than Anya.

I know you likely wanna keep it vague or open to interpretation but since Curly acknowledged the pills aren’t doing much for Jimmy do you think he’s genuinely doing it just cause it does something even if little for Jimmy or to ease his mind? Sort of like how the crew mainly gives Curly his pills to keep him quiet and more so how Jimmy does it cause Curly’s sobs def mess with his crippling repressed feelings of guilt.

Very interesting how it differs. Also love how you still didn’t show the actual feeding of the pill

Oh yes the differences :) The whole time I was making the comic the 2nd audio of Jimmy feeding Curly the pills kept spinning in my brain. And yes, I didn't show the actual pill feeding, the game doesn't show it visually, so I didn't think there was a reason to do it here.

You are correct, I would like to keep it vague. It's interesting how you interpreted Curly's comment on the pills as just him thinking they aren't doing much for Jimmy, and I'm not saying it's wrong, but I see (and put) a couple of different meanings for his thoughts' text, all of which are valid, this one included.

As to why Curly gives him the pills, I'd say it can be both reasons at once. Curly does want to help, but he also wants to feel like he's helping. The thing about Curly is that he prioritizes doing what his own sense of righteousness dictates as doing the right thing, whether or not it's a smart or a helpful decision or not. Like how he decided to tell the crew about them losing their jobs. It wasn't a smart nor a productive decision, all it did was make the crew stressed and brought the morale down for the rest of the 8 months they were supposed to haul. But it was what Curly saw as 'what a good person would do', 'what a friend would do', that he "can't keep this form them all" because it gnawed on his conscience. He didn't consider consequences of telling upsetting news to his crew, or if he did, they didn't outweigh the importance to do right by his crew to Curly. To him it was the 'less scummy' way to go about it, the one that didn't leave Curly feeling like a bad person for "deceiving" his friends. But he means well at the end of the day too, he doesn't want his friends to feel betrayed, feel like they've been kept in the dark. He doesn't want to use his special treatment as a Captain while his subordinates are worse off than him.

And here with Jimmy, Curly wants to do his best to ease whatever pain his friend is in, but he also doesn't want to force him into anything because that would make Curly feel like he's undermining Jimmy's autonomy, whether or not Jimmy by himself would make a decision on medical treatment that was 'best for him', and whether or not the pills do jack shit at all. Curly tries to do good by everyone, because he genuinely wants to help and because he feels that doing a helpful thing is what he 'should' do. Curly's a complicated guy and it all comes down to what you personally consider as 'genuine want to help' and whether or not, to you, the actions a person takes matter more than the intentions behind them.

Thank you for your comments, as always very discussion engaging, I love it!!

[hauntedhokage]

Anticipation

Itoshi Rin/F!Reader

rating: explicit

summary: you’re cat sitting for Rin while he’s away, the distance between you encouraging you to ask for help with more intimate matters.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: phone sex

Requested!

“Your cat is an asshole.”

Your comment makes Rin snort, a rare amused sound leaving the stoic striker.

“He likes you more than me.”

“I doubt it.”

This time it’s a thoughtful hum that leaves him, your best friend clearly considering how he would try to convince you that his cat did actually like you. But instead he tells you that the fluffy menace was only your problem for a couple more days, then you were no longer at risk of having your feet swiped at from under various pieces of furniture in his apartment.

“It’ll be nice to have you back for the mid season break,” you comment, making your way to his bedroom to get ready for bed. Time zones had been tricky for his daily check ins, his practices rubbing late had him calling and leaving voicemails while you were asleep. This was the first time in about a week that you’d actually spoken to him, and that was only because you were staying up late to get to do that.

“Yeah, save you from my asshole cat.”

“We can have a movie night or something,” you suggest, getting comfortable in his bed that has become yours while he was gone. The sheets still smelled like him despite his absence, and you weren’t going to deny how nice it was to be surrounded by his scent. “A lot of good ones streaming now.”

“That’d be fine. What are you doing right now, I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I want to talk to you,” you start, settling into the pillows while eyeing the vibrator charging on his nightstand. “Just got into bed, but I’m not tired so don’t hang up unless you have to.”

“I’ve got about an hour. Enjoying my bed?”

“A lot.” He hums at that. “Might just move in and make you take the couch.”

“We can share.”

That wasn’t a standard Rin answer; he should’ve said something along the lines of changing the locks or making you sleep on the floor. Not that you hadn’t shared a bed with him before, you were both mature adults that could do that without things faring awkward, but that was how he teased you.

But speaking of teasing, there was something more delicate on your mind and you were confident that Rin would be able to help - it would just be easier to ask if you didn’t have to look at him when you did. You’d need to be careful, tiptoeing along this line between friend and something else - something more - was a task done delicately. Otherwise the whole friendship could crumble, and Rin was not a person that you wanted to lose.

“Why are you quiet?”

“Wanted to ask you something, but I’m not sure how to ask.”

“Then just ask.”

Easy for him to say, he was great at being blunt (most of the time). This wasn’t something you were sure about, as Rin’s affection came few and far between. But you’d known about a girlfriend or two, affairs that didn’t last long but were long enough that he’d slept with them so he was your only option.

“How do you make a girl cum? Like…what’s your technique?” You feel like you’re in a furnace, your face hot as there’s a pause on the other side of the call. He probably thought you were stupid, figuring out how to cut this tie and ensure his cat was still taken care of from today on.

“Was there a sexual awakening that I missed?”

“Uh…no?” Your voice wobbles, embarrassment having taken over but you know you’re in the fire now. Rin wouldn’t drop this - he sounded too interested to be willing to. “It’s more like a me problem.”

“You need help finishing yourself off.”

“It sounds pathetic when you say it like that!” Your complaint earns a chuckle from him on the other side, and your face is warm with embarrassment. “But basically, yeah. I get so close and then it’s just…gone. Kinda silly, but it’s bugging me.”

“I can see why. Are you in my bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Bring anything with you?”

You hesitate to answer, since the implication of a positive response would be that you were masturbating in his bed while he was away. Not that it mattered, considering that you just told him something deeply personal regarding your sex life - a vibrator in his bed likely would be nothing in comparison.

“Don’t get it yet, first take your shorts off for me.”

It’s easy to follow instructions when it was Rin dishing them out. Usually the mask he wore when out playing soccer slipped, leaving a soft spoken man who just rolled with the punches for you to hang out with in your shared free time. When he maintained that control it always turned you on, the dull tenor of his voice and cold gaze sending shockwaves directly to your core that had you pushing yourself closer to him to absorb more of that energy that radiated off of him.

You’re obedient as he gives you instructions, first to wet your middle finger before sliding it between your folds. It’s only a bit embarrassing to feel just how wet you were hurt from talking to Rin - and you couldn’t even see what he was doing on the other side of the ocean. He sounds amused at the information, telling you to bring some of that wetness up to your clit.

“It’s about building anticipation,” he says, and you open your legs more as you continue to move your finger in tight circles. “Patience is key, don’t rush it.”

It was hard to be patient when you were desperate for that release that had been evading you for weeks. First it was just day by day, believing it was just a mental block or stress keeping you from cumming, but gradually became hour-by-hour that you worried you would never feel that bliss again. Patience would be near impossible when this was something you wanted more than anything else - if anything just to make sure that there wasn’t something irreversibly wrong with you.

“Relax.”

“‘M trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He was such a bastard. “I can’t get off until you do.”

Of course he’d challenge himself, placing a stipulation on his ability to help you reach that peak and actually fall off the edge and onto the other side. Typical Rin, but the labored breathing on the other end tells you something else. This wasn't just him helping you get off, this was full fledged phone sex now, the official crossing of a line previously left untouched. The question of what happens after this is better left unspoken, held back until Rin was in the same room as you and neither of you could dance around the topic. Not that he would, but you wanted to cover all bases.

“Do you need to stretch yourself out a bit or can you take your vibrator without it?”

“I should be okay without it.”

“Get it wet with your mouth, but play with it a little bit like you would if it was me.”

This had to be part of the anticipation. Playing with the toy that would be penetrating you as if trying to get it just as excited as you were. The additional prompt to treat it as if it were him you were sucking has your face hot - as if you were sitting directly in front of a fire.

“D-do you want it to be me stroking your cock?”

“As much as I’m sure you want it to be me rubbing your clit right now.” That had you humming as you brought your vibrator to your lips, setting your phone on your chest while on speaker so you could still hear him but use both your hands. “But we’ll work that out when I get back.”

You wish he could see you nod around the vibrator, since the sound you made at his statement could easily be interpreted as a sound you made at rubbing your clit. This would be so much easier if he was here, but you’d make do with what you had.

“Sounds so messy,” he teases, but you don’t care because you knew he liked it since he bothered to comment on it. “Get it nice and wet?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then push it in slowly. I want you to feel every inch of it.”

You do as he says, eyes falling shut at the feeling of the penetration and trying to picture Rin on top of you. His hair would probably fall in his face, tickling your face as it moved with his head and his thrust.

His name tumbles from your lips in a stuttered gasp, prompting his own groan that has you clenching around your toy as you continue to guide it in. He reminds you to relax and take it slow, and you take a couple deep breaths before continuing until it’s at the hilt.

“Don’t turn it on yet, fuck yourself with it for me. Move slow,” he instructs, voice heavy with his own lust. “But move your fingers slow on your clit. Feel it build a bit.”

You crave the additional stimulation from the vibration but don’t dare to defy Rin’s instructions after you’d asked him for help. He wasn’t above stopping entirely if you went against his suggestion, and for your own sake you push the thought aside as your hands move like he’d instructed.

When he tells you to turn on the toy you don’t hesitate, keeping it on the lowest setting as he’d instructed and keeping the thrusts slow.

“Takin’ it so well,” he mumbles, and you nod your agreement as your hips raise of their own accord. “Feel good?”

“Y-yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” He pauses, and you can hear the wet sound of his hand sliding along his shaft. His breathing was labored, you assumed that he was doing his best to hold off as he’d promised, the sound one of the sexiest noises you'd ever heard in your life and would happily play on loop as the soundtrack to assist in your next solo session.

“Pick up the pace a bit. Not too fast and angle it so it’s pointing upwards a bit.”

He continues to instruct you, an “oh, fuck” or “shit” breaking up his sentences on occasion but making you clench around the toy you fucked yourself with. Being part of the reason why the ever-collected Rin Itoshi was falling apart was a unique position to be in, but a position you were excited to be in. The adjusted angle has you seeing stars, the tightening of your core an indicator of an ending you hoped you achieved.

“R-Rin, I’m gonna cum.” You actually were, and you were so excited that he’d gotten you there. “Oh my god, I’m gonna-“

“Don’t hold it. Cum for me and let me hear you.”

The way you cry out when you finally tip over that edge is unrecognizable. The waves of pleasure that crash through your system have your legs shaking as your thighs clench around your hand, tears pricking at your eyes at the immense pleasure you were finally getting to experience after what felt like a lifetime. On the other end of the line you hear Rin’s stifled groans as you assume he reached his own end. He probably looked so pretty, chest heaving and hair sticking to his forehead since he’d sweat, you couldn’t wait to see it in person when he got back.

Your body relaxes back into the mattress, your vibrator turned off but still held in your pussy as you try to steady your breathing as he asks: “Feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m home on Thursday, and I’ll make you cum so many times you’ll forget you ever had issues with it.”

“Threat or promise?”

“Both.”

[chosove]

18+ mdni | tutoring toru :)

tw. mentions of A&P I ☹️ anatomy and physiology … my enemy …

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

“lets go over that one more time, ‘kay ‘toru? you have to use the scientific wording to actually be correct. its not ‘spongy stuff’, its trabeculae.”

you didnt realize how exasperated your voice sounded until you saw the man before you deflate, a pout forming on his pretty pink lips. “i dont get what i said wrong this time” satoru exclaimed, head falling to the table in frustration. “you asked the difference between compact and spongy bone, right? spongy bone is like…spongy looking. so i didn’t say tabec… whatever- why does it matter?”

it took a lot of effort to suppress the chuckle fighting its way past your lips- seeing the prideful gojo satoru crumble over basic anatomy was too ironic to not laugh at. “how ‘bout we take a break?” you sighed, patting his head, feeling warmth bloom in your chest when his teary eyes peeked up at you. letting your hand fall slightly, you cupped his cheek, wiping at the wetness forming on his lower lashes. did he always look this good? how were his eyes suddenly so intense, and how on earth do his lips look so soft? so red? so kissable?

without thinking, your thumb traced satoru’s lower lip, pulling it from its place between his teeth and watching in delight as he let you press down on it. it wasn’t until he let out a soft pant, eyelids fluttering shut that you finally pulled your hand back, the guilty look painting your face making it seem like you’d just been caught doing something much, much worse.

god, how satoru wishes that were the case.

jumping back, you brushed your hands off on your shirt before turning to him once again, his wide eyes watching your every move. “h-how about we finish there today, hm? you seem tired so-“

before you could finish, his hand shot up to grab your wrist. “no!” satoru nearly shouted, clearing his throat when he saw you jump. “s-sorry, i mean um…” his voice trailed off as he stared into your eyes, thinking of an excuse for you to stay and do something other than school.

satoru had been crushing on you ever since the first day of biology, the way you smiled when he asked what your professor meant by homeostasis melting his heart- he was closer than ever today and he couldnt lose that momentum.

“maybe we could focus on something else?…” you watched his adams apple bob before he continued, nerves evident in the way his voice began to tremble. “m-might help me memorize stuff better if i have a real figure?”

if it werent for the fact he was your favourite client (who also paid the most), you would’ve said no. you probably shouldve said no, but god he really did look like he was about to pass out just from voicing the request- what would he look like when you showed him all the spots he was most sensitive? did he already know them?

Before you could think too deeply on it, you responded with a nod. “not really comfy down here though…how about we go up to your room?”

A deep blush painted his cheeks as he grabbed your hand and led you up the stairs to his room, sitting shyly on his bed with his hands in his lap after opening the door. You giggled at the sudden change in his mood- he wasnt all that confident when he first asked you up here, but did he even wanna go through with it?

Standing before him, you dragged a finger across his jaw, slightly lifting his head up to look at you. “We can always go back to studying ‘toru, I dont mind.”

He didnt know if it was the way the nickname rolled off your lips or the implication that something that wasnt school was actually gonna happen, but he shook his head rapidly and wrapped his arms around your thighs regardless- relishing in the giggle you let out as you placed your hands on his undercut for stability. “N-no please, i mean…we haven’t done a lot of studying on the actual anatomy part right?”

It should be a crime how irresistible gojo satoru can be even when using biology to flirt. “Guess you’re right ‘toru, how about we start with…” your voice trailed off as you moved to sit atop his lap, the sight of his eyelids fluttering shut when your crotch rested just above his making your stomach flip with excitement. “D’you remember what I said these were called?” your sweet voice questioned, dragging his hands to rest on your breasts.

A deep groan fell from Satoru’s lips, his head falling forward to rest between his hands as they groped your chest. “Y-yeah fuck they’re mammary glands right? ‘S where the milk c-comes from”

You giggled at his neediness, his hips jumping up while talking about milk only making you cockier. Ripping your shirt off, you tilted his head up once more to look into his blown out pupils. “Feeling thirsty ’toru?”.

His blown out pupils watched with excitement as your hands reached behind you to unclip your bra, a sigh of release falling from your lips as the tension of the bands washed away. Without another word, satoru pressed a kiss to your left nipple, watching the way the sensation caused it to become erect. You gasped before pushing his head closer to your chest, craving his mouth to be on you anywhere and everywhere.

“ish th-this okay?” His muffled voice spoke as he suckled on your tits, desperately flicking his tongue against the nipple before gently biting it, slowly rocking his hips up into you each time he did so. Your fierce nods in response only goaded him on, his hand going to your other breast so it wasnt neglected, fingers busying themselves by pinching your nipple.

“Shit toru…ngh doin’ so good, ‘m so wet for you”

Before you could get any more words out, you heard a whine of what sounded like your name against your chest followed with a deep, rumbling groan, Satoru’s hips jumping up in reflex as he came in his pants. “F-fuck ‘m sorry hah jus’ wanted ya for so long n’ youre so pretty f-fuck ‘s still comin-“

What felt like eternity of gojo satoru licking and kissing your breasts as he creamed himself was finally over after nearly 3 minutes, his hands going from harshly grasping your tits to simply resting them atop them. You waited until he rid out his orgasm to make any movements, hands beginning to push him away before you were grabbed by his muscled arms.

“Ya didnt finish…i have to do the reproductive system next ya know…gonna need to know more than just youre mommy milkers”

[swappermanent]

(Wet) Dream Come True (Frank's POV)

Read the original by @immortalmrwavell here.

You might be wondering why I decided to take Max’s body from him. Trust me, I’ve asked myself the same question a hundred times since it happened. Was it selfish? Absolutely. Do I regret it? Well… not as much as you’d think.

When Max’s mom and I first got together, being a father figure wasn’t exactly in my plans. Sure, I cared for Max, but I was stepping into some big shoes. A stepdad is supposed to guide, support, and be there when things get tough, right? Well, how the hell do you guide someone through something like losing their mom? I wasn’t prepared for that. And Max—he may have been old enough to fend for himself at 20, but he wasn’t ready to face the world alone. I did my best, but the truth was, I didn’t know if I could keep holding everything together.

As the months went on, my mind started wandering to the past. What would it be like to be in my twenties again? To have that energy, that freedom? To feel like the world was yours for the taking? At first, it was just a fantasy I’d entertain when life got too heavy. A little daydream to escape reality. But then… something changed.

I came across this weird little magic shop while I was running errands. The kind of place you’d almost walk past without noticing, tucked between a laundromat and a pawn shop. I don’t even know what drew me in, but once I stepped inside, I found something I couldn’t ignore: a remedy that could swap bodies. The old man behind the counter explained it to me in hushed tones, like he was letting me in on some ancient secret. There was one catch, though—it had to be a mutual swap. Both parties had to, at least on some level, want to know what it’d be like to live in the other’s shoes. After that, all bets were off.

Now, let’s be real—what 20-something would actually agree to give up their youth, even for a little while? Sure, I was attractive and muscular. I’ve kept myself in good shape over the years, but still, I was in my mid-thirties. Most young guys wouldn’t see that as a fair trade. That’s when I started thinking about Max.

I’d caught the way he looked at me, those lingering glances when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way his cheeks would flush when I caught him staring, the awkward way he’d quickly change the subject. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he had a thing for me. I mean, hell, I’m flattered. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I could use that. Max wouldn’t just agree to the idea; he’d probably jump at the chance.

So, I decided to test the waters. One morning, over breakfast, I threw the idea out there casually, like it was just some funny hypothetical.

“This is gonna sound like a funny question,” I said, piercing a sausage with my fork, “but if you could choose to switch lives with me and have my body for however long, would you wanna do it?”

I kept my tone light, but I was watching him closely. The way he fidgeted in his seat, the way his cheeks turned pink as he tried to hide his reaction—it was all the confirmation I needed. His sheepish response, something about how it’d be “weird but interesting,” sealed the deal. I could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t just curious; he wanted it. Maybe not consciously, but deep down, he wanted to know what it’d be like to be me.

That was all I needed to make it happen.

When the time came, I added the remedy to our coffee, making sure Max drank every last drop. Watching his body slump as the effects kicked in was surreal, but when I opened my eyes and saw myself sitting across from me, I knew it had worked. My plan had actually worked.

I wasted no time. I’d already packed a bag with everything I’d need to start fresh—clothes, cash, important documents, a few personal items. I didn’t even wait for Max to wake up. I just grabbed my stuff and walked out the door, not looking back.

---

That was five years ago. Five years since I walked out the door, leaving my old life—and my old body—behind.

Now, this sexy body I’m in, Max’s body—no, my body—is 26. And let me tell you, I’ve made the absolute most of it. It wasn’t always easy; the first few months were an adjustment. I had to figure out how to carry myself as a younger man, and I won’t lie, it took some time to get used to seeing my reflection. But as the years went on, I really leaned into it. I started growing out my hair, experimenting with different looks. These days, I like to dress a little more feminine now and then—just enough to turn a few heads. And honestly? I love spending as much time shirtless as possible. This body deserves to be shown off, and I’ve been having an all-around good time doing just that.

Of course, that means my old body—the one I left Max in—would now be about 41. I never bothered to reach out to him after the swap, and, frankly, I hadn’t heard anything from him either. Part of me assumed he was mad, which would make sense. I mean, I did steal his youth, his twenties—arguably some of the best years of his life. Maybe he couldn’t confront me because of that. Not that I spent much time thinking about him these days. My life was too good, and honestly, I didn’t have any regrets. I had the life I wanted.

At least, that was the case until today.

I was at the gym, doing my usual workout. It’s a gym known for its gay clientele—big, muscular guys who weren’t shy about flaunting what they had. My kind of place. I’d just finished a grueling set at the squat rack, sweat dripping down my chest as I racked the barbell. I grabbed a towel and started wiping myself down when this super muscular, hot guy walked up to me.

“Hey, man,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, “mind if I work in with you?” He had this knowing smirk on his face.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. I was too busy eyeing him up. Thick, powerful arms, a wide chest, and legs that could probably crush a watermelon. He was older, but he had this ageless energy about him. Then, it clicked.

It was Max. In my old body.

My jaw practically hit the floor as I stared at him. “Max?” I said, disbelief dripping from my voice. “Is that you? You look… amazing.”

And he did. My old body hadn’t aged a day. In fact, it looked better than ever. He’d clearly been putting in work at the gym. My old body was practically glowing.

Max—or rather, my old body—grinned and crossed his arms over that broad chest. “It’s Frank,” he corrected, his tone smooth and confident. Then he flexed one of those massive biceps, his smirk growing. “But you’re damn right I look amazing.”

I stared at him, still a little stunned by how… okay he looked. Actually, not just okay—thriving. “I thought you’d be mad,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I kind of stole your youth. I figured you’d hate me for it.”

He let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back. Then, with that same cocky smirk, he raised one of those thick, muscular arms and took an exaggerated whiff of his armpit. “I was mad,” he admitted, “for maybe the first hour. But this…” He sniffed again, clearly enjoying his own musk. “…this helped me get over it.”

Before I could say anything, he casually ran a hand down to his crotch, grabbing his impressive bulge. “And this doesn’t hurt either,” he added with a wink, his tone dripping with smugness.

I couldn’t help but laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief washing over me. “So, uh,” I began, trying to steer the conversation before I got too distracted, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you in San Diego. Is this where you’ve been all these years?”

Frank shrugged, his body language as relaxed and confident as ever. “Just moved to town, actually. Needed a change of scenery. Figured this would be a good place to start.” He looked me up and down, clearly taking in how much I’d changed. “And now I know why this gym has such a reputation,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, well, I’ve been here a while. It’s a good spot.”

“Seems like it,” he said, his tone a little too casual, like he knew exactly how good he looked. “Anyway,” he continued, “we should grab a drink later, catch up. It’s been too long.”

I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the moment. “Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to sound just as nonchalant.

As he walked away to start his set, I couldn’t help but watch him. There was something about his casual cockiness, the way he carried himself with this slight earned arrogance, that was undeniably attractive. He wasn’t just comfortable in my old body—he loved it. And honestly? That made him even more appealing.

---

Later that night, we met up at a dive bar just a block away from his apartment. It wasn’t much—a little run-down, sticky floors, the smell of stale beer—but it had character, and it was quiet enough for a real conversation. When I walked in, I spotted him immediately. He was leaning casually against the bar, a beer already in hand, wearing my old Texas Tech T-shirt like it was made for him. It looked snug on his broad frame, the sleeves straining against his biceps, and for a second, I felt a pang of something I couldn’t quite name. Nostalgia? Jealousy? Lust? Maybe all three.

“Nice shirt,” I said, sliding into the stool next to him.

He smirked, giving me a once-over. “Figured it’d be a nice touch. Thought it might bring back memories.”

I laughed, feeling oddly sheepish. “Yeah, well, it looks better on you.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed internally. Was I… flirting? With my own body? I mean, technically, yeah, but how could I be this flustered? This was me, or at least it used to be. Yet here I was, stumbling over my words, feeling like a nervous wreck. Meanwhile, he—Frank, Max, whatever—was cool as a cucumber, his confidence practically radiating off him.

We ordered drinks, and he started asking me about my life. He was surprisingly attentive, hanging on to every word like he genuinely cared. It threw me off a little. “You’ve been busy,” he said after I told him about some of the things I’d been up to. “It’s good to see you doing so well.”

Was it weird that he almost sounded… proud?

Then he started telling me about his life—what he’d been doing in my old body. Turns out he’d made good money over the past few years working as a fitness instructor part-time, balancing that with his job as a mechanic. And apparently, he’d built up an online following, which had blown up enough that he was now financially set.

“It’s funny,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I’d hate it at first, but I kinda love this life. It suits me.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my eyes trailing over his broad shoulders and confident posture. “It really does.”

As the drinks flowed, I found myself relaxing a little too much. I didn’t even realize I was flirting until it was too late. My hand kept finding excuses to touch his arm or brush against his thigh. At first, it was just playful, but one of those touches lingered a little too long. My hand stayed on his thigh, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t move away, and I didn’t either.

He turned to me with a raised eyebrow, that damn smirk spreading across his face. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’d think you were flirting with me.”

My face went red, and I quickly looked away, mumbling something unintelligible. But before I could pull my hand back, he grabbed my thigh, his grip firm and deliberate.

“Usually,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, “I don’t go for twinks. But I think I can make an exception for you.” His hand slid just slightly higher, his smirk turning into something hungrier. “I mean, I know how fantastic that ass is. And I’d love to try it out for myself.”

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t find the words to respond. All I could do was stare at him, my heart pounding as his grip tightened slightly, his confidence swallowing the room whole.

Stay Tuned For Part 2

[ploppythespaceship]

So to absolutely no one's surprise, the new Section 31 movie is quite bad. Critics are tearing it to pieces, and rightfully so. As IGN said, "Section 31 will infuriate Star Trek fans and bore everyone else." And... yeah, that's about right. I don't know if it's the worst Trek movie ever made, but it's certainly in one of the bottom slots.

This post has no major spoilers, but I am putting it under a cut because it turned into a long rant.

The core problem here is the cast. It's an ensemble piece consisting of characters ranging from mildly boring to actively irritating. There's no depth or interesting dynamics at play here. Just a bunch of characters trying to be zany and edgy.

Which brings me to the next issue -- the tone. Basically, this movie wants to be James Gunn's Suicide Squad, but it doesn't understand the careful balance needed to pull that off. It wants to be the edgy, gritty Star Trek movie where people get to murder and be bad, while also having wacky side characters that get to joke around. The result is that half the cast feels like it's in a gritty drama, and the other half feels like it's in a bad comedy.

To emphasize how bad this issue is -- the very last line of the movie is a yo mama joke. No, I am not kidding.

The pacing is pretty bad. You can tell that this was conceived as a miniseries before being cut down to a 90 minute film. The whole thing feels choppy and uneven. They spend too long in some sections and then not long enough in others. At one point halfway through, I literally said out loud, "Oh that's where episode one would have ended," because you could practically feel the entire film switch gears.

We also don't see enough of Georgiou and San's relationship, which the climax sort of hinges on. All we get are flashbacks of them pressing foreheads together in a backlit room, saying that they're one.

This either needed to be stretched back out to a full miniseries -- which probably still would have been pretty bad -- or it needed to be drastically reworked to better suit its runtime.

The style is also absolutely all over the place. It's trying to emulate something like Suicide Squad or Guardians of the Galaxy, but with a laughable incompetence. The first scene left me gaping in awe of how terrible the editing was. There are so many badly placed cross-fades, extended establishing shots, weird almost-music-sequences that aren't willing to commit... then other scenes will just be filmed normally. If they wanted this film to have its own distinct style, they needed to fully commit to it, and make that part of the story's core identity. This just feels like they tacked things on without fully understanding how to actually utilize them.

And the QUICK ZOOMS. This might be a weird thing to fixate on, but I genuinely felt like I was losing my mind. This movie would not stop doing quick zooms, on everything, for every scene. You'll be watching two characters exchange quiet, calm dialogue, and the camera just keeps cranking in closer to their faces. It's just another stylistic choice that they're doing without any real understanding of why.

Perhaps most irritatingly, this movie fundamentally misunderstands the concept of Section 31. First, they just don't get the most basic premise of the organization they based their entire movie on. A Starfleet officer is an official part of their team, expressly there to serve as their Federation oversight. Excuse me?? Did you watch a SINGLE previous Section 31 episode?? The entire point of this group is that they exist beyond official oversight.

But even worse, I'm not sure these writers understand that Section 31 are the bad guys. One of Georgiou's lines is, "Section 31 is just the place for officers who bend the rules, never quite break them, until they do." The final scene has Garrett fondly calling Georgiou a "bad bitch." And the team doesn't really do anything all that morally questionable -- they all just crack terrible edgy jokes the whole time. In this movie, Section 31 genuinely is just Starfleet but edgy, and it pisses me the hell off.

Genuinely, the utter misunderstanding of Section 31 is one of my least favorite things about modern Trek. I really hope this movie's reception will convince them to just shelve the group entirely for a while.

I do think a decent version of this movie could have existed. Cut the entire side cast to have a tighter focus on a trio of Georgiou, Alok, and Garrett. Georgiou and Alok have a similar enough backstory that they could develop a really interesting dynamic with more screentime. And Garrett can be there as the Starfleet officer who stumbled into the situation against her will, and tries to maintain her moral compass while also recognizing that drastic action is needed to defend the Federation.

Then you could actually explore the meaningful differences in morality between these characters. Touch on the core themes of what Section 31 was originally meant to be. Do the ends justify the means? At what point have you gone too far? And with Georgiou specifically -- is it even possible for someone like to her to seek redemption? Can she truly earn it?

Instead, we get a bland movie that isn't interested in exploring any deeper meanings. It just wants to be an edgy Star Trek version of Suicide Squad. And that's a damn shame.

[causeimcrayzeebee]

Spoilers for chapter 4 so far!

okay ik everyone and their mother is probably talking about this but monomoko seems to be becoming more and more sympathetic for the students and it kinda scares me for her future, considering what just happened w dr kan (KYS!!!!!). im not particularly sure as to why this is happening, maybe the black spots have to do with the memories or the feelings from the deceased students??? i feel like that has to have some significance. also she went and talked to people that were pretty significant to people who died or got killed, like sasaki and okazaki, so i find that intriguing. im still so confused as to how any of monomokos abilities work but hey ojima got a glimpse of the sky! yeah open sky screamed death flags ojima pls stay true to your word. also the yanagi analysis by monomoko was wild lmfao but i did really like seeing that, it was good to get a better idea of who yanagi really wants to protect,,, hes grown on me so much god i love him

TAMBA MISSING KAMIMURA I AM IN TEARS F UGH KKJSJAJEJE sweetie you DO deserve to be alive but this dialogue is so real i can totally see why tamba is spiraling out. her survivors guilt is really getting to her n how she was so careless before n still survived while someone like kamimura who took a bunch of precautions was killed. obviously tamba deserves to live; the question of who deserves to live is as hayashi said, it’s not something anyone has to prove, you just make the most of it. i really love hayashi and tambas interactions ESP in this chapter.

watari adding patches for the people who died in gonna CRY. i wonder what she would’ve said if she had the time to respond to monomoko, that definitely put Okazaki onto the forefront of her mind.

now onto some actual analysis

I think the why do you mourn them question is answered well with tambas sentiments before; they were so young and just died because of the situation they were forced into. Danganronpa is so dangerous too when the people in the killing game are teenagers, who are still learning to make rational decisions, so putting them in a kind of environment that puts pressure on them to make this kind of sacrifice to get out alive and save themselves, a very human instinct.

i had something in my drafts that I was gonna post desperately but might as well talk about it here cause it fits! i think a lot of why the pink cast is in such mourning goes to the kind of lives they live normally. many of them are more isolated, like kamimura or wada, or surrounded by people but not truly by people they can be themselves around, like hiroaki, chiba, and harada. especially considering them being the best in their field, they have lives where it’s hard to make connections with their peers and it’s a genuine one. that’s why hasegawa n kamimura become attached at the hip so quickly; kamimura was able to actually have a friend. this applies to pretty much everyone, and i think that is what is at the heart of the quick connections. they have the ability to be with their peers and don’t have the outside worlds social pressures on them. it’s a horrendous situation ofc, but if it weren’t for the killing game, they wouldn’t have talked to each other even if they did live near each other because of various reasons. i think the original danganronpa was trying to get to this point and it did in some cases, but in others it didn’t and that lead to a lack of mourning from the cast towards the people they lost except maybe one or two people.

tetro casually making me lose my mind yay hope all that made sense

[melanieph321]

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - The Costume

+18

I'm dead 😭😭 who ever edited this image may the lord bless you and your children, and their children's children. 🙏🙏

This look on him is so hilarious, I don't know why!

Summary - Kenan wants you to wear matching costumes for a party. But you warn him why this is a bad idea. A VERY bad idea.

Enjoy! 🤭

"Come on Y/N. Please come out and let me see you."

"No, Kenan. I simply refuse."

You heard him sigh behind the dressing room curtains. "Come on, baby. We said we would dress up together for Weston's costume party. All of my teammates' girlfriends are going to match each other."

"Kenan, I am not dressing up as a gladiatrix." The curtains drew open as you stepped out of the small dressing room. It was evident, the disappointment on Kenan's face seeing you back in your regular clothes. "It's not happening baby. I'm sorry." You handed him back the costume that he had picked out for you. Although it fit you well, it just wasn't your style.

"Well, I'm still going as a gladiator." He stated bitterly.

"You do that Kenan, you do that."

Despite your firm decision, the days leading up to the event consisted solemnly of your boyfriend insisting that the two of you dress up in matching costumes. "Please baby, please. Did I tell you that there will be a price for the best dressed couple? You know how much I hate to lose, don't you baby."

"Kenan." Your sigh was heavy. "I told you that I'm willing to dress up as anything but a gladiatrix."

"But why?" He cried and rightfully so, considering that one of Kenan's favorite movies was The Gladiator. "You'll look so good. Like a Worrier."

"No, Kenan. I'll look stupid, all to satisfy the male gaze."

"Is that what this is about?" Kenan crossed his arms in suspicion. "You think by weaning the gladiatrix costume you're going to become sexualized by guys at the party."

"'Duh. What else. I'm going to show more skin than what is necessary. And I'm sure that the women of ancient Rome didn't wear push up bras."

"Your words made Kenan chuckle, his adorable smile getting on your every nerve."

"What, you don't believe me?"

"That you'll be sexualized. No." Kenan said. "We're talking about my teammates Y/N, They wouldn't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Besides, don't all girls dress a bit loose during these things. It's normal, no?"

There was no getting through to him. Kenan was standing firm on the matter. "You know what fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine. I'll dress up for the party and I'll have a great time doing it. But don't come crying to me once you realize why this is a bad idea."

"Trust me." Kenan grinned. "I won't."

Eventually the night of the party came around, with Kenan picking you up while dressed as a handsome gladiator. You, on the other hand, wore a long coat, with long sleeves to protect you from the winter cold.

"You look beautiful, baby. Your makeup, I mean."

"Thank you Kenan. That's really sweet of you to say."

He leaned forward in the car, pressing his soft lips against your jaw. "I'm really happy that you changed your mind about the costume. You'll see, we'll be the best dressed couple for sure."

You made an effort to smile at him, a stiff smile, knowing what was coming was nothing short of disastrous. Having dated Kenan for the last two years, you were aware of his proud attachment to you. It was almost territorial, meaning Kenan was easily jealous whenever others became aware of you. Other men, that is.

"Hey, you made it!"

Upon arriving at the party, you and Kenen were greeted at the door by the host himself. Weston McKennie, dressed as a very convincing Ninja Turtle.

"You look awesome, Wes. Nice party."

"Thank you, K. The two of you can hang your jackets upstairs. I'll meet you guys around back."

"Okay."

The party was nice indeed. Most of Kenan's teammates were present, and their friends, who brought other friends. It was a bit crowded actually, with Westons villa crawling with people dressed up as anything from cartoon characters, superheroes and historical figures like Julio Cesar. You let Kenan emerge with it all while you headed upstairs to get rid of your coat. There you made the final touch ups to your costume, mainly polishing your plastic sword and pushing up your already suffocating breast. But hey, if this was the only way to prove a pint, so be it.

It wasn't that you were uncomfortable with having all eyes on you. It actually boost your confidence, adding an alluring groove to your walk. However, while all eyes on you was exciting and arousing, you preferred the gaze of one man and one man only."

"Y/N?"

As you returned downstairs, exposed in your gladiatrix costume, a wave of curious mumbles followed you as you sought out your boyfriend who stood chatting with his teammates. As you tapped him on the shoulder with your sword he turned his head, his eyes growing wider than you've ever seen them before.

"How do I look?" You said, batting your lashes.

"Look…" Kenan stammered as he temporarily lost his trail of thought. He regarded your costume with a longing gaze. Admiring the length of your worrier dress, which cut way above your knees, the draft being ridiculously swift.

"I— you look."

"Damn, Y/N. You look like fire." Weston appeared behind Kenan, he too, taking sudden interest in your costume."

"Fire?" You chuckled. "No, I'm supposed to be a gladiatrix."

"Yes you are."

"Hey." Kenan hissed, a slight flush to his cheeks.

Weston chuckled. "Sorry man. But you have to admit you're girlfriend looks hot in her costume. Hotter than you."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"Kenan!" You protested as he without warning grabbed a hold of your wrist dragging you with him through the house. "Is something wrong baby? What's gotten you so upset?"

He threw you a poisonous gaze over his shoulder, his voice slightly changed. "You know exactly what's wrong."

To this you smile. Your boyfriend, the one encouraging you to look the way you looked, barely lasted minute a minute seeing you in it. Utter jealousy overwhelming him as he led you through his teammates house, forcing you to join him in the nearest bathroom. There he let you go, supporting himself against the sink while struggling to yield his rising temper.

You tilted your head, regarding him with a devious grin. "Do you have to pee or something?"

Kenan raised his head, frustration in his eyes. "You think this is funny, don't you?"

"A little." You shrugged.

Kenan stepped away from the sink, regaining his posture before approaching you with slow steps.

"Kenan, baby." You chuckled nervously, lowering your gaze, eyes expanding at the sight of the outline of your boyfriend's trousers.

"Look what you've done to me." He said. "In front of everyone, you've left me this eager to have you."

"Ehm, sorry." You were backed up against a wall, Kenan, bowing his lips towards your ear.

"On your knees, now."

A shiver ran down your spine, the sudan shock causing a damp between your thighs. But as your knees folded beneath you, Kenan acted swiftly, changing his mind boy turning your body around. With arm around your waist he had you arch against him, his hard erection putting pressure against your exposed pantties.

"God, I should've never let you out of the house in that costume."

"Told you."

Kenan chuckled, adjusting your hair to rest over your shoulder he could kiss you. You tasted each other while he unbuckled his leather belt, dropping his pants to the bathroom floor. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard."

"How hard?" You moaned, your nipples having grown stiff against the wall.

"As hard as you like me to, baby."

"Good. Now get in with it."

You may have won the best dressed couple of the party, who knows? With the loud music pounding the walls of the house, you and Kenan failed to leave the bathroom for the entirety of that night, occupying yourself with some pounding of your own.

The End

[harukyuu2]

hii could I request Till, Ivan, and Luka x Ado!reader (the singer) and could you write their reactions to reader singing crime and punishment in the stage with their opponent and after could you make a little scenario after?

(if you haven't heard the song I recommend you to listen to it so you have an idea on what it's about! <3)

ANON WERE SO CONNECTEDD im literally obsessed with that song this month, idk why but here you have it!!

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT !! - Ado!Reader x Till, ivan, luka ♪

!! ⇾ Headcanons more than all, little scenario, fluff, relationship not tagged so you can take it as what you want, weird behaviour for Luka, neutral reader, a little ooc maybe since its my first time actually writting for alnst :x - Small revision !!

◊▸ TILL !!

This man was soo nervous when you got into the stage, he wont tell you directly— but he loves you too much for you to lose.

Now, when the song started with you showing so much emotions. he losed it completely

His eyes couldnt leave your figure, he was already mesmerized by you— but it seems you always find a new way to make him fall more in love

The way you blended so easily screams on the song, showing with them lots of emotions made him want to sing at your side— even if he thinks he isnt at your level, he just loves your voice so much. He didnt even care how your opponent didnt manage to get too much of a line since you stealed it with your screams.

He leaved a relieved sigh when the hologram showed your win, even if it was a clear result. He isnt able to relax a second when youre on stage, he has to keep a watch on you even if he cant do too much about it. he was so mad he couldnt bring his sketchbook to atleast keep this moment in paper instead in only his mind, well— his sketchbook is already full of portraits of you.

⇒ After The Round... Till was waiting for you at the backstage, the first times he did this he felt nervous and all, but right now he just wanted to see you. Actually, he is nervous! but his feelings of admiration and love for you are stronger than that. When he saw your figure emerge alone from the darkness, his heart began to race, and suddenly, the words he had prepared vanished from his mind—replaced only by the tired smile you gave him when you stood face to face. For a moment, silence hung between you two, he was staring at you mesmerized. Then, realizing how strange he must look, he snapped out of it, shaking his head and quickly trying to speak. "H-hey...you did great back there, the way you singed- i liked it a lot, uhm..it was beautiful" - He said pretty nervous rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze a little, you were so bright in his eyes that his heart burned with a simple glance at your face. You were getting used to Till's nervous presence, leaving it up to his struggles with communication after everything he endured back in the garden. Letting out a soft laugh at how he avoided your gaze, you leaned in closer—tilting your head to meet his eyes. Speaking in a low, reassuring tone, you tried to ease his nerves. - "Thank you, Till. Thanks for being there for me."

Your gazes met, and with a gentle smile, you wrapped your arms around him in a warm hug, your head resting in his chest to feel his heartbeat. You understood how much he struggled to stay obedient to the aliens, so the fact that he did it just to watch you sing on stage filled your heart with warmth.

At first, Till didnt know how to reciprocate correctly the hug and just tensed his body at your touch— he sighed, knowing you were probably hearing his heartbeat, so with shaking hands and feeling his cheeks warm up, he hugged you back lightly, scared of hurting you since in his eyes you were so delicated and perfect... Seeing the figure of an alien emerge in the darkness behind you, his grip on you tightened— the hug was more important even if he would be punished after for being with you alone. Lowering his head to your shoulder, he whispered to you with a shaking voice, not really wanting to let go "Can we sing together someday...?" ◊▸ IVAN !!

This guy had a pretty calm expression, he believed in you— no, better said he knows youre better than your opponent.

If youre able to make him feel emotions he wasnt able to feel before with your voice, its obvious youre gonna win to that normal guy!

Obviously, a part of him was worried for you, but not that much since its not the first time he hears you sing. He loved to spy on you in the garden and you always had such a beautiful voice that gived him weird goosebumps

He was so captivated by your voice, the way you controlled it, the mix of emotions you putted in it, your facial expressions...he wanted to be the reason for you to show all of that, he wanted to be the reason you express like that, he wanted your attention.

The result of the round flashed on the hologram. A part of him was relieved—he’d get to spend more time with you. But another part couldnt ignore the sadness creeping in, you werent singing anymore, and he loved studying your expressions when you did. It drove him crazy how you seemed to pour everything into the raw emotions behind your screams and vocals, completely ignoring the fear in your opponent's eyes or even the outcome of the battle itself. ⇒ After The Round...

Thanks to your huge win in the stage, your guardian gived you a gift— the freedom of running into the rooftop of their agency to look at the night sky for today. Not an artificial sky or the ceiling of your room, the real one that inspired you to keep going until you were able to escape. Feeling the air hit your face, you taked a deep breath finally outside of the stage. Looking at the sky in a deep silence that soothed the fear of dying... Until you got interrupted by something or better said someone grabbing your shoulders - "Hello!" - You heared Ivan say making you leave a scared yelp "Ivan-! dont do that! imagine if i falled out!" - You said with a small frown since you were almost in the edge of the roof, as always, he dismissed what you said with a small laugh— walking more into your side. He was here since he conviced Unsha to make a negotiation with your guardian or something, just to promote the two genuises of garden ANAKT. "You did great on the stage, i loved those strong moments you had singing, were you mad at something?" - Ivan ask with his usual mischevious smile patting your head, the calm surrounding hitting you both even if he was trying to be playfull Hearing his words, you sighed, resting your weight slightly on his arm. Almost instinctively, he wrapped it around you, holding you close. "No, no… I just thought it would’ve sounded better if I put more emotion into it," you murmured softly. "Ah, I was also a little worried he’d sing over me since he’s known for interrupting his opponents—but thats all." You spoke casually, remembering how you felt on the stage, but Ivan was quick to reassure you that your interruptions with the high notes and all blended perfectly into the song The moment between you two was silent again, with him caressing your shoulder slightly before breaking it again with a small mix of playfulness and sweetness: "Lets stay like this for a moment, i promise to not push you.." ◊▸ LUKA !!

Talking honestly?? i dont think this man would be on the public tbh... But because Heperu doesnt want his star pet to be around common pets even if its to watch a show! He would probably watch you through a screen tho

even if his face doesnt show any emotions he would probably like your voice, a part of him softens slightly for you even if its unnoticeable

Unconsciously, he would start humming the song, trying to mimic the strength of your vocals and wondering if he could reach that scream you did.

Pretty calm about the situation tbh, he was trained to take death as normal and always try to win. So he expects the same for you, he prefers you winning tho more than taking your death normally

Im sorry but from these three he lacks a lot of reaction !! He loves you...in his own weird way!

⇒ After The Round... Luka waited for you in his asigned room, it was normal for you two to meet after the rounds since it bringed hype to the aliens that the "Ruler of the stage" and the possibly new ruler spended time together. Obviously, that bringed a lot of money to your guardians, so its a little treat of them for you two! You entered Luka's room tiredly and he standed up when he felt your presence in the door, walking closer to you. His usual calm and blunt expression bored into you while you wondered what he was thinking about since he usually waits for you to get to his side He grabbed your hand, making your breath hitch as you tensed up, only to be caught off guard when he suddenly decided to bite one of your fingers. You raised an eyebrow in confusion but let out a small laugh, feeling your mood lift slightly. 'Eeeh? Luka, are you perhaps hungry...?' you asked softly, mindful of your voice after such an intense performance Luka taked your finger out of his mouth before looking directly at you, continuing to grab your hand he decided to give you a quick response- "mhm...maybe, can i be hungry of you too?" - He asked like it was a normal question, even if it flustered you a little he didnt seem to care since he meant it in a literal way Sitting on the couch with him, he placed his head on your lap, still holding your hand tightly as he guided it to rest on his head, closing his eyes calmly. Wait a second—werent you the one who won the round? So why is he the one getting the pats?? You sighed in defeat, knowing there was no way to win an argument like that against Luka. He knew all too well that you’d end up spoiling him anyway "Stay like that for now...and move your hand, i let you."

[themyscirah]

This is how this went right?

Parallax!Hal: I miss being a hero... wish I had my ring back

Kyle: oh well you can have mine then! That way you can have a second chance : )

Parallax!Hal: YES!!! A SECOND CHANCE TO PLAY GOD AND RESHAPE THE WORLD AS I WILL IT MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Kyle, now ringless: .................huh. im gonna be honest here I really didn't see that coming

[dykedvonte]

I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.

[sluckythewizard]

'I wont cry for you, I wont crucify the things you do. I wont cry for you, see, when you're gone, I'll still be BLOODY MARY'

[vaguely-concerned]

sophia seeing cailan's body hanging there when they go back to ostagar, and suddenly all she can see even through the rot and the ruin is just how much he looked like alistair...... :'(

a mental image that totally will not haunt her through alistair's many years on the throne as rebellions and assassination attemps come and go. doesn't send her unhinged and unwise even a little