#more will come later because i can't stop thinking about this

[specialgradefckr]

tw: explicit content, incest, satoru/reader, satoru/suguru, shoko/reader, codependency, very twisted relationship dynamics, implied abusive/neglectful childhood

suguru had never known what to make of the two of you.

satoru the six eyes and his twin sister. satoru who was his best friend, and you, the girl who looks just like him.

satoru who let suguru bend him over and fuck him until he cried, only to roll off the bed, pulling out his phone.

god. he knew satoru was a dick, but this?

it hurts more than it should. they'd never talked about it, never even called each other friends. he should have figured this wasn't anything special.

but what the fuck is satoru doing on his phone?

"satoru?" he says, trying to sound casual.

everything has to be casual with satoru. low-key. being with him feels like he's coaxing a wild animal. get too close, and he might just bolt.

bolt, only to hit him out of the blue days later with a picture of a candy and a smarmy comment about suguru's taste in food. or his hair. or his power as a sorcerer, or whatever was going through that malfunctioning brain of his.

god, why the fuck does he even like him again?

satoru turns back so suguru can see his smirking face.

god. that was why. the face of a fucking angel, a smile that made his heart skip. why did it have to be on this asshole?

"what, suguru? you feelin' lonely?" satoru drawls.

it's a question he knows the answer to. keep it chill. don't show your hand. don't get too close or he'll get scared.

it aches. "shut up," he says, "i'm just curious who you're texting right after i pulled my dick out of you."

he smirks back when satoru pauses, hesitates.

"who's this person you're thinking about right after you cum?" suguru drawls. he's proud of how distant he manages to sound.

satoru's eyes dart towards him, all ice blue and piercing.

"nobody," he says, setting his phone face down while he pulls on his pants.

he blinks. "what are you..."

satoru ignores his question, strolling out towards the door while waving goodbye. "later, su-gu-ru~"

"but this is -"

before his eyes can furrow, satoru closes the door behind him.

"...your room."

he'd thought that it meant something different this time. satoru always left right after they fucked, he never stayed.

but this is satoru's room. so he'd either kick suguru out, or let him stay.

he hadn't been prepared for him to just... leave. his own room.

what's wrong with him? seriously.

suguru glances at the downturned phone. flips it over.

nee-chan~ (2)

his sister? it beeps.

nee-chan~ (3)

no, don't. i'll ask shoko

you'll ask shoko to do what? satoru has a lock, so he can't see.

seriously, i mean it

after a moment, there's another message.

are you ignoring me, or just busy with him?

don't come over. slut

...what?

the message notification disappears along with the message.

suguru gets a strange feeling.

he looks around satoru's room. he finds some girl's clothes.

does satoru even like girls? they could be yours. he's seen you in his room before.

the strange feeling starts to get. stranger.

there's condoms in here, too, which is weird because satoru has never asked him to use them. or used them himself. he whined when suguru suggested it, actually. asked if he was scared of getting knocked up.

ugh. stupid, insufferable, endearing little shit. he wants to have him in his arms right now.

but it doesn't mater what suguru wants. satoru just left. like he always does, sooner or later.

picking up the phone, he makes his way out. down the hall, towards the girls' dorm.

shoko is already there when he gets there. holding out an arm to stop him.

he raises a brow.

"she's sleeping."

"how do you know i'm here for her?"

shoko shrugs. "why else would you be? saw gojo go in there. anyways, they're asleep now."

"can't be. i was with him just a few minutes ago."

the look she gives him is... strange. everything about this situation feels... off.

he pushes past her, and she sighs.

there's no noise inside, at least. he looses a curse to twist the lock on the door, turn it form the inside.

and it's surprising because - god, what was he expecting?

you're there, curled up beneath the blanket with satoru laying behind you, arms wrapped around you and holding you close.

it's romantic, sure. intimate.

but nothing weird. well, nothing too weird. satoru's always been weird, and you're just like him, so of course you're both weird together. you've always been close. you're his twin sister. what is he thinking?

with a toss, he lets satoru's phone fall onto the floor.

he avoids shoko's gaze as he closes the door and stalks off.

(he doesn't see her anxious glance at the door.)

"he's gone," satoru whispers to you, brushing his thumb over your nipple as you bite your lip.

"shut up," you hiss, putting a hand over his. "i can't believe you did that. why did he follow you? what did you say to him?"

his other hand, threaded beneath your panties, wriggles playfully.

"whaaat? you said you wanted to go to bed. i didn't want to make you wait." he sighs dramatically, "i'm the strongest sorcerer, you know. i need my rest~"

and without you, there is no rest.

as soon as your body is against his, it's like all the tension leaves him. you're there, with him, and everything is all right.

all his worries fade away when he can wrap his arms around you and feel you embrace him in return. mind blank at the soothing sound of your voice. never mind the words you're saying.

"yeah, but do you need to do... this." you say fruitlessly. "you could have come later."

"didn't wanna come later," he kisses your shoulder, "wanted to see you now."

you wriggle in his arms, too wide and too strong to escape, even if you wanted to.

it's enraging. it's gratifying. you don't know what it is, and never have.

he must have been fucking suguru. and after he got his, he came to you.

should you laugh, or cry?

"i could have asked shoko." you mumble almost miserably.

but a sigh escapes you as he fondles your breast. satoru always knows how to make you feel good.

maybe not as good as shoko does, but you're still nice enough not to say that to his face.

"what? to sleep with you?" satoru scoffs, "you can't sleep without me, either."

neither of you have ever slept alone, not a single night in your life.

not even when you were deathly ill and the clan begged the precious six eyes to stay away and not catch your sickness.

satoru had stayed by your side the entire while. held your hand while your head pounded and your body ached. wiped your tears when you cried.

because you were very young, and very sick, in more pain than you'd ever felt before. you had honestly thought you were going to die.

there had been no servants, no mother or father or caretaker. only satoru holding you close, lifting you to drink some water and medicine. telling you that you couldn't die. he wouldn't allow it.

and to your child's mind, that had been reassuring. your brother never left you. your fever broke and you were okay, just like he said you would be.

now, you know better. now you know satoru would lay in bed with people who weren't you, even if he always came back (for now).

now you knew what it was like to have someone else by your side.

(but was it enough? could it ever be enough? could it ever be what you have with him?)

"i'll never know until i try." you turn in his arms to face him, and he allows it.

blue eyes. beautiful, beautiful blue. a pretty face. almost as pretty as shoko's.

you've been learning, lately. you used to think of the mole on her cheek as an imperfection, the cigarette smoke a bad habit.

now? you still think it's a bad habit, but the mole is charming. and you don't hate the smell as much because shoko took you out shopping for perfume.

she asked you which one you liked the most, and bought it for herself. she wears it every friday when you have your girls night out with utahime.

where you get drunk enough to make out with her until she brings you back to the dorm, kissing and fondling and touching.

she asks you if it's okay. asks you how you like it best. asks you to touch her this way, that way.

it's not like how it is with satoru. but she makes you feel good, makes you happy. she wants you to feel good. when you cry she kisses your tears away, like she knows better than to ask but wants to comfort you anyways.

when was the last time satoru tried to comfort you?

"hey," satoru breathes into your ear, pulling your panties down, "c'mon."

when you think of her, your heart flutters. when you think of satoru, your stomach flips, and your whole body aches.

you don't know what love is. you don't think satoru does, either.

otherwise, why would he ever leave geto's arms? when he's so obviously head over heels for him?

you clasp one arm against his chest as you reach down, stroking his cock to hardness. geto must have made him cum (satoru has never made you cum). must have fucked him.

satoru rolls you so you're on top of him.

his shirt is off, baring his lean, muscled chest. your brother, your strong, handsome, beautiful brother, looking up at you with wandering eyes and greedy hands.

your hands are equally greedy. running over his chest, ghosting over his nipples until he shivers. oversensitive. he always is after he's been with geto.

satoru's got a condom out already. he slips it on, leaning forward and pinning you down beneath him.

he doesn't have to use condoms with geto. he doesn't have to be the one on top all the time, either. geto can fuck him. he must like that.

geto's a special grade sorcerer. geto's a man. he's not his sister.

his cock is sliding up and down against your entrance, wetting the condom as he nips at your breast.

he always leaves marks like this, but never where anyone can see.

does he leave marks on geto?

"do you like him more?" you mumble, anxiety swirling in your gut. your lower half is a hot swirling pool of need, leaking for him.

and he inches in, making you whine, making you claw marks into his shoulder. you hope geto sees them.

satoru groans, low and throaty. it always feels like coming home when he's inside you. a perfectly matched lock and key.

his hand threads through your hair. you're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful. he'll admit he's a vain bitch, but who wouldn't be? looking like the two of you do.

maybe one day he should get you to dress up like him. wear a strap and fuck him, that'd be fun.

for now, you're warm and soft and perfect for him. so comfortable. and you're rambling about stuff that isn't important.

"what," he murmurs, breathy from the warmth of you around him, "who?"

if the frustration shows on your face, he can just fuck it away.

"geto." the name is swallowed by a swift thrust, hands planted on your hips.

you wish he'd touch your clit more (you never ask). you wish he'd answer your question (you're afraid to push). but your brother just doesn't think about other people.

"c'mon," he whines, "don't talk about some other dude. you're with me."

"you were with him."

"so?" he thrusts in harder, stealing your breath, like that'll win him the argument, "you're fucking shoko."

satoru fucks you breathless, then. pumping in and out so quickly that the friction has you shuddering, shivering, close enough that you finally start to squeeze around him.

it's always like this with him. you feel like you're drowning, helpless. all you can do is cling to him.

"satoru," you hate how pitiful your voice sounds, "satoruuuu...."

he's hitting you, so deep and so hard it hurts, pierces through the breathless haze and leaves you clenching around him.

"please," your breath escapes you with his next thrust.

please don't leave me. don't abandon me for him. don't discard me now that you have someone better. don't leave me all by myself...

tears dot at your eyes, squeezing around him. satoru's own eyes are wide and wild, his hips shoving into you staggeringly fast.

"i got you," he says, close, so close, "i've got you."

another deep thrust, painful as it is pleasurable, bruising and fast like his fingertips on your hips. he swallows your moans with a kiss.

he thinks he can eat up all your complaints, all your anxiety. hide away from his own by nestling himself in your body.

you don't want anyone but him, right? he's the only one who touches you like this.

the way you squeeze around him, the way your body feels against his, no one else gets that from you. shoko couldn't do this for you. no one could.

you say his name again and he's ready to burst. you love him always. you're so good for him. you make him feel good just by being there.

a part of his life. a missing limb. his precious sister, his beating heart, right there against his chest.

"there," satoru pants, "fuck, there, cum for me, baby..."

it's tears you blink away when he gasps and cums, burying himself inside you with a wounded sort of whimper.

you never do, when it's him. to be fair, you've never done it to yourself, either.

you only ever came when shoko fucked you. but fucked is such an ugly word for how gently she touched you, how soft she smiled.

"satoru," you whine again, "do you like him more than me? i like you more than shoko..."

satoru doesn't answer you. his hands move from your bruised hips to wrap around you, pull you close, plant kisses on your head.

"you know," he mumbles out your name. "you know."

there's a flash of rage. irrational.

he won't say it. he won't even say it. satoru will fuck you, his own sister. cling to you like he needs you to survive, sleep with you every night of his life.

but he won't say he loves you more than geto. he won't even say he likes you.

and you know - because you know him like the back of your hand, you were born with him, you spent every waking moment of your life with him until you came to the school - you know satoru loves you.

but he loves you like he loves air. it's always there. always accessible. it's not like the air will suddenly leave.

you curl into satoru's muscled chest, let him embrace you closer, sink into the silence that's only comfortable for him.

maybe there's something you can do about this.

[reashot]

So you and Ruby?...

Blake: Look at those two... *Watching Lancaster moment from behind a bush*

How could they say that they don't have feelings for each other?

If only there's a way for me to know about their true feelings...

???: Why don't you just ask them?

Blake: Nyah!!!

Cardin?

What the Salem are you doing sneaking up on me? Gods, I always know there's something wrong with you!

Cardin: Huh? I can say the same thing to you creeping up from behind the bushes while watching dork number 1 & 2 eye fucking each other.

Blake: *gasp* So even you know that there's something between them.

Cardin: You have to be blind not to.

Blake: Still I need something more substantial...

And you said that you will help me?

Cardin: What are friends for...

Some times later.

Jaune: Bye Ruby.

Cardin: Hey wuz up. Mind answering me some questions?

Jaune: Cardin? S-sure asks away.

Cardin: So Jaune... Are you and Ruby dating?

Jaune: W-what no! Propestrous, ludicrous and just downright silly. Ruby and me are not dating.

Cardin: I see... So you won't mind if I ask her out then?

*record scratch*

Jaune: Excuse me?

Cardin: Yeah I'm thinking about asking her out. She's cute and you said you're not interested. That is okay with you right?

Jaune: Y-yeah of course. I mean I'm not her boyfriend. *Starts shaking* of course you can ask her out on a date. Ha, ha, ha. I mean why do I care about who she's dating. *Bite lips*

Cardin: ... Okay. I mean it's nothing serious I'm just going to pump and dump her... *Ghugh*

*strangling Cardin*

Jaune: What did you just say to me? You want to use Ruby as an outlet for your lust. I might not be interested in Ruby like that and I'm not her boyfriend. But I am her friend. If you think I'm going to let you treat Ruby like that you have another things coming.

She meant the world to me as a friend. When I'm with her the world shines a little more brighter. Her smile is the most beautiful thing in the world. And I will do anything, absolutely anything to protect it. Do you hear me Cardin!?

Cardin: *gasping for air*

Jaune: I know I can't choose who she decides to go out with and I certainly can't choose who she falls in love with. But I can make sure to protect her from people like you!

If you still want to go after Ruby fine! I can't stop you. But you will treat her like a lady. You will buy her flower and take her out on a date. A fancy one. Treat her the way she is meant to be treated. You will give her compliments like how cute her smile is or just how cute she is in general. Because she is so gosh darn cute!

You get that Cardin?

*Let Cardin go*

Cardin: *cough* c-clear...

Jaune: Good... And I will tell Ruby that you're asking her out on a date. So remember to treat her well, all right. She's my best friend... We'll see you.

Cardin: Fucking psycho...

You get all of that Blake?

....Blake?

Meanwhile behind the bush

*lying on the ground with nosebleed*

Blake: he, he, he, he... My OTP...

In unrelated news Blake's romance novel just reached an all time best sellers across all four kingdoms.

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (9)

originally post on my old account, posting twice weekly :)

Alexia’s POV 

“You alright there capi?” Lucy giggled watching as I gripped my glass tighter and tighter. 

“I’m fine Lucia.” Gritted through teeth. 

Jealousy was freely flowing through my veins. Why did Misa and Alba get to dance with her like that? I wanted it to be me and only me. I wasn’t usually possessive, but Amelia made me do irrational things. 

As Amelia almost fell over her own feet on the dance floor, Misa grabbed her waist. That was it. I’d had enough. 

“Ale, stop. She’s having fun.” Keira placed a hand on my chest as soon as I got up. “Let her enjoy this.“

“No. She’s too drunk, I’m taking her home.” Pushing passed Keira was quiet easy, considering she was shorted and less muscular. 

By the time I pushed through the bodies on the dance floor, Alba had gone back to the bar leaving Misa and Amelia grinding on each other. She smiled at me and reached her arm out to invite me. 

“No. We are going home. Let’s go.” I tugged her arm, pulling her out of Misa’s grip. 

“Ale stop. I don’t want to go home yet.” 

“I don’t care. Let’s go. I’ll drag you out if I have to.” She gave up the fight, letting me pull her through the crowd, past our friends who were all watching on, very confused and not understanding what was happening. By the time we were outside she was starting to fight back. 

“Alexia! Alexia stop! What is wrong with you?” 

“You! You’re what is wrong with me!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Alexia?” She scoffed, crossing her arms against her chest. She was mad. 

“Forget about it. Just get in the car and let me take you home. Please.” 

Shaking her head and refusing to move, “no. You don’t get to say that and then tell me to forget about it. You’re an adult Alexia. use your words.” 

“I am in love with you! No one is you. Jesus!” 

“Alexia no. You love Olga. She is your person, not me.” 

“Olga broke up with me.” I say quietly. Not quite ready to admit the truth. She could see I loved her, but I was in love with you. 

“She broke up with you because you love me.” It almost sounded like she was trying to make sense of it herself.  

“I have always loved you Amelia. Even when you left me, I didn’t stop loving you. You tore my heart out of my fucking chest and all I wanted was you. All I want is you. I can’t keep being just friends with you. Maybe because your eyes remind me so much of the nights we fell asleep wrapped in each other's warmth Or maybe when you smile it makes my body shiver because I know that smile used to be because of me. I can't see that with my eyes and pretend like it's ony. Because it's not. I can't be just friends with you, because every time I see you I fall in love again." 

The tears were running down both our faces. Silence engulfed us. 

“Please say something mil.” It came out more like a sob. 

“Alexia, I ca-“ 

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Keira’s engulfed Mil in a hug, Alba and Lucy standing either side of them. Keira’s face was mad, Lucy’s was sad and Alba she was unreadable. 

“Take me home please Kei.” With that, Keira turned them both around, walking away and leaving me there, again. 

“Wait Mil please!” I tried to go after them but Lucy’s hand caught my arm. 

“Stop Ale. She’s drunk, let Keira take her home and you can have the conversation later. Come on, I’ll take you home.” Lucy was firm but soft. Not waiting to push too much. 

Alba chewed me out in the drive home. I wasn’t even listening to be honest. The tears never stopped falling, all I could think about was Amelia. What would have happened if we’d tried sooner? Or if she never left? It had always been here, I knew it from the moment I met her but I was with Jenni then. 

Lucy left after dropping alba and I at my apartment. It was a horrible ride in the elevator. Alba wouldn’t stop. She didn’t stop when we got inside, or when I walked away from her, she just followed and continued to chew me out. 

“Alba stop! I fucked up okay. I love her and I have for years. I don’t need you telling me over and over again that I fucked up. I am well aware of that fact.” 

“You love her? What about Olga?” 

“She broke up with me. 3 weeks ago.” 

“Ale-“

“No don’t! I don’t need your pity right now. I need you to tell me what to do to fix this. I can’t lose Amelia again. I can’t go through that pain again. Alba please help me fix this.” The last sentence came out as a whisper, a sob was caught in the back of my throat and as soon as Alba wrapped her arms around me, it all came crashing down. 

I was going to lose Amelia. Again.  

[crimsonphantasmagoria]

I've been scouring my brain for weeks now, trying to come to a reconciliation between the Solas we get through Inquisition into Trespasser, and the Solas we see in Veilguard, and I think I've finally come to an answer which satisfies me, though YMMV of course. It all has to do with selfishness.

What put me onto this is the way he talks about the romance path. "It was selfish of me" he says, almost angrily. Selfishness is a thing he can't stand in others, and certainly can't stand in himself.

Solas has had his opinions and wants dismissed in the name of selflessness again and again. Most importantly, this has been done by the person he Respects the most, Mythal (this is true whatever you believe the nature of their relationship was).

The first thing, which led to everything else, is that she persuaded him to take a body for a selfless cause: protecting the People from those like Elgar’nan. Then, she had him craft the Lyrium Dagger, against his wishes, because it was necessary to end the war. And then she betrays him. He was brought into this world against his will to prevent Elgar’nan and the like basically from doing exactly this, and she's going along with it? He doesn't want to go against her, but he has to, for the good of the People.

Once the rebellion starts, Solas is required to act against his personal wishes again: he has to uphold the mantle of the Dread Wolf. We see this in Felassan's letter to him.

The next time we see Solas and Mythal together is when he warns her about the Evanuris using the Blight, and more or less asks her to run away to the Fade with him. And she refuses. We can debate her motives all we want, but I think it's safe to say that running away to the Fade with her was what he wanted. His selfish wish. And she rejects it, and goes to confront the Evanuris alone, and dies. His grief reframes this as her dying because he was selfish. And in his grief, he chooses to seal away the Blight and the Evanuris. Now, this wasn't a bad thing to do, but he is pretty explicit in Trespasser that he did it directly in response to them killing Mythal. A selfish act. And it goes catastrophically wrong.

He comes to years later, and the world is horrifying. Elven mortality, corrupting spirits, magic suppressed, all because of his mistake. His selfishness has hurt the People he has a duty to, given to him by the person he respected the most. He immediately sets about fixing the mistake. After all, he's more or less the only one who can. He kills Felassan, when he betrays the cause. He doesn't want to, but since when has he wanted any of this? When was the last time something he wanted mattered? Fixing what he's done to the world matters more.

But then he gets outwitted by Corypheus, and the Veil is coming down in the worst way possible, causing untold harm on both sides. And he can't fix this problem. The only person who can is the one with the Anchor, the future Inquisitor. So he sets himself to helping them do so, because it's the best he can do to fix his new mistake. And in doing so, he sees the best parts of the new world. He meets people he genuinely likes and admires, potentially even loves. He realises that these people are complete as they are, 'real'. It goes faster with a high approval or romance Inquisitor, but even with low approval, he eventually gets to the same place. He wants to help them. He wants to stay with them. He wants his time with them to have mattered.

But that would be selfish. Since when have his wants mattered?

He leaves them. He doesn't want to, but he has to. He kills Flemythal, because he needs her power if he's going to do this, even though he doesn't want to. He weeps. Gets back up and continues on. Since when has what he wanted mattered?

Trespasser happens, and he tells the Inquisitor almost everything, because they deserve to know, but also...he doesn't want to do this. This is the beginning of his subtle attempts to help them stop him. He can't admit it. He can't admit that he needs help, that he wants to stop, but he can subtly, almost unconsciously guide them.

This culminates in him leaving the eluvian path open for Varric and co to follow him to the unguarded, unwarded ritual site. Unfortunately, Varric tries to reason with him. But he cannot be reasoned with by Varric. Nor by the Inquisitor, nor anyone else in modern Thedas. That's what he wants, you see? He wants to stop, so he can't. That would be selfish. I do think that, maybe, if Harding had taken the shot, he might have allowed it. Taken it as a fair defeat. But she doesn't, so we'll never know.

So he ends up in the regret prison, otherwise known as literal Hell for Solas, and tricks Rook into helping release him. He's more or less the only one with power sufficient to take on Elgar’nan. You know, the guy he came here, unwillingly, to oppose in the first place? So he goes and helps the Shadow Dragons in Minrathous, but it isn't enough. Fortunately, Rook escapes, and they defeat Elgar’nan together. Unfortunately, he has now run out of excuses to not do the thing he doesn't want to do, and the Veil is coming down anyway, so.

But then Rook offers another choice. Bind yourself to the Veil and save us. He does seriously consider it for a second, because it's what he wants to do, and Rook isn't a person he cares about personally. He might respect them, but he doesn't really like or care about them, like he does Varric or the Inquisitor. Weirdly, this might make it a more effective plea, taken from this perspective. Ultimately, though, the Unselfish thing is clearly to fix his mistake, fix the world, so he goes to do that.

Then here comes the Inquisitor. He can't stop for them either, but he feels like he owes them an explanation still. He failed Mythal, and she died. He was selfish, and she died. This will all have been for nothing if he acts selfishly now.

Now Morrigan arrives. Whose fault is that? She channels fragment Mythal. I like to think this part is these two fragments of Mythal reuniting for a few moments. And Mythal says, in effect, "if i had let you stay where you wanted, if I'd listened to what you wanted, then maybe none of this would have happened. You aren't the only one at fault here. Be free from your duty to the People, and choose your own path from now on."

The Inquisitor reinforces this, and it takes him about two seconds of collecting his thoughts to choose, because frankly it's what he's wanted to do the whole time. And then he chooses to return to the Fade, and to seek atonement for his part in creating the Blight. Probably also something he wanted, but felt like he couldn't persue because he wanted it. But now he finally can, because his wants have been acknowledged by that person he respected the most as valid. So off he goes.

This might actually make the romance with Lavellan even more powerful because it means he wanted her badly enough that he almost chose her anyway, even despite his prior conditioning. Sadly, he eventually realised that the relationship was fucked if he couldn't stop his plans and couldn't tell her who he was because he couldn't stop his plans, so he ended it, for her sake, another selfless act, to try and make it easier for her to hate him. And if she doesn't, and asks to come with him in Trespasser, he refuses, for selfishly stated reasons, because he wants this one thing to remain pure and uncorrupted. But in the end, he won't refuse her again because he's finally allowed to want again, and what he wants most of all has always been her.

Idk, I've just been struggling to make Solas’s motivation change between games make sense to me, and this is what worked. Nobody else has to think this. Totally just my personal speculation.

[henke-penke]

time to wrap this bad boy up

Niagara brawls

Blaineley has entered the chat

The pairs for this challenge are; Alejandro-Courtney, Noah-Sierra, Tyler-Blaineley, Eva-Gwen. This is also the order they complete the challenge.

Alejandro and Courtney are killing it. I know that in canon Alejandro said it'd be unwise to appear too strong early in the merge, but here he has a secured alliance so I think he can show off a little more. Courtney did well in canon, all things considered, and with a partner who respects her, she's unstoppable.

Noah and Sierra would be nowhere near as good but they'd still be a solid duo. Especially since Sierra is free of the canon Cody-curse and can properly lock in.

Tyler and Blaineley... yikes.

Eva and Gwen = Toxic yuri let's go !

The votes end up being tied: Eva (Alejandro, Courtney, Gwen, Tyler) and Tyler (Eva, Noah, Sierra, Blaineley). There's no way Tyler's beating Eva so, bye bye king.

Chinese Fake-out

With the alliances now being tied for numbers, Blaineley becomes the swing vote. Something she's well aware of and thus doesn't make an alliance with Chef.

In my head both alliances come up with the same plan; one/two of them will focus on winning, whereas the other will work on convincing Blaineley to join their side.

For the Alejandro-Courtney-Gwen alliance it's the former who does the convincing, because not only is he good at it but the other two aren't fans of Blaineley and can't readily hide that distaste like Alejandro. (We get some small bits of them having beef here and there to solidify this).

For the Eva-Noah-Sierra alliance it's the former's job to focus on the challenge. Noah will argue that there's no way he's going to convince anyone of anything, to which Sierra will point out that they're two on the task and that if Noah can take his wine-aunt-energy up a notch then he might end up being more likable than the rest to Blaineley.

So then on the wall Blaineley will get to the rickshaw first, but instead of Chef pulling her it'll be Alejandro and Sierra bickering over who gets to do it. It sorta ends with them both pulling it, but in the middle of an argument they'll step on one of the landmines and Alejandro is sent flying. Cue Sierra looking around like "Oh mi gosh, where did he go? Anyways-"

(During the race Eva will also pull a real bro move and throw Noah the last bit, hurling him straight into the gong because I think that'd be hilarious.)

Courtney wins the challenge. Though during it we get wine-aunt Noah, who is actually successful in getting Blaineley to like him. Which means she has picked her side.

Before voting, the Eva-Noah-Sierra alliance plus Blaineley gather, ready to finally say bye-bye to Alejandro. Except, Blaineley has other plans. See, while she does favor their alliance, she will only vote with them if they vote for the person she wants gone; which would've been Courtney, but since she's immune she'll settle for Gwen. ("You guys vote with me. If not, I'll just join the other guys, who will be more than happy to send either one of you home. And I don't wanna do that, because you guys are far more tolerable. So, what will it be?")

(Let Blaineley be nasty and threatening please.)

The trio is obviously frustrated with this, and Eva might even go for an attack when Noah stops her. Before either she or Sierra can say anything, he agrees to Blaineley's terms; they'll vote for Gwen.

When he's questioned about it later, Noah will reason that while he's pissed off at her, Blaineley's plan isn't necessarily dumb. Getting rid of Gwen means getting rid of an ally to Alejandro, meaning he'll be one vote weaker and they'll be four against two. ("Alejandro has believed he's in charge of this game since day one, let him sweat a bit before we take him down.")

Voting arrives and with four votes against her, Gwen takes the drop. HOWEVER, she's not going alone, Blaineley is disqualified for a technicality with the second chance challenge. And we are down to our final five.

African Lying Safari

Another episode in which Eva is absolutely thriving.

In the meantime, Alejandro and Courtney are locked in to the extreme. They have to win, and they have to win together. Somehow. Because they know they're both targets and have the numbers against them.

They have a cute little scene where they indirectly acknowledge each other as friends. It's disguised as strategy and for the game, like "Well it doesn't matter which one of us wins, we're doomed either way, so let's win it together" something like that. It makes sense in my head.

Noah is fighting for his life, but he's still fighting. (He's having fun with his friends he just won't admit it.)

It's canon typical chaos on the Serengeti, but in the end, the victors are Alejandro and Courtney, who hug upon realizing neither one of them is going home.

In economy class we find Eva, Noah, and Sierra being anxious over the elimination, knowing that it's going to be one of them. Sierra will suggest they all vote for themselves and just let what happens happen, but Noah opposes. "We still have the numbers against them." "But they're both immune. We can't vote for either of them." "No, but we can keep them from winning."

At the elimination ceremony, Alejandro and Courtney are ready to say goodbye to Eva. But she won't be taking the drop of shame; Noah is. Because he can't beat Alejandro, but Eva can.

Rapa Phooey

At the start of this episode, Eva and Sierra have a bonding moment that kinda boils down to Sierra expressing admiration for Eva prowess, painting her assertiveness and strength in a way more positive light than Eva is used to outside her friend group. She will return the sentiment, being less awkward than she expected, and commend Sierra's social skills.

They're friends, your honor.

Up in first class we've got Alejandro and Courtney being satly over the previous elimination ceremony.

Rest of the episode plays out similar to canon. Bird hatches, is attached to Eva, Sierra calls it some fuckshit name (NOT Cody Jr. fuck that).

Eva wins, but it's a reward challenge. It's mostly a squad and bonding type episode.

Awwwww Drumheller!

Eva and Sierra must be turned against each other, and Alejandro knows just what to do. Instead of banking on Sierra's Cody obsession, which thank god doesn't exist here, Alejandro will make it appear as if Eva doesn't value Sierra, calling back to the Cody situation in Paris. It's super effective.

While I'm unsure of what evidence he will use, Eva will be able to disprove it in the end, most likely paired with some admittance to her own insecurities and a declaration that they are friends.

Alejandro and Courtney might rock with a similar sentiment to Tanzania where they have to win it together. Although here it will be more relaxed as they observe Sierra turn her back on Eva.

(If Courtney knows of Alejandro's trick, I'm not sure.)

When it comes to the boulder, it's Courtney who gets stuck under it. Eva will come to her aid, but will only help if Courtney agrees to vote Alejandro. ("Are you seriously expecting a friendship finale? That he'll just let you win? Come on. You're smarter than that.") Courtney will refuse at first, but reluctantly agrees.

At the same time, Sierra and Alejandro have their own confrontation where Alejandro questions Sierra's choice of alliance. "I thought you were joining our side, amiga." "I said I'd think about it. Jeez, you're not that hot." "And you think you've made the right choice?" "Considering we've been one step ahead of you this entire time, yes very much."

Sierra still makes her cake, this time as a farewell Alejandro cake in disguise. She blows up the plane and is medically evacuated, saving Alejandro from elimination.

Planes, Train, and Hot Air Mobiles

Reveal of Courtney's betrayal, which she'll defend to hell and back as something she was forced into and that there could've been a chance at a tiebreaker he could've won. But there wasn't, and Alejandro storms off. Courtney yells a bit at Eva before doing the same.

Don't have too much to say about the travel part beyond these three are at each other's throats.

I do want Alejandro and Eva on the train though and I want them to chew each other out and point out their flaws. Leader-on-leader violence if you could believe it.

During the boat race, Courtney and Eva will start chewing each other out, leaving Alejandro to claim the first spot in the finale, and them tying for second.

Note that when the fighting happens, I want there to be a focus on Eva's tendency to destroy things, or even how that's all she does, like Courtney goes as far as saying Eva destroyed her friendship with Alejandro. For the theme of everything, ya know

Aloha, Finale!

Not a fan of pitting two queens against each other but Eva and Courtney are in a tiebreaker. Going by canon in that everybody believes the winner will be determined by a vote of the peanut gallery, Alejandro might feel screwed whichever way it goes, but would prefer a finale with Courtney despite still being hurt.

It is, however, Eva who comes out victorious. (My reasoning being that Courtney is still hung up on her ruined friendship and thus not fully in the game. Her and Eva are pretty evenly matched, but ultimately I do think Eva wins, even without the hurt, but feel free to disagree.)

It's Eva versus Alejandro versus the Volcano !!

Noah and Izzy will help Eva, with Owen having surfed for her during the aftermath. On Alejandro's side we've got Courtney and Tyler as his helpers, and Tyler as his surfer most likely (Gwen would've played for Courtney).

They're evenly matched for the dummy building, but team Alejandro will win it.

Eva gets trapped in the cage to which Alejandro, after having crossed the river, will turn around and say "Guess you couldn't beat me after all."

Eva has an angry breakdown and is ready to give up when the rest of team E-scope comes to her aid. They give their motivational speech in true E-scope fashion (aka kinda unhinged for everybody else) but the main sentiment of focus is Noah circling back to their talk in Australia with the line, "You've made it this far, no way are you giving up now." which is what really sets off Eva.

If she loses, then so be it, but like hell is that lost going to happen with her trapped in a cage. Queen.

On the volcano, we get Alejandro and Eva straight-up fighting. Eva is very much in her element, and Alejandro is more... shall I say unhinged ? Either way, it's an even match to make either winner more believable than just... grabbed the wrong dummy (fresh what the fuck was that ??)

But Eva is the winner in my heart <3

And scene.

That, my friends, was World Tour but with Eva instead of Duncan !

Fuck it,

World Tour but with Eva instead of Duncan !!!

Some plot points I conjured up while procrastinating my illustration

Eva ends up on Team Chris Is Really Really Really Really Hot.

She's almost immediately wary of Alejandro, but will write it off since she's not good with people, so it's likely just her reading into things wrong.

However, this changes in Germany, when Noah makes note of his own suspicions.

Owen is the one medically evacuated in Jamaica.

Team E-scope wins the challenge in London, and because there is no Duncan to capture, Team Amazon loses. And realistically, Heather would be voted out, sad but true

This means that Alejandro is in a bit of a situation, because Noah and Eva are both onto him and they along with Izzy have the majority vote on their team. (Which, they've technically had since day one, but Alejandro wasn't aware of their suspicions of him prior, he didn't see it as a threat)

His best strategy is then to take away that advantage. Because of his interaction with Izzy in the Paris episode, I'm going to say that Alejandro manages to convince her to vote herself, and Izzy leaves in Area 51.

Because of this Team Chris now has to stay on a winning streak where Eva and Noah will try their damn hardest to get Tyler to vote with them. Which will be a fucking task because he and Alejandro are friends.

And quickly for the Amazons. Because there's no Duncan, Courtney and Gwen can properly establish a friendship. Absolutely not without a handful of hiccups along the ride, but it'll be much more stable without him being there and they can actually talk out any issues they may have.

If we're rolling with the canon of Team Victory being eliminated in the first half of the season, then the players making the merge will be; Alejandro, Eva, Noah, Tyler, Courtney, Gwen, and Sierra (Cody is eliminated in Australia I have my reasons trust). Which means that with the addition of Blaineley, we get an f/f couple in the wedding challenge hell yeah !!

Oh and Eva makes final four because she's awesome like that

[itsallmouthwashing]

Tulpar- Band AU, Character descriptions

I cannot draw- so have some written descriptions and tidbits about the members of Tulpar! I'm planning more bullet points tomorrow but contemplating how much I want to give away ;)

It's very late, I want to add more but I also want to get these OUT! I have much much more planned so don't worry all the details will come out

Bullet Points here

ANYA

Our goth bhaddie

Mid-short black hair, undyed (a NATURAL goth queen)

Usually with purple eyeshadow and black lipstick. Her makeup isnt too intricate, but sometimes she likes to do a classic goth look (white foundation, black EVERYWHERE, the works) when she’s feeling fancy. Later when their band goes much more hardcore, she rocks the look more often. It makes her feel powerful and confident on stage!

YES she has Doc Martens. NO she doesn't wear them. They make her FEET HURT!!!

Still likes jogging! Is that jog to the nearest Burger King? Sometimes! 

Her first tattoo is the one she gets with the crew when Tulpar gets signed :)

Has her ears and her bottom lip pierced. She plays with her lip piercing when she’s studying

She picked up bass at 12 

Does Daisuke’s and Curly’s makeup sometimes :)

Perfer’s purple nail polish :)

DAISUKE

I put in my Ghost Adventure’s AU that Dai would have dyed his hair pink or purple, so this barbie has pink hair :) He’s got a purple fringe :) Probably short-- think about base game Sims 4 short emo hair-- that one!

Loves to paint his and the crews nails, especially for concerts! It happens so often that it becomes ritual and start times will go over if they aren't finished in time. Daisuke WILL get this hand right and the fans WILL understand (they always do!)

Loves to pair undershirts with his collection of Hawaiian shirts. Of course, his pink hibiscus is a staple, but so is the mesh/fishnet unders he puts on when he starts to transition to an alternative style. 

picked up drums around 15, but got really focused on it and mastered them fairly quickly before they went pro

Prefers his nail polish to match with his shirt that day!

JIMMY

Does not have dyed hair either, but he likes to keep it long-ish. It hides his face better but also gets in the way when he doesn't want it to. 

Had a battle jacket, but the sleeves got damaged when he hosted a bonfire and he did not pay attention to the fucking bonfire. That's alright though, he turned into a battle vest!

Overall more of a grunge aesthetic/style

YES his crust pants are REAL stop ASKING HIM !! 

Songwriting has been a part of him since he was little. it was his way to vent, a way to cope, a way to be in control of the narrative

Didn't know when he was younger, but Jimmy has perfect pitch. When he figures this out, he boasts about it in his guitar classes

Buuuuuut it just means the other kids asked him to turn their guitars. That stopped very quickly after he smashed someone's guitar.

Picked up guitar when he was 8. His dad was going to throw it out, but little Jimmy insisted he keep it and that he would find someone who would buy it off of him. Maybe a teacher at school or something.

But instead go buying it from him, a teacher sits him down and teaches him how to play. He gets so lost in it, he begs the teacher to keep it here and teach him more after school. That teacher also teaches him how to write music!

Learns how to do makeup because he’s jealous of Anya- always touching his face so gently to fix his makeup. Quickly learns that all he can really do is his own eyeliner, and even then it’s mid

He’s trying though! (when Jimmy clams the fuck down he eventually goes to Anya and asks her to teach him. They have a nice bonding moment. (the worms demand more, so more there will be- here when I post)

Prefers black nail polish, demands he does it himself (Curly convinces him to let Dai do with Jimmy can't get his hands to stop shaking before a concert. Dai continues to do them after)

Bracelets and chains out the waazoo. When he warms up enough, he lets the band borrow some for shows. (Dai does attempt to actually steal one at some point. Jimmy breaks his nose over it (The worms have plans, you’ll find out why!)

Will! It! Boof! Welcome to Jimmy’s favorite game show! Can it be smoked? He’s fucking got it baybeeee!!

That is to say, he smokes cigarettes, vapes, weed, carts, dabs- yeah man. At least the things that wont get him in serious trouble with the law (at least… not for a little bit…) 

CURLY

The oldest of the group, beside Swansea when he makes his appearance. 

Mid-short blond hair, also undyed. He does get a perm sometimes. When Jimmy does missing, he has a full breakdown and dyes his hair black, but that's later that's later thatslaterthatdlater

Has snakebites and an eyebrow piercing 

Nipple piercings WHO SAID THAT 

When the band goes pro, Pony Express records demands the front man have a certain image because thats what’s hot with audiences and they need to bring in as much revenue as possible with their first album or they get dropped 

Picked up guitar freshman year of high school when he was accidentally enrolled in a guitar class. Some kid said he had perfect pitch, and Curly thought he would be the perfect person to ask about turning his guitar

Only he misunderstood. Though he asked him to tune it for him- Maybe he heard someone ask him about that earlier? He took the guitar with a smile, then smashed It to the ground like he was killing a bug.

The end of freshman year, just before the final for the class, some kid came up to him to tell him his instrument was out of tune. and that he could show him if he'd like. So he doesn't get bumped a letter grade, ya know?

The kid tunes it- just in time, because Grant's name was just called from the now empty class room.

Sophomore year, Curly is enrolled in a choir class, where he discovers his love and talent for singing. Sometimes when he does solos in the classroom, he feels someone watching him from the window in the door.

Prefers yellow nail polish! He loves the contrast of his nails against his outfit since he’s usually in all back 

Wears mostly suits. It's what his parents put him in growing up, so he has a ton and they just feel natural. Does it hurt when Jimmy convinces him to rip them up for a concert? Only a little ;-; Does it make the audience go wild? Only a lot :) 

Wears Jimmy’s chains way before the rest of Tulpar have access to them 

SWANSEA

Tulapr’s manager before and after they get signed with Pony Express Records. 

Usually wears a track suit or something, very casual around the crew. After they get signed though, hes always dressing in P.E records merch, ad later Tulpar merch when PER authorizes it!

Keeping his backstory mostly the same, his struggle with addiction does come into play with the story I have in mind 

Used to be really into the punk scene. If you loook really close, you can see the holes from his snakebites and brow bars. No one can see it, but he also used to have a septum piercing. 

He has a stash of his old clothes on the bus when Tulpar is tour-ready! He also becomes the resident seamstress if a costume rips or malfunctions :)

[psychemochanight]

Honestly, even if I love the new interpretation of Dick as the "angry Robin" that we have these days, sometimes it feels bad that you can't talk about a version of Dick as Robin that isn't like that without getting people saying things like "that's not Dick, he's the angry one, the bloodthirsty one" and... What?

It takes away a lot of depth from the character when people only think of that when talking about Robin!Dick, when, since always, Dick was, quite possibly, one of the best written characters, and one of those that has more nuances to make him a completely human character, not only in the sense of not having superpowers, but of being able to empathize with him.

There are many versions of the story, but the most widely accepted version is that Dick lost his parents at the age of eight, watching them fall because they sabotaged their act, an act Dick probably saw many times, one he knew for sure his parents would never fail... Until it failed, and through no fault of their own.

Dick was a little boy who grew up in a loving family (as far as we know, I still think they were strict, but not necessarily bad parents... We'll talk about the Court of Owls later), and from one second to the next, all of that ended. Even if Bruce was there for him, things obviously weren't the same anymore, they never would be again.

Although many have the idea that Dick escaped from youth center to kill Zucco, in the original stories Dick didn't even know yet about him, at least not that much to know what he really did; but he wanted to escape from juvenile so as not to lose his values, so as not to stop being who he is, who his parents taught him to be.

Even in the lines where he DOES say he wants to kill Zucco, in most cases, when push comes to shove, he wants to prevent Zucco's death. There are some moments where he even confesses that he didn't want Zucco to die, he just wanted justice for his parents.

People now see Dick as the Robin who only saw misfortune and was an absolute menace to society, and while, yes, Dick was an absolute menace, it was only to the villains, who heard a little boy laughing at them before beating the shit out of them. Plus, even as a child he was a master manipulator, both for enemies and allies.

But what about the rest? Robin was supposed to be the light where Batman was the darkness. He was the one who comforted scared civilians when Batman couldn't. He was the sensitivity that Batman cannot afford to show.

Dick Grayson was the one who saved Batman from losing himself in the same darkness that he himself was making his only way of life, and this is something that Alfred has pointed out before. It is thanks to Dick that Batman stopped being the ruthless "hero" he was becoming. Damn, he was the one who softened Alfred's heart in the first place too.

This was the Robin that Superman saw as worthy of carrying the mantle of Nightwing, whom he saw as someone who could represent hope itself.

Bruce didn't start smiling just because of the other Robins like many people now believe, no. Dick was the first to make him smile again, the one who opened the doors for the others.

Dick was always kind and tender-hearted, always joy where there was only devastation.

Even if he was the living nightmare of villains, he was still that cheerful child who wanted to avoid the pain of others. The boy who inspired other heroes, not only because of his skills, but because of his heart.

Dick is a character who, while he is now more recognized as Nightwing than as Robin (which doesn't bother me at all, because that was always his goal when he became an independent hero), he still has a history that people seem to increasingly forget about and pigeonhole his development into something... Flat.

Were there times when Dick had more anger and pain than any other feeling in him? Yes, absolutely YES. But this stage is mostly in his Discowing years, not of Robin as such (I'm not saying there weren't such moments, but there aren't as many as people describe now), or as some animated series showed (I love these series, even if they turned Dick into a feral child who is unable to smile, lol)

Again. I LOVE Dick's portrayal as a feral child and absolute menace to society (which he was), but I also LOVE when artists, writers, and the entire fandom itself appreciates the different nuances of his personality, from his ability to laugh despite the misfortunes in his life, to his sadness that never ceased to be a part of him, until the moments where he could only feel rage and pain and felt that the world was only darkness, unable to see the colors that emerged from the light he projected by himself.

Look at him, he's so cute <3

Does anyone care about this yap? No, but I wanted to let out what I've been repeating in my head for days because people on tiktok have me fed up HAHA

[bubbarnes]

from mila13la' instagram - december 09, 2024

[harleiquina]

Hey! I'm late for the party (because being overworked and underpaid sucks and always ends up in burnout -not fully recovered as of now, just with spare time because its Christmas, I'm working and nobody is calling so I can delve in Tumblr as much as my heart desires-).

First of all... I wrote my original reply around 2 or 3 am because my dog woke me up and I couldn't fall asleep again. So probably I had a point and eventually lead to something else because... sleepy brain goes brr.

About the writing

It is true that between saying it or just leave it out the text, leaving it out of the text is the safer option. There is also the posibility that it was planting an idea that never truly came to be so it is just dangling there with no other purpose... it happened to me a few times that I plant a seed of something in a story and then completely forget about it and sometimes I remember and remove it. I don't know how the time frame and due dates are in the process of creating a comic (if it was written arch per arch or if NG had all planned out and later came up with the different issues) but I guess that is they were going issue per issue -writing, drawing, coloring, formating and eventually printing it- there weren't many options to go back and fix something that didn't worked.

And yes... these were the '90s so... there isn't much to do about it.

In the end of the day, Sandman isn't Hob's story. Maybe there was a chance that if audiences liked him enough there could've been a limited run series of him through time and it didn't happened maybe there was a plan to do so but audiences preffered Death over him (can't blame them). Then the audience could've see him after his meeting with Morpheus and maybe growing a backbone eventually to stop his bussiness with the Slave Trade. We will never know.

Shipping and willingfully-ignorant fans

I'm not into shipping either (I'm not going to deny that in any fandom some edits or fanarts are cute) and in this particular case, even if I understand from where it comes from... I'm so done with it. Maybe if instead of casting the son they would've gone with the father things wouldn't have gone that far 🤣

Mischaracterization is a common phenomena in any fandom, sometimes it could be the main shtick to the plot of one pice of fanfic but when the bee-hive fandom accepts it as official headcanon there is no turning back and you just have to ignore it.

Had fandom had a more accurate-looking Hob they might've reacted differently. I haven't read the comics but I've seen a few panels... and he kind of grosses me out. There is no question there that he was on any easy-way to do money (thief, soldier, slave trader) with little to no remorse. But shippers only see what they want to see and leave any kind of nuance flies out the window.

There are (possibly) many fanfic writers that took Hob's dark past (in general) and did created well grounded stories where he gets to reflect on what he's done and how to atone for it. But fluff is fluff and it gets more views. And I think that's the root of it all... some people just want a cozy coffe-shop AU because they are only in there for the romance, others want to read something that will make them question either the character or themselves, analize how certain events played out or could happen. Pretty much as with movies you have the blockbusters, the historic dramas, the romance and an audience for each one of them.

It might feel like some of them are glossing over a very serious subject that should be treated with respect however there is a different place to tackle those subjects on... hopless romantic fanfics are not the right place.

However there is also those who go full "he did nothing wrong" and this could stem from both options: people who are racist themselves, or people that has no idea of what it being a part of the Slave Trade really means. Given that History is so far back, is easy to "forget" or even imagine the living conditions back then. Of course, those who have grandparents or greatgrandparents that have experienced it in the flesh will not let it fly.

In the end of the day it all depends on whoever is reading. They can be affected by it, shocked, outraged or not... that's how Art works and none of us has the right moral compass to tell others if they should be ashamed or not.

We can tell them to knock it off or at least tag properly, but thats an entirely different can of worms 🤣

Hob Gadling’s Involvement in the Transatlantic Slave Trade between the 16th and 19th Century

The Fallacy of (clumsily written) Racial Reconciliation or: Is show/Hob really different from comics!Hob

I originally wrote this a while back as a reply to someone else’s post, but since we’ve been discussing “Men of Good Fortune” (comics) and “The Sound of Her Wings” (Netflix) in our community over the past weeks, I’ve expanded on a few points of my original thoughts.

This post discusses difficult topics, systemic racism, questions of social (in)justice and problematic angles in writing. If that’s not your thing, this is the exit sign…

A question that comes up quite frequently is the following:

Is show!Hob different from comics!Hob?

Hob’s conversation with Dream in 1789 (and not just 1789) in the show has been significantly altered (compared to the comics), and it makes it tempting to believe this somehow makes him different regarding the more problematic side of his character.

In the comics, we have a bit of dialogue in 1789 that shows how deeply involved in the slave trade Hob was: “I sort of started it,” said with a hint of, dare I say, pride? And then brushing off Dream’s concerns by saying, “It’s a living.” Twice.

(They changed this to, “It’s just how it’s done”, and a shrug in the show.)

And it’s true: If this had been integrated into the show, it would have painted him in an even worse light. However, I personally think it was the wrong move to leave it out (Ferdinand Kingsley carefully voiced something along those lines as well btw). Because now the show pushed Hob’s whole involvement in the slave trade much more into the direction of, “Oopsie.”

Can we truly take leaving out the above dialogue as a hint that Hob might be a better person in the show? I’d like to really reflect on that--leaving out those comments can’t make him a better person. Even if we change his arc slightly and he “wasn’t that involved.” You’re involved, or you aren’t. There is no, “I tried a bit of slave trading and decided it wasn’t for me.” One could even argue it makes the angle of the show more problematic because it makes the slave trade a “little blip” in his timeline. Things like that can’t be a blip. I personally think the writers made a mistake here, but that’s obviously just my opinion.

If there wasn’t enough space in the show to expand on it (which I get for a side character), I feel they should have left out the slavery arc completely instead of keeping, but then minimising it (that might sound contradictory, but it only does if you don’t look at it too closely). It already didn't sit right with me 30 years ago to use slavery as a side note for showing a white person’s character development without properly examining the damage caused, and it still doesn't sit right with me now. It makes the plight of PoC a plot vehicle to centre white people’s guilt, and I always thought that’s a blind spot only white people have (and I’m white myself, to get that out of the road straightaway).

I’m not saying it couldn’t or shouldn’t have been used narratively. Or that you can’t show remorse and atonement/redemption for the most heinous acts (that’s not the same as forgiveness—I’ll get to that). Or that characters who have committed said acts are irredeemable. But it would have needed to be fleshed out instead of making it a comment in passing. Many books and movies do exactly that. But the point is that it’s never been fleshed out.

“But they had to shorten and streamline it…”—just no. Because to me (and ofc people are free to disagree), that exactly proves the point—centring the white guy while sidelining the people who suffer. I am a bit doubtful we’ll get anything remotely appropriate in the show after what we’ve already seen. Only time will tell, so I’m withholding final judgment at this point. Fact is: It is uncomfortable to watch for people with any sensitivity on the matter.

And yet, there is a lot of focus on leaving out Hob voicing his regret in 1889, since that (again) “would have painted him in a better light.”

While simultaneously regularly failing to mention that he proudly proclaimed he “invented” the triangle trade. Can we really pick and choose his traits like that? Hob is a materialistic opportunist who also has some regrets. That doesn’t mean he can’t exist as a character, or that we’re not allowed to like him (morally grey characters are often the most compelling ones). We don’t need to sanitise him though, or try to erase his problematic traits from canon. The same goes for other characters (yes, I’m looking at you, Dream, and I’m sure we’ll get to that very soon—in fact, we’re possibly starting tomorrow 🫣). If we are talking about Hob’s remorse, we are probably mostly thinking about Sunday Mourning, so I need to bring in issue #73 at this point (this is your spoiler warning if you don’t want to read ahead).

The Fallacy of Racial Reconciliation

Very plainly:

A black woman is used as a vehicle to forgive Hob. And said black woman has been written by a white male author for that sole purpose without giving her anything else to do. I personally think NG got that wrong. It was clumsy and insensitive to POC, and I really hope they change this for the show. It’s a fact that he really wasn’t good with writing black female characters in the whole run—they all get fridged in one way or another, and he even admits it in the Sandman Companion. And then turns around and basically implies that it's all okay now because “nothing bad” happens to Gwen once Morpheus is dead. She is allowed to be a vehicle for the character development of a white guy though. It’s just really insensitive, and I sincerely hope they don't put it in the show this way. And I’m glad that we're seeing hints it might not happen--at least the casting in the show hints at it (from Lucienne, Death and Rose to very likely turning Carla into a white man—we already met Carl, and that’s who he is IMHO).

There is also the not so small fact that Hob is, even in his guilt and shame (shame is always about yourself, and that’s actually very in keeping with his character), not honest with Gwen. The thing about him basically inventing the triangle trade, which he so proudly proclaimed in 1789?

The English who were so good at it? The “Jack” Hawkins he talked about in 1789? That’s actually this dude:

And Hob funded him 200 years before 1789, and enabled Hawkins. Hob was involved in what became the transatlantic slave trade well before 1789–he already funded it when he had money in the 1500s.

He carried that mindset around with him for literal hundreds of years and saw nothing wrong with it until at least (! more about that in a sec) 1789. Dream had to rub his nose in it, otherwise it wouldn’t even have occurred to him (or did it, and he just chose to ignore it--see below).

Hob has been written as a stand-in for humanity, British Imperialism and England over the centuries—with all that entails.

So how honest is he with Gwen? And how long, even after 1789, was he still involved, even after abolition in England (Somerset vs. Stewart declared slavery unlawful in England in 1772, but that wasn't true for the rest of the British Empire. Buying and selling slaves was only made illegal in 1807, while owning slaves only became unlawful with the Abolition Act of 1833, and it took another year to buy out slave owners to actually make it happen)? Because there’s still this:

“It got worse when they did [outlaw the slave trade]. You only needed one voyage in three to make a profit. You could afford to dump your cargo if… you spotted a British Man o’ War.” How does he know? Why does he have these nightmares? We can take a guess…

That’s not someone who tried it for a couple of weeks and then thought, “Sorry, my bad.” That’s someone who has been opportunistically involved from the 1500s and potentially until after slavery was unlawful in England, which it already was when he talked to Dream in 1789. So does his feigned ignorance of, "It's a living/It's how it's done?" really hold? Especially if he potentially kept going, even after that convo with Dream? When I wrote "between the 16th and 19th Century" in the header, that's exactly what I meant...

Guilt and Shame

Yes, what we see above and in all the other panels is guilt and shame. And it reminded me of this:

And I’d encourage everyone to really listen to what Jasper has to say, and sit with the feelings it brings up. Because I can still remember watching this in the George Floyd aftermath for the first time, and how deeply uncomfortable it made me—because he’s right.

Black people/PoC do not need to forgive and absolve white people from their guilt. They can if they wish to, but that’s their choice, not ours. It’s not for white people to absolve other white people from their guilt around the oppression of PoC. And that’s why it could be argued it’s not for white people to write a black character to do that in their stead either (they can of course, but then they need to live with the fact that people will call them tone-deaf). It could also be argued it is something that cannot be forgiven retrospectively, and white people need to be okay with that. It can only be worked on in the present with a view to the future. And as Jasper also so rightly points out:

The guilt is not even helpful (at least Gwen has the right sentiment there, but it’s still falls incredibly flat over all), and shame only centres ourselves.

Forgiveness vs Redemption

Hob Gadling's regrets don't make everything he did forgivable. I think it actually does the story a disservice if that’s our main takeaway, because this is truly one of the bits of The Sandman that’s written in an extremely tone-deaf manner. NG isn’t the first author who did this, but we can take something good and helpful from this, and that’s engaging with these questions instead of brushing them under the carpet—because that’s what literary analysis is about.

It should be clear that I do see Hob Gadling as narratively important because I see him as a stand-in for humanity, and more specifically, English history. And there is really so much to learn from that.

Writers can get things narratively right but still be emotionally tone-deaf due to their own blind-spots. We don’t need to assume malice, but we also don’t need to leave it entirely unchallenged.

And because of that, we can certainly see Hob as someone who has to live with his conscience, and the consequences of his actions, for the rest of his life and struggles with that (as he should). And maybe we can see him as someone who is now, finally, trying to do the work. Because that is what atonement and redemption actually mean:

Taking action to rectify past wrongs. Actively working against the harm once caused, and preventing it from ever happening again. And I hope that’s what he does, and the signs are there (but there are also still signs that he values covering up his immortality higher than e.g. telling Gwen the truth. And we can find a million excuses for why that is, but ultimately, none of them truly matter).

However, it is not the same as forgiveness from the people we have wronged. Forgiveness is not a prerequisite to redemption, although it can be a part of it if the person who has been wronged chooses to extend it. But the people Hob wronged are dead, while their descendants still need to live with the pain people like Hob caused to this very day. So while I don’t see him as irredeemable, I don’t think he needs to, or even can, be forgiven—especially not by black people (unless they choose to. But it is also fine if they don’t, and again, we need to be okay with that). And we could say, “But Gwen chose to.” To that, I say:

I wonder what Gwen would have said if he had been truly honest with her (which he wasn’t, see below panels). That wouldn’t have been an embrace is my guess…

[disdaidal]

The way I'm still not finished with writing the first two ideas I had in mind for this ship, I'm suddenly getting two more. 🙈🙊 Could somebody please arrange it so that I'd have all the time in the world to write it all? Because 24hrs a day is simply not enough.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ sweet, sticky, thick, and pretty ❞

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : toji wants to give you another baby

☾₊‧⁺...cw : toji fushiguro x fem!reader, smut, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, overstimulation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, rough sex, begging, smug and cocky reader, feral toji

☾₊‧⁺...a/n : this is a post from my old blog but i revamped it and i really wanted to share this again because i was really proud of it. and yes, it's another breeding kink + pregnant kink. consider it a part two, since it takes place after megumi is born

toji never thought he’d get off on the idea of having another kid with you.

yet here he is, dick hard in his sweatpants as he thinks about you carrying his baby again...how you'd start to fill out all over again, that cute chubbiness coming back, how he'd have an excuse to dote on you whenever you complained about the simplest of things.

it starts off with how he sees you coo over megumi, calling him your sweet baby. you're such a good mother, too, it's clear you'd likely be the favorite parent to that little brat.

but god, does he find it attractive just seeing you be a mom to the kid that he gave you.

the day you ask megumi what he wants for his upcoming 4th birthday at dinner, neither one of you is prepared for the words that come out of your son's mouth.

“i want a baby sister,” he states bluntly as he chews on the steamed carrots, looking at you and toji. it was clear from how confident the little guy is that he's put a lot of thought into this.

“but, i don’t want her to look like daddy. he’s ugly, i want her to look like mommy.”

little brat. you straight up choke, trying to stop the laugh-coughs as toji looks at his son, offended. this really is his son, because who else but you and the kid he made with you could have the nerve to say shit like that to him?

“twerp, you look just like me, you realize that, right?”

megumi huffs, looking at his dad in the cutest little glare. “that’s 'cause i'm a boy, though," he explains as if it's obvious, his precious little cheeks puffed up as he stuffs more of his food in his mouth.

"my sister has to be like mommy. you’d be an ugly girl, daddy.” toji just rolls his eyes, pinching the cheeks of the mini him, ignoring his protests. as the two bicker, you think. would it...really be that bad to have another baby? you always wanted a girl, after all, and toji took such good care of you and megumi...it couldn't be that bad. “well, uhm,” you begin, catching the attention of toji, an unfamiliar smile on your face.

there's a mischievous look on your face right now, his eyes narrowing as he waits for your response. whatever you're about to say is either going to haunt him for the next few days or make him roll his eyes at you.

“i'm sure daddy and i can work something out for you, 'gumi, but let’s think of some other things, too, m'kay?” 

ah.

you went the haunting route.

ignoring the little cheer his son let out, toji can't hide the disbelieving look that crosses his face when he processes what you just said.

'daddy'?

you've said the word, sure, usually when you talk to megumi about him. but something was different about how you said it, the way you looked at him when you said it, the barely visible flutter of your eyes...a silent promise there'd definitely be a deeper conversation about it later.

the very day megumi has a sleepover with the neighbor's kid, yuuji, toji is mentally cheering. he loves his son with all his heart, he truly does, but having a toddler in bed meant limited contact with his pretty wife.

it's only been 3 days since that little comment you made and it's been on toji's mind constantly. every time he tried to bring it up with you, megumi would interrupt and toji was not being the reason his son ended up traumatized because he overheard mommy and daddy talking about making babies in the kitchen.

"bye, gumi! make sure you behave for mr. nanami, okay? have fun with yuuji," you coo as you press two kisses to your son's cheeks, snapping toji back to the present.

"see ya, kid, be good," toji says, giving a nod of acknowledgement to nanami. megumi barely says goodbye before he runs after yuuji to the car, his run a bit awkward because of his overnight backpack.

waving goodbye to nanami, you shut the door, turning to look at toji with that smile as you.

"hi, toj."

you think you're so cute, don't you?

"hey, mama."

toji can't even lie, you are. wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants? yeah, your the cutest thing he's ever laid eyes one. his hands rest on your hips, pulling you flush to his chest. fuck, you weren't even doing anything but he could already feel himself getting hard just from looking at you.

he's never been so whipped in his life.

"d'you wanna talk," you murmur lowly, your finger running over the thin silver chain on his neck. "we could go to the bedroom...and talk about the baby thing."

toji's eyes darken at the suggestion, knowing exactly what would happen the moment you both go into the bedroom. "yeah. think it's 'bout time we talked about it," he hums as he grips your wrist, tugging you to your room.

as soon you both step foot into the bedroom, toji hungrily presses your lips against his, letting out a deep groan. "had me thinkin' about knockin' you up again all fuckin' week, mama," toji sighs against your lips, tongue running over your lower lip.

"wanted to stuff you full so fucking bad."

feeling you sigh so prettily into the kiss, his doesn't hesitate to shove his tongue in your mouth, hands busying themselves as they push your (his) sweats down off your hips before guiding you back to the bed.

you knew he would get excited over your comment, but you didn't think it would be to the point where he was rutting into you as he practically devoured you, feeling your back hit the bed.

“you want to give our 'gumi a sister? wanna be a mommy again," he questions, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. one of his hands slithers up under the oversized t-shirt to cup one of your tits and roughly knead it, his thumb just barely grazing over your nipple.

"wanna have another kid with big, bad toji? tsk, poor cunt missed gettin' stuffed full of cum?" 

you just hum a little breathless. your hand comes up to cup his cheek, looking from his lips back up to his eyes. he's so handsome when he's over you like this, his chain dangling right in your face.

“maaaaybe. megumi just made me think about it, 's all. you've been a good dad t' him, how could i not want to give you another one,” you coo, guiding him closer so you can press a kiss against the scar on his lip. 

“besides…”

toji grunts when he feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him flush against you so you can feel the thick, heaviness of his arousal through his sweatpants.

“don’t you want me to make you a daddy again, toji? c'mon, knock me up, big guy.”

after those words leave your pretty little mouth, toji is on you as he realizes that you're 100% going to give him the worse breeding kink ever.

"'m gonna fuckin' ruin you," he growls into your ear. you aren't given a second to protest before he's ripped your panties off, complaints falling on deaf ears. the tips of his fingers gently run over your puffy pussy lips, your slick wetness coating his fingers.

"fuck, mama, you're soaked already." his eyes are focused on your face as you squirm and whimper when he swirls little circles into your clit, an evil smirk on his face. "can't wait to fill you up 'til you're dripping with my cum, doll."

you can't stop your hips from trying to grind into his hand, eyes rolling back when he teased your entrance. "toji, c'mon, baby, i need you s'bad."

"baby, you know you can't take me without prep," he coos at you. he can feel how hot and slick you are, finally, finally slipping two of his fingers inside your cunt. and oh, the way you arch your back a little bit with a pleading whine of his name is so, so pretty, you're so fucking cute.

"mmn, maybe y'don't need prep, you just sucked my fingers right in," he says huskily before pressing a little kiss to the corner of your mouth. "you wanna try, mama? wanna see if you can fit my cock in you? really gonna feel that stretch, though, babe," toji warns, knowing you can't give a sensible answer when he starts pumping his fingers in and out.

when it seems like your about to answer him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is a shaky moan, his thick fingers curling to hit just the right spot inside of you that has you gushing. unable to form words, you tug on his shirt and nod frantically, just wanting to feel toji stuffing you full.

"yeah? you wanna try?" toiji pulls his fingers out of you, chuckling when you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. he pops his fingers in his mouth, cock throbbing at the addictive taste of your cunt on his tongue. "c'mon, we're both wearing too much, let's get you outta that shirt, ma."

you waste no time throwing the shirt off, not even giving him the chance to undress you. but once your shirt is off, you're practically ripping off his stupid black t-shirt that made his pecs look fucking delicious and those damn sweatpants and boxers that hid your prize.

as you fuss over his boxers, toji takes a moment to look at you spread out on the bed before him. you still had a bit of chub on you, tummy nice and soft and cute, just how he likes it. if he knew where his phone was, he'd take a picture of you right now; frustrated, horny, naked, and pretty. all for him.

"tojiiii, stop staring and kick off your stupid boxers, you're getting on my nerves!"

you can't even look him in the eye as you say that because you're too busy staring right at his cock, a thick bead of precum formed at the tip. the lick of your lips told him everything he needed to know, but he wasn't fucking your mouth, not tonight at least.

"what? i can't look at my own wife," he asks with a raised eyebrow, biting back a laugh when you swat at his hand that pinches one your puffy nipple. "tch, so rude, doll."

before you can snap back at him, he brushes the swollen head of his cock against your slick folds, smearing your wet over the tip. that shuts you up quickly and toji has to hold back another laugh. always so fussy until he finally gives you what you want. he's spoiled you rotten.

"toji," comes a soft whine, so soft he nearly misses it. your eyes are focused between your legs, lower lips between your teeth as he teases you with his cockhead. you huff, pushing your hand against his chest to give you enough space to shift positions, knowing exactly what would get him to stop teasing you.

once you roll over, you shift so that you're face down, ass up, you hand slipping between your thighs to spread your sticky pussy open, slick dripping down your fingers. "tojiiii, please? please, baby, stop teasing an' put a baby in me...please, hubby, give your wife what she wants."

any other whines or begs are interrupted when his hand comes down hard on your ass. he was going to give you what you wanted, what you both wanted. he was going to fuck you, fill you up with all his cum and whatever leaked out? he’d make sure to push it back in, whether with his fingers, mouth, or tip of his dick. 

when he finally pushes into you, he just lets out the most wrecked groan you’ve heard from him yet, each inch sinking into you stretching those tight walls just a bit more.

"holy shit...fuuck me, baby, too fucking tight, you're strangling my cock," he hisses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he gave you inch after inch.

god, just the thought of fucking you not just to feel good, but to fill you up, get you to take his seed deep inside to give him another kid? it's fucking with his head, his wife was gonna be the death of him.

both of you moan once he's all the way inside. you feel so full, his cock is too fucking big it doesn't make any sense and you genuinely think you should've let him fully prep you...but shifting your hips just a little bit has his tip pressing against something sinful. you whine and reach back to grab at one of his hands on your waist, turning to shoot him a mean glare as you demand, “stop stalling n’ knock me up, toji." 

who is he to deny what his wife asks?

using a hand to steady himself on the headboard, his hips begin to move slowly, pulling out just an inch and pushing forward again. "so tight 'n' warm..." each thrust hits deeper and more powerful than the last as toji begins to pick up speed, the thickness of his cock hitting every deep part of you.

it's almost too much, but you don't want him to stop, especially not when toji started running his mouth.

“shit, look at you, baby…takin’ it like a champ.”

now you really wish you stayed on your back, then at least you could've slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. you drop your head down against the mattress with a moan, starting to move your hips to match his thrusts, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping on skin.

“fuuck, c'mon, throw that ass back on me, thaaaat’s it, good girl.” 

he starts pounding into you harder when he feels you tightening up on him. the sweet moans and adorable words of “gimme more,” “baby, please,” or “s’ too good, toj,’” only pushing him to get even deeper, to get you to cum so he could stuff you full.

he coos when he sees you starting to scramble up further on the bed, away from his relentless fucking. he knows that he found that sweet spot that would have you creaming in minutes.

"tsk, you just never fuckin' learn, huh? 's always gonna be too much for you, isn't it," he huffs as his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging your head back to keep you from moving more. “hey. hey, nonono, don’t run away from it, lemme have it," he coos at you, following you up the mattress.

you never change, always swearing up and down that you wouldn't run from his cock, that you'd be able to take him. you wanted this, you wanted your precious husband to fuck another baby into you, t'give 'gumi a little sister, s’ i’m gonna give it to you.”

toji may sound like he’s still put together, but he’s just thankful you can’t see his face since yours is pressed into the pillows at the top of the bed.

you can’t see how he’s barely holding himself together, trying his hardest not to let himself go too much. the last thing he needs is to cum before you, knowing that while you wouldn’t mind, he’d be annoyed for breaking his streak.

he’s brought back into the present when you manage to turn your head a little, able to look him in the eye, and god, does he love what he sees.

your mouth is open as you moan for him, eyes lidded and focused on only him. he sees the little tears gathered in them, not quite spilling over but the fact that they’re there tells him he’s the one making you feel that good. 

“tuh-toji, ’m gonna cum, gonna cum—!”

"yeah?" hearing you moan so sweetly for him only makes toji smirk, fingers digging into your hips as he helps you meet each thrust. “gonna make a mess f'me already? poor little cunt can't handle gettin' fucked so good? mmn, shit, 's okay, baby. let go for me, mama, cum on daddy’s cock.” 

"t-tojiiiii," you shakily moan, nearly ripping the sheets as you cum suddenly. it was his voice, the way he tried to sound put together but you could hear how desperate he was to feel your pussy clamp down on him and get his cock nice and messy.

toji's deep, guttural moans mix with your cries when he unexpected is pushed over the edge, the way you desperately grinded back against him causing him to swear under his breath as he lost his pace, groaning your name as he emptied into you. it felt so hot, the pulsating warmth of his tip nudging against your cervix paired with his thick cum filling you up dizzying the both of you. 

you expect some kind of snarky comment from toji, trying to catch your breath so you could reply when he said it. but nothing comes (you have to stop yourself from laughing at the pun). you turn to look back, sighing when toji pulls out of you. usually he stayed inside, leaning down to tease you for cumming so fast...but he didn't.

something was wrong and for some reason, you felt like your pussy was in danger.

“toj…?”

he didn’t answer. he probably didn’t even hear you, not with the way he was looking so intensely at the mess between your thighs. the mess he made. toji doesn’t know what comes over him, his hands practically moving on their own as he moves you over onto your back, then moving his hands down to your sensitive hole and spreading. 

the scene in front of him just breaks him. you let out a soft whine, hips gently rolling into his hands. his eyes stay stuck between your legs—sharp and focused—as they watch the thick globs of his hot cum drip out of your hole and down onto the bed sheets.

the groan that leaves him is sinful, and once you make eye contact with him, you realize how fucked you are. he’s hard again, almost making you believe he didn’t cum if it weren’t for the creamy sheen of his cum on his throbbing dick and the hotness of his dripping out of you. before you know it, toji’s climbing over you, making sure your legs get pushed over to his shoulders as he pushes you into a mating press.

yeah.

you're fucked.

you keep making eye contact, and now that he’s so close to you, you see how crazed he looks. his eyes, completely black due to his blown pupils, have an unhinged look in them, and the half smirk on his face only makes you worry about your ability to walk the next day.

“t-toji, if you need a break to calm down, then-oh!” 

he shuts you up by pushing himself inside you, loving how your eyes cross so prettily. he has you now, you can't run away from the overstimulating feeling of him fucking you in this position. and when you feel his hands come up and lock together on your head to really keep you in place, you feel yourself gush all over his cock at the simple display of how strong he was compared to you.

you're so fucked.

all you can do is moan and cry out his name, hands grabbing whatever part of him they could reach. but he doesn't let you break eye contact, keeping you close to his face so he could see every little expression. and fuck, does he like what he sees.

“t-tojiii, t’ deep, t’ deep!”

“wan’ me t’ stop? t’ stop fuckin’ this messy hole?”

“fuck, y-you stop, and I’ll c-choke the shit out of yo-ouh!”

“that’s it, take it, take daddy’s cock, mama, lemme breed you.”

everything about this position is driving both of you crazy.

the closeness has you reeling, the way toji just cannot bring himself to break eye contact, needing to see what he was doing to you.

his thick cock is hitting deep, almost too deep, with the way each thrust of his hips causes the tip to press into the sweet spot inside you every. single. time. 

he has you for the whole day and the whole night, he's going to make sure you're stuffed entirely and doesn't plan on stopping until either you tell him you need a break or until he can't cum anymore. and even then, he doesn't think anything will be able to get him out of your cunt.

but with the way he just moaned into your mouth, thick spurts of more cum coating your insides…and the way he didn’t get soft, instead pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he began to pound into you with a groan of how much he loved your pussy…

you were sure it would be a while until he was done with you.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[kira-akira]

What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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