#neckbeard and his dolls

[stereotypicalsanriofemme]

Hi, hello, housebutch anon here. What do you think about body hair on butches? I have a condition (insulin resistance) that makes me produce more T than I should, so I have a neckbeard sometimes but also just a LOT of body hair. I'm a bit insecure, but I wanna know.

Hi doll!! I FUFKINGB LOVE BODY HAIR ON BUTCHES RAGGHRHDJDBDODNFMFKDIDENNV

dude it was literally like. oh my god. ok so when I was in high school there was this rlly cute enby who presented v masc and it had me like. 👁️_👁️. yknow. but the thing that made me absolutely feral was that they had body hair 😭 I remember staring at their unshaved legs like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time it was WILD.

like gimme unshaved. gimme leg hair gimme arm hair gimme armpit hair I literally give 0 fucks gimme chest hair or facial hair or bushes or anything. god. body hair is SO FUCKING HOT anon and you should NEVER feel ashamed cuz that shit makes me RABID. FROTHING AT THE MOUTH. my partner doesn’t shave + they have body hair and it makes me RIDICULOUSLY horny so like. you should never feel insecure about your body hair because for every person who shames you for it there are 3+ butches or femmes who would fight tooth and nail to make out with you. you are soooo handsome/beautiful with your body hair I PROMISE!!!

[goongiveusnothing]

Reporting to say that Harry has the 11 year old girl group, like my cousin, locked down. She loves talking about his nail/makeup, the baby doll clothing and customs and the cutesy act he puts on when he’s imitating gay people in a mocking way. It’s like he’s taken the place of Barbie for her. She relates to him and I think she thinks they’re the same age. She never talks about his music though which I find weird, but maybe not so weird since he’s basically coasting on his image from when he was 16.

My question to you mod is - do you think he will ever capture that guys/neckbear demographic? I can’t imagine he’ll be able to do it with his current image or discography. His songs are kinda boring and he’s not doing anything new with them. He’s packaged himself to appeal to tweenyboppers and they make him the most money. I can’t see him abandoning his main moneymakers for old guys.

sounds about right for what his music and performances are for. in a way he's regressed even more than with 1D, who even felt older than he does now. i mean all the cheap boas and cheap children's looking clothing he wears? actively selling cheap nail varnish and cheap beauty sets? i can totally see why an 11 year old would be into that.

no. i think he had a moment where the neckbeards and the dudes could've started leaning into him, with maybe fine line or with his first album. i would see more neutral guys act like he was cool or say they listened to him and thought it was fun. in those years people really bought into the effortlessly cool idea about him that he has, that he really does write/sing all his own songs, that he is actually pretty talented, that he seems like a good guy, a smart guy, conscientious, that he was kind of rocky, kind of edgy etc. it's what happened with Timberlake, though admittedly Timberlake's brand always appealed more to men, because of his dancing and performances and his type of music.

then this year happened. i think after the utter mortifying farce that was his DWD roll out, his rolling stone cover and interview, and MP, any sort of ability to seem cool to outsiders of his little tweenybopper set has truly died. for a guy to admit to like him now, you'd have to sort of place yourself into that fan with the rabid TWPK merch who bullies everyone around them. you have to act giddy over bad acting. tell people that objectively mediocre songs and music are like, omg, so good actually. look at him onstage in outfits that a toddler should be wearing and want to stand there as a dude and watch him.

he's aging out of being able to change and adapt out of himself into anything people will care about. if he tries to change up too much of himself now, it will look fake and come across worst. if he keeps leaning into this, even his fanbase will tire of it.

[kokorodachidanii]

Ten freshly-Gacha’d WOY OCs for Saturday

Pandora Pameron: Rilzdonite, age 12. Can use all kinds of forbidden magic with little consequences. Used one such spell to switch lives with the Queen of Rilzdon and even erase her from existence because she wanted to be Queen. The King suffered a fatal seizure not long after, and to this day some people still think Pan poisoned him (she didn’t). A few weeks after the King’s funeral, her crush, Lorgin Hensense, was wrongfully imprisoned for the murder of his mother, who just so happened to be the former royal advisor’s wife. And so, Pan joined forces with Harvax and Stok to clear Lorgin’s name, and rewarded them with personal bodyguards specially picked from the Rilzdonian Royal Guard. Still trying to convince H&S to be her trusty companions (read: loyal steed and court jester respectively).

Rhubarb: Ragdoll, age unknown. Was discovered by Wild Card at the bottom of a lake and brought back to the Insurgents’ place. Turned out to be sentient and tried to kill the Insurgents, but was stopped by WC just in time. Unfortunately however, they somehow survived their painful stint in the furnace and are now plotting their revenge. Rarely seen without a knife in hand.

DJ Halation: Human, age 24. Club Jubilee’s top-rated DJ.

Eiael Hensense: Rilzdonite, age 40. Was King Rilzdon’s advisor when he was still alive. Thinks Queen Pandora really did kill the King and challenged her to a duel. When he was inevitably defeated, he ended up murdering his own wife, Viela, and framing their 14-year-old son, Lorgin. Was exposed by Harvax, Stok, and Pandora, and was ultimately erased from existence.

Marina Sorano: Nekojin, age 16. Idol known as “Nya! Nya! Marinya!”. Her best friend is a black cat named Arlen.

Elise Heartwood: Human, age 18. Traveling saleswoman. Crafts all her wares from scratch, ranging from medicine to baked goods to dolls. A shy, sweet young lady who can be very self-conscious. Has the assistance of an invisible familiar named Esile. Besides said familiar, the Congenialites are her only real friends, and Oink even affectionately calls her “The Walking Blarpee’s”.

Orin Tomoe: Human, age 15. Owns a curry club on the outskirts of Okeydokia. 100% would date seven people simultaneously. To clarify, she’s crushing on Emperor Awesome, Ryder, Chad Starlight, Sourdough for some reason, Neckbeard, General Outrage, and Harvax-- all equally.

Shion Yorizuma: Monochronian, age 8. Shunned by her kind for dressing in vivid colors. Mistakenly believes she only has 17 days left to live. The gigantic slime is her pet. I’m not sure about that leaf.

Sayaka Yoshida: Human, age 15. A mutual friend of Ryder and Trudi Traveler. Can create infinite copies of herself at will. Has a satori yōkai (I think that’s what that thing is) named Satou who only gets along with Saya, Frederick, and Trudi.

Yukari Satsuki: Foquenian, age 23. Veterinarian. Selectively mute. One of Wild Card’s dozens of exes from before he and Clipper officially became boyfriends. (A-Team fans will get the reference.) Uses her blue staff to fly. Genuinely enjoys zapping people with her red staff.

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter One

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2101

Chapter Warning: Bad Language Words, tiny bit of angst

A/N: I started this on AO3 awhile ago. Now that I have a blog dedicated primarily to just Marvel/Bucky, I thought I’d add it here, too. Enjoy!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.  

Bucky heard his phone buzz as he was tugging a butter-soft tee over his head. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed as he worked his arms into their respective holes.

9:36

Steve was long in bed already, so the text most likely wasn’t from him. Sam was on a me me kick-- No, what did he call them? Memes!-- of a disgruntled cat which he swore reminded him of the super soldier. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were him. Or possibly Nat. She picked up the new issue of Guns & Ammo the other day and was sending him pictures of a Mossberg MC1sc 9mm she was drooling over.

Smoothing the body of the shirt over his torso, Bucky ambled over to his bed. He snatched up the phone from the navy blue comforter and flipped it over. To his amazement, the text wasn’t from Sam or Nat. Or even Steve.

(917) 460-5480 work thing boring af. kinda tied one on. might be late meeting you tomorrow

He blinked several times at the message, uncertain how to respond. It was a wrong number, right? Bucky hadn’t made plans with anyone for tomorrow that he could remember. Plus, everyone he knew had the same work thing. And it was rarely boring.

Definitely a wrong number.

He set the phone down near the clock, choosing to ignore the text. Hopefully, whoever this person was, figured out quickly they were texting the wrong number and moved on.

Bucky pulled back the covers before climbing into bed. His body melted into the mattress, muscles relaxing for the first time since breakfast. Training had been non-stop all day today. It felt good to just be, for once.

He grabbed the book he was reading off the nightstand and opened it to the spot he left off. He cleared his mind, as best he could, and concentrated on the words on the page.

A few pages in, his phone vibrated alive again. Another text message.

(917) 460-5480 sis dont be mad youd be drinking too if you had to sit thru one of these business dinners

Bucky sighed. He had hoped his radio silence would have clued this person into their mistake. Wishful thinking. Before he could punch out a reply, another text came through.

(917) 460-5480 timmons is droning on about this new client. kill me now

He quickly typed out a reply:

(917) 308-3117 I think you sent this to me by mistake.

Bucky watched the text indicator pulse as this unknown person worked out their response.

(917) 460-5480 haha very funny sis

Bucky huffed at this person’s disbelief, thumbs working on typing out his next message.

(917) 308-3117 I’m not trying to be funny. I can’t be someone’s sister when I’m a man.

He set the phone down on the nightstand again, hoping this person finally took a hint. He opened his book back up to the current page, taking a deep breath.

The room’s silence was broken again by the loud thrumming of his phone skittering across the surface of the black wood veneer.

(917) 460-5480 how does kevin feel about this so close to the wedding???

(917)460-5480 will you still need a wedding dress or will you just get a tux???

(917) 460-5480 am i still your maid of honor???

Bucky chuckled at this girl (no, young woman) asking the essential questions.

(917) 308-3117 Your sister did not get a sex change. Yes, she will still need a wedding dress. Yes, you are still her maid of honor. Like I said before, wrong number.

An almost immediate reply came through.

(917) 460-5480 prove it

Bucky grew slightly irritated at the insinuation. Why couldn’t she take his word for it? He exhaled loudly through his nose.

(917) 308-3117 How?

A few moments passed before the device juddered in the palm of his large hand.

(917) 460-5480 selfie

Bucky blanched at the request. He could feel the color drain from his face, only to immediately heat with a blush. A selfie? That is the last thing he wanted to do.

Although he’d been exonerated for his crimes as The Winter Soldier, he still knew about the dislike people felt about him as a person, in general. They couldn’t get past the brainwashing or other persona. God knows he still struggled with it.

He couldn’t go broadcasting his face through texts to a stranger. What if she was one of those who didn’t understand he had no say in what he did or what happened to him under Hydra’s control?

What if he ignored the solicitation? He could do that. Maybe even turn off his phone.

She did seem the type to be very persistent until she got what she wanted.

True to form, another text rang through.

(917) 460-5480 i will keep texting until i see your manly face

One corner of his lips quirked higher. Yup, persistent.

He navigated to the camera app on his phone and switched it to selfie mode. He stared at the damp locks falling to his shoulders. His beard would require a trim soon, but it wasn’t scraggly. Luckily, he’d had the hindsight to shave his neckbeard in the shower earlier.

Was he considering this? Some girl says jump, and he asks how high?

He combed metal fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath.

(917) 460-5480 im waiting

Bucky growled at the text, running a hand over his face. “Okay, okay. Give me a second,” he said to his phone. He held it up to head height, half an arm’s length away.

Click!

He previewed the picture, assuring himself it didn’t reveal too much. It was, somehow, off-center, containing a bearded chin and half a smirked mouth, one nostril, and a half-lidded eye.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky pulled the messaging app back up and then sent off the picture. He tossed the phone aside, not wanting to watch the taunting blinking dots as he waited for a reply.

The picture was barely recognizable, but someone like Steve or Nat could tell it was him. It would be okay. No one would know.

His phone vibrated violently near him on the bed. Bucky cautiously plucked the device up, debating whether he wanted to read her reply. What if it said, “Holy shit! You’re The Winter Soldier!”? The hope of this woman thinking he was just some regular guy knotted up his stomach. He didn���t know why he cared so much about whether this stranger thought he was The Soldier or not. He had no control over who believed the lies perpetrated as truth through the media. He could only wish for the best.

He blew out the breath he was holding in and eyed the phone’s screen.

(917) 460-5480 is it fair to say men shouldnt be allowed to have long eyelashes??

Bucky laughed and immediately thought of poor Steve.

(917) 308-3117 You should see my buddy’s. The girls swoon and complain at the same time.

He quickly added to the message thread:

(917) 308-3117 Am I correct to assume you believe I’m a man and not your sister?

The response was swift.

(917) 460-5480 oh shit ur not my sister

(917) 460-5480 this isnt 9173083447?

Bucky laughed again, the tension in his chest slowly unfurling.

(917) 308-3117 Unfortunately for you-- no.

(917) 460-5480 ugh im such an idiot sorry for the shit i said

(917) 308-3117 Don’t worry about it. I had a good laugh at your expense.

(917) 460-5480 oh god now i feel like a bigger ass

Bucky suddenly felt like backpedaling. He hadn’t meant for her to feel bad about her mistake. It was cute in a roundabout way.

(917) 308-3117 Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the highlight of my night.

(917) 460-5480 me forcing u to prove ur a man was the best part of ur night??

Bucky thought for a moment. Was it the best part? The training sessions had become monotonous lately, even with the new agents. The team hadn’t been on any missions in a few weeks, so it was pretty accurate to say he was bored around the compound.

(917) 308-3117 I suppose it was. Work’s been a little slow, and there’s only so much training you can do before it becomes tedious.

(917) 460-5480 training? r u in the military? ooh, r u an athlete??

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was comical to see her try to guess his profession. His selfie hadn’t announced who he was to her after all.

(917) 308-3117 Something like that.

(917) 460-5480 so mysterious! r u some assassin who needs to keep his identity secret? is that y ur selfie only showed a quarter of ur face??

He paled at the implication. Maybe she did know and was yanking his chain. How did he block numbers again?

Another text came through from the mystery woman:

(917) 460-5480 not that i mind u have a luscious mouth

Bucky guffawed at the comment as flames rose beneath the skin of his cheeks. He hadn’t remembered blushing this much in such a short amount of time in decades.

(917) 308-3117 How much have you had to drink tonight, doll?

(917) 460-5480 doll?? what r u my grandpa??

He chuckled again. God, he was old enough and then some.

(917) 460-5480 enough to not want to shoot my brains out but not enough to know this dinner isnt a party

(917) 308-3117 Maybe you should get back to your dinner? I don’t want to get you into trouble.

He regretted the text the second he pressed send. Was he trying to get rid of her? No. Or was he looking out for her? This person he knew nothing about. She was more entertaining than the recurring nightmare he’d been having for the last week, that's for sure. He'd cling to this unknown to avoid slipping into that black abyss.

(917) 460-5480 aww does the military-trained assassin athlete mchottie not want to talk with me anymore?? 🙁

(917) 308-3117 No!! I’m honestly concerned you’ll be reprimanded if you pay more attention to your phone than Timmons.

The last thing Bucky needed was to feel more guilt, especially if it was at the expense of someone’s livelihood. His shoulders were already heavy enough.

(917) 460-5480 thats sweet but dont worry ur pretty little head over me timmons wouldnt last a day w/o me

(917) 460-5480 timmons may be the boss but i run that office

He simpered at her swagger. He could only imagine what kind of office she worked in because, again, a total stranger. Did he want to get to know her more, or was this a one and done thing? Would she wake up tomorrow and want to continue the conversation or blow him off for the drunken mistake her first text had been?

Bucky stared at his phone for several more minutes, pondering precisely what he was doing and what his expectations of the night were. It’s not like he was going to meet her in person, right? Was he that delusional? He was an Avenger now. He didn’t get a social life. Not that he had one before but still.

He was startled from his reverie as the phone shook in his hand.

(917) 460-5480 did i scare you away??

(917) 308-3117 No. Just thinking about tomorrow.

(917) 460-5480 shit a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie must have a lot to prepare for mentally ill let u get ur rest

He smiled at the gesture. If only she knew.

(917) 308-3117 Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you arrived okay.

(917) 460-5480 such a gentleman! i don’t want to wake u if ur asleep tho

(917) 308-3117 I doubt I’ll be sleeping, but it’ll help ease my mind.

(917) 460-5480 alright ill shoot a text ttfn

(917) 308-3117 ttfn?

(917) 460-5480 ta ta for now god u r a grandpa

(917) 308-3117 Yeah, yeah

Bucky’s mouth split into yet, another grin as he set his phone down once again on the nightstand. He picked up his discarded book and found his place on the page. After a few minutes of re-reading the same paragraph over and over, he slipped the bookmark into the gutter of the book. His mind was too preoccupied with the thought of some random girl in the city at a boring work dinner. He realized he hadn’t stopped smiling since they temporarily said goodbye.

Maybe there was a good chance this conversation would carry into tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

[dickcheneyshousepet]

pet names haikyuu characters would give you (i used fem names for convenience)

hinata: baby, pretty, sweetie pie

kageyama: beautiful, sweetheart

tsukkishima: princess

yamaguchi: my goddess, baby

tanaka: queen, hot stuff

noya: my little lightning bolt

ennoshita: cutie, sweetheart

asahi: cherry blossom, my love

suga: my queen, partner in crime

daichi: my lady (NOT IN THE NECKBEARD WAY), darling

ukai: angel face, doll, sugar tits (as a joke ofc)

takeda: my love, cherie, hana (japanese for flower)

(bonus: kenma would call you his player 2 and oikawa would call you his good luck charm)

[mjalti]

Somebody told me I don’t look like a woman. I’m 24, I have a slim build and am flat chested. I look younger than 24, but not cute. I have short hair, I don’t wear much makeup and I have sensitive skin so i dont wear jewelry. I identify as a woman. I feel like a woman. It just hurts that I don@t look like the “typical woman” or whatever he meant. I’ve been trying to cry for hours now but no tears would come. I’m so sad.

next time someone says that you can just say “well You don’t look very intelligent” or “much like everyone else in ur life, I don’t care to hear ur opinion”. Like literally who cares what you look like to others when you know what you are 😌 he isn’t the gatekeeper of women or femininity, he can’t decide what is & isn’t appropriate for a woman to “look like”. This isn’t going to help but literally unless he looked like the Ideal Male Archetype in order to demand a Barbie Doll Trophy Wife... why is this one guys insecurity enough to ruin ur day? literally he just reminds me of a neckbeard who, to avoid confronting his own lack of attractiveness, points and shouts at something else in order to take attention away from himself. Not worth ur tears.

[copias-thrall]

Now What?

Our heroes thought they smoothed out the bumps to What They Were, but as it turns out, being in a relationship means *gulp* intimacy …

(Part 1; Part 2; Interlude 0)

You lean into the mirror—creating your favored doll eye—as the tinny noise of your Bitches Night Out playlist sounds from your phone. You and Mary are going out for some beers at O’Reilly’s since both of you have the night free and nothing to do the next day. Mary sits on the toilet seat going through your makeup bag. Every so often, he takes an item out, opens it, and does a smudge on the back of his hand.

You tsk at yourself when your hand wobbles and you fuck up a line. Mary looks up at you—then his eyes travel down to your derrière. You’re wearing your denim mini over thigh-length lace leggings, and it’s struggling to cover your ample ass, bent over as you are.

*public sex; dirty talk; brief homophobic language; consensual degradation; mentions of past emotional manipulation*

“Eyes up top, mister,” you say as you lick your finger to erase the wiggly bit under your eye. You already had to institute a “no-touching” rule, otherwise the two of you would never make it out of here. Mary loves the feel of you unrestricted though cotton—his band tees, hoodies, loungewear—and on any given night his roving hands are apt to start something. But you dressed up in what he calls your “fancy shit” seems to incite his lust on a very different level—so you wouldn’t put it past his roving eyes to spark something as well.

“You’re so hot when you want to be,” he says

You turn on the faucet to wet your hand, then flick it in Mary’s face. He sputters and ducks before he remembers he doesn’t care. He’s not in his stage cake, but he still wears a light dusting of white face powder and his skull accents. Instead of the blood dripping down his whole face, he has it tipping his forelock.

He grumps at you, but you just cackle. “I swear you’re half cat.”

“Whatever. Are you almost done? We’re gonna miss $5 Buds.”

“Yeah,” you say as you turn your head to-and-fro to assess the symmetry. “Just gotta put my lips on.” You hold out your hand for your makeup bag, but Mary hands you the burgundy tube.

“This one.”

“Mmm, isn’t this a little 90′s?”

His eyes sweep over you again and his hand indicates the NIN’s Downward Spiral shirt you’re wearing that you altered to tie in front.

“Aren’t you a little 90′s?”

“Point.” You take the tube and apply a dab on the center of each lip. Then you smear the color to each side with your finger. Through the mirror, your eyes linger on Mary’s plump lips filled in with a dull red instead of his usual black.

“Fuck, I’d kill for your lips.”

He mashes them together. “Is that why you’re always trying to bite them off?”

It’s true: you tend to fixate wholly on his lips sometimes when you’re making out. You give an exaggerated, dreamy sigh.

“They’re just so nice. Full, plump, well defined …”

“Weirdo.”

You shuffle over toward him and straddle his lap. Thumbing his bottom lip, you say, “I don’t usually hear you complaining.”

Mary leans back into the tank, his arms draping over it casually. “You’re breaking your own rule.”

Leaning in close you say, “I said you weren’t allowed to touch me.”

You slide a hand under his t-shirt—the skin of his torso warm and smooth—and tilt your head as if to kiss him. His eyes flutter shut, and that’s when you tilt your head back up.

“Hey, can we play?”

Mary’s eyes snap back open, and he lets out a sigh of exasperation.

“You’re a fucking tease, you know that?”

You grab his jaw.

“Can. We. Play.”

His eyes cast down.

“I don’t know, Suey. I really don’t feel like spending the whole night wondering if my dick’s gonna explode.”

You pat his cheek. “That’s ok, Mare Bear. Thank you for telling me.”

He turns to nip at your palm. “Some other night, k?”

You lean back in and actually kiss him—a short and sweet thing.

“I was thinking about something else, anyway.” You thumb his lip again. “Wanna see your lips all full and puffy. Wanna paint them with my lip gloss—have you wear it all night.”

“Is that … it?”

“Well—you can’t wipe it off, and if it gets smudged, I reapply.”

“And what do I get?” he asks as he gives a small roll of his hips. “Thought I was gonna get lucky later anyway.”

You straighten up. “What you’ll get is knowing that you’re my very good boy and that you have pleased me very much.” You smooth at a blackened eyebrow of his. “Don’t you like it when you’ve followed the rules and done a good job?”

Mary’s eyes are round and his pupils dilated. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

“Mmm,” you hum as you lightly sweep your hand over his stiff hair. “So good already. What a good job you’ve done keeping your hands to yourself.”

His eyes shine, and he says, “It’s easy being good for you.”

Mary and his inexplicable softness. 

“Yeah, well. Let’s get that lipstick on you.”

After gently wiping off his matte with a square of toilet paper, you rummage through your makeup bag for the ridiculous gloss you got as a sample with the purchase of something or other. It’s wet and shiny with a glittery sheen to it—and some kind of chemical that supposedly plumps your lips. The first and only time you’d worn it, your friend told you that it made your mouth look like a wet vagina. It makes Mary’s lips look like a delicacy you want to consume as an entrée at a ridiculously expensive French restaurant. With a white wine pairing or some shit.

He rubs them together experimentally. “Sticky.”

“Yeah, it’s not the kiss-proof kind, so don’t wipe at it.”

You admire you work for another beat, then have an idea.

“Wait—hold on …”

You reach for your phone, then start poking through the apps. He’s assessing his lips in one of your small compacts when you finally have your camera app ready.

“Uh …” he says.

“You have your porn, I have mine.”

“Whatever. I’m pretty sure my cum lips look better.”

You don’t really notice anyone on the street that looks twice at Mary—but then again, he’s in full demonsona, and most passersby try not to look directly at him. (Apparently he gets fewer freakouts when you’re on his arm, but that’s just because they don’t know I’m the one keeping you in line, Suey.)

It’s embarrassing the amount of ownership you feel over Mary when the two of you go anywhere—like he’s a feather in your cap and not your autonomous boyfriend. But there’s just something about having this dramatic boy—in his makeup and leather jacket—on your arm and deferring to you that makes you feel powerful. It doesn’t help that he enjoys playing the part of your attack dog, happy to wait patiently until you tap him in—but a lurking, menacing presence all the same.

Of course, O’Reilly’s is really Mary’s bar—a place he and his bandmates have been frequenting for years (even if it’s a place you’ve been known to hit up on a bar crawl or for late-night eats)—so the staff and regulars obviously don’t buy the dark & mysterious routine from a dude who once sang “Paradise City” shitfaced while trying to Coyote Ugly on the bar. It doesn’t stop them from acting like you have some sort of … control over him—which, ok: you do—now that’s it clear you’re pretty solidly in the picture.

The barstaurant is what Mary calls a “Pop” dive bar. It’s dim enough and cheap enough to attract the college kids and the punks, but it’s clean and serves decent food all night so that the yuppies flock there too. The regulars don’t think too much of the dynamic (and Mary’s known to get into drinking games with the finance guys), but that doesn’t mean there aren’t … clashes. The bouncers visibly eye roll with their entire bodies whenever they see Mary in line.

“Goore. It amazes me you haven’t been banned yet,” says ‘Bruiser’ (what Mary affectionately calls him—his real name is Rodney or something) as he haphazardly marks at X on the back of Mary’s hand.

“I’m pretty sure that’s because my friends and I single handedly keep this place afloat when there’s not a game.”

When you thrust out your hand, Bruiser hums at you, like you’re guilty by association (not that he’s wrong), and swipes at your hand too.

“You should be keeping him in line.”

You give him a wolfish smile. “Where’s the fun in that for me?”

Bruiser rubs his eyes.

“Just … try to stay out of trouble?”

Mary slings his arm heavily across your shoulders as you enter the bar, set upon his own claim. It’s not so much about keeping guys from approaching you (“I mean, they can try. It funny watching you turn them down.”) than it is a warning that anyone who starts shit with you will finish it with him (“Or maybe I just want to show off the pretty piece on my arm—ow, fuck”).

As the two of you make your way to the bar, a few people call out, and Mary tilts his head at them. “Thursday is the new Friday” is apparently in full swing here. It’s crowded enough that you two have to squeeze into an opening at the bar, but not so much that you can’t carve out a space for yourselves.

You order the two of you a round of shots and a lite beer as a chaser. Mary knocks the whiskey back like it’s sugar water while you push through the burn. You immediately take a swig of the beer; some of it dribbles down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. Mary tracks your movement. 

“Oh—you want some?” you say licking your lips.

“Yeah.”

You crook your finger at him, and he leans down.

“Open.”

His glossy lips part, eyes fixed on yours. You bring up the beer bottle and carefully tip it into his mouth. He closes his lips around the mouth of it as you pour, but easily lets go when you incrementally pull it away. Some of the gloss comes away with it, so you tell Mary to hold up. You dig into your bra to produce the tube of gloss, then reapply to his lips.

“Disgusting,” comes a voice that startles the both of you out of your bubble. You turn to see a neckbeard in a hoodie scowling at the two of you. “You really going to let your bitch put that shit on you?”

Mary’s face darkens, and he straightens to much taller than his height.

“The fuck you just say?”

Mary lets a lot go—he’s a skinny goth boy who wears horrorface—but he hates it when men talk shit to you. Things that don’t even penetrate you seem to make his blood boil (“How can you not know this is just a thing?” “I did, I just … didn’t know how often it was a thing.”).

“You really gonna let some bitch dress you like a faggot?”

Mary tenses at the same time as you spit, “I’m sorry about your small penis.”

Neckbeard sputters at you, and Mary steps in front of you.

“Call my girl a bitch again and I’ll tear the veins out of your neck.”

“Fucking snowflake faggot, like you could.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“You’re ok with looking like a fairy?”

“The fae are fearsome creatures, so yeah.”

“Don’t be a fucking smartass, freak. You know what I meant”

“If you mean the colloquial meaning of ‘gay man��, then yeah—I am.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

“I’ve found sex with men quite pleasant.”

“What the fuck, dude,” says Neckbeard, recoiling.

Out of nowhere, Bruiser materializes.

“Problem?”

At the same time as Neckbeard says Not at all, Mary is gearing up.

“Yeah. He’s harassing Suey and spouting homophobic language.”

Bruiser is—as it happens—a gay man, and his face darkens.

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t tolerate that kind of hate speech here.”

“Don’t tell me they got you toeing the party line?”

“Management reserves the right to remove any patrons they feel contribute to an unsafe environment.”

Neckbeard sputters. “Y-you will let this, this freak stay here, and kick out a red-blooded man?”

“He’s a pain in the ass, but hardly a public menace.”

“I’m touched, Bruiser.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d like to speak to the manager. I want him to know what kind of Yelp review I’m going to leave.”

“Of course, sir. This way …”

Bruiser leads Neckbeard away. Mary gives him a thumbs up, but Bruiser just glowers at him.

You consider Mary.

“You like to fuck men?”

Mary looks at you, brows furrowed. “Well, yeah. I’m in a punk band.”

You squint at him. “What does that have to do …”

His features school. “You … you do know that we’ve all fucked each other?”

Oh. 

You didn’t. 

“That—that makes a lot more sense.”

No wonder his bandmates resent you. You took Mary from them.

“Is … that a problem?” says Mary, his face impassive.

“No,” you say quickly. “I just—didn’t know. I’ve never seen you make googly eyes at a dude.”

He crowds into your space, placing his hands on your waist.

“I don’t make eyes at anyone’s who’s not you.”

You burst out into laughing that turns into stifled giggles.

Mary scowls at you. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m being sincere.”

“No, it’s just … Mare—you’re the biggest flirt whoever made his family ridiculous. No, don’t shake your head at me—you are. I’m not the jealous type, but that doesn’t mean I don’t watch you play up your Evil Lothario persona when it suits you.”

He grumbles non-verbally at you, then deflects.

“Don’t you fuck women?”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. “Um. No? Not really.”

He tilts his head at you. “Not really?”

You shrug. “I mean, college … but no. I’m not sexually attracted to women.”

“Well, damn,” he says as he runs his hand through your hair. “I guess there goes all my hopes of a threesome.”

You smirk at him. “Does it?”

He stills when he gets your meaning.

“What?” you ask.

“I … I can’t tell if I hate that idea or not.”

“A devil’s threesome?”

Mary shudders. “I’m equal parts repulsed and turned on by that.”

You lean away from him. “Ok, wait. You have orgies with your band, but you’re stymied by a threesome with another dude?”

“I’m gonna sound like an asshole, but it’s different with a random groupie.”

“How so?”

His eyebrows twist.

“That was just fun. I never cared for them. Not like …”

He runs a finger lightly down your face, and you shy away from it.

“Gross.”

Mary narrows his eyes at you, then grabs you by the hips to pull you into him.

“But: I’ll admit that the idea of watching some dick that’s not mine fuck you is … appealing.”

You feel the growing bulge in his jeans. He leans down to murmur into your ear.

“Fucking into your pussy, like he has the right.”

He hikes your one leg over his hip and presses his erection into your crotch. You make a pleased noise.

“Watching your face contort with the pleasure he gives you. Watching you moan as he makes you cum.”

He ruts into you, and you wonder if he can feel your growing wetness. He presses his nose into your neck.

“Fuck. That makes you hot, too. I can smell you.”

“Fuck, Mary.”

“God, what a little cock slut you’d be. Could I punish you after?”

You’re throbbing now between your legs, and you let out a soft moan.

“Yeah, you’d like that. Being punished for fucking a cock that wasn’t mine.”

You grind into him, and he slips a thigh further in between your legs, resting his foot on the rail under the bar. Immediately you grasp at him as you rock yourself back and forth on his thigh in little movements.

“How would you like to be punished? Should I take you over my knee?”

A thrill runs through you, and your back arches as you let out an Uhhn.

“Yeah,” Mary rumbles. “Take you over my knee and make sure to cherry that ass of yours.”

He reaches his hand around to press at you from behind, and the feeling goes straight to your clit. Your head lolls as your eye roll back. You’re sure some of the people in the crowd must be aware of what’s happening, but right now all thought is between your legs.

They’re welcome.

“Would you fuck me?” you breathe.

Mary growls. “Of course I’d fuck you. Gotta make you remember why you like my cock best. But only after I spanked you red. I’d want you to feel the sting every time I fucked into you.”

You rock hard into Mary’s thigh, and he pulsates the fingers pressing into you, ratcheting up your arousal.

“Oh god, Mary.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Cry out my name. You know who owns your pleasure.”

You’re riding his thigh hard, your movements no longer discreet. You know Mary’s hard, but he’s just looking down at you with hooded, intense eyes as his clever fingers manipulate you. You rub your clit forward into his thigh, then rock back onto his fingers—your hips circling sinuously. You’re terribly close to climaxing if you could just …. You grip hard at his arms as you speed up.

“Fuck, I want it. I want to cum.”

Mary’s other hand grips you harder, and he leans in so close you can feel his lips on the shell of your ear.

“I’d fuck your cunt hard to wipe away the feel of that other dick. Fill you up with my cum so you’d smell like me. I’d hold you down so I could cum into you again and again. Make you my cum dumpster. Would you like that? To have my jizz dripping down your thighs? So that everyone knew who you belonged to.”

“I’m such a slut! I don’t deserve it!” you gasp, your movements now jerky as you chase your orgasm.

“No you don’t,” he growls. “You’re so lucky to have my dick in you. If I could, I‘d always have you on my dick. That’s all you’re good for. Milking my cock. A fucking warm body. And you can’t even do that right. I should let that other dick have you, you worthless—”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry out as the throb between your thighs crests, hovers, then pulsates through your cunt from front to back. You press down hard into Mary’s leg as your pussy spasms, mouth open and drooling.

“Yeah, that’s it. There you go. Ride it out.” He pets at your hair.

Once you’re done, you slump forward into his shoulder, panting, and Mary wraps an arm around your waist. He extracts his hand from under you and brings it to his face. He closes his eyes as he brings his fingers to his nose and inhales. Then he slides them down over his lips and tongue.

A throat clears.

Mary jerks around as you sluggishly raise your head. Bruiser is standing behind you two, eyebrows raised.

“You two are fucking nasty, you know that? 

You just press further into Mary—mashing your face into his chest—not up to confrontation so soon after your orgasm.

“You think this is Amsterdam or some shit? Uh-huh. You need to get your asses out of here.”

You feel Mary shrug at him.

“What’s a guy to do when his girl’s this hot?”

“All right, love birds. C’mon.”

Mary grumpily readjusts himself as you ooze down to gather your things. Bruiser escorts you both out the back door and shakes his head, laughing, as he closes the door in your faces.

You press Mary into the alley wall and rub your tits on him.

“I thank you for the use of your shapely thigh, good sir,” you all but slur as you look up at him with a happy smile.

He licks his lips. “I can think of a better way to thank me.” He grabs your hand and guides it to the bulge in his jeans. You give it a squeeze and Mary growls in response.

“I swear to god if you’re going to tease me—”

“I’m not,” you say as you pet his dick, “but not right here. C’mere …”

You grab his hand, yanking him as he stumbles behind you. You lead him down another side alley and into an overflow backlot. A quick assessment has you saying Over there as you lead him to a walled corner with an SUV parked adjacently. He lets you maneuver him in between the car and the brick wall, his eyes predatory. You push him up against the wall with both hands, and he bounces a little; you press the line of your body into him and let your hands wander slowly down the plane of his torso.

You’re looking up at him, gaze full of intent, as your fingertips slip under the waistband of his jeans. His stomach contract as he inhales sharply. You’re just grazing the tip of his cock when Mary’s hand shoots up to your head.

“I want your mouth,” he rumbles as he applies a gentle pressure to your crown

You grin up at him as you sink down to a squat. “You have been a good boy.”

He lets out a Fuck and tips his head back into the wall. You reach up for his belt, but his fingers reach it first. “Put the lip gloss on, I want to see how it looks stretched around my cock.”

Mary fumbles with getting out his cock as you dig the gloss out of your bra. You hastily swipe the wand across your lips before shoving it back into your cleavage. Mary’s holding his dick at the base—it’s flushed and the tip is shiny with precum—but with his other hand he chucks you under the chin.

“You’re beautiful you know that.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re only saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.”

His grip tightens on your chin.

“And I’m going to ruin that pretty little face of yours.”

Then he pushes his dick into your mouth whether you’re ready or not—his hand slipping to the back of your head to keep you in place. Your own hand reaches out to steady yourself on his leg as he holds you like that. He lets out a sigh of relief, then his hand is gone.

“I want to watch you,” he says.

So you bob forward down the length of his shaft, then back up, trying to get him as wet as possible with your spit. You curl your free hand around the base to use in tandem with your mouth. When you reach his cockhead, you close your eyes as you suckle at it, twisting your lips around it as you tongue at his sweet spot.

“Yeah. Yeah, just like that. Fuck.”

You remove it from your mouth so you can tap the tip on your tongue. Mary lets out a breathy grunt, and you run your tongue around the ridge before lapping around his cockhead a few times.

“Uhn, yeah.”

You suck it down to the hilt in one swallow, and Mary gasps, his hand slamming into the wall. You deep throat him for a bob or two, then pull off with a sucking sound so you can take a breath, making sure to keep jacking him with your hand.

Mary lets out a half whine.

After repeating that combo a few times, you settle in to work at sucking him off for really reals. It’s a good thing it’s a tight fight in the corner, since you’re able to use the car to help redistribute your weight—you probably can’t squat for long.

Mary’s earlier guttural noises have turned into something high and breathy. If you could spare a hand, you could probably cum again just from the noises he’s making.

There’s a tense moment when you hear footsteps in the gravel and you freeze, Mary letting out a soft moan of frustration and his cock throbbing against your tongue. But then the steps get closer, and you feel him tense. He puts a hand on the side of your head—whether to shield you from view or keep you from popping off, who’s to say?

The sound finally does round the corner of the car, and your hand tightens on Mary’s thigh. He feels like a coiled spring. There's a clink of a belt that cuts off suddenly.

“Whoops … sorry,” slurs a male voice.

Then a pause.

“Girl, you ok?”

Mouth still full of Mary’s dick, you give a thumb’s up in the voice’s direction with the hand not occupied.

“Ah. Have fun.”

Then the footsteps stumble and recede, and you do pull off his dick. Mary spits out a Fuck and slams a fist into the wall.

“Stupid fucking drunk. I was enjoying that,” he says looking down at you. 

You’re feeling the burn in your leg muscles, which are starting to tremble.

“Wait—just let me …” you say as you try to shift around to a better position. You’re about to fold your knees under you when Mary says, “Wait. The gravel.” 

He shrugs out of his leather jacket and hands it down to you. You lay it down in front of you before kneeling on it.

“Why, Goore—you’re such a gentleman.”

His hand is behind your head again, tangling into your hair. “Shut up and suck my cock.”

You acquiesce, sinking back down and getting right to it. He’s by no means soft, but he’s not as hard as he was before the unfortunate interlude, so you deep throat him a couple times to coax the blood back in.

“Hhhghh, how are you so good at that.”

You hollow your cheeks for a long suck.

“Fuck.”

You start bobbing on him again when he says, “Look up at me.” You flick your eyes to him. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.” His own eyes are glazed and his mouth is parted. “Yeah, keep going. Faster.”

Speeding up, you try to keep the hand at his base in time with your mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

You bob faster on his cock, and you see Mary’s body tense, then release. 

Tense. 

Release. 

He swallows audibly, the telltale stiffening obvious against your tongue, then he breathes out: “Keepyouhandgoing.” The grip in your hair tightens, and then he yanks you off his dick.

Your pace slightly stutters, but then you start jacking him as fast as you can as you squeeze your eyes shut. Almost immediately you’re hit in the face with the splash of his cum, and Mary makes this soft-moan thing in the back of his throat. He must really have been worked up, because he splatters across your face again and again. And again.

You ease up with your hand only when you hear him whine, but he just pushes your head forward as he presses back into your mouth, making a pleased rumble as he rubs against your tongue. He rocks into your mouth a little bit, and then the hold in your hair disappears and he withdrawals from your mouth. You feel him lean away from you and into the wall.

“Oh wow. Fuck,” he says laughing, then lets out a pleased hum.

You’re still kneeling on the ground, eyes closed and arms out for balance.

“Mare?”

“What? Oh—yeah, fuck. Hold on.”

There’s a rustling of clothes and a zipper, and then you sense him getting on his knees in front of you. He chuckles.

“Wow—I really got you everywhere.”

“Mary.”

“All right, all right,” he says still chuckling. “Um … ok.”

You feel what can only be his t-shirt wiping at your face. And your ear. And under your chin. And at your hair.

“Just a few more …” he says as you feel him wipe at your eyes with his thumb. “Ok … you’re a little smudgy, but—ok.”

When you open your eyes, he’s right in your face.

“You’re right—that lipstick is amazing,” he says, and then he kisses you hard and rough with an open mouth, his tongue going straight for your tonsils. 

Despite being crunched between a car and a brick wall with the sharp gravel digging into your legs, you and Mary makeout sloppily with too much tongue and a lot of spit. His hands have found your face again and yours are braced on his chest.

The sudden noise of a car starting up and echoing off the wall has you both breaking apart.

“We should go,” you say.

“You think.”

It’s a little awkward to navigate in the cramped space, but you help each other up, your legs wobbling a bit. You hand Mary back his jacket, and he brushes off the detritus before donning it again. You notice that he keeps pulling the bottom of his shirt away from his stomach, and you laugh.

“Oh no! That can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s fine. It’s only cold and wet. And sticky.”

You hold out your arms to him, and he perks up. When he’s in your arms, you make sure to rub and smush his shirt into his stomach.

“Oh my god you’re such a bitch.”

“I’m helping!”

“How is that helping?”

“It’s just like acclimating to the ocean—you just got to dunk under in one go,” you chirp at him.

“Next time I’m just gonna leave you looking like a bad bukkake.”

At some point Mary started rocking the two of you, and you squirm until he finally lets go. He sighs.

“All right. Let’s get you home.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and starts striding out of the parking lot. You skip after him and thread your arm through his.

“Really? The night’s still young!”

He gives you an incredulous look.

“Suey, you look like you just got face fucked in a parking lot.” He gives you an appraising look. “Actually, that’s kinda hot. On second thought, let’s go to Sixes & Sevens—”

“Where?”

“Mickey’s place. I have no problem with everyone knowing whose dick you just sucked. I’ll make them smell my fingers too.”

“Pig.”

“Hmm, maybe I should reup.”

He pushes you against a wall and puts his hand between your legs. His face contorts into a look of surprise.

“Fuck, you’re wet. Like … really wet.”

“Well, what did you think—”

“Fuck, are you still …” 

Suddenly he’s pushing up your skirt and diving his hand into your panties. You gasp Oh my god when his finger slip-slides over your clit. 

“How are you still so wet?”

You give him a sultry look.

“You know sucking your cock does it for me.”

He’s still fingering you, leaning into your space, when he says, “Maybe we should get a cab. I could be fucking you in 10 minutes. No drunks looking for a place to piss.”

With his clever fingers manipulating you, you have to admit the prospect is appealing. But …

“No,” you purr at him. “You’re going to get me off right now because it pleases me. Then we’re going to go get a little sloppy, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, you can fuck me that way you like when we get back to my place.”

Mary presses into you like it’s a reflex.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then it’s you and your hand, mister.”

His fingers go to work at you. They’re sloppy, artless—unlike his usual careful manipulation—but you’re already halfway there from the blow job and that, combined with him sucking bruises into your neck, has you mewling and pushing at him in no time. The pad of a finger suddenly presses hard onto your clit, and you make a wounded noise. It doesn’t leave, and you feel the direct pressure keenly. You start twitching and letting out small noises.

“Oh oh oh … Mary—oh god … Mary …”

He turns his head to kiss at the hinge of his jaw, but his finger just. Stays.

The pressure is all at once Way to Much and Not Enough, and you’re thrashing you head back and forth.

“Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary …”

You’re asking for mercy, but he’s granting you no clemency.

It’s a slow build to your orgasm, but you feel every second of it intensely. Your head tips back, and your nails scrabble at the wall as you moan Oh oh oh oh in time to the pulsating of your clit. You’re making these embarrassing high-pitched wounded noises as the throb between your legs worsens.

When you finally cum, it’s almost painful, and you grapple at Mary’s arms, sinking your nails into him. Your screams bounce off the walls around the two of you, and Mary covers your mouth with his to muffle you. You’re dimly aware that you just squirted everywhere, soaking your leggings, the fluid dripping down your legs.

You jerk when Mary runs a gentle circle around your over sensitive nub, and he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you into him. 

“I made a mess,” you say as Mary withdraws his hand. You meant for it to be funny, but once it comes out, it sounds small and your voice wavers.

Mary wipes his hand off on his jeans and brings his other arm around you.

“I guess we’re matched now—both covered in sex juice.”

The wetness on your legs is beginning to cool, and the droplets are beginning to settle into your socks. Suddenly the thought of going anywhere else other than home is unappealing. Cleaning some semen off your face in a bar bathroom is much different than dealing with soaked bottoms all night. You push away from him.

“You did that on purpose!” you say as you tug on your damp leggings.

“I—what?”

“If you really didn’t want to go back out, you just could have said!”

Mary’s looking at you helplessly. 

“You asked me to get you off …”

“I can’t go anywhere like this, Mary!”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Are you really fucking mad at me because I made you cum too hard?”

“You knew what would happen!”

“Jesus fucking christ. There’s never any winning with you sometimes.”

You turn and start walking away.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Yeah? You gonna walk the whole way?”

“Yep.” Maybe taking off your leggings will help. Except then your ass will be hanging out.

“Suey … that’s an hour’s walk. Let’s get a cab, ok?”

You spin on your heel.

“I’m all wet, Mary! I can’t sit in a cab. I’m disgusting.”

You turn back around and continue walking. After a bit, Mary catches up with you.

“Let’s get a cab, you can sit on my jacket.”

You look at him. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Well I’m … it’s …” you sputter.

“It was really hot. Fuck, I think I almost came in my pants.”

“But—”

“So I literally don’t give a fuck if you sit on my jacket.”

You don’t say anything, but you don’t fight him either.

“Look, we’ll get a cab; you can change; and we can go to the bar down the street from you. Ok?”

You stop and look at him.

“Ok.”

He looks at you, then rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass, you know that?” He bundles you into an embrace. “I don’t know why I keep you around.”

You let him enfold you in his arms, but don’t hug him back.

“Probably the blow jobs,” you say into his chest.

He cradles the back of your head and you feel him smell your hair.

“Definitely one of the top 3 reasons.”

The two of you get a cab and—true to his word—Mary lays out his leather jacket for you to sit on. When you get back to your apartment, you make a beeline for your shower. You strip down to everything but your panties and leggings—those you’ll shower in.

The shower is amazing, and you relish in washing the night off your body. When you’re done, you hang the wet garments over the shower rod and wrap yourself in your robe.

You find Mary conked out on top of your covers in just his boxer briefs. One of his hands is on his chest and the other is sprawled across your bed; his mouth is open and there’s a little drool in one of the corners. You climb onto the bed and lie on top of him

“Huh, wha?” says Mary as he startles awake.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

A hand rests on your back.

“Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Mmhm.”

“Just resting my eyes.”

“Mmm.”

He rubs your back a little before saying, “Should we get moving?”

“Can we just stay like this?”

A pause.

“Sure.”

You lay like that for awhile, feeling Mary’s chest rise and fall under you.

“M’sorry,” you mumble.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”

“Yeah. I didn’t like that.”

You consider for a moment before saying, “My parents used to pull that shit on me.”

He breathes in. He breathes out.

“Which?”

“They’d—they’d give me permission to do something or whatever, and then they’d manipulate it so they got what they wanted anyway. Um, like one time I wanted to go to this concert? And they said I could if xyz, you know? I got the ticket and everything. All my friends were going. We had all these plans. And then like. The night before, my parents held up my English class roster. I had this paper due the next week and they asked me to show them my research notes. Obviously I didn’t have any research notes because I’d planned to spend that Sunday at the library. So they revoked their permission. Said I promised this concert wouldn’t interfere with my schoolwork, and obviously I hadn’t kept that promise. All my friends went to the concert that Friday and my parents drove me to the library. Said it was a lesson in responsibility.

“That’s just the one that really made me realize how fucked up they were. I know it sounds stupid—boo-hoo I missed a concert, but it's really the thousand little paper cuts like that. It’s about how stressful it was never knowing what I was actually allowed to do, and what was fake. Having to always go the extra mile and second guess myself. To do everything right and get tripped up on a technicality.

“One time I saved up to buy this dress to one of the proms I’d been asked to? And they knew that. They praised me for being fiscally responsible. I kept my grades up. I stayed on top of all my assignments and made sure all my chores were done. They helped me with a deposit to the group limo. And then a week before—you know, I didn’t even remember what bullshit reason they found. But they found something. And it’s like they knew I was going to go anyway, so they returned my dress and drove us out to grandma’s for the weekend. 

“It kinda beat me into submission, you know? I just. Stopped doing things. Like, what was the point, right? The dance? The new movie? Game night? They always found a reason. And my friends? Just stopped inviting me out to things. They said my parents would just find a reason to block me anyway and that they were tired of working around it.

“So, I dunno. Tonight? It felt a little like that. Like you’d wanted to call it a night, and when I didn’t want to, you found a way to get what you wanted while pretending to give me what I wanted.”

Mary lightly scratches down your back through your robe.

“That sounds really fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Are they …?”

“They disowned me.”

Mary lifts his head.

“What? Why?”

“I—not tonight, ok?”

“K.”

The two of you lay like that, unspeaking, for a while. After a while you become aware of Mary’s hardness under you.

“Did you want to fuck?”

His hand stills.

“What?”

You squirm a little.

“I can feel you.”

“Suey. You’re laying on top of me. What did you expect? But no: I don’t want to fuck.”

“Are you sure?”

“This is kind of nice, actually. As it is.”

“Gross, but ok.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Whatever.”

Mary maneuvers his head until his mouth meets yours. He starts with your lips, then moves onto slipping you some tongue. You meet his kiss, gently tangling your tongue with his. He runs his hand through your hair, then rolls you onto your sides. His thigh slips between yours, but he doesn’t grind against you or anything. Still—his dick hasn’t seemed to get the memo. You slip your hand down to cup him, but May flinches and catches up your hand.

“Hey. I said it’s fine.”

“But you’re—”

“I said, no.”

You bury your head in his neck.

“Ok. But … do you really not want to, or is it something else?”

“Why do you think I’m some sexbot?

You bring your face to Mary’s and squish his between your hands.

“I don’t think that, Mary. It just seemed like—I dunno—you were falling on your sword or something.”

“Fuck, Suey. I don’t expect you to understand. You always seem ready to go. Like we could be having the worst fight, but if I took my dick out, you’d still drop to your knees and suck it.”

You flush at being read.

“But I don’t—I know my dick thinks it’s gonna get lucky because you’re so close, but I’m just not in the mood. If you want an orgasm, I’m happy to give you one—I’m always happy to make you cum—but I’d rather not myself, ok?”

You kiss his nose. “Ok, Mare Bear. But if you change your mind …”

“Noted.”

The two of you make out lazily. Mary’s hands slip into your robe and roam all over your body—a light caress here and a grabby handful there—but you keep yours at his face and in his hair. Soon, he has his face in your neck and his one hand is kneading at your breasts. Because he’s pressed close to you, you can feel the throb of his cock. His finger sweeps over a hardened nipple, and you moan at the sensation. Mary ruts into you, then whines. 

You pet his head. “It’s ok, Mare. You can fuck me.”

“But I don’t want to want to fuck you. I should be fucking able to just lie here with you without fucking wanting it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Ok, but if I want it and you want it …?”

He tilts his head back. “Christ, you’re frustrating. Look—you were kinda right earlier. You wanted to go out, and instead it became all about where we could fuck. Is that all? Are we just strung together by times we’ve fucked and times we could be fucking?”

You consider his words.

“I don’t have many relationships, Mary. They kind of seem like a waste of time? And if I get horny, there’s always a bar full of guys to fuck. But, I dunno. You’re different. You don’t want things from me. I feel like I can just … exist with you.”

“I want a lot of things from you.”

You huff.

“You don’t want idealized things from me. I don’t know where you’ve gotten this idea that the only thing we’ve got in common is our genitals.”

“Don’t say genitals.”

“Our nethers.” Mary groans. “But I feel like in a pie chart of my life, there’s a big slice devoted to Mary Rants. About capitalism, about the patriarchy, about gender construct, about slow walkers—”

“Who are these people who have nowhere to go?!”

“—and another devoted to the plotline of the WWE wrestlers.”

“I won’t apologize for that. It’s dramatic as fuck AND there’s head bashing. Everyone who disses it is missing out on some serious soapy shit.”

“Such on brand Mary.”

He grumbles.

“Fine, ok. But—you’re like this vault, and I only have a lock pick.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah.” He presses an index finger to your forehead. “I know there’s gold in there. But I can’t get at it.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m ruminating,” you say.

“You and your 10¢ words.”

“I won’t apologize for my vocabulary.” 

Mary pecks your lips. “Wasn’t asking you to.”

You sigh and snuggle—yes, ok snuggle—into him.

“I guess I take too much pride in being independent. And, I mean … I think we work because we’re both independent people looking for—I dunno—a partner to come home to, not someone who follows you around. But—I’ll try, Mary. To, I dunno—hand the gold bars out through a slot or whatever … it’s your stupid metaphor.” 

“It’s a start.”

You blow a raspberry at him, and he retaliates by gently biting your tongue. When you squeal in consternation, he just sucks it into his mouth. You try to push away from him, but he just rolls on top of you and begins to blow raspberries into your neck

“How do you like it?” Thhpbt “How do you like it now?” Thhpbt “You think that shit is funny?” Thhpbt

You’re laughing and trying to push him off you, but he has you thoroughly pinned.

“Wait—no! Stop!” you beg in between giggles.

He buries his face between your tits and gives you the biggest one yet.

“I will fucking murder your face, Mary Goore!”

He looks up at you, eyes glinting boyishly. “You’d have to get free first.”

You start kicking with your legs, and he tries to keep you pinned—but you bring your knee up, and he flinches away preemptively.

“Don’t play dirty!” he exclaims as you take your advantage to roll back on top of him.

You lick his face and try not to cringe from the awful taste of the makeup on it. Mary makes a disgusted noise.

“Did you mean murder my face like a kitten? Seriously, fucking stop.”

Still ignoring the bitter taste of his makeup, you continue to lap at him. He grabs you by the hair and drags your mouth down to his. Him sucking your tongue into his mouth (“Ugh, is that what I taste like?!”) is initially a matter of defense, but it soon turns into a heated kiss. Mary’s gripping your hair and pressing up into you as his tongue pilfers your mouth. He wrenches your head back so he can kiss down your neck.

“What about now?” you gasp. “Can I take your cock now?”

“Ugh,” he huffs into your neck. “I hate it when you win.”

He rolls the two of you back onto your sides, and his hand travels down to your cunt. You’re by no means soaking, but the play fighting and subsequent kissing have made you wet enough. Mary thinks so too, and—after some fumbling with his underwear and your robe—his cock finds your hole and pushes in. He makes a sound of relief, as you gasp, and begins to slowly thrust in and out of you.

The position is a little awkward, even with your leg hoisted over him, and you say, “I can turn around if …?”

But he just draws you closer. “No, this is fine.”

His thrusts are slow and steady, him slowing you down every time you try to pick up the pace.

You whine. “Mare—”

“Shh—it can be good like this.”

He finds your mouth again, his one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping your ass. You let him slowly fuck into you, your hand snaking down to play with your clit. It takes longer than when the two of you pound frenetically at each other, but soon enough Mary is stuttering and trembling with the need to cum.

“Are you close?” he mouths at you. “I want to cum with you.”

You squirm. “Mary …”

“Please …”

You suck his tongue into your mouth and start tapping quicker on your clit. You dredge up your favorite x-rated fantasy. All you need is …

“Faster—oh please, Mary …” you plead, breaking away from his mouth.

He presses you into him harder as he begins to thrust faster. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you will your orgasm to happen.

“Suey—this pace … I can’t …” whines Mary. He slows down a little, pumping into you with longer, deeper thrusts. You press into your clit, hard, and clench around him, loving the feeling of being filled, of having something pressing back against you.

“Oh my god,” hisses Mary, and then he slams suddenly into you. “Ughn,” he grunts out as he empties into you. 

It’s actually enough to push you over, and your eyes roll back as you start to pulsate and spasm with the waves of your orgasm.

“Ah ah ah ah,” you punch out.

And then the two of you are clenching and grinding and grabbing at each other, mouths meeting and then smearing across faces and necks.

When it’s over, your leg is draped and hanging over his hip, his face is mashed into your shoulder, and your arms are wrapped around his head. You are both panting, hearts rabbiting.

“Fuck,” says Mary into your shoulder.

“Double fuck,” you say, and Mary huffs out a laugh. He raises his head to capture your mouth in a lazy kiss.

You’re both sticky with sweat, and it’s a messy business separating. Mary reaches out to you, but you’re already bouncing off the bed.

“No, why?” he whines as he makes grabby hands at you, but you’re already shrugging your robe back on.

“Do we have to go through this every time? I’m going to pee—I’ll be right back.”

You’re on the toilet when Mary wanders in—nude and soft cock bouncing. 

“Mary,” you squeal as you cover yourself with your hands.

He squints at you. “What?”

“WHAT IF I WAS TAKING A SHIT?!”

“Are you taking a shit?”

“No, but—”

He turns the sink faucet on. “Then what’s the issue?”

“Fuck, leave some mystery!”

He grabs his Mary-designated washcloth and looks over at you as he runs it under the water.

“I don’t really want ‘the mystery’. I want the real thing.”

Mary begins to wipe in between his legs, and you turn your head away with a disgruntled noise.

“I don’t get what the big fucking deal is. I probably know what your, uh, vagina—”

“You can just say ‘cunt’, jesus christ, this isn’t health class.”

“—your cunt looks like better than you do. I’m up there enough. And earlier tonight you were covered in my jizz.”

“It’s-it’s—I don’t know! Kind of gross?”

“You peeing is grosser than semen?”

You press the palms of your hands into your eyes.

“Yes?”

The faucet shuts off. “Fine. I'll tell you what. You promised to be more open. So you can either finish peeing—don’t deny it I know I interrupted you midstream—

“Christ, Mary—”

“—or you can tell me one personal, intimate thing, and I’ll leave.”

You turn to glare at him. He’s standing with arms akimbo, modesty be damned. You keep his gaze as you unclench and finish peeing. He grins at you—a wide, fearsome thing.

“Ok, ok—get out. That’s all you get tonight, drive through.”

He leans over to kiss your head, and you make a mean lemon face at him.

When you get back into your room, Mary is in a fresh—well different—pair of boxer briefs and is straightening out your sheets. You hang up your robe and shimmy into the old tee of his that you’ve claimed as yours. When he turns and sees you, his eyes linger, but he doesn’t say anything.

You both climb into bed, and you allow him to big spoon you—with the understanding that the second he falls asleep you retain the right to extract yourself from him. He snuffles into your neck and sighs. 

After awhile you say, “Sorry that that’s not the way I promised to let you fuck me.”

He huffs into you. “How do you know how I wanted to fuck you?”

"It was implied.”

“You said ‘that way I like’. I like the way we fucked just fine.” 

“But I—”

“Hush. Let’s just go the fuck to sleep, ok?”

"Yeah, ok.”

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[claimingtheflame]

Lincoln Trail Mental Health Facility Part 1

Once again I want to reiterate that a lot of these posts are diaries I wrote never finished. Some of them jump around in my life. The story is about something that took place several years after D left

I remember the moment I turned in the paper. It was nothing. The last question asked my thoughts on the final death of Juliet. I sympathize. To this day I do. Many people probably do. She ended her life because she was in the grip of a mythic tragedy. Who could walk away from such a fate?

Except. Even though this is exactly how I felt, my teenage brain did not yet have the skills to articulate this. I ended up writing something like "I feel what juliet did was right. The world is ugly and filthy and who wants to live in it without someone you love." Because I was an edgy goth kid.

This would send me into the clutches of my own sort of tragedy. A brutal, destructive storm began churning that friday that would completely knock me out of my stupid unlaced combat boots on monday.

It happened like this. I walked into first period, Biology. I sat next to Adam, my closest friend. A knock came shortly after the period started and it turned out to be a senior girl who wanted me to be escorted to Mrs Mudds office. I did not know who that was. It turned out she was a counselor. She had coppery hair and a long, perky, somewhat simian face.

In this story, there is a long list of incompetant people who should not have had their jobs, and possibly should have been in prison. Mrs Mudd is not one of them. As much as I dislike her to this day. Maybe she did really mean well. Maybe she was just swept away by the drama of the whole situation. This is Elizabethtown KY after all.

We talked for a few hours. Looking back, I really don't think I said anything to her that should have been construed that I was depressed or suicidal. We talked about a secret place I visited in the woods behind my neighborhood. We talked about various religious beliefs and about music I listened to. Either way, my mom picked me up from school and I was somewhat excited for the break-in monotony.

We have drove to Lincoln Trail Behavioral Health Center , and I really didn't know what was happening. I had friends who had gone, but I didn't really believe that's why we were there until I saw the look on my mom's face as we walked in. There was a serious feeling of betrayal then. Like God woman haven't you put me through enough. This was an unfair thought. My mother is the second person blameless in the story. I would find out later that basically everybody from my school was telling her I was planning on killing myself quite literally. Mrs. Mudd had apparently told them that the place in the woods was my planned spot to die. I had self-harmed in the past. It was all pleasure related though and I thought it had nothing to do with my mental health. Either way it had been months prior to this, but it added to the Snowball Effect.

I'll admit that I didn't really understand my own mental health at this age. I had just been released from D's clutches only a few precious years earlier. I had no clue what was going on. I was going through a suspended childhood in many ways. All that said, Lincoln Trail Behavioral Health System did not help or address any my mental health issues. Let me reiterate. Aside from some experimental self harm 6 months prior(I received counseling, was evauted, etc), at age 15 I was pretty well behaved. I rarely got in trouble. I certainly never acted disturbed. Lincoln helped nobody who actually went there. In fact I barely escaped with my life and sanity. This is not a dramatic statement. This was a terrible place, as you will learn.

I was obviously scared the moment I walked into this place, all the stories I heard. We were buzzed through a security door after a few accusatory last looks at my mother when I went in quietly. I heard if you resisted or yelled that they gave you a shot in your ass of some kind of sedative. I did not want to give anybody the satisfaction roughing up the goth kid and shooting them in the ass. This was a short-lived Triumph. I would learn quickly that this place was not for me and that there was some horrible mistake pretty early on . I was led to a room and told to take off my clothes down to my underwear. I was told to turn around in front of this guy, who nodded with approval after watching and told me to put back on my clothes. I was wearing really baggy SpongeBob boxers. I guess I could have gotten away with hiding something into the facility. That's the thing. I wasn't a f****** delinquent. Not yet or not anymore depending on how you look at the chronology of things I did as a teenager. Anyway I do remember a kind moment here. The guard escorted me down a hallway and a girl smiled at me brightly. "It's really not that bad here." She said. I smiled and shrugged. This was more of a kind gesture than I realized, I would find this out later.

I was then led to the office of the first real fuckup in this story. This would be my counselor. I don't remember her name. She was somewhat nice to begin with. I'll call her mrs. Wannabe because later she would read a bunch of poems about her Native American ancestry. This extremely blond, blue-eyed woman with a square German face and freckles. Me and Wannabe would talk for about 30 minutes and she would send me on to my actual psychiatrist. I do remember this man's name. I will never forget it. His name was dr. Kodali. We can call him King fuckup. Fuckup prime.

He was a small man, with a small mustache, and skin the color between a beet and a russet potato. He spoke in broken English. He asked me why I thought I was there. I told him about the paper I wrote. He smiled and said " yes we all say things we don't mean. " he asked me if I follow the rules at home. I said yes as long as they are within reason. He laughed at me and said " my own daughter thinks several of my rules are not within reason. Children come to learn to obey. " we did not talk about depression, and this statement would turn out to be significant in many ways. It would come to outline the failure of this institution to children who actually suffered depression. Which I will admit that back then I might have been suffering from. Certainly anxiety. But who doesnt, to some degree?

Let us frame our Shit Pit King with what I didnt know about him before I explain my own experiences. He received kickbacks for pushing certain medicines. This is an important detail. He had been accused on several occasions of over-prescribing meds. He was widely hated as a doctor, and I can't believe he still has a job.

During my first visit, he was mostly dismissive. Interrupted me and laughed at me often. He was mostly interested in my behavior. If I acted up. If I respected authority. Literally nothing about suicide was discussed. So why did this guy prescribe meds at the end of our conversation? He picked up the phone, called my mother, and gave her the dosage information. I narrowly escaped this medicine, whatever it was, due to a surprising hero figure in the story who we will discuss later.

He dismissed me and I was sent to "group" for the first time. This is nothing like "support groups" you see in Lifetime movies. It was a huge room, an obnoxious amount of desk chairs crammed in a circle. Boys on one side. Girls on the other.

I immediately dislike this. It feels tense, and I feel scrutinized. I try to ask a girl near me if I can use one of her pencils. She folds her arms and rolls her eyes. " I can't talk to him." She says to the ceiling. This gets the attention of the counselor of the group, who is actually just an early 20-somethings aide of some kind, there are a few of these. This one I call Nick neckbeard. He says " we are here to work on our problems, not to date. " I am immediately embarrassed. I definitely wasn't trying to date anybody. I let it go but it does set the tone.

Since I am the new kid, a round of introductions is done. Not a lot of these people are notable other than the fact that a lot of them are in here for drugs. Some are in here as an in-between stage between Juvenile Detention and Society. I get the distinct feeling that most of the boys are here for drugs and violent crime. I reflect bitterly that I am in here for writing a stupid paper.

There are several thug wannabe types, maybe two or three other white guys that aren't like that. One obvious skinhead as well. It's split in half racially. Five white Boys & 5 black. There was a round of introductions. Most were there for, as mentioned, substance abuse and violent behavior. The skinhead boasted of being in because he stuck foreign objects in his body. He stabbed himself with pens and various utensils. Another boy was in for desecrating graves. The girls were almost exclusively substance abuse. There was one Arab girl that was in there, and though she talked much I never quite understood why except that I knew she definitely needed to be in there. She either talked incessantly of sex or repeatedly told this story about a "bad doll" that lived in her house- all in broken english.

So this was the introduction to the place. Honestly yes, I would have problems with the other patients. That's really out of the scope of the story though. They are mental patients. What do you expect?

The true problem with Lincoln trail was its staff and overall structure. Such a problem was this structure that it would break me down to that kernel of a child you see on all the other stories on this blog. Such that Lincoln trail would reduce me again to that boy child whispering a question to the darkness: "Why am I being punished?" It would make me know, through recognition and reinforcement of abusive themes I was already familiar with, that I was not in a safe place.

The first night I felt this first blow through humiliation and guilt. It was a simple thing really. We were sent to bed. A corridor with a small basket on the outside of each door. A female counselor was pointing each of us down the hall to our rooms. When my time came, she pointed vaguely down the hall to the right side. I tried to ask for clarification and she shouted "Right there!" And my immediate reaction to being chastised like this was to go to one of the rooms with my belongings. She did not stop me.

I noticed one of the wooden bed frames(they were double rooms with single bathrooms) had no mattress. My roommate was a boy my age. He had close-buzzed haircut. He seemed politely surprised. I shrugged and got in the shower. When I turned the water off, I heard yelling on the other side of the door.

The boy was yelling angrily that he did not know who I was and that he had nothing to do with me. He was explaining that I came into his room unbidden and to no fault of his own. I dressed quickly and came out of the bathroom as soon as possible. A middle-aged blond woman grabs me by the arm and began leading me out of the room. When I asked her where we were going she did not say anything but tightened her grip and sat me down in a chair. This woman becomes important later. Five minutes later Dr kodali came into the office with my other counselor, both looking at me sternly.

I apologize for not knowing the exact words of the conversation. Basically the boy was supposed to have his room to his self. He was gay and had been known to have had sexual contact with other patients. They grilled me hard about whether or not I was gay and deciding whether I should be disciplined. Dr kodali somehow remembers that that my girlfriend had given testimony(positively) over my mental health and he seemed to leave it at that. The blonde lady didnt seem convinced.

When she led me back to my(actual) room, she took the liberty of going through my clothes and belongings. She confiscated basically all of my clothing, saying that it would distract patients(black jeans and tees...none of my flashier stuff). She confiscated my copy of Cannery Row, all my homework, and my shampoo. She really let off on me while doing this. Talking about how sneaky I was and if I was planning anything with Chester(the gay guy) that she would know.

This was Day 1. I would kneel beside the bed that night and pray(I just prayed to 'the goddess' back then), just to feel peace inside. I was so put-upon about the stupid clothes. They were my armor, in a way.

The next day would be a lot worse. I'd learn a lot.

[mikami]

Did Misa already decide she was in love with Kira before she met Light, or was it the fact that Kira turned out to be a genius ikemen that made her decide to pursue him romantically? If Kira turned out to be like... a genius neckbeard, would she still be interested?

Misa was decidedly not in love with Kira before seeing Light.

Though she wants to meet Kira and express her gratitude, she’s still got questions about Kira’s nature. Though she assumes Kira to be kind, there is still a bit of uncertainty here and the footnote of ‘push comes to shove, I can kill them’ is very present. Romantic interest is never alluded to at that point.

Misa is actually surprised when Light turns out to be prime dating material in the end - it’s only once she sees that Light is attractive and her type that Misa picks him to fill the role of her dream ‘Prince Charming’. 

Though she’s also aware of his accomplishments in tennis and academics at this point, but I honestly do think his looks are the most deciding factor, haha.

Thus I personally don’t think Misa would actually romantically pursue any Kira that isn’t attractive? Misa’s idea of romance is incredibly superficial in the end. She needs a pretty doll to fill a role in her life more than anything.

[rymurrsneckbeard]

ALRIGHT I’m gonna try to do a Cannonball post. We’ll see if I remember everything. I’m shoving it all under a cut because there’s a lot of rambling and a lot of photos and I’m sure my entire list of followers doesn’t care, but if you wanna see me all dolled up and a bunch of ridiculously dressed Blue Jackets players, take a peek!

So first of all the event was 80s themed, so of course Caerleigh and I had to rock that. My boss has this absolutely amazing pink fur coat that is literally from the 80s that she let me borrow and it was perfect. Caerleigh just happened to also have a fur coat that was her mom’s, so we matched!

So there I am with my bright pink heels and my huge hair.Also I hate my legs so don’t look at those.

And here’s my whole look without the coat.

This is the hottest I ever have or ever will be again. Exciting but also sad, lol.

ANYWHO okay so we got to the event a little before 7 and kinda scoped things out a bit. The first set of guys we found was...Korpisalo, Sedlak and Kukan who were over by the one official photo station. I have not yet found this photo of us with them, or I would share it. Kukan is pretty in person, okay?

We wandered upstairs for a moment first and found the photobooth area, and I only mention that because 1) we went back later and got a ton of pics with the guys and 2) this picture happened and I love it.

So we’re looking around and the first guys we see are Wenny, Jonesy, and Boone all hanging out together, as per usual. And then as we’re making our way down there, we spot RyMurr and.

Okay he looked ridiculous in his 80s get up but. Guys. He’s just...he’s perfect. I was so happy that he had not shaved for this because I was sure that he would but he didn’t and I got to experience the neckbeard in person and it was a lot okay? A LOT.

ANYWAY so he was over sitting at a table with Anderson and Duclair and they were eating so we went over to the bro crew first. Jonesy was the first one we talked to and he was really nice, we were chatting about his outfit, I mentioned being from Pittsburgh and he was giving me shit for it, ha. This is likely the best picture of me with any of the players, go figure.

Next up was Boone who looked very 80s but guys he had his actual teeth in I am so pleased I cannot tell you. This event was just all roses for me. RyMurr’s neckbeard and Boone with his fucking teeth in. Oh my god. I wish I was more witty but I was kind of overwhelmed because Boone is stupidly, stupidly attractive in person. It’s almost painful. The photos at this point suck because the lighting was atrocious.

Okay so I noted this last year at the Pens event but it’s always interesting to see how players deal with the “arm around or not” thing at these events. Like Jonesy up there? Had his arm in the general vicinity of around me but didn’t actually...touch. Boone? Boone just threw his arm around me and pulled me in close and I...am practically snuggling this man. NOT COMPLAINING, but yeah, I took advantage of his willingness to hold me so close.

Also just seriously how fucking gorgeous is this man?

ANYWAY so next we get to Wennberg, who also is a very very beautiful man. Like here’s the thing about Wennberg, with the way he looks (beautiful) and the ever-present smirk, you expect him to be cocky. 

But he is not. He was so friendly, so nice, just a genuinely lovely guy to chat with. He was an absolute delight.

(also Wenny’s girlfriend in the back there who is so pretty and sooo tiny omg)

Sooo anyway from here we wandered over to the table where Ryan and Anderson and Duclair were. I told Ryan I loved his Bruce Springsteen vibe, and Caerleigh gave Anderson and Duclair shit for not dressing for the theme at all. Anderson just said he looked “classy” instead and like, dude it was the 80s no one was classy.

I won’t say much about Anderson because I just...didn’t get a good vibe off of him but I know people love him so I won’t ruin anything for anybody, haha. I’ll just say that I’ve met a decent number of hockey players at this point in my life and he was the first one I liked less after meeting him. Like I am the polar opposite of a David Savard fan but he was incredibly friendly last night and he won me over a little bit. 

ANYWAY here’s the picture of me with Ryan, Anthony and Josh, and just, this lighting was ruining my whole night.

Next up was David Savard who looked truly ridiculous but he definitely was sticking with the theme. He was really nice, and his wife was very friendly with us also. Just great people in general. 

After this we decided to try to find PLD and/or Werenski. We found PL but one of the CBJ people was ushering him upstairs so we just went up too, and we found Werenski while we were up there. We chatted with Z for a while about Donkey Kong, haha. He was...awkward, as I expected. Nice, but he’s just an awkward child in general. Also he was just wearing a boring basic suit. Not with the theme, Zach.

Anywho so then we’re like “oh wait there are a bunch of players up here so lets get a pic with all of them.” So we just dragged everyone up there into a photo.

And then those guys kept taking weird pictures after we moved. 

I can’t really remember if this happened before or after we got the picture with all these guys, but I was chatting with Nutivaara for a few minutes. I mentioned to him how I’d just been in Helsinki a couple of weeks ago and how much I loved it. And I want to get a tattoo for the trip but I need to know the Finnish word for something and I want to be sure it’s accurate. 

So I literally typed up an email to myself (I had no pen handy for this) and handed him my phone and he typed out the words for “adventure” and “adventurer” (the second one was his suggestion!) He was seriously SO nice, he’s my new Finnish friend.

Around here is when they dragged all the players backstage to get ready for the presentation of the videos and stuff, then the introduction of all of the guys, all of that. And at this point we wanted to sit down anyway. So I’m going through pictures at this point and realizing that the ones we got earlier were mostly awful from the lighting, also I just really wanted ONE good picture with Ryan Murray (alone, preferably). And we still wanted to find a few of the guys we hadn’t seen yet. So we eventually found Dubi, who Caerleigh really wanted to meet, because she missed him at this event last year.

He was...way nicer than I anticipated. Also annoyingly attractive in person. Like I’m seriously angry that he was as hot and as nice as he was, lol. (also he was wearing joggers and they...they did wonderful things for his ass and junk. Sorry it was OBVIOUS I noticed I am only human.)

Here we found Panarin and Bobrovsky. Panarin is adorable and tiny but he has no idea what you’re saying to him. 

We wandered a little bit here and I was looking around up on the balcony and I could see Ryan’s dopey headband so I was like “OKAY I want a good shot with him let’s go” and we went up and okay here’s where the story comes in.

So the lighting almost everywhere in the venue was atrocious. We had awful pink pictures from earlier in the night and then we went upstairs and found Boone and Duclair again and Caerleigh was going to take my pic with them to get a better shot only there was a band on stage and the lights were obtrusive from like, all angles.

So at this point I get a very bright idea. I’m gonna just turn on the flashlight on my phone and we can hold that up for pictures so we get good lighting! Because sometimes actual flash fucks things up, you know? So I turn on my flashlight and look around and OH! Ryan Murray is standing right there near us and I’m gonna annoy him to get a picture ANYWAY so he can help us. Generally a good idea yeah? Only it is VERY LOUD in there and I did not explain myself well as I was just. Shoving my phone into his hand. So this results in a very confused Ryan Murray expecting he’s going to be taking a picture with my phone and wondering why the camera app is not up, and he’s instead just looking at my home screen (THANK GOD I CHANGED IT, when I had Nuti translating Finnish for me I changed it from JT Compher to a picture of my pets, lol) very very confused. 

So I then just kinda. Lean all up on him so I can tell him the plan. Because he could not hear me over the music. So ya girl here is just. Hanging on Ryan Murray talking 3 inches from his ear and. Now that I’m thinking about this it was probably unnecessary but ...I’m pleased.

ANYWAY so I’ve now got still confused Ryan Murray on board and he’s just. Holding my phone. 

So I go to take a couple of pictures of Caerleigh with Boone and Anthony.

Only I dropped her phone. Twice. And let me tell you how much fun it is kneeling down to pick something up off of the floor in 4 inch stilettos and a short skirt.So I’m here looking like an absolute moron in front of Boone fucking Jenner and Ryan fucking Murray and I kinda hate my life a little bit.

ANYWAY so we get the pictures with Boone and Anthony.

And then I’m like OKAY I need a picture with Ryan too. And I go to nicely ask him.

But Caerleigh is very drunk at this point. Caerleigh knows I love this man so very much.

Caerleigh proceeds to very loudly and emphatically tell Ryan Murray how I am his BIGGEST fan and I love him SO much like more than ANYONE ELSE in the entire league. I am unsure who was more uncomfortable with this, me or Ryan.

So this stupid face I’m making in the pictures? This is my reaction to Caerleigh outing me as a Ryan Murray fangirl to Ryan Murray himself.

So there was THAT humiliation. But Ryan took it in stride and he was very nice and I leaned in to thank him for being patient through that whole clusterfuck, which. So much leaning all over Ryan last night. Gah.

While we’re talking about Ryan. He. smelled. so. good. Like it was a goddamn romance novel or something. It wasn’t even like a cologne smell? He just smells. Woodsy. I can’t explain it well it just was wonderful. 

ANYWHO so after I humiliated myself in front of Boone and Ryan we wandered back over to the photobooth area again. (The photobooth guy loved us) At this point Anthony Duclair was just kinda...hanging around us a lot. Mostly me. I’m pretty sure I could’ve gone home with him if I’d thought of it at the time, haha. So he was over there hanging out with us, and so was Riley Nash, who was extremely friendly. Like made a point to introduce himself and shake our hands. 

So we figured hey lets get photobooth pictures with them!

And after we were done with that, Wennberg was standing right there, and our pictures below had been terrible, so we asked if he’d get another pic with us in the photobooth and he was super gracious and nice about it. Also he’s just seriously so pretty.

So at this point I’m probably screwing up the timeline of the night but I can’t remember everything, but at some point we made our way back downstairs because we were still trying to find Atkinson and Foligno. We didn’t find either of them right away but we did find Jody Shelley and I have loved him since the early CBJ days. Also Jared Boll was there and again, loved him so much when he was younger. 

Also for the record, Jody Shelley? Thicccccc. Like he hasn’t played hockey in a while but tell that to his ass. 

Look this event was nice because it was a ton of hockey players in really tight jeans. Really tight jeans.

Don’t judge me for sneaking a picture of Ryan Murray’s ass, because it was a goddamn work of art in those jeans. They were PAINTED onto him. Like you can see boxerbrief lines.

OOF. Also THIGHS.

ANYWAY so eventually we did find Cam Atkinson, and for the record I am his exact height in heels. His wife was also delightful, really friendly. Great dress too.

And at some point here we did eventually find Nick Foligno. He was so, so nice. We chatted about his look for a while, and the event, it was a good couple of minutes with the Captain.

So by this point it’s almost 10 and the event is about over so we’re just hovering, seeing if we missed anyone or there are any other pictures we wanted. Also Caerleigh knows a few people who work for the Jackets so she was chatting with them, and I was just ogling Ryan and Boone because we were like 5 feet away from them.

And this was hilarious, at one point Ryan is chatting with Wenny, and he has an arm on his shoulder all bro-touchy. And then he just. Rubs down Wenny’s back and grabs his ass. I have no idea what that was all about but I was so glad Caerleigh saw it too, haha.

ANYWAY I think I covered everything. If you have questions feel free to ask!

It was a lovely eevent and I love Ryan Murray more than ever.

[kokorodachidanii]

22 Short Films About Yonder Galaxy

1. The Bake Sale: Wander and Sylvia try to raise some money to help the Black Cube and Tracy after Schmartians trash Cube’s apartment.

2. The Crepe-er: Across the street from Wander and Sylvia’s bake sale, Dr Screwball Jones attempts to sell his new “happiness pancakes”.

3. The New Doll: After Hank, Jamie and David broke Angela’s new Watchdog doll (a gift from Westley), they have to find a replacement fast, or she’ll tell all their parents.

4. The Sittin’ Kitty: Lil’ Bits attempts to relax before a certain someone decides to crash that idea straight down.

5. The Debt: Cabin Fairy Mitzi Ditzy has flarped up big time when she accidentally damages the ship to a certain malfeasant curmudgeon.

6. The Line: The Insurgent Generals (with Sawery Notsorry) go out for hot dogs, which wouldn’t be a problem if the line weren’t so darn long!

7. The Arachnomorphobia: As we’ve seen, there could be nine apocalypses and Beeza wouldn’t even bat an eye, but even she has at least one true fear-- she’s deathly terrified of arachnomorphs. Suffice it to say Ripov knows this very well.

8. The Spook Rave: When Emperor Awesome leaves his limo unattended, the Phantomaster figures just a few minutes of haunting won’t do much harm.

9. The Munchies: Sourdough finds himself forced to stay on Houshoku-san’s good side or risk getting gobbled up!

10. The Movie Night: Something the So-and-So and his little cousin Whatzit have very different movie opinions.

11. The Pick-Me-Up: Commander Peepers makes Lord Hater something nice.

12. The Broiled Slugs: Steamed Hams but with Rear Admiral Keister and Neckbeard (NB calls the deep-fried adzuki bean buns from Houshoku-san’s “broiled slugs” despite the fact they’re very obviously fried, and there’s a “supernova explosion” [read: magical mishap] at this time of day, at this time of year, in this part of the galaxy, localized entirely within his basement)

13. The Memoir: Major Threat and Sargeant Inkers try to get people to buy the latter’s memoir.

14. The Golfers: Badlands Dan and his gang play some minigolf together, but Harvax and Stok keep getting all the holes-in-one!

15. The Phun Dip: The teens from The Black Cube (I call the bunny leader Jack, the weasley snake Zack, and the obvious one Mack) want Phunulon’s special promotional dip from Blarpee’s, but it sold out just yesterday.

16. The Loony Balloony: The balloon man from The Fugitives is unhappy with his newfound red coloration and tries to get blue again.

17. The Gamer: Brad Starlight gets addicted to his cousin Chad’s new video game.

18. The Pyramid Scheme: Ryder and an extremely reluctant Frederick try to con a bunch of Zetuons.

19. The Trial: Bingleborp Castle’s totally trashed and someone’s gonna pay.

20. The Voodoo: Dominator finds herself the victim of a hilarious accident involving a voodoo doll in the display window of Thrax’s newly-renovated bookstore.

21. The Lawmaking Lawbreakers: SFEF learns the hard way what happens when the celestial star being from The Picnic is awoken before the full millennium has passed.

22. The Bake Sale Redux: Wander and Sylvia finally have the money! Can they still conquer Cube’s conundrum? (Spoiler: Yes.)

In the paraphrased words of @signor-signor : “I’m personally hoping for an episode styled after 22 Short Films About Springfield.”

If nothing else, these could be used as mini-story concepts for a comic book!

[barnesbabes]

Shaving

 Characters: Bucky Barnes x FTM!reader

Word Count: 650

Warnings: Mention of transition, slight injury? , affectionate cussing

Rating: Fluffy

Summary: Reader has been on testosterone for over a year, causing them to grow facial hair. Before attending a party at the stark Towers the reader wants to tidy up. Bucky helps his boyfriend shave, encouraging him.

gif: found on google

credit to @lostromanianpuppy

-

-

You adjusted the collar of your shirt in the mirror. You and Bucky were attending some party Tony was throwing. You were a new recruit member of S.H.I.E.L.D. Your most recent mission was a success. This was your first party at the Stark Tower. You touched the hairs on your chin and jawline. This was the first time you could see your facial hairs. You sighed, having no clue what to do about it.

“Hey Doll! Could you come here for a second?” Bucky called from your shared bathroom. You walked into the bathroom and smiled. He was wearing a plain sweater and jeans. “You’re so handsome.” You walked over and shared a kiss. He giggled against your lips. “I can feel your beard hairs, babe.” It made you so happy when he pointed those things out. When you got your acceptance letter for testosterone you can’t remember who cried more, you or him. He constantly stood up for you. 

You met each other whilst he was still traumatized as the Winter Soldier. You comforted one another when you needed it most. You fixed his hair into a small bun, a few strands hanging in his face. He pressed another kiss to your lips. “Thanks, doll, you look so goddamn handsome.” He placed his hands on your hips and pulls you closer. Wrapping your arms around him, inhaling him, you could've stayed there forever. He pulled away, moving to leave the bathroom. You stayed, running your fingertip across the hairs. He stopped once he noticed the lack of you by his side. “Y/N? Everything alright?” You turned to face him. 

“What the hell do I do about this?” You gestured to your messy facial hair.

He chuckled and walked over. “It’s facial hair babe. You can’t style it silly.” You sighed. He had cleaned his facial hair, making himself look presentable. “I wanna like neaten it up? But I have no idea how to.” He smiled. “Want me to show you?” You nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. He lifted you onto the counter, he left one hand on your waist as he reached for the razor. 

“What look are you going for, handsome?” Your cheeks turned light pink: from the compliment and from having zero clues of what you wanted. “Just neaten it up like yours. The whole neckbeard thing feels messy.” He chuckles and cups water into his hand, running it over your face. You stared into his eyes, your eyes darting to your own face in the mirror. He ran the razor over your neck, you tensed up. He put a hand on your knee, rubbing it with his thumb. “You’re doing great baby.” He muttered to you. You smiled and rubbed his hand. “Let me try.” He hesitated when handing the razor to you, nervous for you. You turned to face the mirror, you ran it over your cheekbones, trying to get stray hairs. You pulled down the razor, wincing in pain. You cussed and looked at your cheek, a small cut on it. You turned to the brunette and sighed. 

“It’s okay, doll. It happens all the time. Here” He ripped a small piece of toilet paper and pressed it against your cheek. He finished and wiped your face. You glanced at your face in the mirror overjoyed with it. Tears flowed to your eyes, pure joy as you saw the man you pictured yourself as. You felt the cold metal against your skin and smiled. “Thank you, baby. It’s amazing.” You pulled Bucky into a tight embrace. He kissed your lips gently. You ran your fingers across his own beard, he shivered at your cold touch.

Throughout the night you were complimented on your beard. Every time someone would comment on it you’d share a glance with Bucky. He’d send you a wink, causing you to smile like a dork.

-

-

hi guys! I hope you like this! if you wanna request something feel free too! I’m working on some more rn!

[wilteddetermination]

And what percentage of those relationships were people you constructed out of spare code like a neckbeard making a sex doll in his basement?

“Um, what the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

“None. Zero.”

“Did you think THAT was why I created my doll??? Gross.”

[whothehelcares]

Okay let’s get one thing straight. NO ONE is part of the problem. You are allowed to have your opinion and just because someone else’s opinion doesn’t correlate with your own does NOT make them part of the problem. That’s an aggressive and crappy way to try and shut someone down and just made an interesting and well written argument look childish and it’s poor academic practice.

I actually do English literature and language in university and something I learned is that everyone has their own interpretation of mythical and fictional characters. That’s where death of the author comes in and why Smite can take and interpret characters like Artemis in the way they do. Any creative product’s author dies once their ideas are in the public sphere; just like Smite’s version of Artemis. It does not have to pertain to the original version. So actually fanon is relevant to this because we all interpret these characters differently and nothing will change that.

Skins are fun cosmetic items introduced in the game with the prime purpose of generating more income. Much like Barbie dolls and the extra outfits, they’re fun they can reflect your personality you can do what you want with them. Some are funny and silly, some are cool and epic, some are pretty and sexy, but none of them are serious reiterations of the original mythical character (because that would be boring). Oh, and if you don’t like them you don’t have to buy them.

Artemis’ wrangler skin is outdated, it’s model is from when game design for smite wasn’t all that great however with the remodels they’re going for a more realistic design, and they’re starting to experiment with design features like crystals and the appearance of ah puch’s new skin. The game is developing from a design perspective, albeit slowly, but it’s happening. So like butt long butt cracks and old designs will be phased out and fixed just like they have in other games.

It’s interesting to vary body types in smite, you’re right, no one said you’re wrong about that and most people including myself agree with you. But my point is policing those body types that are in the game by calling them disgusting and unrealistic is harmful. Suggesting that “neckbeards” have sexist and gross opinions because of women that dress “sexy” is victim blaming and only enables rape culture. Just like saying “oh well killing people in video games makes people want to do it in real life.”

Sex sells, whether you like it or not. Look at Katy Perry, Fifth Harmony, Madonna, Justin Bieber, David Beckham, Angelina Jolie, Chris Hemsworth, Henry Cavill. If you want more fictional examples, what about Captain America? Magic Mike? Power Girl? Lara Croft? Jacob from Twilight? You want some shampoo? You gonna be watching a footballer with a six pack or a really pretty girl wash their hair with it.

I do partially agree and understand what you mean when you talk about objectification, but at the same time it sells to both sides. And no one is free of guilt and no one should be made to feel guilty for buying into it. Sex is normal and natural and there’s nothing wrong with wanting it or finding appeal in the media you’re presented. Sexual freedom is one of the greatest things our generation has.

And if we start questioning how Athena’s outfit is unpractical and unrealistic we start questioning how Sol can appear on earth or how there are animals with six packs and birds with arms oh and why would mythical gods exist? The game isn’t real, you won’t find a woman fighting a 8ft man made of ice in heels with Medusa’s head on her shield even though Medusa is there??? Or how a woman can shoot an arrow through walls and hit her target bang on, or how a guy can fly around with his hammer?

You guys are just reading into it too much I won’t lie. Just because you’re the goddess of virgins does not mean you have to dress like your Granny. It’s all for FUN and like you said it’s all modern interpretation!

It’s perfectly okay to be critical of a game’s design choices, and discuss those opinions like adults. The buttlong buttcrack bothers me too. But when you start acting like showing an inch of skin is sexualisation and therefore it’s immediately bad, it becomes a rather grey area and deviates from the game design aspect and heads more towards social justice and representation/identity politics.

I said sex sells, but just because it sells doesn’t mean you have to buy into it if you don’t want to, but don’t shit on other people for it either.

To anyone else about to add their two cents on to the thread, as much as I love debate and would love to hear all your opinions and value them all, please DONT post on this thread anymore. Please message me and we can talk there rather than make this thread a billion posts long!

[beastgal]

anyway so i’ve started performing femininity in the sense of hating myself rather than hating other people/society regardless of the situation and also dressing more like ‘girly’ and doll-like and having a sexuality that is very servicing and receptive but mostly kind of muted and... people seem to be responding pretty well to it actually so i will probably keep it up even if it’s just for the purposes of covering over the fact that im ugly... i think if im acceptably following the right ‘female’ type feminine codes then people sort of pity me and try to be nice to me more than hate me and try to destroy me sort of thing so even though i find it to be like ... not my authentic self and stuff and even though i don’t like the pressure to have to wear make up and all that crap all of the time and i just wanna wear t shirts and etc i think im not like pretty enough to pull that off but if im naively ‘body posi’ people are like... it is something they understand and respond to quickly and it’s like a positive response... im not gonna lie a big part of this is that i had a big crush on one of my lecturers last year and basically i looked him up online and i found his wife’s facebook profile (ok yes im creepy sorry) and well basically she was like super glamorous and hyperfeminine and always wearing lots of make up and stuff and also she didn’t seem very intellectual like the lecturer and i guess in that moment my heart kind of broke cause i thought i had a connection w this lecturer but maybe he just thought i was joke all along bc im ugly and gross and a neckbeard that values intellectual things which is an embarrassing thing to value and i just feel like i have no sexual appeal but obviously his wife has a sexual appeal and i feel kinda jealous cause it’s like she’s just pretty and that’s enough but i don’t have sexual appeal. i don’t have anything. i mean i feel like there’s something a bit off about that relationship but im still kind of jealous. so im trying to be like her bc i want the lecturer to like me even though i havent seen him since last year. also i know literally everything i write doesn’t make sense so yeah sorry

[shimapun]

I dropped a Transformers figure on the floor. Legs don't work, so I had to call a nurse to pick it up for me. The little gun even fell outta its hand and it was almost gone forever. The robot was easy to find. Notsomuch the gun. It hid itself well under a chair far away from my personal space.

The staff here is so nice....understanding my nerdy hobbies and everything. Such a godsend ;_;