#needed to train myself at painting

[myossssss]

hello my love oh I mean my rival

[theswedishpajas]

The man truly can’t take a genuine compliment 🙄

[catcactusoww]

quitting art aside from what I want to do for myself. ai has destroyed any market, and I do not want to have to be an influencer or internet personality for attention. I sincerely just want to paint whatever I want and live my life with more regular income and less stress. Thanks for the support.

[toxooz]

Hi Toxooz, how do you get yourself to draw so frequently? 👀👀👀

bc i have literally 84 things going on at once in my brain at all times that my highly visually obsessed brain Has To physically get in front of my eyes so that i can see or else will i think abt it over and over again and Brother I'm always envisioning things characters scenes scenarios outfits designs colors all of it in my cranium like angry itchy itchy ITCHY bees until i draw them out lmfao even if i don't know what to specifically draw at the current moment imma still end up drawing somehow ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I think at this point it's literally hardwired into my brain that I Gotta draw its what I've been doing since I could hold a pencil tbh it's how i cope with being -gestures vaguely- Here and alive, i actually gotta force myself to take a day off and schedule days where I DONT draw bc I know it's wearing on my hands and wrists 😬 I guess physically drawing grounds me in a way and keeps me (mostly) sane like if I don't draw for a few days i start getting Vaguely Antsy it's fukkin weird and i think at this point my love for my characters has surpassed like any form of art block if that makes sense??? like they literally take up 92% of my brain if not more, and the only way to see them is to draw them but yeah it's just what i do it's my jelly n my jam which is why I'm literally so glad i realized that i don't want to make drawing a job/career bc God help me if i start dreading drawing bc of the stress of money I've been drawing like crazy for like 2 decades straight and I only wanna draw more man idk!!!!! It's just one of them 'how the brain formed around what you do an assload of times' thangs

Answer translation: idk I just like to draw a lot lmfao

[detransdamnation]

Maybe i am in a bit of a blind spot now but stumbling upon your blog and a few of your last answers made me question - if gender roles were nonexistent in society so the sex a person has wouldnt dictate how they are treated - how could someone develop an unease about something truly neutral? I know there are sex differences in humans and thats what we talk about when we speak of transsexual people - the desire to change sex based on a terrifyingly strong discomfort with the one one has. But i am at a loss when it comes to understanding where would that discomfort even start/be influenced by (again as long as the sex you are would make everything neutral) because i always assumed that its that dichotomy of how society views females and males is what later translates into the literal base of where it comes from which is one’s sex. Then - Would the dysphoria grow out of purely desiring something that one doesnt have along the lines the grass is greener on the other side? Getting to experience sex the way it feels like as the other sex (especially in case of not heterosexual people)? Or only An aesthetic pursue? If the only thing that differentiated us in society would be the biological abilities of our bodies and the appearance of it…why do you think would someone still come up with an idea of desiring the other?

After reading especially the last answer it made me think that after all there must be some truly transsexual people who are just born being transsexual. Thats why i decided to send it because i think you established somewhere that you believe there are no trans people who are trans ”just because”, just because they have a brain of the opposite sex trapped in the wrong body etc.

I hope this makes some sense, its not an attack on anything you said more of a big wonder and desire to understand better and i really hope it comes off this way.

You make total sense. Your message doesn't come off as an attack at all.

Anon, I'll be real with you. I reread my answer on whether or not I believe gender abolition would also abolish dysphoria. I did rush in writing that response, greatly so, so the way I phrased my thoughts was particularly subpar; however, as I was trying to tie everything together in this response to you, I realized that the viewpoint I argued didn't really make sense when I held it up to my other beliefs. So, this is a humble admittance that I was, frankly, talking out of my ass. I'm going to use this as an opportunity to reassess my beliefs on this topic and will be re-answering that question once I have done so.

In the meantime, one of the best ways to assess your beliefs is to argue something you disagree with or are unsure of, so I'm going to double down and continue the argument as if I'm completely confident that it's the truth, if only to hopefully better explain where I was coming from when I wrote my previous response. So, proposed argument: Gender abolition will not necessarily abolish sex dysphoria.

First of all, what causes dysphoria and how does gender fit into that framework? I talked about this at length here [AL] and here [AL]. I specifically want to zero in on something I said in the former link:

I [...] do not personally believe that there is a “main reason” on as to why dysphoria may develop in a young person in all cases. I suppose my own “main reason” would be that I fell into the trans community because I never thought seriously about transitioning prior to that time—but the thing is, even if I hadn’t, I would still be dealing with everything else that influenced my getting to this point. [...] If I were to take the trans community out of that equation, it would just be the influence of the trans community missing.

Let’s replace the influence of the trans community with the construct of gender and let’s fast forward to this hypothetical dream society where gender is not an existent thing. We can apply what I said above. We’ve taken away gender and its influences—but we still have everything else. There are numerous factors that could cause a person to develop sex dysphoria; in a genderless society, we have only taken away one. In order to shut down any possibility of dysphoria developing, we would need to get rid of every single possible factor and influence and that is just not a possible feat. Homophobia is a significant factor in many cases of dysphoria and will remain so in a genderless society unless efforts have been previously made to abolish it. No amount of social change will ever eradicate abuse, which can be a trigger in dysphoria in that (especially long-term) abuse victims are prone to redirecting emotional pain to certain aspects of themselves, especially in an effort to regain control, even though they may not “make sense.” It is also impossible for us to eradicate, for instance, natural aspects of our biology that are just plain inconvenient or uncomfortable, which may become objects of fixation (especially in puberty) and cause a person to develop sex dysphoria thereafter. These are just a few examples off of the top of the head—but they and more may all continue on as potential factors because these things, in and of themselves, do not have anything to do with what we have abolished. They do not cease to be potential precursors to mental illness, such as dysphoria, just because we have taken one precursor away.

But why dysphoria? Why would someone develop sex dysphoria in a genderless society if sexes were seen as entirely neutral? Well, let’s turn our attention to another mental illness that is perhaps most reflective of dysphoria (so reflective, in fact, that some people believe them to be one and the same): body dysmorphic disorder. Body dysmorphia is “a mental disorder characterized by the obsessive idea that some aspect of one's own body part or appearance is severely flawed and therefore warrants exceptional measures to hide or fix it.” One’s “flaws” cause significant distress, even to the point of seeking out cosmetic procedures in an aim to “fix” them. Anything can be a trigger in body dysmorphia, although some of the most common include facial features, hair, skin complexion, and coincidentally, sex characteristics such as breasts, facial hair, or genitals—which are all inherently neutral features. No physical feature is objectively “wrong” or “bad,” “good” or “right,” “pretty” or “ugly.” They just are.

So, then, we could ask the same question: Why would people with this disorder fixate on these features and develop an unease with them if they are truly neutral? We could argue the societal pressure of beauty ideals, and certainly, that is a factor in a lot of cases—but if body dysmorphia were truly an issue of how certain features are seen and treated, exclusively, then by all means and purposes, people who are considered to be conventionally attractive should not also be seen developing the disorder. Marilyn Monroe could be an example of this: considered one of the most beautiful women in the world in her time and years after and yet (was believed to have) struggled with body dysmorphia until the day that she died.

Things don’t have to be “not neutral” in order for someone to not like them. Things can be neutral and still cause one discomfort. Things can be seen and treated as indifferent by the collective and yet still be hated by the individual. Why do non-dysphoric people have insecurities at all? A lot of the time, they don’t have specific reasons. I don’t feel they need to have reasons. Just like I don’t feel dysphoric people need to have an ultimate reason on as to why we would develop sex dysphoria when we could have fixated on any other physical trait.

I think where people tend to get tripped up in these discussions is, they try to apply what they know to be reasonable to mental illnesses and how they present in order to rationalize, to themselves, what we are feeling and experiencing—but in doing so, I feel we easily lose sight of the fact that, even without mental illness, the brain does not need a logical reason to fixate on something, to hate something, to want to get rid of something. Marilyn Monroe having been an icon of beauty did not change the fact that she didn’t like her face—and my not believing in gender does not change the fact that I don’t like my sex and desire to be the opposite. Marilyn continued to feel the way she did because she had body dysmorphic disorder. I continue to feel the way I do because I have dysphoria. Both disorders alter how we perceive reality and cause us to believe things about ourselves that are not objectively true. We desire what we do not have because that is a symptom of the inherently nonsensical disorders that we have. That is all there is to it. That is our “why.”

And I am content just leaving it at that. It is my own personal stance that we cannot chase the logistics behind something that is not logical to begin with. At the end of the day, there is no ultimate reason for mental illness. Mental illness does not need to make sense. Mental illness only needs humanity. It will continue to exist no matter how humanity progresses.

So, under this argument, there are a few different points to be had, main ones being that gender abolition will not necessarily abolish sex dysphoria because gender and sex are not one and the same; to take away gender is to take away only one possible factor in one’s dysphoria; and although outside factors can (and do) influence dysphoria and would continue to do so in a genderless society on account of the previous two points, there’s ultimately no “reason” on as to why dysphoric people would continue to cling on to their sex in this society where the two sexes are seen and treated as the exact same—simply because dysphoria, being a mental illness, does not exist on a plane that is rational.

Considering these viewpoints and assuming that they all coexist in this genderless society, then, it may be easy to conclude, like you did, that some people are just born transgender. I do understand how you may have come to that conclusion after reading my response and even I, looking back, feel like that is what I insinuated, even though I did not mean to and was not coming from that position. To clarify, as I have stated before, I do not believe in the idea of “true trans,” and seeing as this is a belief that I actually hold very true to and have for a long time, I’d like to explain why. This is no longer me proposing an argument that I am merely “considering.” This is me demonstrating what I believe.

There are a few different things to consider in the statement, “People are born transgender,” starting with the implications of what it means to be transgender and specifically the dysphoric aspect of it. To suggest that someone could be born transgender is also to insinuate that someone could be born dysphoric, that someone could be born already set to hate their bodies as they grow older.

Of course, we could be less technical here. You may not be born with mental illness in the literal sense—but you can develop mental illness extremely early on in life. So, under the argument that dysphoria is a mental illness, dysphoria can develop from a very young age, and therefore the child, express (what may be interpreted as) a transgender identity. Okay, fair enough. What I have never received closure on is, if a young child exhibits hatred of any other part of their body for any other reason, it is universally considered abnormal, a red flag, something to treat—but as soon as gender or sex comes into the picture, this self-hatred becomes something to validate.

Let’s say that a young child tells you that they do not like their body. Without any other context, what would your first reaction be? Chances are, you would assume that someone or something in this child’s life has taught or influenced them to think this way, even if only inadvertently, and hopefully, you would rush to tell this child that there is nothing wrong with their body, that they are perfect just the way they are. But let’s say, after probing a little further, this young child tells you that they don’t “feel like” their sex, or that they want to be the opposite (in little kid terms). Would you then change your tune and decide that they were “born that way,” that they hate their body because they were just meant to be the opposite sex instead? If your answer is yes, or your no follows hesitancy, I have to wonder what, specifically, would change your mind. What is it about dysphoria that is so different from any other form of self-hatred? Moreover, what implications do you think there are in a child telling someone they presumably trust that they are uncomfortable in their body—and that trusted adult telling them that they are uncomfortable in their body because they were, indeed, born “wrong?”

This leads to an essential question that we, ironically, so often overlook. We have a dysphoric child in front of us. What would make them transgender? The most likely definition of a trans person that everyone could agree on would be someone who is dysphoric, likely someone who has been dysphoric since early childhood—but even that is not a perfect or even accurate definition because not all people with dysphoria go on to transition, not even people with long-term or “treatment-resistant” dysphoria. If dysphoria does not make a transgender person, what does?

Let’s say we have one-thousand dysphoric people in front of us and one person in the group—say, the young child in this analogy, now an adult—is transgender. The only thing that distinguishes this person from the rest of the group is the very act of transition. If this person had never transitioned, there would be no difference between them and the rest of the group. We would have a solid group of cisgender dysphoric people. The transgender person is distinguished only through action, self-identity and personal experience in attempts to accommodate that self-identity. “Brain sex” has been proven to be a myth, so we know there are no biological differences to point to them having “needed” to transition—and even under the possibility that there do exist biological markers in dysphoria that we have not discovered yet, that does not prove that people can be born transgender. At most, these markers could stand as predispositions, similar to how people can be carriers for certain diseases or have “bad genes” that make them more likely to suffer from certain ailments—but none of these things equate to destiny, and in fact, in the case of dysphoria, would only prove that a supportive environment could prevent it—and transgender identity—from coming into the picture at all.

The suggestion that some people are just “made” to go through with any action, including transition, is an insinuation of fate—and I do not believe in fate. I believe in free will to some extent, although that would open us up to the more philosophical question of whether free will is truly free, seeing as we are reflections of our environment and cannot completely separate ourselves from it. In either case, we have seen and established that we can both influence one to develop dysphoria, as well as prevent one from developing dysphoria, all depending on how we, as a society, treat them—and if the people around us can help to prevent dysphoria from becoming an issue entirely, thereby circumventing the desire to transition at all, it is impossible for transgender identity to be truly innate to any one person.

In summary and in closing, mental illness, including dysphoria, is encouraged by—and sometimes even brought on by—our surrounding environment in almost all cases. Environments naturally change overtime, and in the process, certain factors in mental illness may become less common or even disappear entirely; however, just because one goes away does not mean all others disappear. One of many of our possible futures as a society is one without gender, and unsurprisingly, this would get rid of gender as a trigger in dysphoria—but so long as no other factors have been dismantled in the process, they will continue on as potential influences in its development, even in this genderless society. It then may be easy to conclude that some people are just “born” transgender, especially seeing as how the development of sex dysphoria in a genderless society would be even more random (comparatively to that of a gendered one)—but that conclusion, that “Some people are just born that way,” would not be reached with any other mental illness, and beyond that, does not give us, the society, enough credit or responsibility. The fact that there are trans people who barely even remember not being trans, such as myself, stand not as proof that we are “true transsexuals” but as proof that we live in a society that is hostile to multiple vulnerable populations and it is up to us to change that. Gender abolition will not solve all of these problems and it may not even get rid of sex dysphoria entirely—but it is essential and a great place to start, which is why I continue to stand for it, even despite it not being a perfect fix.

I hope this gave you a little more to think on.

[wellenklavier]

auughh i want to do too many things theres not enough hours in the day or dollars in my bank account

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[inkskinned]

crying because i call myself my dog's mom but i'm probably more like a sister to him and the way i love people is always spilling out over my hands in milk so yes i got told a lot you try too hard as a kid and i didn't know what that meant i just try to shove everything i care about under my wing and hold it there so every feather acts as an umbrella and if you're normal that's okay they'll say you're kind but if you're not normal it is a problem and someone who says they're an empath watched me fall down on the train and refused to give me the hand up

and yeah maybe i'm kind of bitter because every time i try to open up i only get to the bones of the thing before someone else takes up the whole room with meat and gristle and sparknotes of their own life painted in a pelt across my palms and just as i'm tryna clean up one mess another seems to pop up and it's really difficult to explain to your therapist that the problem is that you are too aware of the problem and that you keep fucking up and it's really difficult to explain to your partner i have no faith in the concept of love and life is a lot of sliding down these days, turn my body ice and moth, and that's okay! i am broken upside down like an egg and i am going to love you like an explosion and a star and a fucking galaxy! i'm gonna be too much

because god forbid you feel like me! god forbid you know what it's like! holy shit, god forbid. i'm gonna love you because i didn't get love. i'm gonna love you because otherwise the world is too cruel. i only live in the dark. maybe i'm a martyr. i think it's more like - i need to be right about this, about hope and trying and community. i'm going to be right about this, even if i need to set myself on fire to procure the warmth. come take it then, come latch on. i need you to be okay so someone is okay. so there's a reason i was born. i need it to work. i need to be shelter. a lighthouse. endlessly giving more.

i need to be. holy shit, god forbid. i can't live in a world that's only storm.

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GETO (PT. II)

A/N: I…guys this one is…dirty. For so many reasons. I don’t. I can’t look myself in the eye. Suguru made me do it 😅

C/W: Voyeurism, Mature themes, 18+ (Part I here)

Music inspo: This is SO Chase Atlantic coded

Acceptance.

They say the first step to recovery from addiction is acceptance.

Fine, then.

Suguru Geto’s addiction to you is absolute. And he has no interest in recovery.

He’s accepted it. You own him.

Granted, he didn’t realize just how tight your leash is. Not until last night.

Suguru is a logical, reasonable, creature of habit. He doesn’t need much. Really, he doesn’t.

But fucking you to sleep nightly is non-negotiable.

Or rather, fucking his hand. While watching you watch TV. And swirl a glass of Pinot noir in your gorgeous mouth. With your graceful fingers mindlessly swimming in a bowl of popcorn.

Extra butter. With tons and TONS of salt!

The first time you ordered your side snack at the movie theatre, Suguru almost keeled over.

But then he made the glorious mistake of flickering over to you, mid movie. Just as your index finger slid between those pillow soft lips. Pulling remnants of salt and butter away, leaving a trail of lip gloss behind.

He could’ve sucked it off your finger right there and then.

The way you pistoned in and out of your mouth. Doe-eyed and trained on the screen. Not a thought in your head. It was his gateway drug.

The butterfly effect.

A moment in time that rerouted fate.

His excruciatingly beautiful, platonic best friend, now a visceral need.

And just like any addiction. There were stages.

Denial: He doesn’t see you that way. No, of course not. His mind just got caught in a horny spiral. He’ll snap out of it. Things will go back to normal.

Anger: How could you do this to him? You know how disorienting you are. That smile. Always looking up at him with puppy eyes and parted lips. You’re a cocktease. Begging. Pleading. Needing him to debase you to nothing. Is that it? You want him to ruin you, don’t you? And he could. Fuck you into next week. Until you’re screaming and crying. He’d smear those tears all over his cock and fuck them back into your pouty mouth. It’s what you deserve.

Shame: It’s perverse. You call to vent about your day. He rubs himself raw while you talk. You kiss his cheek. His dick leaks. How could he do this to someone who trusts him like you do?

It was a vicious, muddled cycle. He could barely function around you.

Rushed greetings. Kurt words. Clipped responses. Avoidance.

He had to protect you from his depraved thoughts. Shield you from sordid actions taken in the dark — as if they would spontaneously materialize in the light to harm you.

And they did. But in the opposite way Suguru intended.

“Hey, HEY! Suguru, what the hell is up with you?”

You squeezed his wrist with all your might. It felt like nothing. But the weight in your tone hit him like a freight train.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant."

“I’ve been right here.”

“You’ve been distant, Suguru.”

Quartz showers streamed down your beautiful face and his cock quivered. Drooling along his thigh. So. Fucking. Pretty when you cry.

Did you know?

How irresistible you looked?

Glassy eyes. Trembling lips. Vulnerable. Soft enough to hunt.

Did you know?

How he clawed his palm bloody to keep from gripping your neck. Shoving you to your knees. And giving you a reason to whine his name like that again.

“Why won’t you just talk to me?”

“I have to go—“

“I don’t care!”

“Wha—“

“I don’t care!! I don’t care what it is okay? I just…I miss..I miss my best friend.”

You elevated off your heels. No where near eye level, but enough to cradle his face in your dainty hands.

And God dammit. He might as well have been wearing a dog tag with your name on it.

If lost, return to Owner.

Between your misty eyes. Swollen lips. Face like a canvas to paint with his cum. He bit back a pathetic groan. And choked out an apology.

Most importantly, he made a promise to never hollow out your friendship like that again.

So, instead he fills it. With ropes of his arousal. And fuck, it’s rhapsody.

The stages. The anger, disbelief, shame…it was worth it. Because this ecstasy? It’s sublime.

Constant ascension. Never once reaching cruising altitude.

…which made the fall agonizing.

Last night, in a sick, twisted turn of fate - his camera feed cut off.

One minute Suguru is pumping into his abused rubber cocksleeve. Sliding his eyes up and down your hips until he was dizzy in the head. Pre cum squelching out of the little space between his cock and the ring of his 5th battered toy. Unintelligible praises leaking out of him, cementing his devotion. And just as the curtains began to fall on his vision. Balls heavy and hot with his seed—

Then he saw nothing.

Suguru couldn’t recognize the man in his room last night. Fingers aching. Mind racing. Dick red, angry, pulsating for its one and only vice.

Alarm bells rang between his ears. Crash landing into an abyss. Mayday.

Mayday.

In that moment. He knew he needed more. More skin. More angles. More you.

And so, he’s standing outside your Pilates studio @ 7:28 PM. Two minutes until you’re done.

A Dragonfruit smoothie rests in his hand.

And a new camera system rests in his back pocket.

———

“Ugh, I needed that.”

You sling a cold eucalyptus towel around your neck.

“And I need him.” The comment emanates from one of your girlfriends. Both of you rounding the corner out of the studio.

Suguru.

You don’t have to look out the glass windows to know exactly who she is referring to.

“I mean, seriously. How can you not climb him like a—“

“Stop it!!” Your protest made less believable because of your sheepish giggles.

“We’re just friends.” You mutter. Pulling your gym bag out of the front lockers.

Yeah, who are you trying to convince? Her? Or yourself?

Your eyes flicker to your platonic, gorgeous best friend. Raven mane in a glossy, high ponytail. Freely cascading down his back. Curly wisps framing his razor sharp angles.

He stands tall. So Muscular. Quietly masculine. Despite how dreamy his hair is.

“Omg! Your hair!! Whats your routine?” - every woman who meets him, ever.

“Genetics.”

Suguru responds the same way every time with a dimpled smile. The other party is always immediately caught in his web.

His eyes. They lure you in like quicksand. Onyx. Swarming with grey and violet specks. Stormy. Perpetually faraway.

He’s the perfect gentleman. But always a little bit above it all. Just out of reach.

It’s mesmerizing.

You can’t blame the women for trying any and everything for a tiny piece.

Suguru catches your gaze. Silky smile pulls across his lips. He beckons you with one swirl of the liquid gold in his hands.

“What are you doing here, pretty boy?”

“Happy to see you too.” He counters with a low chuckle.

You coax the sweet treat away from him. It’s precisely what you need.

Suguru always has his pulse on you. Somehow he knows where to be and when. Every time.

“Mmm” your eyes flutter shut. Savoring the sickly sweet, cold mush on your tongue.

“Exactly what you wanted?”

“Exactly. Have I told you I love you lately?”

“Not nearly enough.” His baritone hovers over you. Traveling down your spine at light speed.

Has he always sounded this sultry?

You lazily pull yourself out of the sugar-induced dopamine hit.

Suguru moves into you like a storm cloud. Accentuating the comical difference in stature. The world around you slowly dissipates.

Lost in the desert mirage of his gaze. Everything feels conscious.

Your shallow breathing. The thrum of blood surging through your vessels. Heart rattling against its bony cage.

Time stops.

Then it happens all at once.

Before you know what is happening, your best friend’s well built arm is around your waist. His large, veiny hand palming the nape of your neck.

His lips. His plump rosy lips are on yours. Sweet and warm. Pulling, pushing, melding with you into play dough.

He’s delicious.

More delectable than you knew possible.

“Mmmgh” You moan and Suguru takes the space to push his tongue into your mouth. He’s blinding. Expertly tickling the ridges and corners of your mouth. As if to show off just how skilled he is with his tongue.

“S-Suguru..”

He pulls away far before you’re ready. Shocking you out of your lusty daze. For a moment he just rests his moist lips on yours. Exchanging breaths between each other. As if only you two are the source of oxygen around you.

“Wha…what was..”

“There’s a guy burning a crater into your back.” He finally responds. Gruff. Strained. You’ve never seen him without a tight leash around his self-command.

“I didn’t want him thinking he has a chance.”

And just like that, the familiar tame control lines his velvet baritone.

Suguru places a chaste kiss on your cheek before starting to walk in the direction of your apartment. As if the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.

You’re able to maintain a fairly normal conversation with your best friend the entire walk back to your apartment. You both laugh and joke as if he didn’t just fuck your mouth with his tongue. And as if you didn’t feel drunk off of it.

You’re just friends.

…right?

You toss your keys somewhere to your left. In the periphery you see Suguru smile and shake his head. Well aware of your messy tendencies. He leans down to take your keys and place them on the door hook.

The devil on your shoulder is deafening.

Test it.

Test him.

Your hand moves before your mind.

Your fingers hook under your sports bra. Pulling it over your head in one smooth motion. Before your mounds bounce in full view, your arm cups them against your chest.

You turn to Suguru, now topless.

“Gonna hop in the shower for a little. Are you staying for dinner?” Willing your voice to be steady and light. A casual question amidst the mayhem in your mind.

And, as expected, Suguru is the perfect gentleman.

His olive tone is even. Hands slotting into his athletic pants. Faint smile tracing on his lips, dimple apparent in his left cheek.

His eyes don’t falter below your neckline. Not even for a moment.

“Not tonight, pretty. There’s a show I want to catch. Rain check?”

Of course, you’re just friends.

Best friends.

You flash him a genuine smile. Swallowing the nagging flecks of dissappointnent beginning to weave itself within you.

“Rain check!”

And maybe 10 or so minutes after soaking in your steamy shower. Trying to wash the remnants of his kiss out of your memory, you hear your door slamming shut.

You make a mental note to ask about what show he was referring to.

———

Whiskey glides hot and cold down Suguru’s throat.

Back flushed against his desk chair.

Patiently awaiting his 10:00 PM viewing.

His dick is a steel rod. Blushing and moist. Draped in a pair of your used panties. He swiped them on his way out of your apartment.

Suguru drags his palm lazily up and down his shaft. Soaking your lingerie in beads of pre cum. It’s like he’s feeling you rubbing your plush cunt up and down his rod.

Fog is settling opaque in his mind. While he pets the flame stirring between his legs.

You haven’t even come into frame yet. But Suguru admires the pristine view he has of your room. Porcelain duvet messily strewn about. Half open night stand. Magenta vibrator propped against the corner of your drawer.

How often do you touch yourself?

What do you think about?

How pretty do you sound? When you milk pleasure from your dewy core?

“Fuck,” Suguru hisses.

He brings the whiskey glass back to his parted lips. The thought of seeing you work yourself to a peak drove his hand up and down his cock too fast. If he’s not careful he’ll cum before he’s ready.

No.

Not tonight.

Tonight he wants to savor his relapse.

24 hours sober of you was unbearable. He deserves this indulgence.

Suguru tilts his chin up. Damp hair feathering his shoulders and back feels refreshingly cool against the lava circulating beneath his skin.

“You like teasing me don’t you?” He murmurs, slowly pumping his cock through his strained grip.

The way you pulled off your sports bra. Well before you reached your bathroom door. Pretty bedroom eyes raking his face. Testing him. You knew he would go home and feverishly fuck his fist for you. Didn’t you?

A siren’s melody pulls his hazy, dazed attention back to screen.

“There she is.”

Suguru leans closer to his screens. Giving himself kudos for choosing a camera system with audiovisual integration this time around.

You step in full view of his camera and his body stills. Completely statuesque. Mouth ajar. His cock drool dribbling down his stiff hand is the only source of movement in the room.

“Fuck…fucking hell.”

There you stood. Thong as richly colored as the wine in your glass. Accentuating the dramatic dip and swell of your pretty waist and hips. The wavy lines from your slender shoulders to your full tits are enough to make him seasick. Your nipples are so hard. Puffier than he imagined.

You are immaculate.

A divine being. Heaven’s incarnate.

And even if you weren’t. Even if you were the devil. He’d follow you to the depth of hell.

A thick surge of pre cum flicking back against his lower abs pulls him briefly out of his trance. Suguru didn’t realize how hard he was strangling his length. Which is violently jerking in haphazard directions.

Begging for its real owner.

Suguru drags in a deep breath. Reluctantly unraveling his needy hand away from his manhood. Another sip of icy brown liquor.

Savor this.

As if your souls are tied, you take a sip of red wine before settling in your bed. Back against your head board. Feet planted on your plush duvet. You let your knees fall to the side and Suguru nearly drools on himself.

A blooming rose.

Presenting your swollen, misty petals to him for worship. His eyes drop to your core. A thin line of fabric laid so perfectly between your folds.

Suguru has to remind himself that you aren’t in front of him.

And he can’t just dive into your dewy cunt. And nuzzle against your bud. And lap up the honey in between your folds.

You rest your head against the wall. Exposing the delicate lines of your neck. His left hand magnets back to his cock. His right hits the record function on the screen.

You are too special not to capture.

But, even if he couldn’t record you on this system, every moment right now is etched into his mind for an eternity.

Especially the way your dainty fingers travel down your chest, along your torso, beneath the hem of your panties and settle over your clit.

“That’s it, princess.” Suguru chants beneath his clipped breaths. Dragging your soaked underwear along his messy shaft.

He matches his pace to your tiny circles. Small, gorgeous pants tumble out of you.

Your other hand palms at your tits. Pinching and pulling at your pert nipples. Your hips buck at the sweet pleasure and pain.

“Good girl”

His arousal continues to collect at his base, trickling to his inner thighs. The sound of his hilt slamming into his hand fill the room.

“God. S..Suguru…”

His name thunders between his ears.

His name wrapped in that melodic, lusty falsetto of yours.

Suguru’s brain can barely register the way your tits bounce in rhythm with your hands. Pistoning your fingers in and out of your sweet cunt. Ascending to euphoria. He can barely register the way your lips are swollen and abused from your teeth. Or the light sheen of sweat along your collarbones.

“Fuck, Suguru please..” you moan. Both hands now working your flower.

Suguru is slack jawed. Completely short circuited. He cannot move.

Unblinking, he studies you. Hands at his side. Cock spearing high in the air, leaking.

His mind is flooded with the thin, featherlight moans and whines. Sticky arousal leaks from your needy opening around your fingers. Coating your inner thighs. How you twist and groan away from your own pleasure - so clearly overstimulated but not stopping your fingers, anyway.

“Say my name, pretty girl. Say my name.” Suguru rasps out. Sharp pain lightening through him from the dryness in his throat.

And you do. You moan his name when you reach nirvana. Heaving and whining and squirming in your mess. You called for him.

“God, I’m disgusting.”

You laugh through the remnants of your high and bury yourself under the duvet. Lazily tapping the bedside lamp. Bringing Suguru’s private viewing to an end.

And his smile is vulturous.

Suguru’s hand runs the length of his insatiable cock. Slow, lazy strokes. Haphazard twitches pushing out globs of cum. Begging for an encore.

You think you’re disgusting?

Ohhh, sweet girl.

You don’t know the half of it.

[k1ngpin42]

POV: 𝘼𝙗𝙗𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙧r- (mini fic)

Warnings: Dating, public 18+, dominant Abby, fingering

You, Abby, Mel, Manny and Whitney are sitting at a table in the WLF base. You and Abby aren’t allowed to be paired together on patrols anymore after Mel snitched about the time she caught you two fucking while on duty. To be fair, though, the door of the room you two were in had been locked from the outside, it wasn’t your fault Mel didn’t knock. 

Anyway, not being able to see her throughout the day was fucking with you. Images of what you two would do the night and morning before you’d go on patrol, things you two used to do at any available moment on away missions. Against the wall when the other soldiers turned their back, on the floor, against an old car,  on the table where you and the others would plan routes around seraphite camps, one time you even fucked while in a room full of clickers. (It was the most terrifying orgasm you had ever experienced if you’re being honest with yourself. Still amazing though.)

She sits down and the tension is immediate, you’d let her take you right here and now if she asked.

“Hey love, how were your assignments today?” She asks. Fuck. You didn’t know what was up with you today cause you were fucking wet at the site of her.

“What? Oh, yeah, it was alright…” You say, eyes scanning her body. You hear the others talk indistinctly and your gaze immediately drops to her hands.

“Did you really have to invite the game nerd?” You hear Mel whisper. You roll your eyes.

“Whitney’s my friend, Mel, don’t be a dick.” You tell her bluntly, and Whitney looks up at this. Mel looks at her with a guilty expression.

“Whitney I didn’t mean….”

“Oh it’s okay Mel. I can just sit by myself like I usually do.”

“Nonsense, you’re with us.” Manny reassures.

Once this drama clears up, Abby and Mel start telling the others stories about their mission today. Various jokes and exaggerations. None of this was relevant to you, though, cause for the love of everything holy, you couldn’t focus.

You watched as she enhanced her story with hand movements, her laugh was a melody in your ears, her voice a chorus. The veins on her hands were still prominent, she must have had to beat up some form of enemy, usually runners. Or maybe she had been lifting something heavy.

A smile smile pressed your lips at the thought of that. The thought of her big arms straining, she would groan slightly before the metal crate behind a door would move and she’d let out another satisfied sigh. Fuck. Those arms, those hands, you needed them inside you, on you, you didn’t care which. 

“He grabs the EMPTY gun and points it at the woman. She’s got a fuckin club or something and he says….well, something in Spanish.” Abby explains to the group who have been intently listening, making you feel slightly bad for zoning out.

“ Estás acabado, cabron. You are finished, asshole.” 

“Haha…nice.” Abby replies, taking a bite of her food. She looks over at you, who is still too focused on the way the vein on her right hand is more prominent than on her left. When she notices this, she smirks. That same cocky fucking smirk when she knows that, once again, she’s read you like a book.

“Hey so, that new training manual you read, what was it again?” She asks you as she slips a hand on your thigh. You’re wearing baggy blue jeans and even with them on you feel heat trickle down your spine.

“Oh the one about long guns? Well…the main premise is about rounds.” She moves her hand so it’s cupping your cunt through the fabric. 

“I-“ You clear your throat. “Each gun has a unique gear that allows the rounds to move more fl-“ Abby cautiously unzips the jeans. “Fluidly.” You explain. She starts teasing your pussy with her index fingers and painting your clit with slick.

“Have you tested it out on a gun? The upgrade?” Abby asks, watching you with an amused expression as she increases the pace.

“Wh-at…oh um, yeah.” You stumble over your words.

“Ah well you can come improve my weapon, do you know how many times this gun has been stepped on? I’m surprised I can put new rounds in at all.” Manny laughs. Your eyelids flutter as she puts her two middle fingers inside you and circles your clit with her thumb. She does all this with her left hand, not even taking her eyes off of the group, she doesn’t have to. 

How does this not make her uncomfortable? How does the fact that our whole friend group will watch you cum work for her in any way?

“Only if you gi-mm~” You stifle your moan with your hand.

“You okay?” Mel asks you. You nod.

“Just tired, I was gonna say, only if you give me a….ah~ a good gun too since he always hogs them all.”

“I do not.” He laughs. 

Fuck, Abby’s hands rubbing you feels fucking insatiable but you need to be alone with her, you can’t stand how embarrassing this feels. You want her to fuck you till you can’t breathe, not tease you in front of people you have to interact with on the regular.

“I might go to bed early.” You say, attempting to push Abbys hands away. She grabs your arm tightly and gives you a warning look.

“Aw don’t be silly, we’ll go when you’re finished.” She pauses. “…Eating.” Abby adds, increasing her pace as well as the pressure on your clit. Fuck, you could scream at how good it feels. You want to scream. 

“Who were you with today baby?” Abby asks. Fuck you could kick her right now. She’s clearly doing this on purpose to hear you make a fool of yourself in front of her your friends. It won’t work, you try to convince yourself.

“Um, I don’t know, it was me, two guys and a girl. The girl was dating one of the guys so me and the other guy did most of the patrolling while they probably, I don’t even know, did each other or something.” You explain, enjoying the feeling of her thick, warm fingers. Fuuuuuuck.

Mel looked guilty again. She always did, maybe this is just her resting face?

“I’m sorry that you and Abby can’t go on patrols anymore.” Mel utters, quietly. You roll your eyes but before you can even think to be annoyed at her, Abby pushes just the right place and you let out a gush of satisfied air.

“Agh~ all good.” You say, keeping your composure fairly well. Abby rewards this by easing up slightly and you instinctively buck your hips forward. 

“Do you prefer hot places or cold?” Abby asked, and at this point you’re forcing your eyes open. 

“What?” You ask, bitterly. Fuck you’re painfully close, you’re so gonna hit her when this is over. 

“Abby…” You whisper to her, her smirk widens, cocky prick.

“Did you say something baby?” You sigh and poke at some of the food on your plate. 

“Hot. I don’t like the cold or the rain, snow’s the only…f….um, exception.” You breathe out. Abby can tell by the look on your face that you’re cumming and she tilts her head, admiring you.

“I prefer the heat too. It’s always hot in Mexico.” Manny says, his voice just a murmer as you see colours through your eyelids. Holy fuck, you’d give anything to let out a loud moan right now. 

“I’m actually pretty tired too, I think we’re gonna turn in early.” Abby explains to the others. Mel nods and Manny looks mildly disappointed, but doesn’t say anything. 

“Have a good night.” Whitney says with a warm smile. You nod and Abby helps pull you up. You bite back a wince at how sensitive it feels to have your legs together and you hurry with Abby out of the hall.

“Abigail fucking Anderson.” You warn, simply. She smiles, kissing you playfully on the cheek.

“Yeah?” She asks. You punch her arm lightly. 

“Do you like making a fool of me? All our friends saw-“

“Did you like it?” She asks, that seductive and almost arrogant smirk still evident on her pretty fucking face. You roll your eyes. She kisses your neck and leans in to your ear.

“I bet you were thinking about it. My hands, my fingers, I was just giving you what you want.” 

“Yeah but…I mean at dinner? That’s just torture.” 

“Aw.” She says with fake sympathy. “Want me to make it up to you?”

°..·°¯°·._.· 🎀 >.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°🎀 >-.¸.·°¯°·.¸.·°¯

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (but it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

Rule no. 9: Make Sure Instructions are Explicitly Clear

When you came back to the kitchen, Uraume was still there. In fact, upon further inspection of your kitchen, the place looked cleaner than before. Cleaner than the first time you moved in. You were grateful but felt strange. You didn’t ask them to tidy up but Uraume did it without your request. You came back before leaving to set the record straight because you didn’t need nor want a housekeeper. 

You eyed the empty plate that laid in front of Sukuna with disdain. It was practically clean, the greasy streaks from the meaty meal painted the white porcelain.

“Uraume, you don’t need to do all of this,” you gestured around to the house. “You’re a guest here. Please, take it easy.” “You’ll confuse them,” Sukuna said gruffly. “But as of today, Uraume will not be confined in the house.” 

You cocked your eyebrow at Sukuna who stood up from his chair. You already sensed that whatever today’s agenda held would get under your already itchy skin. 

“You will take Uraume with you to work.”

Ah there it is. The start of a headache right behind your eyes because of his overbearing protection. “There wasn’t a question mark in that statement.” 

“I was not asking,” Sukuna crossed his arms over his chest with a heavy finality. “Uraume will go with you.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you gritted out. “If anything, it would be better for you for Uraume to stay with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to get to.”

On your way out of the door, you found Uraume holding your work bag along with your tumbler cup filled with your favorite drink. You awkwardly took it out of their hands while muttering thanks. “And you do not have to come to work with me. Take a break,” you added before you left the house to your coworker waiting for you in her car. 

“Finally. I thought I was gonna have to drag you out of there myself,” Jess joked when you buckled yourself up in the passenger seat. 

“Sorry about that,” you laughed weakly. You eyed your house, your face barely able to hide your forehead scrunching up in a wince. 

“Is something wrong? Is Cleo still sick?” 

“What? No, she’s fine… just fine…”

Jess nodded but did not believe you. “Okay. Let’s try this again but this time don’t be as cryptic. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

You were unsure of how much of your situation you should reveal to your coworker. You were close enough to call her a friend, she’s the one who even offered to take you to work for as long as you needed until your foot healed, but you didn’t know just how deep that friendship was. You decided to test the waters with a very generic situation. 

“I’m just having… relationship issues.”

“Shut up, since when?!” Her eyes lit up even as she kept them on the road. “You know after Toji I didn’t think that you would be interested in men anymore. Are you still dating guys? Or are we talking about a lucky woman this time around?”

“Worse,” you snorted under your breath. 

“Huh? I can’t really hear you.” 

“I said it’s still a man. I just– I think I’m in over my head here. He wants to get… married.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “He proposed to you?”

“God no,” you quickly corrected. That was technically true. No proposal but apparently soulmates. “He keeps on bringing marriage up. He’s very serious about it.” 

Jess tilted her head side to side, carefully preparing her next set of words. “Getting married is a serious matter. I mean, it’s not permanent. It’s messy, but you could always get a divorce if he switches up on you.” Jess gave you a quick glance from the corner of her eye. “But you never mentioned wanting to be a wife before. Don’t let him rush you.”

“I’m not,” you promised. “I never thought about it, but…”

“But what?” Jess prompted. The car was stopped at a redlight so she could fully look at you. You sat with your hands in your laps, palm up, tracing the lifelines over and over again. 

“I don’t know. I don’t hate it? He gets on my nerves like no other. He’s old fashioned, bossy as hell, kinda sticks out like a sore thumb,” you listed off with knitted eyebrows.

“So what do you like about him?” Jess snorted. Your face uncharastically softened. Jess wondered if you knew how much affection for this mystery man you held in your body.

“He’s not ugly, for one. I happen to like his face a lot,” you admitted. “There’s also a sense of understanding that comes with him. And, we have… history with each other. Don’t worry, I’m not getting caught up in the nostalgia, but it does make things complicated.” 

You hadn’t realized it but you and Jess made it to the library already. She parked the car and shut off the engine, plunging the car in silence. You both stared out the windshield, watching your other coworkers mill into the building. 

“How long have you known him?”

You shook your head. “If I told you that you’d think that I’m crazy. I’m talking straight jacket and padded walls crazy.”

“Alright then. Keep your secrets. I’m not telling you this because I want to be a bridesmaid for your wedding, but I do hope you guys work it out. Fully commit yourself like you are a married couple and see how it feels. I mean, you’re only dating right now, so you can always back out.” 

If only it was that easy, you thought to yourself. Still, you appreciated her help. “You’re right. Thanks, Jess. I really needed to get that off of my chest.” 

Jess beamed at you and you couldn’t help but to smile back. “I can’t wait to meet him once you feel comfortable. And if he does break your heart, I will break his legs.” 

The thought of Jess, who was smaller than you, taking a crowbar to Sukuna’s knees tickled you deeply. The image made you laugh loudly and Jess was happy to see you back in high spirits. You both climbed out of the car hand in hand, giggling all the way to your work stations. You separated, leaving you to hobble over to the front desk for your shift and you prepared the desk. Suguru would not come in until a few more hours, but you watched the door like a hawk for the return of the book Sukuna came from or Suguru. You were only interrupted from your task when a small voice coming from the other side of your desk called out your name. You peered over to find one of your favorite patrons with multiple books teetering in his hands already. 

“Yuuji,” you crooned. “You’re here early.”

“Good morning! We’re going on a road trip so Dad said we have to run ear-rands! I chose the liberry first!” 

The pink haired boy grinned up at you with a smile full of missing teeth that warmed your heart. 

“A road trip right before school starts. Lucky you,” you nodded. You reached over to take the load out of his arms and began to scan them. “Do you think you have enough books to keep you busy?”

Yuuji nodded furiously. “I really like this series.” 

You inspected the book you checked out and saw that it was a fantasy book about dragons that was the latest craze with kids. It had amazing illustrations along with a simple but captivating plot. You gave Yuuji a thumbs up. “This is a good choice. You gotta tell me how it ends when you come back.” 

Once again you were given a bright flash of teeth from the young boy. For a second you had a bout of deja-vu. You’ve known Yuuji since he was in diapers, but you had a strange feeling that you have seen his face somewhere else before. The thought was gone as quickly as it came by when Kento Nanami came up with his own set of books to check out. 

“Good morning,” he greeted in his velvety voice that slid in the air like jazz. He gently placed his stack on the desk and lifted Yuuji from the floor to rest on his hip. 

“It’s always a good one when you stop by,” you winked. You spied Jess shelving books from across the floor but her gaze was firmly stuck on the blond man. You bit back a giggle from the way she was missing the shelf multiple times from staring too hard. 

“You know, since Yuuji likes fantasy so much, I would recommend a knight story over there where Jess is standing. It would be right up his alley,” you offered. Nanami craned his neck to your point and Jess ducked below the shelves to hide in record time. “Well, she was standing over there,” you scoffed. “Yuuji said you’re taking a trip?”

“Yes, it’s last minute,” Nanami mused. He looked almost disappointed that he didn’t see your friend in the section you directed him to before he turned to face you with a soft smile. “I’ve been so busy. I want him to have at least one fun memory besides the activities held here.” 

“I hope you two enjoy yourselves,” you said earnestly. Just as you were printing out the receipt for the books you saw a familiar swish of white hair disappear behind the nonfiction section. You have only seen it once but you were sure of who it belonged to. 

“Thank you. We will,” Nanami promised. You helped him pack the books in his tote bag without putting Yuuji down and fixed it on his other shoulder. “We’ll see you soon.” 

“Of course,” you waved, but your attention was already drawn elsewhere. You had enough patience to make sure there was nobody else in line that you needed to help before stomping wobbly over to where you saw Uraume. They were not-so-subtly stuffing their face in a book larger than their head to hide their identity. 

“Uraume,” you said in a low warning tone. They slowly dropped the book and looked at you head on. “What are you doing here? How did you get here? I thought I told you to stay at home.” 

Uraume skillfully only responded to your last statement. 

“Lord Sukuna insisted that I come and watch over you. He’s worried over your condition.” 

“He should be worried about his condition when I get my hands on–”

“Did Kento say anything about me?” Jess said behind you, scaring you out of your body. You put your hand over your chest to calm your frantic heart and Jess apologized. 

“Oh I didn’t know you were talking to somebody. I love your hair,” Jess complimented Uraume and they blushed. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s cool or whatever,” you grumbled, pulling her away from Uaraume before she got a better look. You would have to deal with him later. As you were walking Jess back to the front desk she repeated her question. 

“He would’ve, if you didn’t do that little disappearing act.” 

“I just didn’t expect to see him,” she groaned. “Nobody should look that fine so early in the morning.” 

You found Uraume moving from section to section, seemingly not concerned with your whereabouts but you knew better. You were very annoyed, practically seething internally from Sukuna’s blatantly sending Uraume even though you had said not to. There was no getting through to him. 

“Aw man,” Jess sighed, looking down at her phone. You looked at her expectantly and she turned her phone to you. “Suguru’s not coming in today. One of his daughters is sick.” 

Fucking fantastic. “Poor girl,” you said instead. 

“Yeah, he said she got a nasty fever. I hope it’s nothing serious.” 

You already zoned out from the conversation, trying to come up with ways to work around his absence in relation to your demon issue. You slumped down into the nearest empty chair and spun around despondently. 

Jess poked your shoulder. “Lighten up. You don’t have to take on his shift, somebody else already took care of that.” 

“That’s great,” you mumbled without any real conviction. 

All you could do is hope that the universe was still on your side and you could get the journal back with or without Suguru being around. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Silver - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: So, this is the Land of Dawning National Art Museum. This should be the perfect place to work on my imagination.

Summon Line: I am not an art aficionado, but as I have been tasked with being a supporter, I will fulfill this duty to the best of my abilities. I hope to not disappoint.

Groooovy!!: No matter the opponent, one must stand and face them undaunted... I want to become the kind of person capable of that.

Home: A 100th Anniversary, hm. How joyous.

Home Idle 1: It seems Jade also goes into the mountainside often. As I listened to his commentary on a painting of a mountain landscape, I couldn't help but recall my own training memories.

Home Idle 2: Were you able to buy a souvenir? Kalim went and purchased everything they had on display, so I'm pleased to see they were able to replenish their stock in time...

Home Idle 3: Even someone not as well-versed in art, like me, can tell how spectacular these works are. I can also feel just how much unyielding effort was required to create each one.

Home Idle - Login: The Land of Dawning National Art Museum must require a large security detail... Otherwise they wouldn't be able to eliminate all possible blind spots of such a grand venue.

Home Idle - Groovy: It is thanks to Azul that I've thought of another good way to train myself. I'll have to look into making a board game as soon as I can.

Home Tap 1: This outfit is much too dazzling. When I wear it, I become silver from head to toe... It suits me? Well, that's good then.

Home Tap 2: Sculpting not only requires a good artistic sense, but also the muscle strength and stamina to carve heavy stone or wood. I bet it would be a good training method.

Home Tap 3: Epel was telling me just how cool he found the heroes depicted in the paintings. I can empathize with his feelings.

Home Tap 4: I hear that the Lord of the Underworld was pretty loquacious. I'd like to learn how to be more like him, but I'm not sure what kind of training I should do to become a more capable speaker.

Home Tap 5: It is said that the Sea Witch could captivate people with her beautiful singing voice. It would be nice to listen to one of her songs to hear what it was like.

Home Tap - Groovy: Sorry, I just feel a little sleepy... Hm, you'll let me rest on your shoulder? No, that's not what... I need you to wake me... Zzz...

Duo: [SILVER]: Azul, I am counting on you. [AZUL]: I shall live up to the trust you've put in me, Silver-san.

Birthday Login Message: [Yuu]? You came to celebrate my birthday? Thank you. Whenever I receive such warm regards, not only do I feel the gifted kindness, but also I feel a need to hold myself straighter. I vow to continue to be someone worthy enough to be celebrated by everyone.

Requested by @dida-books.

[ineadhyn]

One of Astarion's most interesting scenes to me is the one in the flop house where we meet Dalyria and Petras. So, obviously, I felt the need to analyze it.

Astarion's behaviour switches the very moment he recognises his siblings. He has been snappy and theatrical before, but this now feels different. More raw. His posture changes, he bends forward in a pose like he's ready to attack. The moment he sees them, he enters fight mode.

And indeed, he does attack. He immediately goes for Petras, aiming for the weak spots he knows, his intelligence. It's bite or be bitten. If he doesn't do it (a choice you can make in his origin run for example) Petras does just the same, insulting Astarion using his known flaws: his arrogance, his egoism, claiming Astarion is all talk. This tells so much about Astarions life with them.

Dalyria is a bit calmer, she seems to care about both of them, at least enough that she doesn't want to see either of them killed. Dalyria does believe Cazador's claim of freeing them at least on surface level. She can be convinced to trust Astarion when he says he'll free them. She wants to be free. Asking why Astarion would come back if he was free, there is a certain longing in her voice. She's also the one telling Astarion about the ritual place, hoping Astarion might actually be able to free them, or at least not kill Petras.

Still the aggression in the room is not only between Astarion and Petras. Astarion also snaps at Dalyria when she's barely said anything. "That's not a way to welcome back a brother, Dal." The three of them are like dogs in the kennels of a dog fighting ring, barking at the sight of each other. Trained to compete and not giving each other an inch. You can imagine what it must have been like sharing one bedroom.

Then Astarion does his theatrical "Didn't you miss me?" Did they? Probably as much as Astarion pities them. A bit, because they've known each other for so long, but not enough to go out of their way. Just after saying he pities them, Astarion dreams about completing the ritual (which includes sacrificing them). Mostly I see the "Didn't you miss me" as Astarion wanting to make a confident first impression on them. Although it's too late, because his first instinct was to pull up his usual defences when interacting with his siblings: snapping at them.

And then Astarion actually gets physically aggressive and burns Petras. This is new. Petras didn't expect this. He says "What the hells happened to you, Astarion?" In combination with the other spawn scene when they call Astarion the runt, that never put up a fight, this paints a clear picture: Astarion has never been physically aggressive during his time with Cazador. Probably because he didn't have the means. He was simply too weak, being tortured more than any of the others. Petras talks about eating rats and dogs, Astarion got rats and bugs (he says that when talking about the bite with Tav). Also of course being broken into submission by being sealed into the tomb for the one time he didn't obey. (Worthy to mention that even then Astarion did not fight, he ran.)

Now that Astarion has some power for the first time, he uses it. And holy damn can I understand why he wants more. How good it must feel to be able to defend himself with more than words for the first time. This bit of power makes him say "I am not afraid of anything anymore."

It's enough for him to say "I am going to stop Cazador." A thing none of the spawn expects of him. Astarion would never rebel against the master. Cazador himself doesn't believe it until his last moment. They were all wrong about Astarion. Cazador indeed never broke him.

Also, pay attention to the leaning forward pose. Astarion does that on multiple occasions. It's his "my instinct screams to fight and defend myself"-pose.

(I am not entirely sure if "do not slouch before me" is also referring the same pose, or if it's more of an instinct to bow or cower. But that's for another day.)

[shrenvents]

hihi!!

i loved ur dean blurb and i was wondering if you could do a similar one, but for sam?? and possibly make them enemies to lovers type beat

you're such a good writer too btw :))

a/n: tysm for the support!! ofc I gotta follow up with some sam content, enjoy🫦

Hungry Eyes

Warnings: Minors dni; Smut, side-wind, unprotected, m!receiving, overstimulation, language, some angst, size-kink

Pairing: Sam Winchester x you

Summary: You're a hunter, familiar with Sam and Dean's work —and that wasn't a good thing. So, it took no time at all for you to bump heads with the youngest brother, though it becomes difficult to ignore the underlying attraction there.

Word Count: 2k

...

You crouched low behind the thick underbrush, breathing steadily as you surveyed the clearing ahead. The late afternoon sun painted the scene in golden hues, illuminating the blurry figures of two men, struggling against a group of snarling demons. Your heart raced—not from fear, but from that familiar adrenaline. You had been trained for this, to hunt the monsters that lurked in the shadows, and protect those in need.

Just as you braced yourself for a fight, unexpectedly, you recognized one of them. Sam Winchester... The hunter who had opened the gates of Hell, fed on demon blood, and dismantled every hunter's code in a hungry pursuit for power. He and his companion matched their descriptions spot on, and a swell of anger surged within you, merging with the adrenaline.

The Winchesters were the last people you wanted to help, rumoured as selfish and pathetic, yet there they were, fighting valiantly to save a young girl caught in a demon’s grasp.

Against your better judgment, you emerged from your hiding spot. You rushed into the fray, taking down one demon with a swift slice of your charmed blade. It felt surreal; to combat alongside a man you despised by name. As you worked together, you couldn’t deny the rhythm that formed between you, each of you covering the other’s blind spots.

When the last demon fell, silence enveloped the clearing. You stood panting, blood pumping violently through your veins. You then narrowed your gaze onto Sam and an unfamiliar warmth bloomed in your chest. He was dishevelled and dirty, but even covered in grime, you could see the strength in his handsome features. 

But that warmth twisted into disdain as you recalled why you hated him. “You’re lucky I don’t bleed you out myself Winchester,” you spit hostility, using your sleeve to wipe your blade clean as you turned away. You felt his heated stare bore into your back. It was a mix of confusion and something deeper, but you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on it. 

“Right,” he snapped rather sarcastically, voice low, clearly stung. “Thanks for the help, I guess," he uttered, followed by a mumble of, "Whoever you are."

You rolled your eyes. His wounded pride brought you a sense of satisfaction. You liked not having bothered with the usual pleasantries between fellow hunters, or even an introduction. However, you couldn't shake how painfully aware you were of how attractive he looked. Your mind warred with your heart, anger battling lure.

Months passed since then, and fate had an unsettling way of pulling you deeper into the web of chaos that surrounded the Winchesters. One evening, on a cool January night, after a particularly gruelling encounter with a demon, you found yourself in the same motel room as Sam. You both got soaked by an abrupt tidal of rain, and though you changed into some of the boy's spare clothes, Sam made no effort to switch out of his drenched attire.

He sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, head in his hands. A heavy, uncomfortable silence filled the air, dense with the weight of loss and failure. Another causality was had, and it seemed to affect Sam in a different way than you and his brother, who have grown disturbingly desensitized to death.

You observed Sam, and something inside you softened as you recalled the stories you’d heard—how he had lost so much, which later led to all the Hellfire and bloodshed. The vexation you carried for him began to fade, replaced by a deep-seated empathy. Your instincts kicked in, and without thinking, you approached him.

“Sam?” You called softly. He didn’t respond, the shadows of despair looming over him like a shroud. Disturbed by his silence, you knelt beside him, uncertain yet compelled to bridge the gap between you two. With a tentative hand, you rested it lightly on his back, which tensed, muscles tautening under your cool touch.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears, though they held you with such an acute regard. Without a word, you sat down beside him, the side of your thigh flush against his when you embraced him. It was an impulsive act, a comfort that transcended what defined your strange relationship. Surprisingly, he melted into you, his body shaking with silent sobs. He clearly was desperate for someone to lean on, especially with his brother still outside tracking the monster that attacked you all. 

Minutes passed in that quiet cocoon of shared grief before he pulled back and peered down at you with a vulnerability so scalding, that you nearly shied away. His gaze was disarming and it had a glint of something you had only seen momentarily, on the day you met.

Then his eyes darkened, demeanour shifting. You inhaled sharply and held that breath. The warmth of his presence, so close, burned your skin like a fever —and then he kissed you. The world stilled and the only sensation you felt was the soft, tentative flesh pressing against your lips. It was more of a question rather than a demand; It was gentle —just like you'd grown to understand Sam was.

After a second of hesitance, you shoved his buff chest away with both hands. “No,” you spoke firmly, heart stuttering. “You’re just… you need comfort right now. This isn’t fair," you expressed, though you were unsure of who it was 'unfair' to.

Sam's brows furrowed, daze soon morphing into frustration. “You think I’m just looking for comfort?” He asked before sighing your name, his voice hoarse, thick with disbelief and pure frustration. You shuddered at the depths of his tone. “I want you. I'm tired of pretending that I don’t.”

His words hung in the air, laden with a truth that veered your perspective entirely. The walls you had built began to crumble, and all the reasons you had for hating him felt hollow. You couldn't even look into his puppy-dog eyes, as they surveyed every emotion that flickered across your face.

“Sam,” you whispered, grappling with the surge of feelings you had been filing away, that was now threatening to overwhelm you. “I—”

But he leaned in again, capturing your lips with his, leaving no room for doubt. This time, you didn’t retract into yourself. Instead, you thawed against him, eagerly allowing his larger frame to envelop yours.

The kiss grew frantic and you clawed at his thin, wet shirt as you wrapped around him. He then threw you onto his lap so you straddled his stocky thighs. Sam groaned into your mouth and you swallowed it with a pleasant hum. He cupped your head and pulled you deeper into his pressing kiss as if time were against you both.

Your hands roamed down his spine, keen to remove his clothes. You reached the hem of his shirt and lifted it. Sam instantly convulsed against your body and gasped away from your mouth. He let go of you, hands hovering beside your face as he paused, lost in a trance. Suddenly, his stupor cut short and he swiftly refocused on your body, eyes tracing your torso. He gulped before flipping you both. You land on your back, bouncing slightly on the mattress, releasing a yelp of surprise before Sam kneeled above you, mouth agape as he tore off his shirt, throwing it across the room. He then lowered his face to yours, frantic to taste your mouth again. You whimpered when his cold hands moved under your shirt and unclipped your bra.

After he worked off most of your clothes, leaving you in just your undergarments, your hands zipped to his belt, unbuckling it. He grunted before he began an assault on your neck, sucking it, likely leaving numerous hickeys in his wake. “Sam,” you whined, weaving your fingers into his silky hair. “Sam, I need more,” you whined some more, losing the strength in your body while he caged you in, holding you firm against him.

“More?” He questioned, mouth releasing your skin to peer up at you. His dilated pupils surveyed you, brow arching. “Yes,” you whispered airily. Biting your lip, your gaze darted to his undone buckle, hoping he would finish the job. Understanding your wordless request, he rose to tear off the rest of his clothes. You suck in a terse breath at the sight of his naked body, wetting your lips. He was big in every way and you were desperate to feel his weight atop you again.

“Come here,” you whispered seductively, stretching your arms out to him. He promptly accepted your embrace and dropped down to your level. You both sighed into one another, recognizing that this was what you both needed all along. “Jesus, how long have I been waiting for you?” He asked, murmuring to himself. Before you got the chance to respond, the head of his cock pressed against your clit, slowly sliding to your entrance.

You held eye contact with Sam, mouth wide open as he pushed into you, bottoming out in one motion. The air fled your lungs in a single exhale and you're left gasping for breath. You felt Sam watching, observing your bare chest as it rose and fell before kissing you hungrily. His tongue slipped into your mouth, memorizing every square inch.

You moaned loudly when he finally moved. It didn’t take long for him to build up a rhythm. Suddenly, he disregarded that tempo and pulled away from your kiss to straighten up. He then took one of your thighs and threw it over top of your other leg, positioning you on your side. His palms cupped your hip and you groaned at the change-up.

Sam eyed you, visibly pleased by the new angle. He then started pounding, roughly ramming into you, skin smacking against your lower half. The collision was loud and the room was crowded by your sobs and Sam’s grunts.

When you reached your gut-churning orgasm, clenching around him, he hoisted up the leg he had flipped, tossing it over his shoulder, gaining more access to you. You shouted and whimpered but he didn’t relent, letting out a week's worth of frustration, toward you, and the universe. He growled your name once, and with that, he carelessly came inside you.

“Fuck,” he rumbled, head tilting down in pure exhaustion. Your eyes fluttered shut as his warmth filled your core, making your body quake. Then he removed his hefty build from your limp one, rising to fall back down to your side. Sam hissed as he left your center, huffing as he dropped onto the soft cushion.

You watched him as he took the time to catch his breath, eyes closed. He was so vulnerable in front of a woman who had threatened him, several times, and it was an alarming sight. To have Sam simply breathe you in, and take you savagely, as if you were his first meal in decades.

Your mouth practically watered at the view of him after sex, tousled hair and sweat glistening across his forehead. Biting your inner cheek, your hands slowly glided towards Sam’s cock. His eyes shot open —wild and stunned— before they squeezed shut again when you applied pressure. You fisted his length, stroking him till you felt cum leak from his tip.

You rubbed him a few times, listening intently to every breath and groan that left his throat. It didn’t take long for him to cum a second time. He just about whimpered your name, weak to your touch, liquefying further into the bed. His hands quickly gripped your wrists when you continued to stroke him even after his orgasm. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, almost in exasperation, though you knew that was his usual play with sarcasm.

“You're killing me here,” he murmured breathlessly, to which you grinned smugly, whispering into his ear, “Don’t tempt me Winchester.”

[ikkosu]

TO LIVE, AND TO SERVE

part two

(tfo.sentinel x gn.miner.reader)

A short chapter

one, two, three

"So, what'd you think?" He placed his servos on his hips and glanced down at you with a grin. You're looking at elsewhere, though. At the interior of the habsuite and the slight widen of your intake and mouth should be embarrassing.

After all, you missed feeling the movements on your face after the venom disappating.

 "A nice, lovely space for a miner, isn't it?" 

Nice was a bit of an understatement. It wasn't anything lie you'd have at the barracks. Gold amassed the entirety of the room, gleaming as every glare of the light streaming through the wide arched windows rushed in. A a comfortable mini alcove for a library was by the corner and — oh, look your berth. Right by the window, puffed up with pillows and satin covers. 

A dream for any mech with terrible backs and callous bodies. Small but strangely pleasant. Befitting of a miner, you suppose.  

"I appreciate your kind...gift, sir.''

You could finally enjoy a time of solitude. Away from all the drilling. 

"I've got it all prepared in under a cycle." He said. " Had the drones churning up a few midnight energon for the bit. You know, after I saved you from getting killed." 

 Saved me from getting killed by you. How poetic.

The drones behind pottered into the room arranging the furniture where Sentinel wanted it to be, moving in necessities you never thought you'd needed : waxing equipment, extra plating transfers, extra paint transfers, among more you couldn't count. However, one of the drones had a significant dent across their chassis. Almost like someone had thrown quite the punch and wanted to string out their gut. 

You curl out a digit to point. "Is that...normal?"

Sentinel grunted and gave a dismissive wave, optics trained on the several drones organizing the library. He was fixated on the covers being color coded.

"Nothing trivial.This used to be a holding cell for soon to be named convicts so you can expect the structure to be a little bit janky and loose." 

You look up to see where the metal pole of the ceiling is bent at an odd angle with clear signs of energon flakes coating the end. Poor mech, almost impaled by the thing. What were they doing up there anyway?

" The blueprint is drawn up before the war. Unfortunately, too much funds were going to the military so we had to improvise— " he nodded towards your berth, "—and built personal cell at the castle instead"

"I'm assuming holding cells are this lavish all around."

 He finally looked at you for a moment and let out a loud laugh, a rich crescending wave of timber. "For me? Perhaps. Not for you, though. Not anything you would expect it to be." 

A kind of tightness coiled in your chest at the tone of his voice. Not for you. Not like you. Not you. A chant. A mantra. Layers and overlays of voices that won't stop. The prior migraine that plagued your helm plunged back at full force and you gritted your dentas, cringing. As sentinel looked away, he conversed with the drones of what color you preferred your berth covers to be. " Blue," he declared. A distant murmer.. You drown out the noise, lightheaded. Eventually, he came up to you, uttering words that doesn't make sense. 

"Thank you, sir." You say aimlessly. 

"And, on that topic of sir," He cornered you in.

You step back instinctively

 "I remember asking you to serve." A servo curled around your sides. "And I won't repeat this again, you know how much I hate repeating myself its ridiculous." 

" What do you—"

"My Liege." He leaned down, whispering in your audials firmly. "Say it." 

You stared straight ahead and swallowed. The lump on your throat glided down like an irregular sized rock. He was so close. So close to reach. If you could just reach out, curl your servos around his neck and squeezed — maybe, you could accomplish something that hadn't been done in your lifetime.

"My liege, sir.'' The words rippled out. 

"Louder." He squeezed your sides, digits digging into the soft protoform.

You winced. "My liege, sir." 

His nose grazed your jaw and he smiled. "Good mech, and don't worry about the floor you're in. I'll only call you up when you're dearly needed." 

Which is, every night.