#peer pressure is something too horrible for me too

[yet-another-haven-of-dollya]

I've been working on a pretty long comic (~20 pages) for Robin for a few days now, and after drawing the same page for the 7th time, I realized one thing:

My drawing skills have deteriorated

This is bad, very bad, for me at least. I suspect it's because, first, I've been too stressed for some time now and second, I've been focused on fast drawing (to answer ask, just sketches to capture ideas,...) for the past months without actually honing my color and render skill.

So here's the plan: I'm sorry to say this but I need to take a break from drawing fast. And by that, I mean actually stopping myself from wanting to answer every asks with a drawing :) I swear it has become a habit, my ask box is full of short-content temptations. I may not be able to post daily anymore for some time, but I hope every time I do, I can bring up something I can look back and be proud of.

This is something do to with an artist's self-esteem. I want to create something with more skill for the next months, and then after that or some time between, if I need to take some light and carefree break, I will switch back to fast sketches :D

Of course, I will still draw DoL. I love this game and my PCs. So if that's okay with you, hope you can stay and watch me grow a little more. I'm grateful for everyone's encouragement and I will never stop feeling that way.

Thanks for reading~ I should take my much-needed rest now UwU

[flower-zombie-rob]

Welcome to day one of how many times can my mother tear me down and destroy my confidence in one go. How many days will this go on? Im not sure! Tune in next time for a brand new episode of Taking Advantage Of My Kids Rejection Sensitivity, youre watching the disney channel.

[sageo7]

Okay guys i actually finished it idk why i waited like a month lol. Sorry its kinda shot but Im gonna start writing more Stiles content coming up bc there is a horrible lack of fics on tumblr rn. Send me requests pretty please!!

Stiles was practically fuming on the couch next to you while you sat amongst your friends at one of the movie nights hosted at Scotts house. You had been conducting a little experiment to see how much you could tease him and push his buttons until he did something about it. Stiles was always gentle with you, touching you like you would shatter if he applied too much pressure and it was endearing, for sure… but you wanted more. You wanted him to use you how he needed to; for him to use you for once to satisfy his own needs. Your hand remained on his upper thigh under the blanket draped over both of your laps, innocently watching the movie in front of you to avoid his gaze that had been boring into the side of your head ever since your hand brushed up against him. The whole night has been moments like this, whispering dirty things into his ear and skipping away like nothing happened, bending down to grab things directly in front of him so he could get a peak of your lacy pink panties from under your skirt, and now your hand was inching up his thigh to touch him through his jeans in a room full of your friends. Just when your hand makes contact with the bulge straining against his zipper his hand catches your wrist making your eyes snap back up to his which were dark and heavy lidded, his breathing much deeper than normal.

“bathroom.” Is all he practically growls into your ear before he stands from the couch abruptly walking away. You wait another minute or so before also excusing yourself, none of your friends paying much mind to either of your departures. You creep up the stairs slowly every step making the ache between your legs more prominent and you bite back a moan when you’re practically shoved into the bathroom the door slammed shut behind you.

“jesus stiles.” You say exasperatedly and he just gives you a look and retaliates with “why’re you doing this to me baby?”

“doing what?” You ask feigning innocence and looking away to avoid his eyes but his hand grabs your chin harshly turning you back.

“Look at me. You know what I’m talking about.” he says his hand guiding yours to the bulge in his jeans arousal pricking down your spine at the groan that leaves him from the contact.

“feel what you’re doin’ to me?” He mumbles out his head falling to your shoulder when you cup him properly in your hand. You let out a shuddering breath to recompose yourself and nod “yeah? what do you want me to do about it..?” the question comes out sarcastic and taunting and his hips instinctively move forward trying to rut more into your hand.

“anything.” He breathes out and you shake your head pulling your hand away a desperate moan falling from his lips in protest.

“stiles.. tell me what you want.” you repeat putting more emphasis on ‘want’ and he swallows and nods understanding your meaning.

“your mouth..” he finally manages out after a long pause and when you sink to your knees his words grow more confidence “god I wanna fuck your pretty little mouth..” he mutters his hands moving to pull your hair back away from your face. Your hands move diligently to undo his pants eagerly pulling them and his boxers down, his cock springing free the head already an angry red, beads of precum rolling down the tip. You lick your lips instinctively at the sight and peer up at him, he’s flush, pupils blown wide and mouth slightly agape as he watches your every move with rapt attention his hand holding your hair up in a makeshift ponytail subtlely trying to inch you closer to his dick. You wrap a hand around him and his eyes snap shut a guttural moan bubbling up from his throat when your tongue darts out to lick up the precum before taking the tip into your mouth. With a small huff of air you take him further in inch by inch tormentingly slow, but when you nose brushes against tufts of well groomed hair his hips jut forward making you pull away abruptly with a chocked cough. His hands cup your face immediately panic clear in his eyes sputtering out apologies but you shake your head with giggle batting his hands away.

"just so big sti.." you purr out and his anxiety melts away immediately with a borderline pathetic moan. You take him back in your hand, eyes staring up into his while you tug along his dick lowering your mouth to press wet kisses down his length. A few little kitten licks to his slit has his eyes screwing shut hands tightening in your hair. "please.."

"please?" you repeat pulling your mouth away from him "be more specific"

His features scrunch up in annoyance at the taunting still the words spill out of him immediately "no more teasing.. wanna fuck your mouth.. please" he babbles out.

You hum in approval his neediness making your mouth water and you wrap your lips around him again. Your tongue swirling around his tip snaps the last of his well upheld restraint and the hand buried in your hair pushes you further along his dick. Every movement is lead by his hand, wide eyes staring down at you his grunts and groans spurring you on to just let him guide you.

"i'm so.. fuck baby.. oh my g-" his words get less coherent with every motion hips thrusting forward every few times to meet your lips. It doesn't take much more before he's murmuring out small praises and barely intelligible versions of "i'm close" his eyes roll back slightly, cock twitching in your mouth before warm spurts of his cum slide down your throat and drip past the corners of your mouth. He releases his vice like grip on your hair slowly and you pull away swallowing heavily. Neither of you speak for a few seconds to catch your breath but he reaches his hands down to help hoist you back to your feet wrapping his arms around you securely.

"i love you angel." he mutters out against your hairline "so perfect for me"

[attapullman]

So Hold Me Close and Say Three Words | bungalow!Robert "Bob" Floyd

PART OF THE BIG WINDOWS, SMALL KITCHEN UNIVERSE

Summary: There's only one thing that can get your boyfriend's mind off the horrible popcorn ceiling.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ as always, cockwarming, pet name Honey, title is from McFly's "All About You"

A Note From Mo: Welcome to bungalow!Bob! A dash of acts of service, a sprinkle of a condescension kink, and a whole lot of extremely loving boyfriend. Live-in boyfriend Bob is my biggest indulgence so no one look at me, I'm fragile.

He’s been planted in the big easy chair all morning, staring up at the last project on his list before the kitchen, and sighing. Dragging long fingers through wild hair as his eyes take in the wide expanse of the living room. 

His arch nemesis: the popcorn ceiling.

The little dipples and spikes of joint compound taunt him daily. A major contrast to the rest of the bungalow, all smooth ceilings with stunning walnut beams - one major selling point of the property. And while the previous owner did a great job with the addition bringing in natural light with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the backyard, he was off his rocker for choosing popcorn ceilings. 

Bob hasn’t hate anyone more than the previous owner. Well, maybe the neighbor across the street who stops by a little too much.

Before he moved in, Bob barely noticed any features of the sweet green bungalow you owned. The majority of his time here was spent in the bedroom between your thighs. But the switch flipped that first weekend after he moved his shoebox apartment in. Lounging on the sectional, girl on his chest, book in hand, and one look up at the world’s ugliest ceiling. 

He had to fix it. You deserve your dream house and it was his mission to give it to you. 

The line between his brows is adorable as he mutters something rude at the drywall.

“Bobby, babe, it’s just a ceiling.”

Those wide cornflower blue eyes blink at you, as if noticing for the first time you’re also sitting in the sun-drenched living room enjoying your coffee.

“It’s an ugly ceiling.”

You can’t help but giggle at the disgust in his tone. “It’s not that bad, I don’t notice.”

Your sweet boyfriend just rolls his eyes and leans back, side-eyeing the offending design choice. 

Peering over the edge of your mug, you admire the way the mid-morning sunlight streams through his hair, highlighting it copper. His sweats hang low on his hips, underwear forgotten, black shirt slightly too small with how much he’s filled out with all the manual labor fixing up the house. 

While not the main reason you asked him to move in, pajama Robert Floyd is a high perk of the situation.

The scowl on his face isn’t quite as endearing. Your heart hurts knowing how frustrated he is by the ceiling. He loves you. He loves this house. It’s too much pressure on him wanting to make it perfect.

Ever since he permanently parked his truck in the driveway, Bobby’s been nothing but generous. He sees the charm and coziness of the bungalow, but also the repairs and fixes you’re too busy for. His entire leave was spent weeding the backyard, and your skin still heats remembering his muscles bulging after carrying the pile of boxes from the garage to the attic. 

While you won’t satiate your boyfriend by allowing him to drop cloth the living room and scrape every dimple of drywall off the ceiling today, you do have a better idea for getting Bob’s mind off his dreaded enemy.

His eyes widen as you stand up, admiring the way your body stretches in your cozy waffle knit robe before heading through to the kitchen. Listens to you fiddle with dishes before passing him again to the bedroom. Too far away to hear, he sinks back into the leather armchair, allowing his body to meld to the material while frustration sits low in his gut. 

The birds at the feeder chirp away before you return. Toes against hardwood catch his attention, and Bob’s head turns toward the hallway, mouth dropping open. 

You’re walking toward him in just his threadbare Naval academy shirt. The shirt you put on the first time you stayed the night. The shirt you were wearing when he last came home from deployment and you shyly asked him to move in. His favorite shirt.

“H-honey…” It’s an unfinished sentence as he takes in how the sunlight illuminates you from behind, baring the silhouette of your figure inside his shirt. 

A smile dances on your lips as you come closer, dropping something on the end table with a soft tink. A noise lost as you straddle Bobby’s thighs, his fingers racing to touch as much of you as quickly as possible. Groaning when he realizes that the shirt is all you have on, the soft flesh of your ass swallowed by his big hands. 

Your fingers smooth their way up his torso, gliding over the dark fabric until the long expanse of his neck pulses beneath your ministrations. Eventually curling into his hair, combing it back into place as he gazes at you earnestly. Within moments the two of you so deeply tangled it would take twice as long to separate.

Eyes filled with nothing but love, your lips quirk sweetly before pressing a kiss to his. Allowing it to linger before pulling away to explain. “I appreciate how much work you’re putting into the house, but I don’t want you to stress. Can I help you relax?”

In place of a response, he groans and pulls you tighter to him, relishing the feel of your skin. 

“Is that a yes?” Your laugh fades as he captures your mouth in a soft kiss. The sunlight highlighting him as you gaze lovingly into his oceanic eyes. The same color as the La Jolla print you bought last summer that he just hung up.

Bob is more than happy to spend the rest of the morning making out. Enjoying the soft warmth of you beneath his hands and the taste of your tongue. The morning sun setting the mood while the birds on the porch sing the soundtrack. It was perfect for him.

Well…perfect until you ran your thumb down the outline of his cock and breathed the most sinful words against his jaw.

“Actually, I was thinking I could keep your cock warm?”

His moan is more of a whine as he immediately swallows your tongue, so grateful for this Saturday morning surprise. Raises his hips as you drag his sweats down, releasing his slowly hardening cock into the space between you, already wet at the tip.

“Honey - ah, that feels s’good,” he interrupts himself as your hand wraps around him,”-but we should prep you. Don’t want to hurt you, honey bear.”

Your face splits into a gentle grin, so enamored by the way he takes care of you even when he’s hotly thrusting his hips into your fist. A grin that pops in surprise when his fingers trace along your folds, appreciating the arousal dripping over your thighs. 

It’s so hot that you only wear his shirt without panties.

His rough thumb slips along your clit, working its way in soft circles. It’s a treat the way your nipples harden against his shirt, level with his eyes as your mouth falls open with sounds only for him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart stretched out on his cock.

A hand on his wrist makes him pause, your half-lidded eyes finding his. You give him a sly smile as you lean forward to the end table. “Don’t need to, you got me nice and open last night, remember?”

As visions of pounding you face down in the bed only hours before run before his eyes, his mouth opens to protest. He’s fully aware of how big he is and how tight you are.

You press your finger to his lips as you raise what you’d grabbed in the bedroom. “A little of this and we’re good, promise.”

The lube bottle slips between your fingers, applying the slick substance along his shaft as you press soothing pecks along his temple.

“Can’t wait to be full of you, Bobby.” His fingers dig into your skin. Your dirty mouth will be the end of him. Especially with how your eyes burn into his while you raise up on your knees, lining up his obscenely shiny cock with your dripping slit.

“You sure you can take all of me, Honey?”

His gaze meets yours with that steely hint of condescension right as his tip breeches your folds, your pathetic nod spurring the beginning of your descent. 

The popcorn ceiling is the last thing on his mind as your velvet insides take him in. The snug fit of you mixed with the heady scent of your sweat has him dizzy, wrapping his strong arms around you to maintain control. It’s hard to think straight when you take every inch of him so beautifully, the lube assisting your efforts.

“Almost there, so close,” Bob breathes against your lips, the hair of his pelvis beginning to brush against your clit. You’re at capacity and there’s still more. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, every time you think you’ve taken all of him, there’s always more.

Breath caught in your chest, his lips swallow your moan as you finally take him to the hilt, hips pressed fully together in their loving embrace. You’re so full, too full, deliciously full. His warm hand along your back soothes you, massaging while gritting himself against how good it feels.

You laugh through the consuming fullness. “This is supposed to be relaxing you, sorry.”

“Hon, never apologize for making me feel this good. This is exactly what I needed.”

Despite the tense way he’s holding his jaw, he looks content. Soft sapphire eyes shining with admiration, sandy hair swept off his forehead, a soft bead of perspiration trailing down his neck as he fights off the need to thrust. You cradle his jaw between your fingers, loving the way he keens beneath your touch. He’s out of a fairytale.

“I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Time stands still - the melody of the birds fading into the sun-drenched morning - as you bask in the feel of each other. Connected as one in the soft leather of his favorite chair. Soothing fingers trail up your back beneath his shirt, skimming the edges of your breasts, as your own trace the defined planes of his features. 

“I just want your house to be perfect. You deserve perfect things.” He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, placing a delicate kiss as he feels your satin walls contract around him.

You whisper against his hair. “It’s our house.”

Actions replace words as his hands travel up your shirt, crossing over your back as he holds you to him, dragging his lips over each spot of skin available. Skin warmed by sun is covered in adoration.

You shift, the pulsing of his shaft dizzying, as the acts of his love pepper your cheeks, your jaw, your sensitive neck. You love him more than words could ever express.

Love you. Love you so, so much.

When your foreheads finally rest against each other, antsy with arousal and admiration, Bob finally can’t help himself. A soft thrust up into your dripping center, the most delicious treat. The desperate whimper you release against his cheek only spurs him on, shifting his hips back once more only to sink fully into the home of your body.

“I think I’m done with cockwarming,” you admit with a breathless smirk as his hips buck into yours once again.

Your horny boyfriend has never heard more beautiful words. 

Strong hands grip your thighs as he pushes himself up to stand, your legs clenching around his lithe waist as your sense of gravity disappears. The shock instantly replaced by the growing hunger consuming you as he walks to the bedroom, still buried deep in you.

“Ugh, stop showing off. You know I think it’s so hot you can carry me mid-sex.”

Bob pauses in the hallway, leaning back to hold your gaze. “Maybe that’s why I keep doing it.”That cobalt steel back in place. “Now be a good girl and let me take you to bed.”

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join the taglist for any fic

[heartfullofleeches]

You mentioned in a headcanon post about how Tobi would knock reader out with their voice when they did something they didnt like, could you make an example scenario 4 us ? :0

"No."

There are many things Tobi can protect you from. Ghosts and demons, spiteful commentors and people who wouldn't take no for an answer were forces they could easily handle as simply as flicking off a light switch. Ancient, decrepit houses - as hard as they may try, weren't always included in that list.

As per usual - Tobi left to explore the house you'd picked out for your next stream couple days prior to the stream to rid the place of any hostile spirits or other elements that may bring you harm. It was pretty much habitual for them scout every location, and helped relived some of their stress towards leaving you to your own devices in what was essential the unknown.

The house was far worse off inside that the pictures you had showed them conveyed. A riverside lodge annihilated by a enraged storm and the overflooding waters from the river bank. The young couple who owned the home tragically drowned after leaving the sun roof open the night prior and failing to wake up before it was too late. The walls sagged with age and decades of water weight, and the warped, rotting floors could barely handle Tobi's lanky stature and size.

Normally, they'd just install some temporary support planks and forbid you from venturing to the top floor or basement, but exploring deeper they came to the conclusion this site was far too dangerous for you to step a single foot inside.

Heading towards the stairway to the top floor, there was a large gap right between where the first step and the bottom floor met. It was narrow enough to where they could just step over - but Tobi noticed something right as they peered casually into the hole. A piece of fabric stuck to the spliters of the wood. It was in too good a condition to be something from the incident, but that's not what made Tobi pause.

The scrap of cloth matched perfectly to a jacket you had just released - the same jacket you were throwing on now.

"Aw, come on, Tobi - this could be our big break!"

Their fingers fly to fast across their phone screen for your eyes to keep up.

"Too dangerous."

Laughing, you zip up your jacket as you reach for your keys. "You always say that. If you're scared, you can wait in the car and I'll cut the stream short. I did okay on my own before you came around."

Grabbing the tail end of your jacket, Tobi's mind rushes back to the second sight they saw in that hole. The bloated corpses of one of your followers - staring straight up at him. They couldn't even remember what their face looked like. All they saw was yours. It was always yours.

Tobi grabs your wrist, squeezing the ball of your hand until you're forced to lose your grip on your keys. Stay. Don't go. Your adventurous spirit was one of the endless things they loved about you and they'd never take that away - but if you left their sight for a single second then-

"No......"

Pressure builds behind your eyes. You pres a hand to your temple, shaking off the brief wave of nausea "Ugh.. Tobi... I'll be okay, I promise. I got a little headache now, so I didn't won't be out long. "

No.... Flashes of your face in that horrible state cloud their already fogged mind- eyes glossy, skin pale and so, so cold. A far cry from the life and warmth you gave off now. It would only take one second. One second for you to get hurt. One second for them to lose you. They can't go back to life without you. They can't be that empty shell rotting away in an equally decaying home. They can't - they won't. You can't leave them.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME!"

It all happens so fast. Your brain throbs. Without utter a single word, you place your fingers your lips - red being all you see. Shaking, you look up at your cameraman as your jaw goes slack.

"To-"

Your eyes glaze over, trembling legs unable to support the remaining weight of your body as you fall. Tobi dives to the floor, catching you in their arms before your unceremoniously landing. Your head almost hits the floor before their arms shoot out to catch you. He supports it and your neck on his shoulder, unzipping your jacket with the same tremors you had before your fall. Tobi removes their hat and places their ear to your chest.

One beat. Two-

You're still alive. Deep down they knew, but for the sake of their aching heart they had to make sure. Tobi carefully zips your jacket back up and once they do - they begin to cry. If your comatose state was good for one thing it was leaving you in the dark, unharmed by their wails and pleads.

"sorry... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. Please - please don't leave me..Don't leave me."

Tobi slowly regains their composure. They wipe the blood from your nose, and their thick tears from your face as they stand. Tobi carries you to your bedroom and places you in bed. They clear your search history of anything related to the cabin and burn the notes along it. They reserve a table at your favorite restaurant for tomorrow, praying you'll wake up before the time comes. As you rest they rehearse their lines for when you wake - thankful you'll never hear the break in their voice when they lie.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

I’m Stuck! | Ettore Crackfic

Summary: Ettore happens upon you, completely stuck in the doors of the Box and will help you out on one condition | Word Count : 1.1k~ | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: you should all completely blame @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ for this bc this is...something man (but also loved that u peer pressured me into this). I’m not even gonna put my taglist here, saving you all cos truly idek what to say lol, this is going deep on the masterlist <3 ily 

Warnings: terrible dialogue, porn-level sex, stuck!trope, ass slapping, p in v sex, creampie

Nobody told him that being stuck on a weird prison spaceship would make a man indecently horny 24/7.

 The last few times Ettore had ventured down to the Box, it had been occupied. So he was made to wait to have a wank.

 What decent man has to wait just to tug the flesh snake? he thinks, as he makes his way down the ladder, huffing a sigh, knowing that it’s likely to be occupied again.

 He swings his arms as he walks towards the device nestled in the corner of the dark hallway, his eyes on his feet. It’s been probably a solid…few hours since he last had a tug, so he’s likely to be pent up again.

 He stops right in his tracks when his eyes meet the funniest fucking thing he’s seen in a while.

 It’s just a body without a head and shoulders, an ass poking out of the Box’s doors. He barely even recognises her without seeing her face, but her annoyed sounds give it away.

 “What the fuck are you doing?” he laughs, probably the first genuine smile he’s cracked in a while.

 Her hands struggle with the sides of the automated door that are pressed against her middle, “What does it fucking look like! I’m stuck, you idiot!”

 A half-restrained chuckle leaves him, before it evolves into genuine hysterical laughter. The kind that makes tears cover his eyes and makes his stomach hurt.

 "Will you shut the fuck up and help me?" She says, annoyed. He can imagine how embarrassed she must look, though he can’t see her face.

 He wipes his eyes, composing himself, "You know what? I'm tempted not to. This is too funny"

 She grunts annoyed, still trying to pull her top half free from the doors. God, it’d be so easy to help her. Push one button and the doors would open. It’s like those horrible pornos he used to watch where some girl would be stuck head first in a washing machine or something. And her ‘step-brother’ would happen upon her.

 He bites his lip at the thought. And feels his dick get hard.

 Maybe there was an alternative to the Box.

 A more, fulfilling one.

 She tenses up notably, when he presses his clothed erection against her ass, “That better not be what I think it is”

 He laughs, “It’s certainly not a fucking rocket, I can tell you that”

 She pushes her hips back in an attempt to make him go away, but it only encourages him further as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of her sweatpants.

 “Hey, if you let me have some fun, I’ll help you out. Deal?” he says, taking advantage of the fact she can’t see the shit-eating grin on his face.

 She huffs, annoyed at the situation she’s been put in.

 Then again. Would it really be so bad? Ettore isn’t bad on the eyes. There are definitely worse prisoners to happen upon her in this horrendous scenario, she can’t complain much that it’s him.

 “Fine” she huffs, “But no funny business”

 He grins, “Funny is my middle name”

 “Yeah right, somehow I doubt tha-ow!” she’s cut off her sentence as he pulls her sweatpants over her ass and delivers a wide firm slap to the skin there, “I didn’t say you could do that!”

 “Too bad” he snickers, “Guess you can’t do anything about it”

 He drags two digits through her folds, finding her already wet. He can feel how she tenses up at his touch and can imagine how she’s holding her lips between her teeth, to not give him the satisfaction of knowing she likes it.

 “All this for me?” he grins.

 “You wish. I just used the Box, you idiot”

 He shrugs. A pussy is a pussy, he supposes. Better than his fist.

 He plunges into her, filling her to the hilt with his cock and moaning loudly when he reaches her end, completely burying himself inside her. God when was the last time he fucked a woman? He genuinely couldn’t remember. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of a woman’s pussy, he thinks. And now he’s had another taste of it, he really doesn’t want to let it go.

 But hey ho, he might as well have fun with it while he can.

 With most of Ettore’s sexual knowledge coming from porn, unreliable mates and a…not so great past, he doesn’t really know how women work. Just put your cock in a move it around right? There’s supposed to be an orgasm involved somewhere as well, but like fuck if he knows how to do that.

 If they can’t cum from that, how else are they meant to?

 Oh well.

 He fucks her quickly, he’s so beyond pent up and his hands venture higher to grip her waist underneath the shirt she’s wearing, pulling her body back onto his cock as quickly as he’s railing her.

 He can’t deny, it does feel damn good to have a woman.

 God, I sound like such a fucking virgin when I say that, he thinks.

 Ew. Feelings. No. Back to fucking.

 He can hear her small little whines and breaths echo into the Box, muffled somewhat by the door that is stuck around her ribs. And he can tell she’s trying not to be too loud.

 Was this the elusive orgasm? She sounds like a bird in pain or something.

 He feels his own orgasm creep up on him sooner than anticipated, having not wanked for a good few hours before this happened. So with a pitiful moan and the twitching of his hips, he cums deep inside her. He kind of hoped he wouldn’t cum too quick, partly because he was enjoying fucking her so much and also because he hopes she won’t make fun of him later for it.

 After he’s done and all tuckered out, the poor thing, he pulls his softening cock out of her, mourning the loss of her warmth for a moment, before tucking himself away. He feels his heart going so fast in his chest he has to brace against a wall to keep himself standing, with his eyes closed, replaying what just happened in his head, keeping it for the wank bank later.

 Almost so entranced he doesn’t realise that she’s turned her torso, so she can easily slide out of the door she was previously ‘stuck’ in, slipping out without so much as a complaint.

 She smoothes down her clothes with a content sigh and pulls her sweatpants back up over her hips, using her palms to make sure her hair doesn’t look awry.

 He looks at her, mouth open in shock, his dick still warm and his blood running cold. But she simply shrugs and gives him a smile.

 “Thanks. Washing machine next time, yeah?” she says before turning on her heel and sauntering off, looking far too pleased with herself. She leaves Ettore utterly speechless in the hallway next to the Box, with the doors now shut without her stuck in them.

 What. The. Fuck.

 Next time?

 It really is like those pornos.

dividers by firefly-graphics

[oscconfessions]

you know, i kinda wished more people took into account that maybe OJ (ii) is autistic and not really something like NPD? it feels a bit wrong to say he is that by the writing of the show? there's nothing wrong with headcanoning him as such though. (as i know it's a personal comfort for people!) maybe im a bit biased, but as someone who's autistic, i tend to see a lot of oj's traits and behaviors being stuff i've done before. (miscommunicating, unable to handle sheer amounts of social stressors, cleanliness/over-cleanliness, etc...) and yes. autistic people can come off as selfish/mean/etc. it happens to me all the time without me even trying sometimes. :/ i know his writing in season 1 was even supposed to be "the quiet normal one" and then he got a chance to be in the spotlight more, but even in seasons as late as three he still struggles with the same traits he's had since season 1. (he even says to paper in season 1 that he's not able to trust anyone because his past connections fell apart due to the nature of the competition and he seemed really genuinely happy that paper wanted to be his ally/friend) he even went out of his way to apologize to pickle when he said something he knew he was wrong, so he tried to amend the issue as soon as possible! and he even went out of his way to help paper when he was struggling with the evil paper stuff. i know a lot of people disregard season 1 for writing, but i feel his season 1 time is a huge part of why he's the way he is in season 2 and onward. yeah he won the show, but he HATES the spotlight. he doesn't revel in it. when he was the host temporarily in season 2 he did a really horrible job at it and that's because of the pressure placed on him. (he even talks about how the show puts a pressure on people. if anything his conversation with balloon came from an extremely personal perspective: his own!) he wasn't trying to push balloon away in a negative way he just didn't want the same to happen to him too! i just don't think saying he's selfish and self-centered is right. i wish there was more headcanons that focused on him being autistic because he very much reads this way to me and not necessarily NPD. it's just an extreme disservice to his character to me. he's not "self-centered/selfish" he just doesn't know how to express himself without using a high social status that his peers know him well for. that's much more in line with an autistic trait imo.

.

[ax-y10]

✮ knock ✮

in which- you have a fear of showing too much of your own skin due to past dreams and coincidences, but wilbur is there to help.

chapter info- mentions of private areas, mentions of fears, descriptions of nudity, descriptions of past situations, just a vent fic essentially

a/n- i made this as a sort of vent/coping mechanism because i needed to get this out somewhere to make myself feel better so here you go

pronouns- none (you/yours)

masterlist-

you're sat in your boyfriend's bedroom, a frown present on your face and hot tears running down your face. maybe this wasn't worth getting so worked up about but it reminded you too much of years ago.

when you were in grade five, you'd had a dream where you were naked at school, beginning your fear of being judged by everyone. a year later in grade six, you had another dream about being naked at school, and that heightened your fear, if not hatched your fear of showing skin.

to make things worse, you've had multiple occasions where someone you know, whether it be family or close friends, has walked in on you changing, ultimately making your fear of showing skin ten times worse.

you'd swear that you would rather die than show skin to anyone in close relation to you. if you had to do one thing before you died, showing skin was the last on that list. it was your last resort, barely that. showing skin was never an option for you.

you'd been pressured by beauty standards, peer pressure, and wanting to seem more confident that once you did finally show a tiny bit of skin, it all went haywire, and every girl you walked past gave you weird stares or even just laughed at you as you walked past. you were never and never will be known for showing skin. you'll always be known as the girl who has self-esteem issues, hates showing skin. the amount of times you've been called a pick-me for the way you dress has you fuming at the statement.

and now, your boyfriend accidentally walking in on you showering has sent you back into a horrible spiral of worries and concerns and fears, breaking down into hysterics on his bed.

did wilbur know you were sobbing in his bedroom? no. he was in the kitchen cooking dinner for you both. were you desperately trying to calm yourself down without wilbur's help? yes, and it sure as hell wouldn't work with him not there.

"darling?" his voice from the other side of the door startled you enough to break you out of whatever bad thoughts were strangling your head.

"i have dinner," he'd state, before the handle of the door slowly starts turning.

"no! not yet. give me a second!" you yelled from his bed, scurrying into his bathroom and throwing on one of his sweaters he'd left in there for you.

it was silent. at least on the outside of his room. inside however? your mental rambling had started back up again and was attacking you.

a minute passed. two minutes passed. three minutes passed. five minutes passe-

"sweetheart, i'm gonna come in. something's wrong,"

his large figure in the doorway was inching it's way towards you, causing you to move back with each of his steps.

"oh, my love, what's wrong?" fuck. he'd caught on.

you were silent. all your communication skills were out the window.

"c'mere" his voice soft, calm, and collected rang through your ears.

and before you could blink, your head was nuzzled in his neck, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you clung to him, you legs bent uncomfortably underneath you, and your tears soaking into his shoulder.

he was happy to stay there all night if you needed, happy to let you cry it out, happy to listen, happy to talk. as long as you were okay.

"knock before you walk into the bathroom if i'm in there, please?"

"no problem, darling. have some pasta and rest easy and you can talk about it more if needed when you wake up, alright?" he paused, took a deep breath, and continued., "i'm right here, always. i'll stay with you tonight, okay? i love you,"

and all you can remember was the warmth of his arms before you fell asleep.

[swanshapedheart]

Poorlittlekoi’s statement

Disclaimer. I, the poster, am not Koi

I am someone putting her thoughts and response to her situation into the public as I was encouraged to do so. I feel it is also necessary to bring this up as well.

I do not want to be affiliated with controversy any further.

——————————————————-

“this whole situation has messed with my head to the point where i cant even send a text to most people without worrying they are gonna leak it or use it against me in the future,, svlvnsore was just bored and found me really annoying shown in screenshot one…. not only that they also called me out for heavily referencing or tracing when they reposted an artpiece thats doing the same thing. Svlvn said they are on my ass because i didnt credit who i referenced, when the person they reposted didnt do the same either proof in screenshot two three and four. Another thing i caught on to is that they SPECIFICALLY said they didnt care that i self harmed or did horrible things to myself when they posted about me. i have anxiety, i overthink! of course im going to do bad things to myself, im mentally unwell. proof in screenshot 5… and for screenshot 6, this is only an assumption, but saying that svlvn "didnt know" is something that really throws me off. when someone makes a callout post on someone else, there will OBVIOUSLY be harassment. thats just my thought, i feel like they knew what they were doing since him and his bf arent very good people either. especially holding onto old dms and gathering them up to use it against me, when they could have handled the situation privately with me, rather than hide it behind my back.

all of this could have been prevented if they handled it differently, and that goes for me as well.

im fully aware im in the wrong, but these people are wrong in some places too. and i want people to realize that.

many artists in tcc trace, reference, all the time. i dont understand why im slandered for heavily referencing something, not tracing. theres proof of an artist doing this FROM THE ORIGINAL ARTIST BTW in my dms right now but i dont get them involved

am i handling this situation immaturely? maybe, but arent they doing the same by harassing me? absolutely.

when it comes to someone being racist/homophobic, people feel the need to harass this person to make them feel worse about what they did. this isnt how you handle a situation. harassing someone to the point they attempt suicide is just as bad as what i did, possibly even worse.

now i have recover slowly until i have the chance to even feel comfortable with myself again. i understand what i said and did was wrong, and im sitting here attempting to change and apologize to the people ive offended and hurt, but throwing that apology under the rug and making it seem like im guilt tripping is ridiculous.

so they cant say i didnt try to apologize, but nobody is guaranteed to accept my apology and thats okay. but putting it out there as if im guilt tripping when im giving reasons why i said it is not even giving me a chance to change

when it comes to growing up with a HUGE racist family, these words and beliefs become apart of my vocabulary and thoughts. its very hard to change that especially when i was always told "its just a word" and i hear it daily! growing up with these slurs has become so normal for me to say it just slips out with no worry, but ofc im seen as guilt tripping when i say this.

its different for each person, i saw a comment saying they grew up in a southern family and they dont say it, but thats them, not me.

people at school and during family events would peer pressure me into saying this slurs multiple times because they found it "funny." i slowly believed that as well.

i was a young teen being taught the wrong things, and seeing other people in tcc say it made me feel like i should say it as well to fit in and be edgy, since thats what the community is like

this situation is another lesson for me to learn, but other people in it need to learn that harassing someone isnt okay, either. especially when im trying to change, it doesnt make it any easier.”

[funky-fox-fics]

Prompt: prank

So let's set the scene:

Beautiful autumn day. Skizz logs onto the server, says hello to Joe and Cub and a few others who happen to be on. Sun's shining, birds are singing and chirping in the boughs of trees, bobbing up and down with their cheery little tunes. A breeze races through the trees, winding around each trunk and frightening the leaves, which tremble at its speed. It whistles past him, darting into the starter base, and he smiles.

For a moment all is calm--normal and typical of a day on the server (except for Zedaph dying in various ways, which--well, he supposes, in some odd way, is also normal and typical of a day on the server). He's ready to get some building done, probably get distracted halfway through, and then--

There's an odd structure near his pyramid.

It catches his eye. He pauses as he walks to his own pyramid, sets down the shulkers, studies it with a scrutinizing eye. It's... a circle made of what must be coarse dirt, filled with all sorts of flowers--poppies and peonies, azaleas and azure bluets. Atop an azalea bush sits a bright blue parrot, which makes a soft squawk as he stares at it.

"Alright," he says, very carefully. "This is either a prank, or someone left their pet and a bunch of flowers at my base, which--definitely a prank." Must be sculk-triggered too--there's no chests, pressure plates, or tripwires in sight.

Well. He's not one to pass up a good prank. Whatever this bright blue parrot has in store, he's probably ready for it.

Skizz drops his armor in the nearest half-full shulker and marches over to the parrot, ready to--die or something, he's not sure. He's never sure with this server, because typical days on the server include Zedaph dying a lot.

Finally, he stops near the parrot, close enough to pat its head, close enough to speak the Naming Charm aloud and glimpse its name in his mind. Loud Jessica reads the Nametag. The parrot looks up at him, eyes peering into his soul.

For a moment he thinks: maybe this was just a kind-hearted gesture--a parrot, for me? With all these flowers and things? That's--

And then the ground shrieks.

It's a horrible thing, a multi-layered sound rising up from beneath his feet and shaking the grass he stands on. The flowers quiver at the sound of it. It's deafening, drowning out anything else, and it sounds agonizing, like a shriek of death, like someone screaming for anyone--anyone--there's no words, just one noise, just one awful shriek--

It trembles through his bones, vibrating, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up and his wings flare out and he steps back and then suddenly he's running, purely on instinct, mind still full of that awful, awful shriek, and before he's aware of what he's even doing he's in the air and flapping wildly away from the shriek and--

He's panting.

Void. What was that.

He pulls up sharply, hovering instead, and twists around mid-air. Distantly, he can see the speck of the parrot, sitting placidly on its little azalea bush. His heart is still pounding. He takes a few deep breaths, still keeping himself aloft, before deciding that he's calm now and that he's going to go see what in void's name just happened.

Slowly, wings spread wide, he glides down to the ground and carefully lands, soundless, in the patch of flowers. He looks at Loud Jessica. Loud Jessica looks back.

He braces himself. He digs his shovel into a block.

The scream rises again, and he grits his teeth, trying to keep himself from fleeing. Void, it's loud. He digs again, straight underneath himself, and then mines the stone underneath that. He falls onto stone floor right next to a wall of shriekers.

They pulse and wriggle where they're rooted, constantly sensing the air, listening for soundwaves to set off their shriek response. There's so many of them--Skizz begins to count. Three-wide walls, five shriekers high, four walls--

60 shriekers?

Good Void. No wonder it had been so loud--one shrieker was loud enough. Which of the madlads on the server was responsible for this?

There's footsteps up above, and the shriekers, true to their name, shriek.

This time he's definitely not prepared for it, and fight-or-flight takes over, sending him flapping straight into the wall--away from the shriekers, away from the screams, away from the way it rumbles in his bones and sets his ears ringing--

Someone slips down into the cave as the shriekers are recovering from the scream, quick and swift, and--

they grab his hand--

He flinches away, still on edge, heart still racing, clutching his hand to his chest. His wings flare. The other person says nothing. Just stands there. Places a few wool blocks as a wall between them and the sculk, white, and Skizz leans against them, looks at the person--

Oh. It's Impulse there. There's a hint of worry in his eyes, like maybe he's gone too far, maybe he'd hurt Skizz--

Skizz takes another breath to steady himself and his voice, and then he says, "How many shriekers was that?"

"Sixty-four," Impulse says quietly. "A whole stack. May or may not have bribed Tango a little bit."

Skizz begins to laugh, half terrified, half shocked. This breaks the silence, comforting as it might be--Impulse begins to laugh, and then they're both doubled over, gasping for breath as the fact that he'd gotten a stack of shriekers for one prank sinks in.

"Nether's skulls," Skizz manages, voice warm with laughs. "Sixty-four, dippledop. You really went all out for this!"

"They did this last season," Impulse says, composing himself, drying away all the laughter that had taken him over before. "Scar and Grian. It was hilarious. I thought--I mean, for a second I thought I'd crossed a line or something--"

"No, you're all good, man," Skizz says, offering Impulse a grin. "Just--you know. Dove instincts and all that. My wings aren't used to being the top predator!" He flexes them subconsciously.

For a moment all is silent--the good kind of silence, not the terrifying, comfort-only-in-being-quiet silence from before. Then, Skizz says, "You know, you really should laugh more. I like your laugh."

"Thanks. I try," Impulse says with a sort of sharp chuckle. Not like before--something terse and short, not full-bodied and bright like before. The one he usually uses. And it's--it serves its purpose, but Impulse doesn't really laugh like he'd just done, and Skizz just--

Impulse is so guarded, nowadays. It's rare to catch him so off-guard that he laughs like that. Skizz likes it.

(Together, they clean up the prank, and Skizz even gets to keep the parrot.)

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

hi, indian anon here ( I think I used the ⏳️) ig you can say I'm an ex swiftie, but in the sense that I was never exposed to western music until evermore and I listened to it and loved it. I never engaged with the fandom or anything, and didn't even know all these things taylor did, and I thought taylor was a decent person because of the documentary. This was until ofc, the matty healy incident which opened my eyes to her behavior, but idky I felt like I couldn't openly dislike her. Everyone in my school was obsessed with her and if you're a girl, and you hated her, or even disliked her, you were a pick me, and I didn't wanna get hated on more by my classmates (long story there). The last straw for me was prolly when 1989 tv was released (after the mh incident I just called myself a swiftie cuz I liked her earlier work) and I had joined an online swiftie group chat, and the people there were so vile and hateful. I remember saying it's wrong hating on harry styles for cheating on her cuz she did the same, or that Joe alwyn is just a regular dude, and so are all her other exes, except prolly matty and the John Mayor guy for dating a 19 y/o (SHE ALSO DATED MINORS THO??? no one talked about this shit) and I mentioned that she's not god and that she has done bad things, and the gc, which had 50 active members everyday, collectively not only hated on me, but also these people had access to my private insta acc. My face, my friends, my address, they knew it all. It was so scary, and while I have been in plenty of toxic fandoms before (my first death threats were by the hp fandom, which I've left long back), I actually felt threatened. It actually felt like a cult, and it was scary until my insta acc got shut down (idky), and the ppl couldn't find me anymore. The swiftie fandom is weird at best, and potential criminals at worst, because wtf. They don't have any sort of individual thinking, and if someone does, they will find a way to shut it down. Even now, when I interact with a swiftie and taylor Swift comes up, and I say I don't like her, their behavior is just like the ones online. Ik ppl get more confidence to do bad things online cuz of anonymity, but swifties are the same irl, too. They completely believe it is okay to treat ppl terribly, harass and spread disgusting rumors and even doxx a Palestinian woman and give her details to Isreali organization. Like that actually happened. I regret that I didn't leave the fandom sooner because I can't believe I was associated with something like this. Ik celebrities make mistakes, and that fandoms always have one toxic portion, but this is too much.

Sorry for the long rant tho 😅

- ⏳️

sorry it took me a while to respond, there is SO MUCH HAPPENING in this ask. like 3 diff asks rolled into one omfg

1. peer pressured into “continuing” to like taylor swift you are a different kind of victim im so sorry you went through that (and all to prevent you from being bullied…im so sorry)

2. THE SWIFTIE GROUPCHAT: that is horrible and TERRIFYING. all you did was practice critical thinking and you feared for your SAFETY. their reactions are not logical nor rational and speak to how dangerous her fanbase is.

if you feel like you cannot call out your fave for their behavior without your safety being threatened, that is not a fanbase, that is a cult. i think we should actually did a venn diagram of swifties and cults we’d have a perfect circle.

3. SWIFTIES IRL: this is so true about how they behave. ive had friends tell me theyre scared of saying they hate taylor IRL cause of the backlash they’d receive. THAT IS NOT NORMAL. even when BTS was at their peak ppl never felt threatened by the ARMY to that point 😭

you NEED to send more info/links/ss about the doxxed palestinian. i need the #SwiftiesforPalestine to see wtf their mutuals are doing. that is ABHORRENT behavior. that poor woman!

thank you sm for this ask, u are truly one of god’s strongest soldiers cause wtf!!!! is wrong!!!! with swifties!!!!!

(p.s. if you are a repeat anon go ahead and sign off your asks with an emoji so i can keep track! thank you!)

[dracocheesecake]

I managed to finish something after five eons.

Summary: From an AU where Besteel survived to meet his nieces. His first time meeting them. Also involves some headcanons and oc x canon.

Besteel glimpsed into the cradle and then sniffed loudly. “This is them?” He asked, gruff.

Redimus withheld a growl. He gently reached in, pulling a blanket a little closer around the two little balls of fluff inside the egg-shaped nest. “My daughters. Your nieces, yes,” he confirmed.

“Females? Rare. I’m sure she’s happy.”

Besteel then glanced at him with a more mischievous and all too knowing smirk. “So you and that Snowpelt-”

“Her name is Doshika…and yes.”

“Hmph. Of course only a Snowpelt would take you. Still, seems they took more after the Grey side- for better or worse we still have to see.”

Redimus had to bite his tongue to keep from saying the explicit things he wanted to scream at him.

“They-”

“What are their names?”

Redimus sighed. “Dorcy-”

“Dorcy?” Besteel looked at his brother in disbelief. “Dorcy? You would be that cruel to your own eyas? How could you name a child something that horrible?”

“Eva Nine chose that name. The honor-”

Besteel snorted suddenly. “Of course she did. Probably as an act of vengeance against me, no doubt. Well, nothing can be done about that. Poor thing.”

He shook his head and poked the other one. “But now I'm worried for this one. What awful name did you pick out for her?”

Here Redimus paused. He almost smiled, but immediately squashed it down.

“...Her name is Besteen.”

Besteel froze. “…You named her after me?” His voice and expression had gone soft.

Redimus nodded. For a moment, he felt all the building anger and animosity leave his body, and he remembered why he had wanted to invite his brother over. Maybe this wasn't a mistake after all-

“Well,” Besteel said, suddenly assuming his gruff tone from before, “that's lucky for her. And now I know which of them is the better.”

Redimus felt his claws twitching. “Both,” he said, almost a growl, “of my children are equal to me.”

Besteel scoffed and ignored him, sniffing at the eyasses again. The babies shuffled a little, peering up at this other Dorcean that looked like their sire, but with two eyes instead of one, and different markings. Dorcy, ever the more enterprising, sat up and groped for his nose. Besteel pulled away before her tiny talons could touch him, snorting. The eyas fell back into the blankets, startled by the sudden puff of breath in her face.

“Hmph. They don’t seem so impressive,” he said. “The way you made it sound in your message, I thought they would have each killed a full grown Slicksharp already. Wasn’t worth the trip- even if one of them got my namesake.”

Redimus felt his blood start to near the boiling point; oh, no, it was already there, and boiling well over. It was a miracle he was still able to restrain himself.

“You can leave whenever you want,” he growled through his teeth.

“No,” Besteel sniffed, “not just yet. I have a gift for them.”

From one of his satchels he pulled out two blue stuffed water bears,with rubber limbs for chewing. He took one in each primary hand, and placed them before the eyasses.

“Beastses for my nieces,” he said.

Dorcy and Besteen blinked and sniffed at the new toys, processing what they were. Seeing as it didn't smell like food, Besteen took a cautious nibble of one of the limbs. Dorcy took hers and immediately clung to it, chomping down as hard as she could on its shoulder. Besteen rubbed her face against the soft belly of hers.

Both sisters hugged the stuffed water bears, purring and chirping between nibbles and bites. Redimus felt his blood pressure lowering. Again, that anger seeped from his muscles. He sighed.

“...Thank you,” he said.

“It's nothing,” Besteel said, again in softer tones as he watched the babies play with their new toys. “Just something for them to teethe on. Will make it a little easier on you, not having to deal with so many screaming fits…and, in a way, it's a little celebration present.”

Redimus blinked at him. “Celebration present? Celebrating what?”

“The fact they're not as ugly as you,” Besteel said, smirking.

Redimus snorted. A smile was forming again. “Something we can both agree on.”

Now Besteel's expression was one of concern. “What? You're just going to take that from me?”

“On my own account, yes,” Redimus said. “But, for what you said about my eyasses…”

He punched Besteel in the face. He went stumbling back towards the far wall before he steadied himself against it. Both brothers froze for a moment, watching to ensure the babies weren't disturbed; they were too absorbed in their new toys to notice. Redimus turned and pointed at his brother.

“Outside. Now.”

Besteel grinned. “You don't want your eyasses to watch me destroy you?”

“I don't want to put you-shaped holes in the walls of my new house. Outside, now.”

[cringelordofchaos]

Day 5 of Freakblr baby !!!!!

what I like/dislike about Jake

This will be a rollercoaster oh titan….

So, let's start with what I like about him.

I like a lot! I like his character arc, learning to be himself and stay true to himself, (though it's not finished), I like the way he masks his heavy insecurity with his cocky attitude, I like the way he gets flustered and shy around Daisy, I like his imperfection - his wrongdoings - his mistakes. I like how he's an accurate representation of what peer pressure can do to a generally well meaning individual. I like how reckless he can be, and hurt people he doesn't mean to. He's relatable, generally cool and genuinely imperfect. I like how his backstory explajs his behaviour but of course I don't mean to use it as an excuse for everything he did - just the explanation. I like his other quirks and traits casually displayed throughout the show. And there's much more to say of course, but I'm just giving a basic rundown

There's a lot of things to like about Jake!

And I usually don't dislike characters like, ever… I practically like all TMF characters, that including Jake.

However there's one thing he did that still gets on my nerves. Yes, it's me being petty - but i don't care. It's the one thing I dislike about him and I'm willing to be angy about it

Ok, picture this - you're outside on a walk, doing whatever. You then see your best friends partner being obviously and intentionally romantic with someone else. Whatever you saw makes you sure they're cheating on your friend.

What do you do?

Jakes answer - …not tell him about it!

Seriously, I don't get what was going through his head when he knew Zoey was cheating on Drew, but didn't say anything. I don't know when he found out, but it was before ep3, before he threatened Zoey to reveal the truth unless she stops teasing Milly

(Not to mention the way he said “aw … you two looked very cozy together” to Zoey having a sugar daddy, who we now know is a college student, what the actual music fuck JAKE)

Okay yes, here he was being a good friend to Milly, genuinely helping her out a ton by doing what he could - blackmail her with the knowledge he held. So of course, after threatening Zoey with the possibility of telling Drew what he knows, he can't just … tell Drew anyway, because then the deal is off, and Zoey would bother Milly again. But also, we know that Jake knew what she did before he told her, what held him back from telling Drew what she did before it was useful for Milly? Unless he has fucking future vision? (Which he doesn't.)

Like, I don't know. Some of the other things he does throughout the show are actually explained by his backstory. How he pretended he was something he wasn't because he didn't want to be an outcast again, he didn't want to be lonely again, so he gave into peer pressure to please others so they wouldn't leave him or tease him. That's why he didn't tell Drew about who he truly was - he was scared. He felt unsafe. That's why he said all the horrible things about the club in ep9 - because he's susceptible to peer pressure, he's had anxiety on his back for far too long, pressured to “choose a side” between the people he's known for longer and the people that were there for him when no one else was, and the people that didn't pressure him to pretend to be someone he wasn't. Yada yada ya get the gist.

Him not telling Drew (before ep3) about Zoey cheating on him has nothing to do with either his backstory or character arcs. It's just a bitchy thing he did for unknown reasons

Granted you could say it makes sense in some ways? Like, sometimes I feel like Jake doesn't say much about rather important things because he thinks it's not that important or it'll figure itself out or smth. I don't know what I'm on about. Like in ep9 he didn't feel like bringing uo what he said about them behind their backs because he figured it didn't matter, it wouldn't matter unless he said anything, so he didn't (but they found out anyway). Maybe that's how he felt about the droey situation - like everything would be fine if they just … ignored the truth.

Which actually now that I think about it fits his character a lot.

Perhaps he knew how hurt Drew could be if he knew. Who fucken knows, maybe he unconsciously put himself in Zoey's shoes - as someone who's also hiding a big secrey from someone he couldn't bare to lose, and someone that cares about him and someone who knows he cares about him back. Just like Zoey kinda kinda. Idfk, I'm brainstorming.

(Maybe he was also scared of what Zoey would do to him if he told drew the truth, like she is scary AF lmao.)

Or a combination of reasons - his reckless behaviour, his sort of imperfect and messy outlook on relationships, Zoey, or maybe smth else.

So yeah I guess I don't hate this part of his character anymore actually but I still felt like ranting lmao.

@31days-of-freakblr

[the-matron-of-ravens]

I don’t know how I feel about the Imogen and Orym interaction from last night.

On one hand, Orym has a point that none of this is going to be easy for Imogen and she can’t run at the first sign of that. Or if she does, it will have horrible consequences.

I still can’t tell though if he was trying to pressure her to open her mind again or pushing her not to cut and run because of how scary that moment was. it seemed like the first at the start but then it seemed like he backed off or clarified and called what she did “really dangerous” so IDK.

At the same time, as I have felt at other points too, I really feel uneasy with the peer pressure in general. Especially for something that distressed her so much.

Yet, the pressuring HAS been happening from many sources lately and so part of me just honestly appreciated that he owned up to it. Because a lot of the social pressuring in the Hells has been sugar coated or danced around this far. It was juicy to see it being openly admitted too.

So many conflicting feelings.

[alj4890]

Round Robin

Choices Books/Characters Used So Far: The Royal Romance, Platinum

Word total: 2,552

Masterlist for the Round Robin event

Next writer: @kingliam2019

Hosted by @choicesprompts

Chapter 4 Initial Meeting

"Gah!"

Bertrand jerked awake from the nightmares he'd been trapped in. Sweat beaded his forehead yet he felt chilled to the bone. His breathing was labored as he kicked the covers off of himself. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and decided that four in the morning was a perfectly acceptable time to give up on sleep.

"How could I possibly rest after that?!" He grumbled.

Slipping his robe on, he quietly left his suite.

The resort he'd secured for this endeavor was on an island off the coast of Cordonia. It had its own airfield, dock, and rolling hills with thick forests to block the hotel from any possible onlookers from the mainland. The front of the hotel faced the ocean and possessed the only beach the island boasted of. The rest was a rocky shore line that few well seasoned boat captains could navigate around.

The secluded area allowed his more famous clients a chance to work through the planned events without paparazzi and the public watching. This would also allow Bertrand to film and have exclusive rights to said progress of these well known individuals.

This has to work, he thought to himself. It must!

Once he made it to the main lobby, he drifted on until he found the hotel's kitchen.

He paused when he heard noise within.

Peering around the corner, he felt both relieved and irritated to see Maxwell rummaging around the industrial size refrigerator.

"Are you still up or have you decided to begin getting up early to start the day off right?"

Maxwell jumped in surprise and whirled around with a large tub of ice cream in his arms.

Bertrand released a resigned sigh at the sight. He knew his brother too well to even hope he had gone to bed at some point during the night.

"What are you doing up so early?" Maxwell asked in order to avoid further questions of his late night activities.

"After the nightmares I've had, I decided that sleep will no longer be of any use."

Bertrand started a nearby coffeepot.

Maxwell found a spoon and hopped up on the counter. Digging in to his tub of Rocky Road, he hummed his concern.

Bertrand rolled his eyes. "Was that an indication of sorrow over my predicament or am I supposed to take it as an inquiry?"

"Both." Maxwell said around a mouthful of heavenly flavors. "What'd you dream about?"

"What else other than the very thing that is weighing heavily upon my mind?" Bertrand grumbled.

"Ah." Maxwell ate another spoonful of ice cream. "How bad was it?"

"Horrible." Bertrand shuddered. "The worst case scenario one could possibly imagine. We were unable to help a wealthy client from Spain reveal her family's questionable background and we had a client murdered by one of our agents."

"Who did the murder?" Maxwell leaned forward with renewed interest.

"Someone I didn't know." Bertrand poured himself a cup of coffee. "It certainly made me rethink my policy of hiring from outside our social status."

After taking a sip, he launched into another rant of how this company had to succeed, that the world was watching and these people needed to be given a chance to prove they could be something other than their reputations.

Maxwell set the tub of ice cream down to search through a nearby cabinet. He came across a bottle of brandy that he figured couldn't hurt. He poured a healthy dose into Bertrand's coffee mug.

"What are you-Maxwell!" Bertrand scolded. "You might be able to flagrantly ignore the pressure we're under, but I--"

"Need to calm down." Maxwell finished for him.

"I can't be drunk on our first official day!" Bertrand argued.

"That teensy splash isn't going to do anything except help you relax." Maxwell pointed out.

Bertrand's jaw dropped when he saw the bottle.

"That's Courvoisier L’Esprit! Do you have any idea how expensive that bottle is?"

Maxwell shrugged. "So? You rented this whole place and all that comes with it. Enjoy it."

"I don't have the luxury of enjoying anything." Bertrand grumbled. "Much less indulging in spirits that costs nearly seven thousand dollars a bottle."

"Live a little." Maxwell patted his back. "It'll do you some good."

"Good? Like it did everyone here?" Bertrand snorted. "All I need to make this company falter is to show I'm no better than they are."

"So they've been caught doing a little bad behavior." Maxwell resumed his ice cream snack. "They're here now, ready to make things right. We'll help them. Word will spread how awesome we are. Badda bing badda boom: everyone wins!"

"Only you could make this sound easy." Bertrand mumbled as he sipped more of his spiked coffee.

"With our people working this, it'll be a piece of cake!" Maxwell exclaimed. "Just you wait and see."

**************

A few hours later, Olivia Nevrakis, Duchess of Lythikos, was disabling a computerized lock of one of the suites on the tenth floor. With a satisfied click, the door opened without any further trouble.

Her nose wrinkled at the sight before her. The living room area had been completely trashed. The wet bar was littered with empty tequila bottles and strawberry margarita mixes. Lamps had been knocked over. Couch cushions were dirty from shoe prints. Clothes littered the floor and led the way past half eaten appetizers towards the master suite.

Not even bothering to knock and give warning to the occupants, she stormed into the bedroom and opened up the curtains.

There in the bed lay the client she was given. The sunlight revealed that the infamous musician was sandwiched between one of the resort's staff and one of the three Michelin chefs that worked in the kitchens. The two had the decency to sit up and mumble apologies while Raleigh Carrera casually stretched his naked body.

Olivia rolled her eyes at the sight before her.

"Out." She told his guests.

The two hastily left, swiping up their clothes along the way.

Raleigh groaned over the light and cracked one eye open to see what time it was.

He cursed when he saw that it was barely seven in the morning.

"Why are you in my room?" He grumbled.

"Why else?" Olivia replied. "You agreed to do this."

He rolled over on his back and took a deep breath before glancing her way.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"Olivia Nevrakis." She replied, not fazed at all by him being fully naked. "Duchess of Lythikos."

"Beaumont sent you here for what?" He muttered. "Torture?"

"Trust me, if this was torture," she smirked, "you wouldn't be talking right now."

He snorted as he rolled out of bed. Unabashed at her seeing him in all his glory, and secretly hoping it pissed her off, he walked towards her and paused a hair's breath away from her.

Holding her steady gaze, he reached behind her for one of the half empty tequila bottles.

His brow furrowed when she didn't react to his nearness. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he went past her to look out the window.

The morning light made him wince worse than the alcohol burning down his throat did.

"So?" He said. "I take it you're my shadow that Beaumont was talking about yesterday."

"Correct." Olivia pulled out her phone and began to scroll through some documents that had been sent over the night before. "And you're the PR Nightmare."

He snorted. "Nightmare, huh?" His smile grew hearing that. "I guess you could say that."

"Seems ridiculous to me." Olivia remarked. "Your drinking, carousing, and destruction of private property hardly seems worth my time."

"Giving up on me already, Red?" Raleigh teased. "And after your delightful wake-up call, I thought we'd be friends."

Olivia's chuckle had a cold edge that caught his attention. "Friends? No. I don't do friends with people like you."

His eyes narrowed upon her. "You got a problem with singers or tattooed people?"

"Neither." She replied. "In fact, I'm even slightly fond of someone who has a tattoo." Her own eyes raked dispassionately over him. "What I don't like is someone who rolls over and gives up."

"Gives up?" He threw his bottle down. "On what? What have I given up on?"

"From the few minutes I've been forced to endure your company, I would say self-respect." She shrugged. "I have very little patience as it is, so don't expect me to cheer you on during these next few weeks."

Olivia straightened her suit jacket, and walked out of his bedroom without a second glance.

Raleigh cursed as he chased after her.

"Wait a damn second!" He ordered. "What do you mean, I don't have any self-respect?" He gestured around his room. "What, just because I know how to throw a good party and enjoy life the way I want to; that gives off that I have no self-respect?"

"No." Olivia perched her hip on a table. "The fact that you allowed it to be the only thing you're known for proves you don't have any. Who cares what you do during your private time? You're the only one who has allowed this reputation to develop."

"Hold on!" He ran his hand through his tousled curls. "My former PR reps, the record label; they all demanded I date the new stars to help build up their reputations. I then was told to publicly break up with them and stage wild parties."

Olivia merely raised an eyebrow over that explanation.

"I don't need this shit!" He snapped at her. "Believe whatever the hell you like, but I do other things than screw starlets and trash rooms!"

She didn't even blink over him shouting that last bit.

A knock at his door had him swinging around in agitation to jerk it open.

Maxwell stood there with a camera propped up on his shoulder. His jaw dropped at the sight of the famous singer without a shred of clothing.

"Ummm." He cleared his throat. "I can...uh..."

He swallowed when Olivia appeared behind Raleigh's shoulder.

"Give us a few minutes." She ordered.

"A few minutes for what?" Raleigh griped. "I'm not going to participate in this bullshit another--"

The wind was knocked out of him when Olivia flipped him over her shoulder. He tried to breathe but lost the battle when she straddled his chest, pinned his arms down with her knees, and flipped a dagger in her hand so that the edge was right below his eye.

"Listen closely, because I will not repeat myself." She hissed.

Raleigh heard Maxwell breathe out, "Holy sh--" before Olivia kicked the door closed.

"You desperately need someone to right your image. Your label is already threatening to drop you. Your fans are sick of all the drama you do with fresh faced singers and actors." She told him.

Olivia leaned closer, her words dripping like venom.

"I personally don't care if you waste your life or not. You are nothing to me. You will never be worth my time." She paused. "But, I do have loyalty to the Beaumont's so I will improve your image."

She got off him, replaced her dagger in the strap above her thigh, and straightened her skirt.

"So here's how it is going to go." She informed him. "You're going to get off your hungover ass, get dressed for the camera, and do everything I tell you."

Her eyes narrowed upon him. "If you don't, then your little anonymous community centers in low income neighborhoods will cease to exist."

Raleigh shot up when he heard that.

"You know about those?"

Olivia slowly smiled. "Here's a helpful hint when dealing with me: I know everything before anyone else does."

She motioned towards his bedroom. "Go get dressed."

He got to his feet. "How did Beaumont find out about those? Nobody knows about that."

"Bertrand doesn't know. I conducted my own investigation on you like I do with everyone I interact with." She replied.

Raleigh blinked over that.

The last thing he wanted was for the kids in his old neighborhood to lose out on something to make their lives better. He had plans in place to build more of them across the United States. He couldn't let his true passion die now that he'd found it.

"You really think you can fix my image?" He asked.

"Of course I can." Her smile was full of smugness. "I never fail."

Raleigh took a deep breath and slowly released it. He knew he really didn't have a choice, which stung a bit. Still though, what did he have to lose by letting her try and repair his image? It was either going to work or it wasn't. Couldn't be much worse than what his other agents had attempted.

"Okay." He looked up at her. "I'll do it."

"Get dressed." Olivia ordered on her way to the door. "I'll tell Maxwell we'll be ready to film shortly.

"My nakedness bothering you, Red?" He teased to get a rile out of her.

"Hardly." She rolled her eyes.

"So you do like what you see?" He countered.

She eyed him, a hint of a genuine smile drifted across her lips.

"You're going to wish I did." With that, she stepped out of his room.

***************

A few minutes later, Bertrand joined Maxwell outside of Raleigh's suite.

"How's it going?" He asked.

"Well," Maxwell hedged. "It's, um, it's been an interesting start."

"Really?" Bertrand's excitement couldn't be contained. "Let me see what you have so far."

"Maybe you should wait." Maxwell countered. "I mean, I haven't got all the angles right and I should really get some more footage of--"

"Nonsense!" Bertrand snatched the camera out of his hands. "I've been sitting on pins and needles. I just know that..."

His eyes widened at the sight of Olivia throwing a naked Raleigh Carrera over her shoulder and straddling him.

"Good God!" He screeched. "What on-- why?"

"It's okay!" Maxwell quickly reassured him. "Olivia said Raleigh will be ready in a few minutes. We can--"

"I can't release this to the public!" Bertrand cried out. "We're ruined! Those few seconds of footage will shut us down faster than--"

"People are going to love this!" Maxwell argued.

"Yes. Voyeurs of the worst kind." Bertrand raked his hands through his hair. "No one will ever hire our company again after seeing one of our agents physically attacking a client."

He groaned as the realization struck him. "My nightmares have become true."

"But I think--"

They both became silent when Raleigh opened the door once again. He was clean, dressed in his usual rocker style, and actually had a pleasant smile on his face.

"Sorry for the wait." He jerked his head towards his room. "I'm ready when you are to start filming."

Bertrand' gaped at the man. "You are?"

"Yeah." Raleigh glanced back at Olivia. "Gotta do something to fix this, right?"

"Er, right." Bertrand cleared his throat. "Well then. Maxwell, don't keep the man waiting."

He pushed his brother into the room. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Bertrand forced a smile as Raleigh shut the door then sagged back against the opposite wall.

"Oh thank God." He whispered.

With this strangely auspicious start, he wondered how the other initial meetings were going.

[zirawrites]

what about the fallout 4 companions cheating on sole?

Cait: Cait followed Sole as they packed their bags; an unreadably blank expression making their lover seem more machine than human. “Sole, I dunno what got into me. You didn’t deserve that. At least believe me when I say it wasn’t to hurt you.” When Sole continued to ignore her, Cait covered her face in shame. “I’d forgotten why we fell in love. Or maybe I was ignoring it. Just... please, tell me what you’re thinking.”

Curie: Curie wasn’t aware of every social etiquette, but it didn’t take an actual human to understand cheating was wrong. She futilely wiped the hot tears on her cheeks as Sole looked at her with pure astonishment. “I am so ashamed, my love. I cannot even ask for your forgiveness.” Curie let out an undignified snivel. “What we have... I cannot bear to think I threw it all away.  I feel so incredibly, unbearably stupid.”

Danse: Danse was a soldier, and every great soldier knows how to follow rules. Stay within boundaries. Respect their peers. Danse was sick with himself when Sole confronted him about being unfaithful. He felt even less of a man than when he’d discovered he was a synth. He felt like nothing at all. “Sole, forgive me. I was misguided. They were a mistake. You are all who matters.” When Sole turned away, Danse hung his head. “I understand. I was a fool to even consider you’d still want me around.”

Deacon: Deacon had done a lot of shitty things in his life. But screwing over his partner? Someone he considered his best and only friend? He was too cowardly to lower his glasses and expose the tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve lied a lot, but trust me when I say you are the love of my life, Sole. I’ll do anything to gain your confidence again.” But Deacon knew he’d already lost Sole when they crossed their arms and folded into themselves. They were as alone and scared as the day they stumbled into HQ.

Hancock: “Shit, Sunshine. I wanted you to hear it from me.” Hancock knew gossip spread through Goodneighbor like wildfire. He was almost as disappointed in himself for not stopping it as he was disgusted with himself for cheating on Sole; the best damn thing to ever happen to him. “I could go on about how it was chems or booze or peer pressure, but the truth is I was a selfish asshole. I let the love of my life go because of my own fucking actions. Trust me, losing you will haunt me for the hundreds of years I’ll be walking this earth.”

MacCready: MacCready didn’t know why he strayed from Sole. They had chased the Gunners off his back. Saved his son from a horrible, painful death. Took down the Institute and brought the Commonwealth out of its Dark Ages. He’d never done anything half as altruistic, yet Sole saw something in him MacCready still couldn’t recognize. Until they discovered he had cheated, of course. He watched Sole blink back tears, and his own eyes began to well like a small child being reprimanded. “Shit, Sole. I’m so...” He turned away. He couldn’t stomach looking at them. “Damn it. Damn it, Sole. I just... I don’t even deserve you.”

Preston: Preston was the one who admitted to cheating. He sat them down and explained how a drunken celebration at the Castle turned into something steamy and shameful. Then he answered all of Sole’s questions, only starting to cry when they asked if he ever loved them. “Of course I love you, Sole. And I’ll never forgive myself for losing you.”

Piper: “Blue, wait!” Piper chased Sole up the stairs as they walked through Diamond City. “It was a mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake. And I completely regret it.” Sole was more intent on watching the gates open than listening to Piper’s pleas. “Can we talk about it? I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just...” Her voice cracked. “Don’t leave me, Blue.”

Nick: “Breaking your heart will be the biggest regret of my life.” Nick didn’t try to convince Sole to stay. He was mature enough to understand just how badly he’d hurt them. And that Sole deserved better. “Take care of yourself, Sole. You deserve a hell of a lot better than me.”

X6-88: X6 had never been so embarrassed in his life. He knew how important Sole was not just to the Institute, but himself as well. They were his first love, and most definitely would be his only. “I’m ashamed of my actions, Sole.” He took off his glasses in a rare show of affection. “I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Though I know I do not deserve it.”