#posts written just for me

[lemongogo]

life of regret

[inkskinned]

i'm a little afraid to go to pride this year. many of us are, a little. sitting around our tapas and video games, the silence that hangs over the discord server. it feels different, we say.

we're privileged. the community that came before us laid the groundwork so i could be raised in a different world, and i will never forget their sacrifices and dedication. they gave us this: a pride that feels like community and celebration and joy. i remember the first few times i went to a queer event - i'd been raised so catholic. feeling safe like that, for the first time... it saved my life. i go to pride to celebrate that feeling - my people, laughing. out in the sun, the way we couldn't have been even 25 years ago. that feeling: no wonder we call it "pride."

who am i to be afraid anyway. there are parts of the world where people are doing much better work than i am. but it's just: i felt at home there, you know? and this year feels different. we are waiting on the dam to break. last year, at boston pride, there was a whole gaggle of sign-holders shouting about jesus. you walk around them and try not to let it get to you.

this year, i'm going to DC's pride with my girlfriend. google sends me concerns about if it's safe to exist in trump's america, if World Pride is a bigass target on all of us. every article uses the words "safety concerns" many, many times. three days ago i witnessed a shooting.

even straight people keep telling me - people are weird lately. sometimes we blame it on Covid and sometimes we blame it on the full moon. but i do remember a time before this, right. it's not just that people are more comfortable being rude. it's this strange, outwards violence. a comfort in being cruel.

it's a big hole to fall down anyway. it's not like they're going to do anything to make pride safe, not really. i don't want a police presence as the solution. and what if this is just fearmongering! what if this is just to get us to stop attending our own events! what if everything is actually fine, and i'm just freaked out by the stated intentions of our president!

and what if i'm just listening to things that are being said. what if i'm weighing the shape and size of this america accurately.

my mother calls me. she's been getting the articles too. i assure her i'll be careful, but i put the phone down and stare at it. i'm going to go to pride. other people made it safe for me, it is my duty and my honor to show up for my community. the only thing we've ever had was each other. it was always an act of bravery. being ourselves is brave.

but i am afraid. i lay out my outfit and i kiss my girlfriend. i cut my nails and clean up my undercut. i hold her hand and hang the sunset flag. the sound of this america feels different. like a volcano trembling. i will love her and i will love being queer and i will sing over the noise of it.

but ... still. in the back of my mind. that feeling, like something terrible has been shifted. like somewhere in the night - they remembered we're different.

[storytellering]

I dunno guys, I think he did nothing wrong ever

[factual-fantasy]

Recently I've been thinking a lot about Breakdown and Knockouts friendship and how it started, since they seem so different. Also how their re-written pasts make the transition from con to bot a lot more seamless/plausible.

It was only after all the line art was done that I stopped to think "They probably have canon backstories outside of the Prime show that I should look into.💀" But by then I had already brainstormed a bit too much for them--😅

That being said, the general idea I'm starting with is that Breakdown and Knockout both bonded over having joining the Decepticon cause for similar reasons.

For Breakdown, he had a huge family and a large circle of friends before the war. When the political stuff between OP and Megs started, Breakdown never really looked into it. He was never the "smart type" anyways. "Not like I'd even understand any of that political slop." He'd say.

Instead he got the info filtered to him through his friends and family. All of which were devout Decepticons. He trusted that they were more intelligent than him so he believed all that they would tell him about the Autobots and Optimus. Eventually becoming a devout Decepticon himself.

When the war began, of course he joined the cons with his friends and family. Why would he ever fight against them or question them?

By the time he had lost his loved ones to the war and had no one he loved to fight along side.. and by the time he really began to think about what he was fighting for and was questioning the morals of the cons.. he felt like it was far too late. He had killed one too many Autobots by that point. And his fate as a con was sealed.. there was no room to question what be believed now. He had no choice really, he was a con and that's that.

For Knockout it was similar. He didn't have a huge family or group of friends, but he did have a handful of people whom he highly respected and loved. When the politics came about, Knockout wasn't really sure he wanted to be a con. But his cowardice and anxiety ruled over him. He didn't want to turn against his loved ones who chose to be cons, and he felt like he had more protection with the cons then he did the Autobots.

When the war broke out and things got real, Knockout was terrified. Clinging to the little family he has left with the cons and doing everything he could to stay useful.

By the time his loved ones had all passed from war and he had no reason to stay with the cons. It was FAR too late. He felt like with the amount of aid he's provided to the Decepticons, there was no way he could join the Autobots. And he couldn't possibly survive on his own as a rogue. So for his own survival, he had to stay with the cons..

After learning of their similar backstories and feeling trapped with the cons, Breakdown and Knockout became very good friends.

All of this to say, this comic was supposed to show a bit about what my BD and KO's friendship looks like. Under his confident persona, KO is rather emotionally fragile from this war. And occasionally he has these nervous breakdowns over all the stress and loss..

Since he's become friends with Breakdown, he's never had to face these times alone. Somehow Breakdown always finds him, with a energon refill in hand, and talks him through it. BD thinks he's just really good at distracting KO with small talk and that's what settles him.

The truth is, its Breakdowns genuine sympathy and kindness in these moments that makes him feel like everything's gonna be ok.

[kokokoula]

you fall first, but he falls harder

a/n: i can only write fluff, so please trust me that it's fluff. there's like, one usage of 'she', timeskip spoilers, and a bit of language. it's my longest fic yet (which isn't saying much), no beta we die like daichi

you don't know that tsukishima kei knows about your crush on him. it's so damn obvious, how you turn red so easily when he's around. unfortunately for you, though, he doesn't reciprocate, nor does he bother confronting you about it. you are his closest friend other than yamaguchi, and as much as he hates to admit it, he doesn't want to lose you as one. it's so tedious, anyways.

---

"it's our last year in karasuno, do you have anything planned?" you ask as you lay on the floor of tsukishima's room. you're supposed to be studying, since it was what you came over to do with kei and tadashi, but you gave up somewhere halfway in geography.

"it is my last year, but who knows about you? you've been slacking so much, you'd probably have to repeat a year. and could you get up?" he sighs and nudges your side with his foot.

"asshole," you mutter, cheeks growing red. if you knew that he just dodged your question, you don't do anything about it. "just you wait, i'll enroll into kyoto university and make you eat your words, beanpole."

"sure." his reply drips with sarcasm, but he doesn't doubt that you can make it far. there's a knock at the door.

"sorry for being late!"

"tadashi!!"

---

kei knows you can read him like an open book. you can tell he's having a bad day just by a conversation with him through text. he also knows that when he says that he doesn't want to talk, you immediately ring his phone.

the first time it happened, he had tried to decline your calls, or just ignore them entirely, but you're insistent. eventually he picked up, filled with pure irritation at that point.

"could you--"

"i'm heading over. i promise i won't push for any details. i'll even get strawberry shortcake on the way." you immediately stated. he paused to mull it over.

"fine, but if the cake sucks, i'm kicking you out." it's safe to say that the cake was good enough to make this a habit, so much so that tsukshima doesn't even know why you still call him to let him know you're coming over. the both of you know you will no matter what.

so here you are, sitting on his bedroom floor with him and eating desserts in silence, save for the music playing softly from his computer.

"you're gonna get in trouble with your parents when they realise you snuck out." he remarks. you shrug your shoulders, stuffing the remaining taiyaki in your mouth.

"i know."

"don't talk with your mouth full." you roll your eyes with a furious blush. somehow, you being here with him becomes sweeter than the strawberry shortcake.

---

you were there when tsukishima made the decision to go professional with volleyball.

his last match as karasuno's middle blocker had ended. his body was sore all over, but somehow the freak duo managed to convince him and yamaguchi to play one more match back at school, just the four of them with yachi. but even with landing third in nationals and a final intimate match with his teammates, he still somehow felt so unsatisfied.

the walk home with you was silent. he was grateful you didn't say anything. he couldn't handle any more questions about how he was feeling when he himself was unsure. it was when you two stepped outside the convenience store after getting ice cream did he come to the conclusion that he never wants to have a last match.

"i'm not going to give up on volleyball after graduation." he announced out of the blue. you were caught off guard for a bit, before grinning at him. "i expected that."

"why?"

"you call hinata and kageyama freaks for being so insane about volleyball, but you don't even realise that you're just as equally crazy about it as them." you said it so nonchalantly as you eat your ice cream, like you're stating a fact. now it was his turn to be taken off guard. he took a while to let it settle in before chuckling softly.

he should have known that you know him better than he does himself.

---

it's graduation day. tsukishima and kageyama are stuck with their four teary-eyed friends by their side. kei awkwardly pats your head, not knowing how to comfort you. you laugh at his feeble attempt, your rosy cheeks burning red. have you always been this cute? in the midst of all the bittersweet interactions, you get distracted by something on your phone, and let out a gasp.

"what is it, (name)?" yamaguchi asks. you're trembling slightly, and tsukishima grows worried.

"i, uh, got into kyoto university," you say in disbelief. "i actually got in!" everyone congratulates you, but you only care about one thing.

"tsukki, remember that day i told you i'd make you eat your words?" he hums in acknowledgement. you shove the acceptance email in his face, but he can only focus on how proud you look with that shit-eating smirk. "what do you have to say now, beanpole?"

he smiles. that's my best friend right there.

"nothing."

---

you were gone before the new year, and kei was handling your absence well until semester started. he had believed it'd be fine, you were only across the country, not across the world. plus, you promised you would call as often as you could.

but he doesn't see you in his classes anymore, and you don't come over when he's having a bad day. he got himself strawberry shortcake to lighten his mood like it usually does, but he only feels hollow. it doesn't help that since he's going pro, his volleyball training is almost everyday now, and with your commitments, he rarely gets to call you anymore. it hurts like hell inside.

"hey tsukki, you've been off recently. is everything ok?" tadashi calls him one day.

"i'm fine, yamaguchi." kei lies. tadashi isn't convinced.

"does it have something to do with (name) being in kyoto?"

"why would you say that?" he answered too quickly for his liking.

"well, you bring (name) up quite a bit, and when you realise she isn't there, you get all quiet and snappy." tsukishima is about to retort back, but then it hits him.

oh shit, he's in love.

---

the day you finally return back to miyagi to visit, tsukishima waits at the station with yamaguchi. kei's eyes are constantly searching the crowd and flickering to his watch every so often.

"tsukki, relax, she'll be here soon." he ignores tadashi's reassurance.

tsukishima kei is a composed man, always able to think before he acts. but when he catches sight of you, he runs. before you can register anything, he hugs you, gripping onto you like a lifeline, like he will die if he lets go of you.

"tsukki--"

"gosh, i missed you so much, you idiot." he knows you could have easily lost feelings for him when you were away.

"wha--"

"i've suffered so much because of your stupid, dumb ass." he doesn't care.

"wait--"

"i like you, so go out with me before you have to head back to kyoto." you're back, and he's scared to lose you again. every second you stay quiet, the louder his heart beats in his ears.

"really?" you finally say, your voice barely over a whisper.

"yea." another pause.

"guess i'm yours then, beanpole."

bonus:

"you know, i knew about your crush back in high school."

"what the heck?"

"you didn't necessarily hide it well."

"then i'll have you know that yamaguchi told me everything that had happened when i've been gone."

"...fuck."

[teddybeartoji]

toji coming home from work late at night and finding you and the kids sleeping in your shared bed. you've got little megumi to your left and tsumiki to your right, their bodies curling into you as they use you as their pillow. drool dribbles from the corner of gumi's lips as he lets out the faintest snores and miki's hair is all over her face and you look awfully stiff under them, your arms probably dead and numb from the position. but he knows you would never really complain, you'd never push the kids away.

toji takes a moment to stare at the three of you. safe and sound. he burns the image into his head so he can cherish it forever before rushing to brush is teeth and to change into something more comfortable – he can't wait to see megumi scrunch his nose as toji wishes him goodnight with a little boop and he can't wait to see the small pout tsumiki will wear when he adjusts her body into a better position. he can't wait to hear the hushed call of his name when you realize he's back home, he can't wait for you to reach for him in the dark.

home.

[clancysletter]

"[Migraine] means a lot to me. It's one of the first songs Josh and I ever played together. […] To be able to feel confident enough in a friendship, to show someone a song like this, was one of the many reasons why I knew I just couldn't be in a band with anyone else." — Tyler Joseph (2019)

"Home is a weird concept for me. I feel like I have a house full of stuff, which is completety different. The idea of a home seems kind of foreign [to me] these days. For me, home is pretty much wherever I'm hanging out with Tyler." — Josh Dun (TOBITW)

"My true best friend, he's a perfect person, the yin to my yang when it comes to all things life. I introduce to you my very favorite person in the world: Josh Dun." — Tyler Joseph (2020)

"Nine years ago today, I started playing in a band with Tyler. The portion of the band's agreement that I contributed [with] all those years ago [was] 'If i’m gonna be famous for something, I wanna be famous for loving you.' [It] still holds true today." — Josh Dun (2020)

[wordpress-blaze-36010151]

I am a Failure

Recently, I have been contemplating failure and its spiritual dimensions. In large part, this is because failure’s counterpart, success, is such a strange thing to pin down. I think Daniel Berrigan was onto something when he referred to success as being a weasel word and horribly American. But this recent contemplation of mine is also because, by all accounts, Jesus of Nazareth was a failure as well. Certainly, he had the makings of a successful person, but in the end, he died scandalized and humiliated on a Roman Cross.

As I was recently reminded at a gathering of Lutherans, many are certainly happy to celebrate Jesus becoming a failure for us, but those qualities that brought him to a Roman cross seem to be overlooked for the systematic nature of Paul’s letters. At times, I am not so sure what to make of this dynamic, because when Jesus’ words are referenced, they are just as quickly taken out of context.

It might seem strange that I am writing about failure, given my background as a pastor and professor with a Ph.D. I think I would be considered a “success” by some. However, in a very real sense, I don’t know what to do with such a judgment. Not because I am against being considered a success, but because there is so much more to me than just these things. There are many places where I might be deemed a failure. I resigned from a reputable pastoral position in part because of interpersonal dynamics, I struggle with OCD, I can certainly worry about the most ridiculous things, and I can be harsh and impatient. My successes can all too easily cover up my failures or, in another very real sense, my humanity. However, what strikes me through all my experiences is that it is in the failures and the struggles that the gold is found. After all, Christians believe that one man’s failure is what saves us from our sins.  

Recently, I read a great interview with theologian William T. Cavanaugh concerning success and failure. In the interview, Cavanaugh explains how, when it comes to positions of power and our desire for them, we rarely ask or consider how the position might change us. Rather, we often view it in the opposite direction, with a very individualistic lens, on how we can change the world through our position. I thought this was such a powerful insight, as we tend to approach the world around us in such ways when, in all actuality, the world around us influences us far more than we influence it. And really, wasn’t that the struggle of Jesus of Nazareth, not succumbing to the influence of the world? Satan tempted him with the very things that make for a successful person: power, prestige, and security, and certainly, no cross. Peter rebuked him over all his cross talk. And certainly had Jesus been more agreeable, he could have found a seat at the table of his enemies, the Pharisees. Yet, the ultimate symbol of failure lay ahead of him for all to see. I suppose we can say that such is what happens when one does not seek success, but instead faithfulness to the ways of God – failure.

Source: I am a Failure

[elodieunderglass]

Horror isekai where Perceiving the Weird Eldritch Thing gets you catapulted into a nightmare labyrinth of puzzle-solving.

I.e Those Who Perceive The Hunt of the Goblin King Must Partake In The Labyrinth and Can Only Be Freed If They Complete It In One Day and One Night. By Fae Law. For Reasons.

But the definition of “perception” clearly needs to be updated because some normal guy simply films the Hunt of the Goblin King Behind Arby’s, and puts it on Facebook -

No, not instagram or TikTok, it’s important that it be Facebook -

Because the rules are pretty clear, “the rules are the rules” as is carved ominously in elvish runes above the grim gate, and the Contract is Sealed. and so therefore the guy and 25 of their most random real-life acquaintances must run the gauntlet together. It’s Some Guy, their immediate neighbors, their first partner’s mom, their friends from hobby Facebook groups (oh this poor guy and their hobbies; the elderly birdwatchers from Facebook and the young up-and-coming drag king community), their random teen kid niece, college friends, a dog who also watched the video, a couple consisting of a woman who is the guy’s Facebook friend and showed her husband the video, and the husband doesn’t even know Some Guy, so he’s in the labyrinth and absolutely furious about being forced to be involved, and they proceed to break up over the course of the puzzle.

It’s important that the narrative keeps trying to be a sexy dark horror isekai! but within this the comedic reality of Catherine, 52, the guy’s horse-riding instructor, being passionately involved in escape-room-style puzzle solving and grappling with minor goblins. They are in fact speedrunning the gauntlet.

The Goblin King finally has to say: all right, actually, I only really set all this up to fuck with one (1) guy at a time, thanks for your willingness to participate, but I think all 25 of you can consider the gauntlet fully run.

And the group would be quite hurt by that. The rules are the rules. We have a contract, actually. Let Catherine cook.

[yuviur]

Summer vacation, 4am.

Tons of easter eggs in this one! Click the image to find them (and for better quality ofc)

Close ups and process shots under the cut, description in alt text

[calebverse]

SOUTHBOUND

synopsis: caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. but you were willing to indulge him anyway.

cw: explicit content mdni, oral sex (female receiving), clothed cunnilingus, pet names, use of gege/meimei, pseudo-incest, hints at them being forbidden, pwp, coming in panties, praising, they still banter in the midst of eating out, biting, marking || 2.8k words

notes: this work is inspired by this post from twitter! there was a user who said it was very caleb coded but they deactivated T__T so i'm linking the original post instead. the fic was supposed to be a panty sniffing fic (classic caleb things) but i kinda went off the mark... but oh well... also note that i took inspiration from the characterization from the cn dub, using the gege and meimei terminology. i went insane writing this by the way i think i need a whole business day to recover.

caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. 

in comparison to all the times you would ask him for various things – snacks, sweets, little favors, random requests – he barely does any of it towards you. not because you were unwilling to give it. in fact, you were ready to jump on any opportunity to do something – anything – for him. 

he’s the one who doesn’t give you a chance to. 

caleb is stubborn like that – he has to do things his way, has to prove something, has to bear it by himself. so even if he is juggling multiple things at once, even if he is obviously in dire need of help, he will probably have to be on the brink of death to even think of asking for it. 

you would pout, throw fits about this to him. he is one of the most important people in your life, if not the most. so naturally, you want to be there whenever he needs you to. but classic caleb would always shut you out for it gently with a ruffle of your hair or a pinch to your cheek. 

“i want to be 100% reliable to you,” he reasoned with a soft smile one time, wiping your tears with his thumb. “if i can’t help myself, how will i be able to help you?”

caleb doesn’t ask for much, but tonight was different. 

at his request, you sat at the edge of your bed while he was kneeling in front of you. he also asked you not to touch him in any way, and he seemed to be doing the same as he kept his hands to his sides. the moon from your window was the only source of light in your dark room, but it was enough for you to see his ragged breathing, his clenched fists, his glassy eyes. 

he sat still on the hardwood floor, afraid to speak as his mind ran for miles. his ears were red down to his chest. you could see the slight shivers of his form. he looked like he was hurting, and if it wasn’t for the tent emphasized by his sweatpants as his knees stuck to the floor, you would’ve thought he was in actual pain. 

“what can i do for you, gege?” he hasn’t spoken for what felt like an eternity. so you asked him softly for the third time that night, resisting the urge to cup his face into your hands. you held onto your bed sheets instead. 

“p-please…” caleb said, but you weren’t sure what he was asking for, or if he was talking to you or to himself. he looked up with wet eyes and you thought he was in tears. “you already do so much for me, meimei…  you already—i can’t possibly ask for more. for this.” he gritted his teeth. “i never should’ve come, i never should’ve knocked, i should’ve just passed by your door and –”

“but you are here now.” you told him. “please tell me what you need, caleb. i’ll give it to you.”

“i don’t know if you—”

“if i can give it? really? you wouldn’t have come to me if you thought i couldn’t.”

“right. right, pipsqueak. i know you can give it. all of it and more. i just—” he let out a shaky breath. “i don’t know if you want to. i don’t want to scare you.”

you leaned down and nudged his knee with your foot, urging him to look up to you. “you can never scare me, caleb.” 

his adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his gaze never straying from yours. there was a hint of doubt and uncertainty happening behind his eyes. you were about to speak again, wanting him to come out of whatever shell he was hiding within his brain, when he spoke in a breathy whisper.

“i just need—” he clenches his fists. “i-i need you to stay still for me. hands on your sides, at all times. could you do that for me, pipsqueak?”

you nodded. 

“and if anything makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, yeah?” 

you nodded again. 

“words, baby.” he whispered. “i need to hear you say it, i need your words.”

“yes.” you breathed. “yes, i’ll tell you.”

but you know your gege, your caleb. he loves you dearly, and you knew he would never do anything that will hurt you. you trust him completely to the point you would let him have his way if it meant his relief, his comfort, his happiness.

caleb searched your eyes for any hint of hesitation or regret only to be met with none. with a small frown, he seemed to be mumbling to himself, as if he was at war with himself, and you were only able to catch a few words. “okay. right. i’m so… i can’t believe… i just need this—one act of selfishness and i’ll get over it.”

with those last words, he leaned in closer, nuzzling his cheek to your knee. he kept his hands behind his back. with closed eyes, he planted a small kiss on your knee. 

your mouth parted in slight surprise, but you did as he first instructed – to remain perfectly still. he laid his face on your lap, his hair tickling you lightly. he seemed to just stay there for a while, the only sounds filling the air was his quiet and content breathing. and when you thought that was it, he started to place kisses all over your thighs.

every kiss left a burning mark on your skin, spreading all over until it reached the heat between your legs. he nuzzled his nose along the expanse of your skin, his damp lips gliding along. he looked up to you with his gemstone-like eyes, the ones you grew to know and love. the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine, your legs involuntarily widening. it was only a small and subtle movement, but caleb took advantage of it, moving his face in between your knees. 

his kisses moved inward, and you can feel him smile against your inner thighs. “so pretty, so so good…” he mumbled. “all you have to do is sit still, and you still affect me so much. do you know, pipsqueak? do you know how much you make me feel?”

you pulsed between your legs as he whispered to you. an involuntary whine escaped your lips when his face moved another inch inward. he hushed you with a nuzzle of his cheek. 

“how are you feelin’?” he asked. 

“t-ticklish.” you replied. “but i’m okay.”

he smiled. “and you’re still keeping your hands to yourself, remaining perfectly still. my pipsqueak is so good… you’re doing so well.”

you can feel every inhale and exhale he took, increasingly aware of how close he is to your heat. as if he could read your mind, the teasing fucker casted his eyes down and lightly blew against your clothed pussy. you squeaked, visibly shivering at the action. 

“sensitive,” he remarked with a small smirk. 

you couldn’t even come up with a snarky reply. your brain was occupied screaming and blaring caleb’s name. 

caleb. caleb. caleb. gege. caleb. your caleb. caleb, who sat right between your legs. caleb, who looked up to you as if you held the world in your hands. caleb, who raises the hem of your nightdress with his sharp nose, letting them bunch up on your hips. caleb, who kisses your clothed stomach. caleb, who trails down lower, only to stop by the small ribbon of the panties you wore. stay still for caleb. be good for gege. your caleb. caleb. caleb. caleb—

“i can smell you from here, baby.” caleb said, disrupting your messy train of thoughts. he plants one more kiss on your clothed stomach. “is that your arousal? your desire? god, it’s all i can think about right now. do you still want it? think you can still give me what i want? you kept asking me what i want, no? can i show you? will you let me show you?”

“you talk so much,” you whined, shaking in anticipation.

“now now, i’m the one who is in need, but you’re the one complaining?” he chuckled lowly. “always so impatient, pipsqueak.” 

caleb rose up from his knees. he leaned towards material of your sleepwear that met the underside of your breasts and made a trail of kisses down to your stomach, your abdomen –

“good thing for you, i hate making you wait.” 

– and finally, your clothed pussy. 

he lets out a moan, as if the very contact was enough to pleasure his whole being. but he doesn’t stop at one kiss. oh no, not at all. if you had to describe greed as a person, it was the way caleb’s face never left your heat. 

caleb peppered it with small teasing pecks all over. he moved lower, closer to your hole, and you let out a moan you were holding. one kiss, two kisses, and another two more until he finally raised his head to give you what almost looked like a drunken smile. his lips were shiny and moist. your eyes widened. there’s no way—

“so wet.” he said, and the husk of his voice went straight to your core. he licked his lips, making sure you were watching the way his tongue moved. he hummed at the taste. “so good, baby.”

before you could even feel embarrassed, caleb dived back in between your legs. gone were the sweet small kisses he had spread from your stomach to your knees. he gave open mouth kisses against your clothed core obscenely, making him look like he was a man dying of thirst and the only way to save him was to drink from you. if you were damp then just as caleb commented, you sure as hell were wet now, a combination of your slick, sweat, and his saliva. your poor panties were ruined, basically sticking like second skin from caleb’s actions. 

you were unable to hold your noises back as you were trying to keep your hands to your sides and sit upright. suddenly everything was overwhelming – you were too dressed, he was too dressed, he was too far for your liking, you needed his lips everywhere else. there was nothing you wanted more at that moment but to discard your clothes along with your underwear and put your hands into caleb’s hair, to pull his face towards you even more, rutting against his mouth. but you remained still except for the involuntary squirms of your hips, desperate for more friction. 

“ah– fuck, caleb!” you gasped as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe over your clothed slit. you closed your legs involuntarily, trapping his face in between your thighs. he nipped at your skin lightly, but you yelped in response. 

the drunken look in his eyes was replaced with a warning gaze. “i said stay still.”

you shivered, widening your legs again. “m’sorry, gege.”

his eyes softened once more and kissed the same skin he bit, an unspoken acceptance of your apology. you watched him dart his tongue out over your clothed center, licking and drawing small indiscernible patterns that drove heat to build up under your belly. it felt heavenly – caleb’s lips and tongue gliding all over your pussy as it weeps for him – but the barrier that was your panties was becoming annoying, keeping you from feeling all of him.

“caleb,” you said, eyes heavy and chest heaving for air. 

he hummed in response, the vibrations going straight to your cunt.

“m'wanna feel you.” your words were heavy and slurred, struggling to come out of your mouth.

he shook his head between your legs, his nose nudging your clit, and you whined. 

“why–”

“can’t touch you.”

you had the energy to roll your eyes. “s’very funny of you to say, considering you’re basically – oh, oh– fucking me with your tongue.” 

“this isn’t fucking you with my tongue yet.” he said, eyes full of mirth as he tilted his head to the side. he leaned against your thigh. “but it seems like that’s what you want, huh? did you mean this?”

his tongue darted out, relentlessly lapping over your bundle of nerves, causing you to squirm. his licks went from short and quick to long and slow until he reached your slit. his tongue probed at your entrance along with the thin and soaked layer of your ruined panties, moving inside and out.

“caleb!” you moaned, nails digging into your palm. “fuck– please, i need more.”

“greedy.” he mumbled. 

“says you.”

“oh baby, this is nothing. you haven’t seen greedy.”

caleb wished nothing more but to have you all to himself – he could imagine you with your back arched as he fucked you until your walls were molded to the shape of him. he wouldn’t make a grand effort to keep his hands behind him and instead let his fingers roam all over you, touch your skin, smoothen the tangles in your hair, embrace you through it if he could.

but he knew that this was already overstepping the line. he wasn’t supposed to do this, you weren’t supposed to agree. caleb made a pitiful excuse that, if there was a barrier, if you two were still clothed, if the two of you didn’t touch each other with your hands, if you remained still, it was ‘modest’ enough. it wasn’t past the breaking point enough. that the two of you can still have a way to back out, or to pretend it never happened, that it never counted. 

(oh, but it does count. to caleb, especially. the taste of you will haunt his dreams. he is beyond ruined, he fears. he might never be able to taste anything as sweet as you. might never stop craving you.)

your only response was a shameless moan. all sense of modesty and embarrassment was thrown out of the window as your brain was cloudy with pleasure.

“please…” you moaned. you raised one leg up on the edge of the bed, giving caleb more access to fuck his mouth into you. he groaned, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cock twitch through his sweatpants. you bit your lip; if he doesn’t want to remove the barrier, then you might as well give him room so you can feel him as much as you can. 

caleb gathered enough spit into his mouth and let it drool all over your heat. you threw your head back as he swirled around your wet slit. lips and teeth worked around your swollen bud, causing you to whine and clench onto nothing. 

“yes, right there, oh my god,” you panted, completely disregarding the fact he instructed you to stay still and rocked your hips into his face, matching the rhythm he settled with. “please please please–” 

he doubled his efforts, flicking and sucking your clit with the occasional probing of his wet muscle into you. heat engulfs you as you chase your high. and when you came, it was in white and scorching hot pleasure that you thought you were going to burn right there on the edge of your bed. caleb helped you ride it through, kissing your pussy as it spasmed against his lips, your release coming in gushes. he drank in as much as he could through the cloth of your panties, moaning at the taste. 

caleb looked up as you came down from your high, committing everything into memory. the sound of sighs, the feel of your body twitching above him, a sheer amount of sweat dripping from your neck and disappearing into the valley of your breasts.

it was a view he would dream of for days. maybe even longer. 

“my pipsqueak,” he muttered, soft pecks all over your thighs and lap, just as how it all started. there was nothing but adoration in his eyes. mouth shiny, lips wet, your release all over his chin and cheeks. “you were so beautiful… you gave me everything i wanted and more– thank you, thank you baby.”

you vaguely remember what happened after. only hazy visions of him helping you to bed and getting you a fresh set of sleepwear, of kissing your forehead and thanking you once more before leaving your bedroom. you were almost sure you dreamed it when you woke up the next morning if it wasn't for the cold and ruined panties you still wore. along with the mark of his teeth imprinted onto your inner thigh. it was proof enough; it was real, he was there.

caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. 

but if this is where it gets you when he does, you were willing to give him everything and more.

[livefastnbebeautiful]

me and who? .*+

[lullamiine]

[cardentist]

fandom isn't activism by the way. there's no way to do it good enough that it can stand in for putting in the work of real activism, but there's also no way to do it Bad enough that it cancels out any of your actual beliefs (as long as you treat the real people around you well, of course).

like, there's a difference between noticing that women tend to be under-represented in fics and linking that to societal misogyny (fandom as a whole is simply big enough that these trends are at least partially reflective of societal biases as a whole), and measuring specific characters and ships against each other and deciding that if one number gets below the other then feminism is LOSING.

or going up to specific People and grilling them about which characters they talk about most and why.

if someone is nice to women in real life and posts about wanting to raw old men all the time online then I think it literally doesn't matter at all actually.

recognizing that a trend As A Whole is probably influenced by societal bias doesn't translate to that Same bias being ever-present on an individual level. there's no way to write fanfic in a way that saves feminism.

fanfic is the Symptom, not the solution or even the problem. you treat the Societal Bias and the fanfic numbers change, you don't change societal bias by arguing with people online about the fics they do or don't write.

Sometimes people only write fics about gay sex because they're gay, and that's fine actually

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Redheads

synopsis: interactions between you and fred hechinger at a red carpet event for gladiator ii.

wc: 2.5k+

rpf!!! don't like, don't read!!!

a/n: i love that soft, sweet, adorable man with all of my heart. my inspiration is how fred talks about sherry. the monkey. i'm down bad bro.

italics are supposed to be comments under tiktok clips of these interviews. i definitely have more in mind for these two, but we'll see how this goes. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

next part>>

The flashing cameras and yelling reporters have started to become the new normal, which was so not normal for you. You couldn't believe how far you'd come.

Granted, your role in the movie was definitely more in the supporting cast territory, but you couldn't deny how massive the production was. But even as a supporting actress, you still had quite a bit of screen time as the unnamed favorite concubine to Emperor Caracalla.

The fans who knew you called out your name from behind the velvet ropes and you smiled and waved as you walked by.

"y/n! y/n! Over here!" A reporter called out. You nodded and smiled as you approached, indicating your acceptance of the carpet-side interview. Your agent had warned you that not every journalist might want to speak with you and that you should accept any interview you came by. Thankfully, as the start of your night would show, that wasn't the case.

"Hello!" You beamed, coming to a stop in front of the camera. The reporter greeted you back and handed you a microphone glued to a mini Romanesque column. "Oh, wow. I love the microphone!"

"Thank you," She smiled. With a quick glance at her blouse, you saw a name tag that said 'MTV UK: Claire'. "It was my idea, actually."

"Incredibly creative! They should give you a raise, Claire."

"If you wouldn't mind saying that directly into the camera..." Claire trailed off with a chuckle and a mischievous glint to her eye.

You shot the camera as serious a look as you could muster. "MTV, if you do not give this woman a raise, I will riot in the streets."

"Alright alright, enough of that." Claire laughed out loud with a few shakes of her head. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Oh, this old thing?" You smiled bashfully, grabbing at your skirt to twirl it around. The styling department had made sure that all the gowns worn during press had some Roman inspiration behind them. The piece you were wearing was off white in color, representing your character's position in society. Even with your character in mind, your dress was still breathtaking. The gown was composed of yards and yards of fabric, giving it this dreamy, flowy silhouette. The neckline was so beautiful, in the cowl style and draped ever so slightly off your shoulders. To say that you loved it would be an understatement. "Thank you very much, you look amazing yourself."

"But you are on a different level!" Claire gasped, no doubt to return the topic to you. Just like you were media trained, the reporters were too. "What was the thought process behind your look tonight?"

Your eyes lit up as this was something you had wanted to talk about. "Well, the styling department and I actually workshopped this look together. Of course we wanted it to be glamorous, this is the red carpet after all. But we also wanted to show the character through the outfits, you know?" She nodded along.

"Right, your character was quite impactful even with the few lines you had." Claire added, and you smiled in thanks.

"Yeah, thank you." You felt your face heat up at the compliment. "We wanted to still be true to her, under all the glitz and glamour. So that's why we went with the understated color, to not only show her position in society but also her demeanor throughout the film."

"But your jewellery is anything but understated." She laughed.

"Yeah, I couldn't help myself." You laughed with her.

"Give us a quick tour."

You were almost dripping in gold, from your head to your toes. "We've got the hair piece." You brought a hand up to show the gold pins connected with chains littering your up-do. "Earrings upon earrings, all hoops." You pulled a strand back to show off your right ear clearly. Some were clip on earrings as you didn't have quite enough piercings to get them all. "The necklaces, of course. Some bracelets, some rings. But I think this cuff on my upper arm is my favorite."

"And these are all borrowed pieces from different brands?"

"Most of them are, yes." You confirmed with a nod. "But some are from my private collection. And some I might steal." You joked, getting a laugh out of Claire.

"Well, you really knocked it out of the park." Claire smiled, a tone of finality in her voice that showed you the interview was coming to a close. "And before we let you go, we've got one question we're asking everyone tonight. I think we can all agree that the cast of this movie is full of beautiful men." You giggled, a bit surprised at the turn in topic. "But people on the internet have separated them into two categories."

"Oh, have they now?" You asked, unaware of what she was talking about.

"Yes, they have. Gen Z has divided them into the brooding brunets and the freaky redheads." She explained, pulling up two little hand held signs. One with Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, the brooding brunets, and the other with Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger, the freaky redheads.

You couldn't contain the surprised laugh that escaped you at the sight of their little printed faces. "Oh my goodness!"

"So, as the resident Gen Z-er on the cast, who is your pick?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm the only representation of Gen Z here." You mused as you grabbed both the signs from Claire. You lifted up the 'freaky redheads' sign and pointed to Fred. "My friend is right there with me in the Gen Z territory."

"Alright, as the representation of Gen Z women, which team is more your style?" Claire asked as you studied the signs. "People are saying they went into the movie for the brunets and came out converted to team redheads."

"That's actually really funny," You chuckled as you looked down at both signs. "This is hard." You mumbled. A small smirk found itself on your lips as you thought of Fred seeing this clip later. Someone no doubt showing it to him, as he wouldn't find it on his own. "I feel like- yeah." You nodded with determination. "I'm gonna have to go with Fred- I'm going with team freaky redheads." You nodded. "I think it would be treacherous otherwise."

"Good choice. You'd break Emperor Caracalla's heart."

"And then he'd have my head." You laughed, stepping back. "Thank you for your great questions."

"Thank you for your time." Claire waved as you walked away. "We're gonna have a tally going throughout the night, and we'll see who wins. Team brooding brunets, or team freaky redheads." You heard her say to the camera as you moved further down the carpet.

'She looks so pretty!!'

'i love the thought process behind the outfit, you can tell she really loved her character'

'the reporter asked y/n if she prefers lucius and acacius or geta and caracalla and this girl really said FRED 💀'

'i love seeing new faces in hollywood, give young new actors a chance!!' ↳ 'right?? im so sick of them recycling the same actors for every big budget movie'

'she mentioned fred, not caracalla, twice, unprompted. i see you, y/n. you're just like us.' ↳ 'have you seen his interviews? he's literally the cutest i cant blame her 🥺'

A few steps down, another reporter flagged you down. This time, the questions were more centered around the acting itself.

"And was it difficult? In a previous interview, you've said that your character's growth was significant, but she had almost no lines in the movie."

"Yeah, I think in the final cut she only has... three lines?" You winced, looking upwards as you tried to recall what was and wasn't cut. "Though I'm not sure."

"So there were scenes where she could've said more?"

"Oh yeah, for sure! There was a lot of experimentation with my character throughout filming. Ridley's a genius and he was kind enough to truly take in my suggestions. There were times where I felt like she would actually stay quiet during a scene, whereas other times I felt like she would speak up. But yeah," You breathed in and furrowed your brows in thought as you tried to focus your answer back to the original question. "It was definitely a challenge. I had to really work on my micro-expressions. Lots of research, lots of practice. And lots of trust, too. With a character like mine, I really relied on Fr- on my fellow actors in those scenes. So yeah, definitely challenging. But who doesn’t love a good challenge?"

"And did you take any inspiration from other people's work? Any source material that helped you out as you built your character?"

"Of course!" You smiled, a hint of humor in your tone as you thought of your response. "Yeah, I did. Actually, one of the biggest inspirations for my role, believe it or not, was Ferb. From 'Phineas and Ferb'."

"The- The children's show?" The interviewer questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, Ridley thought it was brilliant!" You laughed. "We watched compilations of Ferb scenes on youtube together. And I know that Fred- Fred Hechinger, who plays Emperor Caracalla-, he also brought up Sid Vicious with Ridley, as well as other sources like that. Sir Ridley Scott has great taste, there's no denying that."

'ferb as inspiration for a movie like this,,, gen z in the film industry really are the gift that keeps on giving'

'im just imagining y/n and ridley scott curled up on the couch watching phineas and ferb reruns. that man is 86 years old. this is brilliant.'

'bro didn't even have to say anything and y/n still brought up fred 💀'

'the gen z cast members making ridley scott watch cartoons is sending me'

'not her pretending she didn't mean to say fred when she talked about trust, we all heard you y/n'

Unbeknownst to you, Fred's interviews were going much like yours, only a few feet behind you on the carpet.

"You look amazing today!" Claire, the same reporter you spoke to, told Fred during his first interview on the carpet.

"Thank you, thank you." He replied bashfully as he tried to subtly look around for you, but he couldn't see you just yet. "Everyone looks so great, everyone."

She asked him a few questions and then came time for her ending segment.

"Alright, to close off, we've got a little game here."

"A game?" Fred smiled with raised brows. "I love games." He said softly, not realizing that the microphone would pick it up.

"Yes, a quick one. You just have to choose between team brooding brunets and team freaky redheads. We've asking everyone to join."

"Woah!" Fred exclaimed as he received the signs. "That's me." He pointed out his own face in the picture of him and Joseph. "What are we basing our choice on here?"

"Well, the internet is battling on who is more attractive."

"Oh my god." Fred chortled, not expecting that answer. "Who's played the game?" He asked, still examining the hand held signs.

"As of now, we've spoken to Joseph Quinn, Connie Nielsen, and y/n l/n." Claire recounted.

Fred's eyes lit up and his cheeks reddened at the mention of your name. "And what's the- what's the consensus so far?"

"It's two to one. Can you guess who's in the lead?" Claire asked.

"Let me think... Well, Joseph -my brother-, he definitely voted for us." He pondered aloud as he counted the votes off on his fingers. "Connie... I think Connie went for team brunets. I mean, it's her husband. She's gotta." He grinned when it came to you. "y/n chose me, right? We're in the lead?"

"Yeah, you're right on all counts! You really know your cast members." Claire laughed. "y/n didn't want to anger Emperor Caracalla."

"Oh, she couldn't. I’ve got too much of a soft spot for her." Fred shook his head emphatically.

"So, are you keeping team redheads in the lead? Or will you give us a tie?"

"No, I'm going team redheads!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm not helping out my competition, no way!"

'this man has bewitched me with his beautiful eyes and calming demeanor'

'he always calls joe his brother im CRYINGGG'

'did you see his face when they mention y/n, this man can't hide his crush for the life of him 🥺' ↳ 'neither can she lol'

'what do yall know about fred hechinger 🗣️🗣️🗣️'

'fred immediately knowing that y/n chose him, kill me right now.' ↳ 'mind you the choice was caracalla. she still said 'fred' and he said 'me'. can they be more obvious?'

'the way this man said 'i love games' protect him at all costs'

‘he said ‘i’ve got a soft spot for her’ is this the year of men yearning?’ ↳ ‘it’s just the paul mescal effect’

It was during his next interview that he saw you. He was talking about his experience building the character of Emperor Caracalla with Sir Ridley Scott as well as Joseph Quinn when he finally caught sight of you. You had spent a bit longer with a specific reporter down the carpet, causing Fred to catch up to you. 

“Of course, y/n was a great help as well.” He smiled, reaching over to brush against your elbow to catch your attention. At the perfect time, too, because you had just finished talking to the reporter in front of you.

“Oh, Fred!” You beamed, coming over to give him a hug. 

“Look at you.” Fred spoke against your shoulder. He pulled away from the hug and brought you into his side in front of the camera, almost like he was showing you off. “Look at her, isn’t she stunning.”

“Stop it,” you rolled your eyes as you tried your best not to show how his compliment affected you. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just had to say hello.”

“No worries,” the reporter reassured you. “Fred was actually saying how you helped with the building of his character.”

“Yeah, we worked really closely during pre-production actually.” You nodded, acutely aware of Fred’s hands on you. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket while his other arm draped across your waist, his hand resting against your hip. “My character was almost like Caracalla’s sidekick, so the motives for all her actions are really based around him.”

“I’d argue that she was more of a mirror, actually.” You turned to look at Fred, never passing up an opportunity to hear his view on these things. “She’s the complete opposite of Caracalla, but in a way she represents who he truly is under all the pressure of being in Geta’s shadow.”

“And under all the syphilis, of course.” You added, causing Fred to giggle.

“Yeah, and under the syphilis.”

‘he seems like such a sweet guy 🥺’

‘did you see his face when he saw her???  😫😫😫 theyre in love, your honor’

‘him showing her off like that is peak soft boyfriend behavior’

‘they just called me single in seven different languages’

‘his laugh is actually so cute, who is this man and why am i in love with him? 😍’ ↳ 'get in line' ↳'behind y/n, you mean?'

‘the way he’s touching her???? im just gonna go take a nap in front of an oncoming train’

‘im calling it, new hollywood it couple’

‘look at how he looks at her!!! may this love find me 🙏’

[bigfatbreak]

WAIT. Were you the writer who wrote that curly fries AU? And the one with all the portals to a halfway world where strawberries and strawberry scents didn’t exist and Marinette and Nino had a baby?

NO??? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

[wordpress-blaze-36010151]

I am a Failure

Recently, I have been contemplating failure and its spiritual dimensions. In large part, this is because failure’s counterpart, success, is such a strange thing to pin down. I think Daniel Berrigan was onto something when he referred to success as being a weasel word and horribly American. But this recent contemplation of mine is also because, by all accounts, Jesus of Nazareth was a failure as well. Certainly, he had the makings of a successful person, but in the end, he died scandalized and humiliated on a Roman Cross.

As I was recently reminded at a gathering of Lutherans, many are certainly happy to celebrate Jesus becoming a failure for us, but those qualities that brought him to a Roman cross seem to be overlooked for the systematic nature of Paul’s letters. At times, I am not so sure what to make of this dynamic, because when Jesus’ words are referenced, they are just as quickly taken out of context.

It might seem strange that I am writing about failure, given my background as a pastor and professor with a Ph.D. I think I would be considered a “success” by some. However, in a very real sense, I don’t know what to do with such a judgment. Not because I am against being considered a success, but because there is so much more to me than just these things. There are many places where I might be deemed a failure. I resigned from a reputable pastoral position in part because of interpersonal dynamics, I struggle with OCD, I can certainly worry about the most ridiculous things, and I can be harsh and impatient. My successes can all too easily cover up my failures or, in another very real sense, my humanity. However, what strikes me through all my experiences is that it is in the failures and the struggles that the gold is found. After all, Christians believe that one man’s failure is what saves us from our sins.  

Recently, I read a great interview with theologian William T. Cavanaugh concerning success and failure. In the interview, Cavanaugh explains how, when it comes to positions of power and our desire for them, we rarely ask or consider how the position might change us. Rather, we often view it in the opposite direction, with a very individualistic lens, on how we can change the world through our position. I thought this was such a powerful insight, as we tend to approach the world around us in such ways when, in all actuality, the world around us influences us far more than we influence it. And really, wasn’t that the struggle of Jesus of Nazareth, not succumbing to the influence of the world? Satan tempted him with the very things that make for a successful person: power, prestige, and security, and certainly, no cross. Peter rebuked him over all his cross talk. And certainly had Jesus been more agreeable, he could have found a seat at the table of his enemies, the Pharisees. Yet, the ultimate symbol of failure lay ahead of him for all to see. I suppose we can say that such is what happens when one does not seek success, but instead faithfulness to the ways of God – failure.

Source: I am a Failure

[spacerockband]

like, he didn’t even stop 9/11…