#probably not but if we do it would have fucked up this task so i really wanted to get it done today

[c1nna1nmyr0ll]

Happy Accident?

Megumi Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: aphrodisiacs, nipple play, titty sucking, vaginal fingering, finger sucking, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, some pet names, and pulling out

a/n: one of my fav old fics teehee

Also, maybe consider signing up for the 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦!!

The special grade curse is notorious. Notorious for evading exorcism. It’s not even that strong. Its strength is more around semi-grade two, but its unique ability is considered a special grade. Its special ability is emitting a gas that causes the victim to lose their cognitive functions making the curse able to kill the sorcerer or the curse flees.

“I’m surprised that we are both tasked with this mission, Fushiguro,” you say as Ijichi drives you and Fushiguro to where the curse resides.

“I think they don’t want to take any chances,” Fushiguro responds. “That if one of us is hit with the gas, the other can cover.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you agree.

“Has Gojo fought this curse at all?” Fushiguro asks Ijichi.

“Not that I know of,” Ijichi replies.

“Figures,” Fushiguro scoffs.

“I’m sure you two will do just fine,” Ijichi says.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” you say. “We’ll try our best.”

After a few more minutes of the car ride, Ijichi finally gets you and Fushiguro at the curse’s hideout. An old abandoned house. You and Fushiguro get more of the rundown from Ijichi; after Ijichi sets up the barrier, you and Fushiguro head inside.

As expected, the house is dark, creepy, and dusty. Just clichés all around. As you’re trying to swat at a spiderweb in a doorway, Fushiguro speaks up behind you.

“Make sure to keep your guard up,” he says.

“Right, I will,” you respond.

“The curse could ambush us at any time,” Fushiguro continues.

“Right, yeah,” you say. Hearing his voice behind you certainly was a pleasant surprise.

“I’m gonna summon my demon dog to make sure the curse doesn’t ambush us,” Fushiguro says and maneuvers his hands into a dog shape.

“Good idea,” you say. His demon dog appears before you, and it’s already picked up a scent. You and Fushiguro follow the dog to the house’s attic, where a smaller curse is hiding. It’s definitely not the curse you’re looking for. The demon dog eats it as you and Fushiguro stand at the doorway leading to the stairs.

“Demon dog should have picked up the scent of the special grade,” Fushiguro explains. “So why didn’t he?”

“Maybe this curse has a much more powerful scent?” you suggest.

“That can’t be. If that were the case, then this curse would be stronger than the special grade,” Fushiguro looks to the demon dog finishing up the curse. You follow your eyes to the demon dog as well.

“Y/N! Look out!” you hear Fushiguro shout as he pushes you away and into a wall. You collide with the wall hard, and Fushiguro’s demon dog joins your side as the special grade curse appears.

“Fushiguro!” you shout, but the special grade has already begun to spray its gas on Fushiguro. So you and the demon dog take the opportunity to attack the curse while it’s busy with Fushiguro. You and the demon dog use your cursed energy to take down the curse.

You manage to injure the curse before it disappears into the floor and gets away. However, before you try to go after the curse, you look at Fushiguro, who is sitting on the floor, covering his eyes.

“Fushiguro, are you alright?” you lower yourself, so you’re face to face. “Lemme see if you’re injured.”

“I-I’m fine,” he says. “Just go after the curse. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. He backs away from you, and you don’t want to upset him, so you follow his instructions. “I’ll be right back.” You and the demon dog run down the stairs to take care of the curse leaving Fushiguro.

“Shit. I hope my cursed energy doesn’t…” Fushiguro feels how hot he’s getting. “Fuck.” The blush on his face is getting stronger as well. “So, this is what the curse’s ability is.”

You and the demon dog corner the curse and exorcise it quickly. You’re pretty shocked at how weak the curse actually was, but you’re guessing the gas Fushiguro was hit with is no joke.

You run back up the stairs as the demon dog finishes snacking on the curse. Fushiguro’s in the same position you left him.

“Oh, Fushiguro,” you start and sit beside him. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says simply. “Let’s report to Ijichi and get out of here.” You nod and follow him out. You notice he’s not acting like himself. He seems to be…slightly nervous. His hands are a little shaky, and he’s a bit quieter. What kind of gas was he hit with?

You pull out your cell phone when you’re outside and call up Ijichi.

“Hello? Ijichi speaking,” Ijichi answers.

“Hey, it’s Y/N,” you say.

“Oh, hello! Not any trouble, I hope?” he asks.

“Well, we finished off the curse, and we’re just outside waiting,” you explain.

“Oh, good,” he says.

“But Fushiguro was hit with the curse’s gas? Is he going to be okay?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah, he should be okay, but the effects last a while,” Ijichi explains. “How is he?”

“Well, he seems to be okay, not injured at least,” you tell Ijichi.

“Good,” Ijichi says. “Oh, uh, I can’t pick you guys up until tomorrow.”

“What? Why?” you ask.

“There are some sorcerers who need my help,” Ijichi explains.

“Alright, well, good luck,” you say.

“Thank you,” he says. “Don’t worry. I’ll pick you guys up first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say. Then, finally, you and Ijichi say your goodbyes, and you hang up the phone.

“So?” Fushiguro asks.

“Well, you’re going to feel the effects of the gas for a while,” you start. Fushiguro looks upset and annoyed. “And Ijichi can’t pick us up until tomorrow.” An even worse Fushiguro Megumi annoyed face.

“Great,” he says sarcastically.

“So, I guess we should go to a hotel,” you suggest.

“Whoa, wait, what?” he asks. His nervousness is very apparent now.

“Well, we need somewhere to stay for the night. It’s already getting kind of late,” you explain to him. But, seriously, what’s up with him?

You find a hotel that’s close and within walking distance, so you and Fushiguro decide you’ll stay there. You hear his breath get heavy, and his cheeks are red. Maybe the curse gave him a fever?

When you get to the hotel, the place already looks busy as hell. People are coming and going in the lobby all around. You stumble close to Fushiguro, who tenses up when he feels you touch his chest. You apologize profusely and come to the front desk of the hotel. The lady at the front desk greets you cheerfully.

“Hello, checking in?” she asks.

“Uh, yes, could we have two rooms, please?” you ask. The front desk lady checks on the hotel computer for any room openings. You see her cringe at the results. That can’t be good.

“Unfortunately, we only have one room available,” she says.

“Oh,” you mutter. “I guess it’ll be fine for one night.” She cringes again.

“It’s a one-bedroom,” she finishes. “Meaning there’s only one bed.”

“Oh,” you mutter again. “Well, since it’s the only room available, we’ll take that one.”

“Very good,” she says. “And how will you be paying?”

“With this,” you pull out the credit card that Gojo gave you for “Jujutsu Emergencies.” You hand her the credit card, and she takes it. Then, after processing the payment, she hands the card back to you.

“Enjoy your stay,” she says.

“Thanks,” you and Fushiguro both say.

When you open the room door, the front desk lady isn’t joking around; there really is only one bed.

“Well, I’m going to get some sleep,” Fushiguro says. He begins walking towards the bed, but you stop him with your hand on his wrist.

“Wait, Fushiguro,” you say. He tenses from your touch again. “I think you should try to get your fever down. Your face is still really red, and you’re all warm.” He doesn’t say anything. “Uh, maybe take a cold shower? It could bring it down.”

“Fine,” he says simply. He stalks over to the bathroom, and you hear the shower begin to run.

You figure you’ll wait for him to be done so you can make absolutely sure that his fever went down. About 10 minutes later, Fushiguro enters the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. The sight flusters you, and you immediately look away from him. The last thing Fushiguro expected was you sitting on the bed, not sleeping already.

“So, are you feeling better?” you ask.

“Yeah, more or less,” he answers.

“Good, good,” you say, still averting your eyes from him. Finally, Fushiguro begins to put on his clothing, so you don’t have to keep averting your eyes after he’s dressed; you and he undo the covers and climb into bed.

You both face each other and notice his face is still pretty red. And just from how close he is, he’s still warm too. So you lean your forehead against his and close your eyes trying to feel his temperature.

“I don’t think that got your fever down at all, Fushiguro,” you say. Then, you open your eyes you see Fushiguro looking at you. It really flusters you.

You’re not sure why but you find yourself leaning toward him again with a different intention. Fushiguro stops you from leaning; instead, he gets on top of you. You yelp in surprise, and he smirks as he sees your surprise.

“That face looks cute on you, Y/N,” he says. “And I like it when it’s under me.”

He leans down, and he finally kisses you. God, you’ve wanted him to kiss you for so long. You clutch at his black hair as his hands are on your hips. You open your mouth to him eagerly as he traces his tongue along your lips.

Fushiguro moves his mouth to your neck and begins to suck dark marks onto it.

“Mm, Fushiguro,” you hum. He lets go of your neck with a pop to look at you.

“Call me by my first name,” he says.

“Huh?” you utter. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you.

“Call me Megumi,” he commands.

“Y-yes, Megumi,” you oblige. He returns to your neck and sucks harder on it as you squirm under him. His hands move to your chest as he touches your breasts while they’re still clothed. “Please touch me, Megumi.”

“Where?” he asks.

“Anywhere; I just need to feel you,” you beg.

“Alright,” he says. He slips off your shirt and bra, tossing them on the floor. He wastes no time latching his mouth and hands on your breasts. His tongue swirls around your right nipple while his hand tweaks the left one.

“Ah! Mm, Megumi,” you moan. He sucks your nipple as your back arches to meet his mouth. Then, he switches to sucking on your left nipple instead, and he gets the same reaction out of you.

After he’s satisfied, he returns to kissing you again and begins to take off your pants. He breaks the kiss as he looks down at your panties.

“You’re so wet already,” he says. Megumi removes his shirt and tosses it alongside your decarded clothing. “Want me to use my fingers?”

“Yes, god, please,” you beg. He smirks from hearing you beg for him. Then, he removes your panties and dives his fingers into your cunt. You moan out from the feeling of his fingers inside you.

Megumi scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you out. Your walls already start to clamp down around Megumi’s fingers.

“Jesus, you’re already clamping down on my fingers,” he says. “Guess I should hurry and make you cum.”

Megumi begins to thrust his fingers into you and picks a fast pace. You close your eyes and throw your head back on the pillow. His palm bumps at your clit, and your brow knit together as you feel your orgasm already building.

“Ah! M-Megumi, don’t stop!” you shout. Megumi continues his fast pace, and you hear your juices squelch as he curls his fingers inside you. You feel your cunt sucking in his fingers. After a few more finger thrusts, you cum on Megumi’s fingers.

He brings his fingers up and sees how soaked his fingers are from your essence.

“Clean them off,” Megumi commands and brings his fingers to your lips. You immediately take the digits into your mouth and swirl your tongue around them. “Good girl.”

Once you’re done, Megumi drags his fingers out of your mouth and looks down at you.

“What do you want me to do now?” he asks you.

“Please fuck me, Megumi,” you plea. He smirks once again and takes off his pants and boxers. He once again discards them to be with the other clothing.

“How do you want me to fuck you?” he asks.

“I don’t care, just fuck me,” you practically shout. He obliges and grabs your thighs and forces them apart. Your cunt is all ready for him.

Megumi lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes himself in. Your breath hitches from his cock, stretching you out, and Megumi groans from the sensation. He sets a slow pace so you can get used to his length. His hands tug at your sides as he tries to contain himself. He doesn’t want to hurt you. With each of Megumi’s thrusts, you get more used to his cock.

“M-Megumi, you can go faster,” you say. He grips your hips tightly and begins fucking himself into you. You moan as he reaches your spongy spot with his thrusts. Your back arches again, but Megumi slams you back down with his hands. You thread your hands in the sheets as Megumi continues to use your pussy. Your walls clench down on his throbbing dick.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing me,” Megumi mumbles. He thrusts into you harder and faster as he chases his own high.

“Ah! Me-Megumi!” you moan. “‘M cumming again!” Your abdomen coil swiftly unravels as you cum on Megumi’s cock.

“Fuck, you came on my cock, baby,” he says. “Shit, that’s hot.” He pulls out of your pussy, strokes himself, and cums all over your chest. Your chest heaves as Megumi looks at you, covered in his cum. A look he’s decided he loves. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize; I like being covered in your cum,” you admit.

═──────────◇──────────═

When you wake up, you look at the side night table and see that you have four missed calls from Ijichi and several texts from him. Oh shit, you’re dead.

You and Megumi swiftly get dressed and run to meet Ijichi, who looks worried sick. You both apologize and get into his car, ready to head back to home base.

“So, Fushiguro, how are you doing? Are you still feeling the side effects of the curse?” Ijichi asks.

“No, I took care of it,” Megumi says.

“Huh? But you still had your fever for a bit,” you say.

“Fever?” Ijichi laughs. “No, no. The curse gives off an aphrodisiac-type gas.”

“Huh? What? Really?” you ask.

“Oh, did we not tell you?” Ijichi asks.

“No, you didn’t,” you aren’t sure how to feel about this information. “But that does explain some things.”

“How did you handle the curse’s power? No one has been able to do that,” Ijichi asks Megumi. You become flustered as you realize the circumstances of Megumi’s behavior the previous night.

“I just relied on my partner, that’s all,” Megumi answers simply.

“Huh, I didn’t expect that,” Ijichi mumbles to himself.

“Uh, Megumi,” you say quietly so only he can hear. “Does that mean that last night was…”

“The aphrodisiac only made me more frustrated and, well, later confident,” he explains. “I meant all the things I said and did.”

“Me too,” you say.

“Well, it’s lucky things turned out the way they did,” Ijichi suddenly speaks up.

“Yeah, lucky,” you agree.

“That’s one way to put it, I guess,” Megumi says.

© c1nna1nmyr0ll 2024, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, use for ai, copy, translate, or repost my content on any platform. comments, reblogs, and likes are loved

[ladyloveandjustice]

Fall 2024 Anime Overview: Acro Trip

Premise: Chizuko is a huge fan of her local  magical girl, Berry Blossom. The magical girl’s arch-nemesis is a villain named Chrome, but he’s…incredibly pathetic. He’s hardly a challenge for Berry Blossom, and Chizuko is disappointed because this means her hero doesn’t really get a chance to show her stuff. She has a lot of ideas on how Chrome could be a more effective villain, and he overhears her talking about some of them. Now he’s trying  to recruit her for his evil organization, saying that if she helps him, it will mean cooler fights for Berry Blossom that will make her rise in popularity. What’s a fangirl to do?

Acro Trip is a lot of fun, and I recommend it to any magical girl enjoyer. I also recommend it to anyone who loves pathetic failguys, because my man Chrome is the most hilariously pathetic of them all. You like bad boys? Well this man is literally bad at everything.

He’s incredibly endearing—his idea of  “evil” is flipping restaurant maps or littering, he trembles pitifully when a middle school girl hits him with an umbrella, he fucks up in every way possible. At the same time, he’s a sweetheart who clearly takes his responsibility to be a good “mentor” to Chizuko very seriously and cares about her a lot. The show loves him and so do I.

 But wait! Girl failures have their rep too!

Chizuko is incredibly relatable to all of us magical girl fangirls, and her matter-of-fact way of dealing with things bounces off Chrome's himbo antic well. She has her fair share of failgirl moments herself, usually caused by her…well, it definitely seems like it's her crush on Berry Blossom.

We’ve been there, girl. I do feel Chrome gets a little more of a spotlight than her, but we also get to see her actually develop, going from refusing to get involved with Chrome to embracing her power.

Meanwhile, one of my favorite running gags is Chizuko's sweet lil’ grandfather who just rolls with every weird thing that happens and is way too excited to engage in criminal activity.

Berry Blossom herself is actually almost as big a dummy as Chrome is, with her mascot being the one who has to keep her on task. The classic dynamic! I do wish there was more to her, but I’ll discuss that later.

I felt a little concerned when it was confirmed Berry Blossom was a teenager and that Chrome was…probably in his mid-to-late twenties, because in the first episode there was a part where Chizuko seemed to think he was in love with Berry Blossom, and he was also very clear he was a masochist who is, uh, blissful when he gets punched in the face by Berry. However, the show immediately drops this. The idea of Chrome being in love with Berry Blossom never comes up again, and in fact it’s made clear he isn’t, as he repeatedly is more focused on being a good surrogate big brother to his “apprentice” over her. The masochism is mostly dropped too. On the other hand, Berry Blossom does seem to be developing a crush on Chrome, which makes me wary, but thankfully it’s extremely one sided right now. He’s completely oblivious to this, clearly doesn’t think of her that way, and it’s built on her constantly misunderstanding him requesting gifts to cheer up Chizuko (like her autograph).

It's not exactly a perfect show though,. As fun as it is, not all the gags hit, some side characters kind of dull, and my enthusiasm waned a bit as the series went on. The animation is…pretty rough. This anime clearly did not have a lot of resources allocated to it.

There’s also a bit of missed potential. It takes Chizuko way too long to get in the action, Chrome’s backstory would probably be more effective if his “rival” was a little more complex and sympathetic, there’s an interesting part in the finale where Berry Blossom mentions she doesn’t really have interests or hobbies and her mascot gave her purpose and then that’s just…brushed aside. Like how is it she doesn’t have any interests? She lives alone too, is she like, depressed? It feels like a major thing for her to say, and something Chrome should acknowledge but it’s like. "Well fight for your fans! They love you”. Perhaps it gets addressed in the manga or an (unlikely) season 2, but it sort of felt like the show wasn’t putting any thought into this heavy, kind of sad character detail they introduced. Whenever the show attempts to give its characters some depth and pathos it always seems a little half hearted.

The finale also set up a really dramatic conflict where various truths come out, and then just. Undid it all immediately. One of my least favorite tropes. There was obviously more manga left, but it really felt like the season just came to a stop rather than ended in a satisfying way.

However, the show succeeds at it’s main purpose- it’s a cozy good time for those who enjoy goofy, incompetent villains and goofy, incompetent magical girls. It’s a very sweet, silly, and occasionally funny show. Don’t go into expecting anything deep, but you can certainly have fun with it.

I implore you to give it a shot, because it’s fantastic that the lazy dark and edgy Madoka ripoffs are finally dying off, and we’re getting more variety again. We’re finally getting magical girl shows with fun premises, ones that aren’t reboots or Precure! So if you care about the genre at all, it’s so important to support them!

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

rewatching 13s era for me is not so much diminishing returns as it is something opposite and eviler...............increasing losses? increasing losses

[phagodyke]

kind of annoys me sometimes how I can happily listen to my roommate explain the entire plot of whatever she's currently into but when it comes to my interests she can only listen for a few mins before wordlessly walking out of the room

[ourceliumnetwork]

i was going to say i hate when i'm right but actually i enjoy the sensation of being correct even if i don't like the thing i was right about. So I'm very happy to be right so often, actually (especially now that no one in my life is actively trying to gaslight me)

[izzy-b-hands]

My doctor messaging me at 12:30 in the morning to tell me she wants to do a telehealth visit abt the side effects I'm having with my new Lamotrigine dose (including worse insomnia than my usual insomnia, as u may have guessed lmao) is. something.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[jensownzoo]

Finally got an outdoor task done that I've been trying to get done for three whole days but my brain said it was illegal. It took doing it in little bits all damn day, but it's done.

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[gloomwitchwrites]

For call of duty, can you write how 141 would react to you coming home after being announced KIA?

Love your work btw ❤️❤️

Not gonna lie, anon, but I genuinely read this as us reacting to the 141 coming home after being announced KIA, not them reacting to us coming home. I literally dumped everything I had planned and redid it because I missed that ONE word. (oops). Still, it's an emotional one. Your tears fuel me. :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Task Force 141!f!Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): angst, reunions, fluff, kissing, secret relationship, established relationship, grief/loss, swearing, mild humor, suggestive themes, mild sexual content

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

Reality isn’t fair. It’s not kind or forgiving.

A week gone and John is simply floating, going through the motions, simply existing. This is why you don’t date military while in the military. It’s shit like this. It’s being told the person you love is fucking dead and now you’re the one left to pick up the pieces.

There wasn’t even a body. Vaporized is what they told him. Instant and painless. You felt nothing. It’s a small comfort, but John would rather have you in his arms than knowing you’re nothing more than atoms.

He sighs, and then puffs on his cigar. Smoke curls around him. It’s all quiet on base. Everyone is gone other than the routine patrol. John sits alone in his office, looking for files for an upcoming mission.

There’s a soft knock on is office door.

“Come in,” he says, not knowing who it might be but it must be important for it to be this late.

The door clicks and then creaks as it opens. John glances up, the cigar halfway to his mouth before the world around him completely stutters to a halt.

A phantom—a vaporized phantom—stands just inside, one hand on the doorknob. You are unharmed—clean. No scratches or wounds that John can see and wearing civilian clothing.

John is already standing, already moving, unable to resist the urge to remain in his chair and write this all off as a delusion. The cigar is forgotten, probably burning a hole in the wood of his desk. You match the forward momentum, shutting the office door, reaching out to him. When his arms go around you, and pull you in, John realizes that this is not an illusion. You are real and alive and here.

“You’re dead,” he murmurs, disbelief in his tone.

“I know. And I’m so sorry. It wasn’t—”

John grasps the back of your neck in a harsh hold, pulling you in for a kiss. He silences your voice, only needing your warmth and taste. You melt for him perfectly, answering the kisses with your own. With a gruff groan, John presses you up against the closed door.

“John,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

“How are you here?”

“I’m sorry. We had to. It was the only way to extract me safely.”

John presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Never again. Promise me.”

“Promise, John.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

One. Two. Three.

The seconds tick by, and still, Kyle refuses to move. For the last two weeks, Kyle has been cold and distant, sitting in the recliner in the corner of the living room.

He doesn’t read, doesn’t return the numerous missed calls and text messages, and he doesn’t turn on the television. He just sits, staring off into space, unable to figure out where his life will go next.

Why you? Why are you gone and not him?

It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair. You should be alive and whole and happy. You should be home, wrapped in Kyle’s arms.

Kyle sighs, running his hands over his face. An overwhelming wave of grief bubbles up, threatening to rip a sob from him. Leaning forward, Kyle rests his elbows on his knees, cradling his face in his hands. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. The wave crashes against his resolve, eroding some of the numbness.

The coffin is empty. No body to bury. He still hasn’t contacted your family. He can’t do it. Can’t face them. That fact that he is here and you are not is a failure on his part. Kyle promised that he’d look after you, and now you’re gone.

Around him, the air stirs—shifts. Kyle rubs at his face, sudden awareness slipping in. There’s an anticipation in it—a tension.

“Kyle.”

That voice. He knows that voice.

Shaking his head, Kyle keeps his face covered, his breathing becoming ragged.

“You’re not real,” he gasps.

Phantom fingers lightly brush across the back of palm, traveling to his wrist. Another set join them, and two warm hands gently wrap around his wrists. They tug, and Kyle surrenders, glancing up at the delusion his consciousness is creating.

Your smile is a beacon in the dark. It is everything he’s dreamed up these aching days, only wanting to see you again. And this is no dream, this is the waking world—reality. Somehow, you are standing before him, grasping his wrists, smiling down at him with such happiness that Kyle doesn’t entirely understand how this could be possible.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Kyle.”

He’s standing, wrapping you up in his arms. There is no mistake. You are here. You are here.

Kyle murmurs your name over and over again like a mantra. He touches you everywhere, needing to know that every inch of you is real and not a figment of his imagination. You curl against him, tears forming, threatening to fall and stain your cheeks. Kyle kisses them away, grasping the sides of your face to steal your breath.

You melt beneath him, and Kyle’s only desire is to keep you near him, to relearn your every moan and whisper. He can get answers later. Later. Right now, you are here, you have returned to him, and that is enough.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny made the choice, and now he has to live with the consequences.

It’s his own fault for caring about you, for deciding that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He should have found a civilian. That way they’d be mourning him and not him mourning you.

Three months and the missive still burns a hole in his chest. It’s folded up nicely, faded and worn from him unfolding and refolding it, tucked into an inside pocket beneath his bulletproof vest. It’s right over his heart. Right where you should be. Right where you belong.

The missive doesn’t belong to Johnny. It’s addressed to Captain Price, but the man handed it over to him, because he knew—even though Johnny did his best to hide it. He didn’t want to share what he had with you with anyone. That was just for the two of you.

“You all right, Soap?”

Simon’s voice cuts through the static.

“I’m aces, Lt. Don’t worry about me.”

The words feel false on Johnny’s tongue. He hates lying—but he especially hates lying to Simon.

Even behind the balaclava, Johnny can sense Simon’s frown. But the big bloke says nothing, appearing content with his answer.

“Price wants you in Conference Room B.”

“Now?” asks Johnny. “We’re supposed to transfer out in a few.”

Simon shrugs. “He didn’t say much. Just said he needed to talk to you before we leave.”

Johnny sighs but he goes, patting Simon’s arm before jogging to one of the main buildings. It’s inconvenient—and Price could have just met him on the fucking tarmac.

“What do you need, Captain?” says Johnny, pushing open the door.

Captain Price stands just inside the doorway. And he’s not alone.

At first, Johnny doesn’t understand. It’s like all but one singular bulb has been extinguished, the remaining light illuminating the one ghost in the room. Because that’s what you are. A ghost. Unreal and ethereal. Not reality at all but a simple hope in the back of Johnny’s mind that has finally blossomed into delusion.

“Soap.” Price’s voice is gruff. He sighs and then takes a step away from you. “I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

He brushes past Johnny, lightly squeezing his shoulder as he makes his exit.

And Johnny does not move. He stands in the doorway like a bloody git, unable to understand how you’re standing before him.

You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.

Your smile is hesitant at first, your movements even more so. It’s a tentative walk to him, and you don’t touch, you only gaze at him, eagerness and hope in your eyes.

“Johnny,” you breathe, and he knows that voice.

So crisp and clear and real.

Johnny reaches out, and pinches. He pinches your arms, your waist, your cheeks.

“Ow,” you laugh. “What the hell?”

You are not cold, but warm. Solid.

Johnny laughs in disbelief. “Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

Your arms go around him and suddenly, like a firework bursting with color, Johnny is happy and whole.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon shuts the front door and frowns.

Whenever Simon comes home, Bravo always greets him. The all-black German Shepherd is a singular ball of energy, turning in quick circles and tap tap tapping his paws against the hardwood in anticipation of back scratches and belly rubs.

For the past week, Bravo’s presence has been the one bright thing, the only bit of happiness keeping Simon going. The rest of it was snatched from him, torn apart and shattered, scattered to the wind. The letter is tucked inside the drawer of the bedside table. He only read it once. And once was enough.

You are dead. That’s what the letter says anyway. And it infuriates him more than anything. Every mission you’ve ever been on has been with Simon. Except this last one. And on this last one, you did not come home.

“Bravo!” shouts Simon, dropping his keys in the designated spot next to the front door.

Removing his coat, he hangs it up, and then kicks off his sneakers. Sighing loudly, Simon heads down the hall but Bravo does not emerge. Simon pokes his head into the living room and finds no dog. Kitchen, and still nothing. He even checks the backyard. No Bravo.

As Simon turns into the bedroom, he comes to an abrupt halt.

There’s Bravo on the bed, and sitting on the edge—

“You—”

You hold the letter in your hands, attention turning to Simon as he enters. Standing quickly, you extend the arm holding the letter while you bring a singular finger to your lips, implying silence.

Simon’s stomach flips, and then twists quickly. He moves across the room a couple strides, grasping your waist and pulling you close. He says nothing, only searching your face as you keep that finger pressed to your lips.

You flip the letter over to the blank side.

Compromised.

Everything clicks into place. Either you faked your death or someone lied.

Simon cups the side of your face as you drop your finger away from your lips. His mouth replaces, tasting and seeking, wanting to remember. You open for him, accepting it all. His hands tighten on your waist and it takes every ounce of Simon’s control to not throw you onto the bed and rut like an untamed beast.

But he does refrain.

Simon has the car loaded and the alarm system armed in ten minutes. Even on the road, Simon doesn’t speak. He’s not sure if he can. All he does is keep his hand on your thigh, squeezing tightly, attempting to ground himself and keep his focus on the road.

At the safehouse, Bravo takes off, running through the tall grass as you and Simon enter the barn through a small side door. The moment the bags are dropped onto the floor, Simon is on you, fisting your clothes, tugging at them in a need to seem them gone.

“Simon,” you groan against his mouth.

He wants answers. He needs to know what happened. But reconnecting with you is far more urgent.

“After,” he begs. “Please.”

You nod, understanding.

The two of shed your clothes quickly, falling onto the sofa in a tangled heap. Simon’s hand delves between, fingers finding your arousal. You’re ready for him—just as eager as he his. He makes no gentle effort, just a quick thrusts until he’s in to the hilt. Your brief gasp is swallowed up by his mouth, tongue delving inside for a taste as he starts to thrust.

This is what he needs. More than anything.

Talking can come after.

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

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@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[tenderwhore]

"I think I fuck you better than your stupid porn videos, little pervert."

✿ Word count: 3082

✿ Summary: You were just trying to relieve some tension after an intense study session, without imagining that the person you hated the most in the world would find you in an inappropriate situation.

✿ Content warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

F!reader x Heeseung, academic rivals, plotless porn, public place masturbation, mention of pornography, rubbing against clothes, PIV, sex in a public place (even though no one sees them), unprotected sex, creampie, Heeseung is a provocateur and talks WAY TOO MUCH, nicknames: (bitch, whore, princess, little pervert), nipple play, compliments (?), Heeseung has a big cock (?).

✿ Note and clarifications: this is probably very bad, since I've never written anything. English is not my first language either, so there are probably many spelling mistakes, in addition to it not being proofread. The main idea came from a spicy AI chatbot, but I couldn't find it SORRY IF IT'S REALLY BAD, DON'T HATE ME

You have always demonstrated your competitiveness because Heeseung has always been ahead in everything, but you... You were always the second, and that bothered you day and night; you hated him for his privileged position, maybe you felt a bit of envy, just a bit.

He pretended to be the ideal guy. Yes, he was charismatic, attractive, insightful, elegant, the class leader, stylish, outstanding in sports, hot... So fucking hot... You definitely hated him.

...

It was approaching 5 PM and, despite the bell having rung about an hour and a half ago, you were still in the classroom because you had a lot of assignments to complete. It had been a day full of responsibilities that had your hair standing on end, so just as you finished your tasks, your body collapsed like jelly in your chair while you let out an exhausted sigh.

You momentarily looked at the ceiling before taking your phone out of your purse and accessing one of your favorite porn sites. It was one of your little favorite pastimes whenever you felt frustrated and just longed for someone to push you against a wall and fuck you until you were utterly spent.

The more you watched, the more you felt your body heating up. As you looked to the sides, you lightly bit your lower lip, making sure there was no one around while you slid your hands over your breasts and abdomen before reaching the hem of your skirt and lifting it, then slipping your fingers into your underwear, lightly brushing your already wet folds.

You adjusted your position in the chair a little more, then lifted your fingers slightly and pressed them against your clitoris, beginning to make circles on it.

You quickly immerse yourself in pleasure, tilting your head slightly back and clenching your jaw to stay silent. Your hips began to rise, seeking greater stimulation. You are so close, your orgasm is creeping up your neck, until you hear a guy ask, "Why do you do it alone when you have me?"

The sound made you jump slightly and stop, bringing your hands to your lap with your face as red as a tomato and your heart racing.

Your orgasmic haze didn't allow you to immediately process whose voice it was, so you searched the room with your hazy eyes until they landed on Heeseung's figure, who was casually standing a few meters away from your body, looking at you with an arrogant smile and his hands in his pockets.

You huff angrily as you close your eyes tightly, readjusting your position in the chair reluctantly and turning off your phone. "Shouldn't you be fucking one of the cheerleaders in the bathroom or something?" Your voice comes out cocky, trying to sound relaxed despite my vulnerable position.

He chuckles softly, advancing serenely towards the classroom with a predatory gleam in his eyes as he approaches you. His imposing figure looms over you. "You always try to get rid of me, don't you? But we both know you don't want that..."

He leans in, placing his hands on your desk, bringing his face closer to yours. While murmuring in a husky voice. "I saw what you were doing, little naughty one. Don't you know it's wrong to give yourself pleasure in a place like this?" He smiles disdainfully as one of his hands slides down to rest possessively on your thigh, squeezing the delicate flesh through your skirt.

You take a deep breath as I shift slightly against the chair. The contrast between his warm palm and the coldness of his rings sends you a shiver down my spine. "Well, I find it more inappropriate to spy on someone while they are enjoying a private moment".

He let out a soft, mocking laugh, without changing his stance towards you. "Private moments? Please, there is nothing private about masturbating while watching pornography in a classroom." His voice comes out deep and the way he speaks feels so disgusting. "And regarding spying on you... Well, let's just say I occasionally keep an eye on you..."

His hand slowly moves up your thigh; the tips of his fingers brush the hem of your skirt. "You are desperate for attention, even if it means getting caught in compromising positions. "It's almost pathetic, really."

He tilted his head and observed your blushing face with a smug smile. "Tell me, have you ever fantasized about someone doing the same things to you as in those videos?"

You swallow nervously as you clench your thighs tightly together in an effort to stop his hand from seeming to sink deeper and deeper between your legs. "Why do you ask? Have you fantasized about being the person who does those things to me?" My voice comes out almost in a whisper.

He easily spreads your legs apart again with a firm grip. "Oh, I've fantasized about many things involving you, like bending you over this very desk and fucking you senseless until you beg for mercy." Your heart almost leaps out of your chest upon hearing his words.

He presses his body against the desk between the two of you, holding you in place while his free hand reaches out to tangle in your hair. He leans towards you and bites your earlobe before whispering, "I've imagined being the one to drive you crazy." He pulls your hair a little harder, making you let out a soft gasp of surprise. He is so close to your face that it seems like he is going to kiss you. "That way, I would show everyone that you're just an envious bitch, always behind me because you need me to fill you up with my cock until you can't take it anymore."

You are so astonished by the simplicity with which he pronounces his perverted and degrading words towards you that you just stand there, looking at him with wide eyes and your heart pounding against your chest.

Realizing that you can only look at him with astonished and embarrassed eyes, he lets out a defeated sigh before releasing your hair and getting up from his position. "You're a fucking coward," he states as he turns around and moves to leave the room. "You're a fucking coward," he says as he turns around and walks away, intending to leave the room.

You feel your blood boil at his words, not because he called you a bitch, a whore, or because he confessed how much he wants to fuck you, but simply because he called you a coward and envious.

You feel your blood boil at his words, not because he called you a bitch, a whore, or because he confessed how much he wants to fuck you, but simply because he called you cowardly and envious.

You stand up from your chair, and the sound of your materials spilling onto the floor due to the force with which you rise causes Heeseung to turn towards you, confused, catching your face red with anger and embarrassment. "What did you call me?" you mutter as you clench your fists at your sides.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you. "Bitch?" he questions. "Coward" you correct.

You slowly approach him, trying to look confident, but your steps remain uncertain and trembling.

Once you find yourself standing in front of him, you grab the collar of his shirt, and you smash your lips against his.

He lets out a furious sigh that he didn't know he was holding back before returning the kiss with a suffocating hunger, as he places his hands on your waist and presses your body against his, savoring the way your breasts press against his.

His tongue soon delved deeply into your mouth, savoring your saliva mixed with his, eliciting a gasp from you.

His body began to push you backward, guiding you during the kiss towards the desk. Once there, you pulled away from the kiss, looking at him with narrowed eyes. His beautiful swollen lips, his slightly red cheeks, and the collar of his shirt that was once perfectly arranged are now disheveled.

He smiled; that damn arrogant smile is the same smile he gave you after mocking your intelligence and skills, the same smile he gives when he corrects one of your contributions in class, the same smile he gives after having you tongue-tied.

He leans over, placing his hands on either side of his body on the desk. "Ah, so the little pervert is revealing herself." One of her legs pushed between yours, forcing you to open them and pressing her knee against your center.

"Stop calling me a pervert, idiot", you practically spat in his face.

"I think you're being too pedantic considering I can feel your wet pussy against my leg." To prove his point, he starts pushing his knees against you repeatedly.

The constant rubbing of the fabric of your wet panties against your clitoris makes you tremble and sigh. Unconsciously, your hips move in unison with his leg. "I'm only wet because you interrupted my orgasm a few minutes ago, definitely not because of you", you manage to say before a strong push from his leg makes you moan.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, princess, it was very rude of me to interrupt you; maybe I should make it up to you." He leans towards your neck and starts kissing your neck. Your hands grip his shirt tightly in an attempt to keep yourself grounded.

Something inside you bubbles; the feeling of anger and longing is intoxicating. A part of you just wants to hit him until he cries, but another part of you wants to rip off his pants and suck his cock until he cries. Before you can determine which feeling prevails, his fingers are quickly working on the buttons of your shirt while leaving a trail of wet kisses all over your chest.

He briefly pulls away from your barely covered breasts by your cute bra. "You are beautiful", he declares, completely absorbed. The abrupt change in his words and the tone of his voice make you feel weak; it's as if your body has surrendered to him.

Your hips start moving desperately against him, feeling how occasionally your thigh brushes against his solid erection, which only serves as an incentive to move harder.

One of his hands moves to the small of your back to help you move against him, while the other slides your bra down and frees your breasts. He doesn't resist and brings one of his nipples to his mouth. With force and abundant saliva, causing a bit to escape from his mouth and slide down your chest.

The moans that escape your mouth are dirty, incoherent words. You feel your legs thrashing around his thigh as your orgasm approaches.

"Heeseung..." His name comes out so softly, so gently, barely audible, but he hears it, he definitely hears it. His head quickly turns away from your chest to look at you with the most serious expression you have ever seen on his face. "I... I am close..." You don't understand why you're notifying him, but there's something in his behavior that makes you feel so submissive.

"Let me help you with that." He brings both of his hands forward and lifts your skirt, exposing your completely ruined panties, which makes him laugh. One hand holds your skirt, and with the other, he slips a finger into the hem of your panties to move them aside, allowing your bare clitoris to rub against the fabric of his pants.

It's rough, strange, and delicious. You place all your weight on his legs while you continue chasing your orgasm.

The sight of your small, swollen, and wet clitoris makes him sigh and tense up in his pants. "Come on, go ahead, I want to see that cute pussy ruin my pants."

Her words seem to be enough to make you come with a muffled moan of her name. Your hands grip even tighter against his shirt and you bury your face in his chest in an attempt to muffle your moans.

A few seconds later, when your euphoria dissipated, you slowly withdrew your face from his chest. He reached for your face with one of his hands, gently squeezing your cheeks. "Obviously, this turned out to be more effective than doing it yourself." He stated with a playful tone. "Although... I still haven't had enough fun."

He grabbed you by the shoulders and forced you to turn around and press your face against the desk. "Heeseung." You call him firmly, quickly understanding what he is trying to do.

His hands slide your panties down your legs and lift your skirt until it is rolled up at your waist. "You have a very nice little butt." He gives one of your cheeks a hard slap, making you jump and try to move away from the desk.

"Heeseung, we shouldn't..." You try to plead, but he grabs your hair roughly and pulls your body back towards the desk, exerting an even more intense pressure on your body than before.

"I'm not asking for permission." Then, you only hear the sound of his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his pants falling to the floor.

"I can't wait to fill this hole with my cum." He took his cock between his fingers and tapped its tip against your wet entrance, making his pre-cum mix with your arousal.

He aligns his red, dripping tip against your center. "Yes... It should fill you up so much that when you walk down the halls, my semen slides down your legs", he murmurs more to himself than to you.

His cock slides easily into you because of how wet you are. Once it hits bottom, a guttural moan escapes from both of you, and he throws his head back in pure ecstasy. "And when people notice and question you about it, you'll have to say it was me who went all the way." At this point, he was simply rambling.

You feel like it's piercing your uterus; your walls are incessantly struggling to accommodate its size. "Too, too... Big..." You gasp almost without air as you scratch the desk beneath you.

"Shh... Shh, calm down...". Her hips begin to grind against yours in an animalistic rhythm. "I know it's deep." He whispers in a tone that tries to be comforting.

A hoarse moan flows from his throat, causing you to tighten uncontrollably around him. "You're so fucking tight." He groans. "I should have at least inserted three fingers before fucking you." He was lying; he was fascinated by the almost painful way you squeezed him.

Again, he takes a handful of your hair between his fingers to pull you away from the desk, leaving your back aligned with his chest.

He takes your face in his hand and turns it so that your face is in front of his. What's wrong? "Why don't you say anything anymore?" He gives a particularly deep thrust that makes you moan and grimace with pleasure. "You're always so grumpy, but now that you have a cock inside you, it seems like you can't even think."

When you try to respond, a stream of nonsensical words and gasps comes out of you, making him laugh and his laughter echoes against your back.

"You are so tender" The sweet and affectionate way his words come out of his mouth surprises you so much that you turn your face a little more towards him, looking into his eyes through your lashes wet with some accumulated tears and a fucked-up, but so in-love expression.

His free hand, which isn't holding your face, moves to your lower abdomen, pressing right on the bulge of his cock. You follow him and bring one of your hands to his, intertwining your fingers with his.

The world seems to be completely silent, except for Heeseung's gasps and your sharp moans; you feel nothing else apart from the heat radiating from his body against yours.

He starts leaving wet kisses on your neck. "Fuck, you're so wet, so tight, so beautiful..." You are a bitch perfectly made for me. Growls in your hatred.

Your legs start to tremble; the knot in your stomach tightens even more. "Seungie... I'm close..."

"Yes? Are you going to squeeze your little pussy while you cum really hard on my cock?" he asked with a tone that, under other circumstances, would sound very cocky if it weren't for the pathetic moan that accompanied it.

You just nod desperately, not caring how pathetic you might look right now.

Before you realize it, your walls tighten around Heeseung. "Just like that, cum all over my cock." He pushes your body back onto the desk, pressing your cheek against it

His thrusts are careless and aimless as he chases your orgasm. "I'm going to fill you up so much that I'll leave you ruined for anyone else who tries to sleep with you."

You moan overstimulated as your juices start to drip out of you, creating a completely obscene splashing sound.

"My semen will stay so deep inside you that you'll never be able to get it all out." He presses his chest against your back, crushing your body against the writing. With one final thrust, the head of his cock buries itself in your womb as he spurts.

The sensation of his semen so deeply makes you feel relaxed and yet overwhelmed.

They stay like that for a moment, trying to properly process what just happened. "Get off me, you're suffocating me", you complain with an obvious lack of breath.

Heeseung laughs as he slowly pulls away and slides out, then gently takes you by the shoulders and helps you stand up and turn around so you are facing him.

You try to stand up straight, but your legs tremble and fail, so you almost fall to the ground if he hadn't held you tightly.

"I think I fuck you better than your stupid porn videos, little pervert."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse

[catboybiologist]

Yay I'm going to get all Political and angry again.

So pretty much every trans American is probably aware of the Sarah McBride situation at this point, but here's the bullet point summary if needed for anyone else:

Sarah McBride gets elected to the House as the first transgender member of Congress in US history.

Republicans predictably flip their shit. They pass internal rules of conduct that prohibit trans people from using bathrooms of their gender and stating that bathroom use is defined by AGAB. It obviously singles out McBride, but I believe there are trans staffers that are also affected.

McBride issues a statement that she will abide by these rules, and pretty much only use the bathroom directly associated with her physical office. She issues a statement saying she "wasn't elected for bathrooms" and will instead fight in issues that matter, with a milquetoast criticism of Republicans for wasting time on this.

Many trans Americans are predictably scared and disappointed by this, especially because this internal house rule is being used as a blueprint for more extensive laws, including a likely ban on trans people in gendered bathrooms in all federal land and buildings (including, notably for me, national parks. Which breaks my heart, but that's a different rant.)

There's been a lot of disappointment and criticism of McBride over this. The general leftist reaction has been criticism. There's lots of people that have expressed disappointment or rage, including Erin Reed, and also more "personality" type people like Vaush and Jessie Gender.

Now.

I'm disappointed too.

But. And please keep reading before chewing me out for being an apologist.

I think we can all understand that McBride is in an impossible situation. If she fights this too hard, then it vindicates the Republican rhetoric that Dems are crazy trans obsessed leftists. But there's a fear that this will only lead to more infringements of rights for trans people. McBride is completely stuck, and is a junior, freshly elected member of Congress who is trying to figure out how to make her voice the most effective.

I am so, so fucking tired of rights being ceded one by one. So I'm disappointed. But yeah, I understand McBride's statement.

But there's just one tiny. Eeny weeny. Minor. Itty Bitty question having over all of this. Just one little concern.

Where.

The fuck.

Are the rest of the Democrats?!?!?!?

There is a PAINFULLY fucking easy solution to all of this. McBride needs backing, solidarity, and other people to speak for her. If she's worried about her voice being effective, and being branded as the crazy trans representative, then step the fucking up, you spineless liberal slimebags.

AOC is the only one that I know of that has expressed any real opposition or anger. Her statements are getting aaallll the airtime.

But the real story is McBride's sentiment being echoed amongst the entire party. This is absolutely some kind of official platform. The fucking grumbling, milquetoast finger waving and "well I don't like this, but there's nothing to be done! Anyways"

Of fucking course minorites are abandoning the left. The message they're sending is "we'll abandon you with the most pathetic of excuses. We don't give a shit." Trimming groups out of their support one by one.

McBride is doing the impossible calculus of trying to be the most effective on the house floor. It's an insane task for a trans woman. And yeah, she got it wrong this time. But where the fuck is the anger for her cis colleagues? Why the fuck aren't people angry and terrified for everyone that let this shit happen?

As much as people love the narrative of the line wolf resistor, resistance takes coordination, effort, and solidarity. Without that, what would McBride raising opposition even be? One representative against the hundreds of others.

And yeah, of course I didn't expect any better from the Democratic party. But you should be disappointed and mad at your representative, not just McBride.

[lesamis]

If you're up for it could you explain what is making the Germany government stuff so funny? I can find news articles about it (a coalition is dissolving? There's been tension for a while?) but they're all fairly serious. Thx!

ohhh, sure thing! i'll do my best!

i'll say upfront: this is a pretty serious thing to happen. our chancellor fired our minister of finance, Lindner, which definitively breaks up the governing coalition. germany will likely have snap elections at a moment in which far-right parties are polling extremely well. if news coverage about it seems like people are Worried, that's because, well, they are.

however. the reason it's funny is because our minister of finance was fired. ministers aren't really... ever fired. like, it's not a done thing. i'll fully admit i didn't even know it was an option until yesterday. and our minister of finance wasn't just anyone, he was one of the most mocked and hated figures in politics to germans who vote anywhere left of center.

the coalition that governed until yesterday was made up of the green party, the social democrats, and the neoliberal party (FDP). the FDP is infamous (and i mean, my parents already raised me to hate them for that) for playing kingmaker in coalition governments: they never get all that many votes, but they get just enough that whoever they agree to form a government with will probably succeed. they then tend to force extreme concessions from their coalition partners, because hey, if we walk off, you can't govern at all! so you better play along!

for the past three years, this behaviour has been extremely frustrating for germans who voted for greens or social democrats, because policy from their faction was constantly being blocked by the FDP and often by Lindner personally. the FDP received 11,5% of votes in 2021, but to many of us, it felt as if they were the only party who really had any say in the governing coalition. it made the green and social democratic coalition partners look spineless and passive.

and now, i invite you to imagine how on the day of the US election results, the day the whole world rolled their eyes at the sheer fucking stupidity and pointlessness of it all, at NINE IN THE EVENING, just as germans are getting ready to settle in to bed to dream of nightmare global politics -

the news suddenly breaks that our notoriously invisible chancellor just decided to fire Lindner for that exact behaviour. this chancellor comes out and says, on camera, to the entire sleepy nation, that acting the way Lindner did - blocking necessary policies, refusing to approve budgets unless his party's interests were met - was childish, selfish, irresponsible, and unfit for government, so, whoops, he had to go. shame. coalition over, i guess.

so, politically, that was a long-needed but never-expected moment of triumph for those of us who think the FDP is a clown show made up of human TESLA shares, and it came at a hysterically funny moment.

on a personal level, i can barely explain how uniquely hateable Lindner has always been. he's what would happen if a stock index graph came to life. he hates poor people with a relish; he mocks welfare recipients and would ax minimum wages in a second. he's everyone's business major roommate who shows up in boat shoes fresh off a yacht to discuss NFTs with you. throughout the entire time that he's used his rich boy policy blackmail strategy, he's been smug about it, and he was never taken to task for it, and millions of germans have been longing to throw rotten fruit in his face since 2017. and now we finally get to do it. via memes. on the day of trump's election win.

so that's why it's funny.

[weirdmageddon]

i love these tags this person is so right

actually, can you imagine if dave was raised by B1 roxy?

i wanna get into this actually

(ok i had to spend a few hours rewriting this because IT DIDNT FUCKING SAVE AFTER FIVE HOURS OF WRITING WHEN MY COMPUTER UPDATED WHILE I WAS AFK so it would mean a lot to show this post some appreciation. i LOVEEE hearing what other people have to say)

even though these things mom does are presented in an extravagant, kitsch, jokey way, her intentions always came from a place of sincerity. she is simply Funnie

but rose reads too far into it and assumes things that aren't there, that her mother is passive-aggressively feigning interest in rose's interests simply because the things she does are so extra. "why do all of this if not to mock me"

im telling you right now if dave lived in this household he wouldn't assume antagonism, he'd go,

don’t forget who LITERALLY patented tangible jpeg artifacts as their post-scratch adult self and scattered shitty scummed up statue of liberties all over the planet. theres no way some of that overboard artful shit wasnt post-ironic / circling back around to genuine funny sincerity

dave's natural state is funny sincerity like roxy. he's had the natural capacity for this type of humor from the start and this is the direction he goes towards when he grows out of his brother's shadow by the end of the comic. dave and roxy share an earnest “so bad its good” type of humor

(lots more under the cut; the length of this meta analysis just got unwieldly with all the pictures and whatnot)

despite the alcoholism, roxy is a supportive mother. she's not the ideal guardian but hells of a lot more supportive of her kid than bro is. if she knew dave's interests she would totally indulge in them with some over the top silly goofy haha shit as a genuine gesture simply because she loves him

rose isn't too keen on it though. but she is more similar to dirk in her natural state of thinking of overthinking shit and assuming the worst, like the tags said

and yes dave got the sweet cuddly yet sometimes backhanded ouppy gene from roxy, probably even moreso lol

roxy's even said rose "sounds like girl dirk"

side tangent here, but this is something i wanna talk about.

i dont think bro should ever be in custody of children ever but if theres anyone who would be up to the task it's rose probably. i know she'd be able to keep up with him. not only does she have a defined personality (dave is more malleable and absorbs his environment like a sponge), if anyone can pick apart B1 dirk's batshit brain and probably be right on the money it's her. lil cal has been pumping patriarchal nonsense into bro's head and rose would be able to bring the fucking facts to the table without losing her own and being a living example of a badass little girl. i also don't think bro would try to force masculine roles onto rose like he did with dave, seeing as she is a girl, so she would actually have more of a leg up and get some passes that dave was never afforded. and rose wouldn't stand idly and accept any bullshit; she is no doormat. and i think this would earn bro's respect

but anyway, from this, couldn't we conclude roxy "sounds like girl dave"?

yeah okay. we havent even gotten into their penchant for funny typos or misspeaks, deliberate or otherwise

so, dave's environment

the sentiment "god you hope you can be as good as your bro at this some day" might have been genuine at the time when he idolized bro but of course he's not able to express that in any sort of sincere fashion because he's in dirk's fucking household. and this level 10 irony shit isnt doing dave any favors

his role models were the Internet and a vague idea of what Bro was like. So he built up his facade based on irony–not the literary definition of irony, as Rose might be quick to point out, but a popular concept of irony based on the idea that things that didn’t make sense actually made sense in some roundabout way. As a master of irony, Dave probably reasoned, he could see in a way other people couldn’t why a world that was scary and didn’t make sense really did make sense, and could therefore convince those people that he was superior to them. And he would wield his knowledge to maintain the appearance of superiority by calling everything ironic and pretending he didn’t care about things that didn’t make sense, and he would use walls of vaguely rhyming words to keep everyone at arm’s length so they wouldn’t discover his insecurities (source)

roxy's style is the embodiment of post-irony. being raised by mom lalonde would be like being raised by joel vinesauce ok

what can i say ….. (getting meta about this actually, hussie got these jpeg wizard wallpapers from a spyware website. link takes some time to load because internet archive)

rose is quick to read post-irony as actually being a joke/insincere, which in bro's case would be true. but i believe dave's natural instinct, outside of the influence of bro, is to read post-irony as genuine, which is exactly how mom serves it. we see this as early as act 3 from him; he understands her motives better than rose does herself:

and in act 6 intermission 2 i think it's pretty clear

but the thing is, it's always genuine from her. dave wouldn't have to second guess it because he's not one to naturally second guess someone's sincerity; that was learned due to his bro being virtually unassailable

there two types of ironies at play here:

seems like a joke, is actually genuine (roxy)

doesnt seem like a joke, is actually a joke (dirk)

you can make the argument that the second is is more psychologically destructive because it makes you question the reality of what is genuine sentiment and what isn't. dave never knew what was genuine and what was irony so he just sort of existed in this sincerity-ironic limbo and always did the opposite of what he genuinely felt on principle even if it always did originate from a genuine place.

"it just a joke bro i was just being ironic i dont actually x" is so much more trust-breaking and psychologically damaging than "wait are you being serious" / "i am being so fucking fr rn davy gravy" / "ok thats actually pretty fucking awesome. giant ass wizard statue" / "RIGHT"

how much about dave would change do you think? his character arc would be completely different for one thing, i think he'd have it good aside from mom's alcohol issues. he'd be left with the sweet and funny parts of him that we see at the end of the comic. the fake coolguy stuff is out, but this remains. this is dave in his element and we see it as early as act 1

he'd probably have no shades growing up in the lalonde residence* either cause those were given to him by bro straight out of the crater as an extension of his own cool image. and john gave dave ben stiller’s aviators for his 13th birthday to replace them so he could “spread his wings”

dave said he was wearing them for the ironies but i kind of doubt it. maybe post-irony but there was some reacharound to it being genuine because dave never put those pointy anime shades on his face again.

*though... it’s kind of hard to imagine him without his shades at all? B2 dave still got stiller’s shades from stiller himself so maybe getting them is a universal constant. i can imagine mom getting him them as a birthday gift cause shes pretty wealthy and probably could buy it out in an auction. but also itd be cool if john still gave him it as a gift

dave is actually a lot more genuine and easy to read than he lets on even when grappling with his upbringing with B1 dirk (again, see this post). this can be seen all throughout he comic but a good example is the evolution of thoughts about his interest in the preserved dead things in his room:

if B1 roxy was dave's guardian he probably WOULD have pursued paleontology because she wouldve indulged him in it and probably find it cool and worthwhile to pursue, instead of allowing dave to flounder under ironic detachment, being poisoned by irony to the point of gaslighting himself into believing he doesnt actually believe he thinks this shit is cool. even if it was indulged in this such a way; a superficially kitsch and ironic appearing presentation, it comes from a genuine place and inspires genuine interest. just read the comments.

basically, i think if B1 roxy raised dave, their relationship would have a surface level appearance of being bizarre or over-the-top but they’d have an unsaid mutual understanding that it’s completely in earnest and just build on each other's funny and absurd gestures of affection. rather than seeing it as one-upping each other, it'd more like collaboration of some silly bullshit that you take a step back and look at full and just say, "fucking incredible"

speaking of paleontology, mom had the proto-ectobiology lab. maybe they'd be able to use the equipment to appearify paradox ghost imprints of the dead shit to create paradox clones of things from the cambrian era??? sounds like a fun mother son bonding activity. and theyd actually put the sciencey shit in the household to use

oh god i know exactly the kinds of music shed listen too also growing up as a teen in the 80s. she on that (post)-punk/art rock/new wave/new romantic mtv stuff. XTC shit fr. this is a B-52S HOUSEHOLD. maybe the associates for the campy melodramatic flair. so he gets to keep the record on his shirt cause he is an enjoyer of the shit in her vinyl collection. dave would still gravitate towards musical expression and music itself but of more variety outside of just rap, with an 80s-90s, even 70s flavor due to mom’s influence. see this for perhaps a glimpse. ​she probably visited new york city a lot for business trips and because the music scene was cool as hell around that time, imports came straight from jfk airport, she probably got in on that a bit and have remnants in the form of vinyls and cassettes. in this way she could be distributing void to dave (influencing him with forgotten / presently irrelevant music). now he can REALLY rave about bands none of his friends have heard of. “hey davy grvay watcha listenin to” (he holds up vinyl cover) “omg snakefinger”

btw dave lalonde would look like this to me

[watcherintheweyr]

I can't believe I'm writing this

To open up with: IT IS ABSOLUTELY OKAY AND VALID TO BE DISAPPOINTED BY THE LACK OF WORLDSTATE CUSTOMIZATION IN DRAGON AGE THE VEILGUARD. I have my own disappointments about it!

Ok? We have that covered? We good?

Cool, moving on.

To people who are genuinely, hatefully angry, saying we will now be 'forced into Bioware's worldstate' (when this year alone they've stated there is no 'canon' worldstate more than once), or saying that none of our prior dragon age choices matter, I need you to take a step back and walk with me for a second, okay?

For starters: John Epler stated that one of the reasons they narrowed the choices is because they DO NOT want to invalidate the worldstates of their longtime players. However they also don't want to alienate newer players who don't have the history and lore of the past choices. It's a narrow line to walk.

Secondly, I want you to really look at the choices made by your Hero, Champion, and Inquisitor. Which of those choices genuinely affected NORTHERN Thedas, not Southern Thedas, to the point it would linger for years afterwards? Which of those choices weren't things that specifically affected or altered the sociopolitical Southern Thedas climate and landscape in lasting ways?

The Well? Kieran?

That only leaves that if your Inquisitor drank, they now have knowledge from ages long past... that Rook doesn't need. Rook has a direct line into Solas' history and a possible Veiljumper background, unlocking those very secrets on their own.

It's entirely likely and probable that the Well's fears and threats were a red herring. Think about it. We as a gandom have spent TEN YEARS worrying about the Well, about Solas, about Mythal.

Come June 2024, we're slapped in the face by the big bads of Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan.

Morrigan likely isn't going to be close and friendly with Rook- so there's likely not much reason for her to tell us about her child or husband if she has them.

The rulers of Southern Thedas aren't going to affect us. We aren't tackling the current world ending crisis from the position of a leader of armies like the Warden and Inquisitor, but as leader of a small task force. The Southern Divine doesn't much affect us either- nor do Southern mage politics or templar politics.

Because Rook is an entirely new perspective.

Because Rook is in an ENTIRELY different sociopolitical climate/landscape.

I DO think there should've been ways implemented to specify your Inquisitor's bonds and personality. I'm HOPING maybe there still are that we haven't seen. But otherwise?

My Warden is free. I can say she's cured her Calling and is wandering the world with Zevran.

My Champion can retire into total obscurity with his husband or be quietly helping said husband destroy the slave trade. Either way.

Your history and choices in Thedas still matter. Your heroes still matter.

They just aren't Rook's focus.

Take a breath please. And stop sending death threats to the devs bc what the **fuck.**

EDIT:

further context from the devs on Bluesky