#she is being asking for it since positions

[victusinveritas]

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.

[invoncible]

FAILSAFE ✧˚. 00 / PROLOGUE There's only a handful of people with the skillset to raise a gifted child.

knock, knock

Debbie stopped in her tracks. She just closed the door on a potential nanny who was, unsurprisingly, working for Cecil. Was he so desperate to keep tabs on her and her family that he would send these poor employees to wait at her door day in and day out?

She rolled her eyes as she turned around, walking back to the front entrance. He could send as many as he wanted. She wasn't going to budge—and she'd show him by sending away the next agent he put on her doorstep.

"Hi! I'm April Howsam, here for the nanny position?" The woman greeted cheerfully. "This is my aide, Y/N."

You peeked out from behind your mentor, offering a small wave and polite smile.

Debbie's tired eyes darted between you both but before she could put her foot down, April spoke up.

"Before we begin, you should know that Cecil sent us. Now, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I think it's unacceptable to mislead a potential employer." April clutched her files close to her chest, her brows furrowing. "Especially one looking for someone to take care of their child."

Your gaze landed on Debbie's face, studying her shock with a hopeful heart. A moment of silence passed, but it wasn't uncomfortable or awkward, rather... like an understanding was being shared.

"Please come in." Debbie stepped back, her eyes holding onto a shred of suspicion but clearing the way for you and April to enter her home nonetheless.

You both smiled at her as you shuffled in, the scent of a clean home infiltrating your nostrils almost immediately. Everything was in place—pillows, rugs, art... It was clear Debbie ran her home diligently.

The door clicked shut behind you, Debbie joining you in the foyer. April handed her the file with your resumes.

"As you can see, I have extensive experience working with gifted children ranging from newborns to late teens." April explained as you rounded the corner.

Your eyes lit up upon seeing the baby in question; the cutest little grape-colored boy crawling on the ground. Your lips broke into a smile, mouthing a little hi! and fluttering your fingers in his direction.

He raised his head to look at you, tilting in confusion slightly before crouching lower to the floor like a lion cub about to pounce. He pushed himself up to his feet and returned his efforts to his excursion across the living room.

"So you know that Oliver is..."

"Half Thraxan, half Viltrumite." April answered. "I also know that Nolan Grayson is Oliver's father, and your son, Mark, is Oliver's half-brother."

"You've been thoroughly briefed, I see." Debbie's eyes lifted off the pages in front of her to glance at you and your mentor.

"Yes, we have," April turned to you with a warm smile, reaching an arm around your shoulder and bringing you into the conversation.

"And—I'm sorry, what's the purpose for both of you?" Debbie asked.

"Thraxans are known to grow quickly. I can foster Oliver's learning and mental abilities just fine, but he'll need someone younger who can keep up with him should he want to play outside, for example." April gestured to you. "Which is where Y/N comes in."

"Ah." Debbie's head tilted in acknowledgment, her lips pursing in thought.

"While I don't have the experience April does, my whole life has been centered around taking care of kids." You piped in, glancing at April for reassurance. She nodded kindly.

Debbie raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?"

"19." You answered quickly. Debbie's face fell just a smidge but you quickly continued, "Finished school at 16, spent the years since learning April's trade. You can rest assured I am well equipped to handle Oliver."

Confidence restored, if only a little bit, Debbie smiled. April waved to Oliver as he approached you.

"My philosophy on child-rearing is simple. Encourage a child's natural curiosity," April bumped your shoulder, handing you a teething toy and nodding towards Oliver. "while giving him structure and a safe space to grow."

You swiftly caught up to him, gently holding onto his wrist before he pulled out a pair of scissors from the plant pot. He whined, but you dangled the toy in front of him as a peace offering.

"How about this one?" You hummed. He grabbed it without any fussing, ditching the scissors. You watched him waddle away with a small smile and handed the scissors back to Debbie.

"I also play a mean lullaby on the ukulele." April joked lightheartedly.

Debbie sighed, putting the scissors away at a safe height before dropping onto the couch. "I appreciate your honesty. I just don't want a GDA agent in my house running interference for Cecil on how to raise Oliver."

"There's only a handful of people in the world with my skillset." April flattened her hand over her chest emphatically. "And I'm choosy with who I pass those skills onto. This allows me and my mentee freedom from government oversight. We work for you, Ms. Grayson. Not Cecil."

"You're the boss." You emphasized. Your attention was drawn to Oliver who was sat at Debbie's feet, toying with the teething ring.

"Mama boss." He chirped, twisting to look at her. Debbie instantly smiled, scooping him up in her arms.

"See? Oliver knows who's in charge." April's eyes closed as she laughed brightly, leaning back slightly in her chair. You couldn't help but go awwww at the endearing sight. You had worked with many kids over the last three years, but none as young as Oliver yet.

Debbie smiled, a low sigh passing through her lips. "Let's do it."

[]

Debbie left you both to your devices, deciding to take a meeting with her company to see how she could integrate her way back into her full-time schedule. She still kept a close eye on you, setting up on the kitchen island while she took calls.

"Alright." April cooed, pulling the coffee table out of the way to free up more open space in the living room. "What do you say we assess your abilities, Oliver?"

He babbled happily and April chuckled sweetly as she pulled out her checklist and notepad.

You sensed a break in Debbie's meetings, getting up and strolling into the kitchen area. "Do you mind if I grab a glass of water?"

"Oh, not at all. Help yourself." She smiled over her computer, fingers clacking away at her keyboard.

You thanked her, opening the fridge and pouring a glass. The fridge door swayed shut, revealing Debbie on the other side. You jumped slightly at her sudden appearance, eyes snapping to where she was just sitting.

"You're the same age as my son, you know." She began.

"Yes," You answered smoothly, refilling the pitcher and shelving it back in the fridge. "Mark Grayson. Invincible's a pretty big name right now."

"Ugh, I know." She groaned, a bitter glare focused on the floor.

You cast her a quizzical look before she quickly shook her head of her frown, clarifying, "I'm so happy for Mark, really. But I just worry sometimes. He's working so hard, and Cecil doesn't make it any easier for him—"

You laugh softly, calming her ranting to a stop. "Oh, believe me. I get it. Cecil doesn't make anything easy for anyone."

She smiled appreciatively. "It's so... refreshing to have people I can talk to about all of this, even the GDA."

The Graysons were a popular name at the GDA, what with Omni-man's betrayal, Mark's penchant for attracting the worst kinds of enemies, and now the new baby. You were well aware of Debbie's situation, her burden—it was one of the reasons you jumped at the offer for this case.

"Like April said, we don't work for the GDA and we have a wide skill set." You leaned against the countertop beside her. "Whatever counseling you need, or if you just need to vent, I'll listen. Nothing leaves this house."

She paused, considering your words. Debbie was smart. Even smarter to be naturally distrusting of anyone who is a part of her or her sons' lives. You and April were convincing enough, though, to make her lower her guard just a little bit.

"Yeah." She whispered, eyes creasing with a genuine smile. "I'd... I'd like that. I tried something and... it didn't really work out." Her face drooped, her waterline growing glossy as she recounted trying her luck with the support group.

Her moment of reminiscing shattered when her phone buzzed. "Uh... another time. Rain check?" She chuckled, rounding back to her station and answering the call.

"Of course." You smiled politely when she met your eyes, sipping from your glass.

You wondered how long it would take them to find out you're lying through your teeth.

[]

Mark wanted to drop dead after spending hours trying to do the exact opposite. But no—he negotiated with Cecil for a few days off so he could spend time with Amber. He wasn't going to crash when he had to prepare for their date tomorrow. He wouldn't forgive himself if he slept in.

Dusting off his sweater and pants as he flew back home, he quietly slipped in the back of the house. It was dark, as expected. His mom was usually asleep during this time, Oliver included on a good day.

It seemed to be a good day.

He wiped his shoes on the mat at his feet, trudging into the kitchen for a quick snack before bed. He had to be up early if he wanted to beat the crowds at the Comic Convention.

He froze when he heard Oliver's sniffles. His head twitched to the side, tuning out the low buzz of the fridge to listen in. He heard a voice—light and sweet, comforting, but most definitely not his mother's.

Panic snaked its way around his heart and tugged, his breath short as he bolted up the stairs. He stood tensely in the hallway, peering into his mother's room to see her untouched bed.

His brows furrowed as he burst into Oliver's room. "Oliver—?"

You and Oliver both flinched at the sudden intrusion, staring up at Mark with saucers for eyes. Oliver giggled happily, reaching out for his brother.

Mark lunged forward. Not to embrace his brother, no—his hand curled around your throat instead, driving you into the wall behind you.

You gasped sharply, eyes screwing shut as the force knocked the wind from your lungs. You clawed at his arm, feet kicking helplessly with nothing to stand on. "Wait—"

He hovered over your squirming body mercilessly, squeezing to watch you splutter.

"Who are you?"

© invoncible

[artsy-hobbitses]

Some people got the real problems Some people out of luck Some people think I can solve them Lord heavens above I'm only human after all I'm only human after all Don't put the blame on me Don't put the blame on me

This ended up exactly as I hoped and I'm super happy with it as a back-to-basics piece with only lineart and shading to carry the strength of the message of wanting to be seen as human, feat. the Cold Constructs of TTB (Megatron, Prowl, Ravage, Starscream, Blaster and Laserbeak in that order).

There is quite a bit of symbolism going on here, so if you're interested in an indepth discussion of it, it's all under the cut.

Only the eyes were colored for each character, because in TTB, Cold Constructs are often regarded as ‘soulless’ so it’s more or less highlighting that they ‘have a soul’ in that aspect (eyes being the window to the soul and all).

Bleeding from their barcodes, to show that they are still very much human underneath the thing which makes them ‘less than human’ in the eyes of many,

Most of them looking directly at the audience to challenge their perception of shame in being government-assigned second-class citizens. (CCs learn to keep their gaze low when talking to higher ranked individuals early on)

The poses also speak to the character and how they handle their status as a Cold Construct:

Megatron is readying himself to slug anyone who speaks ill about what he is.

Prowl is stoic about what he is but also learning to be open/trusting about it (this is the most vulnerable position for the code after all, letting anyone see this has to be deliberate act on his end).

Ravage is the one most close up to the audience since he’s the one who’s most in-your-face and unapologetic about what he is.

Starscream is reluctant but defiant about it, and more interestingly, it looks like he’s been stabbed in the back, to show that he was betrayed by the system long before he learned to lie and scheme.

Blaster is the only one who seems to invite the audience, and it’s because unlike the others, his status as a CC was only was outed by himself in adulthood after he’d been accepted as an ordinary man following years of Rewind doing the best to make sure he grew up ‘normal’. He chose to take a stand and used his influence to spread awareness about the issue via his own success as a news reporter, and him reaching out to the audience aims to bridge the divide, and also ask them in a way, to see for themselves just how different his blood is from theirs. at the end of the day. (He is based off IDW Blaster, and has red eyes! As the red-eyes-evil blue-eyes-good divide doesn’t exist in TTB and he’s one of a handful of Autobots that have red ones)

Laserbeak is the only one with her eyes hidden, but that she’s weeping and it looks like her heart is bleeding speaks to how what she is still hurts her even if she tries to put up a blase front.

[lexluvsmegs]

Just thinking about Nanami helping virgin!Ino fuck you for the first time.

Ino feels as if he was on cloud 9 after finally asking you, his sexy class mate, to be his first ever girlfriend. He’s nervous, that much is painfully obvious, his sweaty hands fiddling as he blurts the words out trying his very best not to stutter. His hopes aren’t set too high since you’re… you. But when you smile that beautiful smile and nod your head in acceptance he leaves with hearts in his eyes. Literally.

He’s in love, there’s no doubt about it. You’ve been going out for a few months now and Ino has been nothing but a gentleman, pulling out all the stops to keep you impressed. He’s made you playlists with your favourite songs, taken you out to fancy restaurants, bought you the clothes you’d been eyeing. What more could a girl want?

However, there was one aspect about dating that was weighing hard on him, and that was sex. You see, you were hot, and Ino was a virgin. That may not seem like such a big deal. But to him? It was the end of the world. His insecurities were eating away at him. What if he wasn’t good enough for you? What if he couldn’t satisfy you? In his mind, everything could go wrong.

And that’s how Nanami found himself here, positioned on the edge of Ino’s bed as you lay naked, sprawled across the plush mattress with Ino knuckle deep inside your gushing pussy following Nanami’s instructions as if his words were law. Ino had practically gotten down on his knees when he begged for the older man’s help, he really couldn’t lose you. Thankfully, Nanami took sympathy on the poor boy. He couldn’t deny that you were stunning, so maybe it was a little selfish when he agreed to the terms with the promise of seeing you in such a compromising setting. Call him a perv but just the thought of you was able to make his pants feel just the bit tighter.

“Angle your fingers like this” he sounded calm and composed, but in reality he had never felt so excited. Nanami shuffled closer as he grabbed Ino’s hand and repositioned it until it had you moaning out his name. God did Nanami want it to be his name next.

“T-that feel good baby?” Ino felt breathless as his fingers kept up his ruthless pace. You couldn’t form a proper sentence being too overwhelmed by the immense pleasure you were feeling. However, the endless whines that fell from your lips let the two men know exactly how you were feeling.

Nanami felt his resolve break slightly as he knelt down next to Ino who looks at the blond with a confused glint in his eyes. Nanami, however, wasted no time as he lowered his head to be eye level with your gushing pussy. With a deep inhale of your scent he finally opened his mouth to taste your juices and immediately groaned.

“Tastes so good” you can barely make out the words as he sloppily laps his tongue over your clit causing you to snake a hand into his golden locks and pull. His tongue felt like heaven as it dipped deep into your hole, tracing his name over your puffy lips not allowing you the chance to catch your breath. Babbles of his name leave your mouth in huffs as you feel yourself reaching your first orgasm. To your disappointment, Nanami halts his movements of nipping and sucking at your clit and sits back. Fucking tease.

“She should be ready for you now” his voice is so husky and damn is it sexy. Ino immediately fumbles as he stands, nervous yet hard as a rock, his cock bobs as his flushed tip falls from his lower belly. You hadn’t yet had time to properly inspect it but my god, it was long. By no means was it ugly, you would argue that it was one of the prettiest you had seen, prominent veins led up to his raging head that pulsed with the need to be buried deep within you. Your legs would have closed if it weren’t for Nanami’s strong hands keeping them wide open.

Ino climbed onto the bed, his weight held up by his shaking arms. “So wet f’me baby… you ready?” His gentle tone had you melting deeper into the sheets as you gave a slight nod. He took this as his chance to reach one hand down to pump himself a few times before lining himself up and pushing his cock inside. The three of you groaned, Nanami transfixed by how well you were able to take Ino’s cock. He wondered how you would be when taking his.

Ino felt like he was in heaven as your gummy walls wrapped around him so perfectly. “P-please move” your hoarse voice called out which spurred Ino to snap his hips down into you leaving you gasping. An uneven tempo was created, though, Nanami could tell Ino’s pace wouldn’t bring you to finish, therefore he took matters into his own hands, resting a large palm on Ino’s lower back as he guided his strokes. If Nanami hadn’t promised to help Ino he would have probably taken you for himself, his hard length screaming for relief as he palmed himself with his free hand.

With the new pace set, Ino was making you see stars as he hit deep within you. Your arms wrapped around his back as your nails dug deep, Ino groaned at the thought of you leaving marks and claiming him as your own. His hips stuttered as you pulled his face close to yours, sloppily kissing and licking into his mouth. You were gonna be the death of him. You broke the kiss to look down at where he was pounding into you and instead noticed the bulge that was forming in your belly every time Ino would push back in. Ino followed your eyeline and couldn’t help but whine as he found the source of your attention. He was filling you so good you could barely process your impending orgasm.

The feeling was intense as you tried to wriggle away from the shocks of pleasure racking through you. “S’too much” tears began streaming down your face as Ino’s pace never faltered.

“Stop whining, you can take it” Nanami’s harsh voice rang out.

“S-so close” you whine out, you can tell he and Nanami are the same as they moans filling the room grow desperate. And as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close, he empties out into you causing your own orgasm to crash over you.

You feel a hand petting your hair as you come down from your high, turning to face Nanami as he offers you a sweet smile. You pretend not to notice the obvious stain now gracing his light pants and instead smile in return as Ino slumps his body atop yours.

Virgin!Ino who’s no longer a virgin.

——

© lexluvsmegs 2025 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

PLEASE DO NOT Copy, Translate, Re-Upload, or Steal ANY of my work.

Thank You, Beautiful People! :)

[sevsgiirl]

— ambessa being a sugar mommy and spoiling reader

synopsis: after graduating from university, you were struggling to make ends mean. thankfully, you landed a job in a huge company… whose ceo happens to have already set her sights on you.

tags: ceo!ambessa, younger!reader, oral sex, office sex, imbalanced power dynamics.

note: I’ve recently finished lipstick devil on webtoon and I just NEEDED to get this idea off my chest. I’m planning to turn this idea into a longer fic but for now here’s some headcanons about ceo!ambessa spoiling you :’)

𖥔 you honestly weren’t used to it. all your life you’ve learned to monitor your expenses, to never spend beyond your budget even when you had extra money to spare — to put other people’s needs before your own.

𖥔 after graduating university and working enough minimum wage jobs to build up your resume, you finally landed a position on noxus corp. as part of the marking sales department.

𖥔 professor grayson referred you to one of her friends who works at the company, who then asked you for your portfolio and after a month of processing your applications, you passed the interview and got accepted.

𖥔 it was a miracle you even got accepted given how strict the requirements were, but it seems as though the head office deemed you qualified.

𖥔 the first couple of weeks working at the firm went by smoothly. it was your typical 9-5 office job, you never understood why your co-workers said that the position isn’t for the weak.

𖥔 that was until you met her. ambessa merdarda. the ceo herself.

𖥔 on the day you first saw her you almost slid past her peripheral, but unlucky for you, nothing goes unnoticed by ambessa.

𖥔 when she noticed you, she just couldn’t tear her eyes away from you. at how the pencil skirt you wore stretched deliciously around your hips and how it stopped below your knees. it was long enough to be work appropriate, but your figure left a lot for one’s imagination to go crazy.

𖥔 how every time she caught a glimpse of you at the breakroom or when you bent down to retrieve something from the drawers, she’d watch the way your ass swelled in the tight skirt. making her lick her lips before she forced herself to avert her gaze.

𖥔 however, it became harder and harder to resist you. eventually, she asked one of the lower departments to hand her the spreadsheet for the week’s overview, even though that’s usually assessed by the manager. but she needed an excuse to see you up close.

𖥔 as if it wasn’t enough, she asked them to have you deliver it for her by name.

𖥔 “I’ve seen the new hire. please. have her deliver the spreadsheet for me. I want to know if she’s capable.”

𖥔 she knows it’s bullshit. she never cared to check how competent the new hires were because those were mundane details she left others to do.

𖥔 but the second you knocked on her door and stepped inside her office, all doe-eyed and shy, your voice quiet as you called out her name “ms. medarda?” she knew right then and there she had to have you.

𖥔 six months have passed since and here you are now, sprawled on her desk with your skirt ridden up to your thighs as your slick dripped from her cherry coated lips down to her chin as she ate you out like a woman starved.

𖥔 “bessa…” you mewled as you threw your head back and gripped the edge of the mahogany desk, feeling your orgasm approaching.

𖥔 she hummed, pulling away from your swollen clit to place a chaste kiss on your inner thigh.

𖥔 “you’ve been so good to me, dear.” she purred as her piercing eyes looked up at you “I’ve made reservations for us this evening. you’ve been working so much these past few weeks, it’s only fair I return the favor.”

𖥔 and return the favor she did.

𖥔 that’s how ambessa prefers to spoil you in the relationship. she’s tried multiple times to make you resign at the company, saying you didn’t need the job because she could provide for you. but you were insistent that you still need to make a living for yourself because you never know when the circumstances will turn on you.

𖥔 she was quite offended by the implication that she’ll ever grow bored of you, then again she’d be lying if she said that your practical mindset wasn’t what drew her in to begin with. so she let it slide. but that still didn’t stop her.

𖥔 so she’s been working hard to convince you that just isn’t the case. that she is serious about you and your relationship. that she could see it working it out on the long run and that you could rely on her to fulfill all your needs.

𖥔 and so she does it by showering you not only with mind blowing sex in between meetings and after you clock out of your shift, but also by surprising you with fresh bouquets of flowers on your desk every morning.

𖥔 people in the office likely figured out what was happening between you two but were just too scared to ask you about it, especially knowing how scary ambessa is.

𖥔 you weren’t used to being the center of attention let alone when it comes to personal matters such as your relationship, and you’ve told her that. but that still doesn’t stop her from spoiling you left and right.

𖥔 “if others cause you trouble about it, let me know. I’ll have them fired.”

𖥔 she swore it was a joke when you reprimanded her about the threat, but you knew deep down if you actually had a problem she’d stay true to her word.

𖥔 with that, your co-workers never spoke a word about it. even when the bouquets turned to expensive chocolates imported from europe, to a huge teddy bear that was about the same height as you, to a new office desktop you realized was a mac computer, completely different from the others that your office mate jayce couldn’t conceal his surprise.

𖥔 “how come she gets a mac computer while we have a lenovo?” he exclaimed only to get yelled at by the others telling him to shut up and move on.

𖥔 or when she called you into her office one afternoon saying she had a surprise “I just remembered you telling me you’ve had the same phone since your junior year.” she smiled before handing you a white paper bag “to go along with the computer.”

𖥔 and sure enough, there was a new phone inside.

𖥔 “bessa…” you sighed as you gave her one of your failed attempts of a glare “you can’t keep buying me gifts like this.”

𖥔 “well, I asked you to take my card but you said-“

𖥔 “that’s not what I mean.” you argued while she reached forward and smoothened the furrow between your eyebrows.

𖥔 “just let me spoil you, my love.” she said, wrapping her strong arms around you as she pulled you against her chest “you never known when to take a break or receive any reward for your hard work. so let me. let me spoil you rotten.”

𖥔 you bit your lower lip, not being able to hide the way your cheeks reddened at her words “you smother me too much.”

𖥔 she smirked as she leaned down and nosed at your jaw “I’d give you the world if I could, dear.” she muttered “just say the word. if only you stopped being so stubborn and resigned, you could come live with me and you’d never have to work a day in your life. just you, with all the luxuries in the world as you wait for me on our bed…”

𖥔 her hand reaches down to cup you from underneath your skirt and you couldn’t repress the moan that slipped past your lips.

𖥔 she lets out a groan feeling your soaked cunt “then I’ll come home, fuck you from night until morning before it’s time for me to leave for work again. and all you have to do is be a good, doting little wife for me.” she gently takes your jaw in her hand to capture your lips “doesn’t that sound enticing, no?”

𖥔 god, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t.

[forthelostones]

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #9

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. listen,,, i am actively doing a masters i apologize!!! i've recently stopped using grammarly for a more real writing experience. so if things are wonky, just know thats why! no more ai help. this isnt my BEST but.

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. cry to me by loleatta holloway♫

I was completely dazed, hoping that I won’t crash into a brick wall anytime soon. The images from last night were on a constant reply behind my eyes. I’m sure she has no idea or at least I hope that she doesn’t but when I got up to go to the bathroom, I saw her. She was standing in my shower letting brushing her hands against her body, tracing the lines of her hips with what I presume was my soap. The door was slightly ajar although the steam hid her, which I was thankful for, a perverse part of my brain wish it wasn’t. But her outline was more than enough. The feeling wasn’t anger towards her but frustration all again within me being a creep and internal moral conflict. 

As I tossed in bed, I listened to her feed pad around the hardwood and finally settle in the living room. After rolling back and forth multiple times I found a comfortable position and let my mind drift away void of any lingering thoughts. Images of her continuously flashed in my mind, it was inappropriate, unprofessional, a conflict of interest. My shoulders dropped instantly as we pulled into her driveway, she left me alone and I pressed my head against the seat.

Once I ended my call with Henrietta and confirmed today’s appointment, she reappeared dressed in black jeans, baby blue cotton button up rolled to the elbow, hair out of her face and ears decorated with gold jewelry and minimal makeup. A soft tote bag thrown over her shoulder slipped off ever so slightly as she opened the door — I itched to get out and do it for her, it didn’t feel right to see her open it on her own. Up close she looked honey-drenched from a soft golden shimmer highlighted on the peaks of her face. I swallowed roughly. 

“Are you nervous?” I ask, hoping the breaking the silence will help me feel normal. 

“Not at all,” She says plainly.

“Were you nervous your first time Ms. Anderson?” She stares out the window. 

I chuckle. “Depends.” 

“My mindset is there is nothing I can’t do. I can have it all, you know.” 

“I remember my first project after Grandad died, I took over his small crew of chauvinistic dicks.  They all acted like I gave him the cancer, that was the hardest part, getting the job done even though I was surrounded by people who couldn’t care less if I died too. A lot of time I was at sites overnight, fixing mistakes they made on purpose, juggling multiple contracts, grieving,” I grip the wheel tighter remembering the level of mental turmoil I was put through. Funeral arrangements, emotionally manipulative girlfriend, underpaid… “I don’t think I had time to be nervous, I had to be strong immediately. Let them call me horrible names and make those jokes to prove a point,” 

A small Henrietta came into view waving a small, saggy arm quickly. She was so cute. 

“That’s Mrs. Harris, she’s quite the character.” I add. 

Without time to complete our conversation we both step out with haste. 

“Welcome ladies, now I don’t remember this fine young lady before.” 

“Hi Ms. Harris, I’m Ms. Anderson’s new assistant, nice meeting you.” She smiles brightly and genuinely. 

“Perfect, you can meet my daughter Nora then, she’s making iced tea.” 

My face contorts with confusion as we take our shoes off at the door to walk into the kitchen. Lemon lady, Nora, looks up and our faces share similar confusion. I scratch at a sliver of my exposed arm. 

“Abigail,” She manages to grunt. 

“Oh—What? You two know each other?” Her mother questions. 

“‘Ma were actually neighbors,” 

Mrs. Harris gasps theatrically and slams her hand over her chest and praises silently to herself. 

“We are.” I confirm. 

Nora’s tanned skin was deep and rusty, causing her light brown eyes to pop even more. I saw her beauty in its fullness as she pranced from around the island in a hot pink wrap dress. 

“So, what the hell!” Henrietta laughs, wrapping a causal arm around my new assistant. 

“In passing we speak but not fully, I definitely don’t know you, hi.” 

I had never payed attention to how raspy her voice was - sultry. Her long lashes fluttered as two parts of my new world began to collide instantly and explode right in my face. Nora’s full 'fro was painted with a stroke of grey around the edges of her hairline feathering outwards. Her femininity was palpable, she floated on her lavender painted toes around the kitchen, finally making it to me. I had to look downwards slightly to meet her gaze. 

“Hi,” She twinkles softly. 

“Well, hello there. I started to find it suspicious that I didn’t receive a crate of lemons recently.” 

She laughs behind a soft manicured hand that then brushes slightly against my bicep. “I’m starting limes now.” 

For some reason I blushed. 

We sat in the tastily aquatic themed living room where I sat with all three ladies to have further discussion, even now I didn’t want to, I wanted to hear Nora’s voice again. A small tingle danced on my body from all the pleasantries Nora and I had ran into from simply speaking. No awkward waves or glances and I felt … a bit nervous. Her femininity was fragrant and I pictured those short nails piercing into my skin as I flatten her curls into a pillowcase.

Iced tea sat center on to coffee table that I sipped while avoiding any glances in Nora’s direction, undressing her with my eyes in front of her mother would be absolutely inappropriate — which made it harder. As I slipped on my specs to read some notes I made after meeting with Henrietta I felt two flaming gazes traveling in my direction. One of them mutual and one of them not, a fantasy living in my dreamscape. 

“‘Ma I won’t be moving back in anytime soon, but if you worked on the guest bedroom, maybe I could stay over more often?” Nora groaned. 

Henrietta melted into her seat sadly at the final conclusion. 

“Fine. Abby, would that be something you have time to do?” She asked. 

“Let me check our calendar and call you.” 

“Or call Nora!”

I giggled a bit and looked to my newest edition force a soft grin at the non-business related topic at hand. The sheer enthusiasm from her mother told me everything that I needed to know, Nora had been single for far too long, living a bit sedentary like me. Luckily for me, I didn’t have any parents anymore to nag me about it. 

Nora slipped on tan criss-cross sandals to walk us outside to the door, where we headed for the truck, but not just before she gripped my bicep. I turn with hot curiosity to the woman who now stands slightly above me the peak of the morning glistening on her face. 

“Sorry, she can be a bit dramatic.” She apologies. 

“It’s perfectly fine, it’s good you still have her,” I add. 

“Listen Abby, this blind date was unusual but I feel like we can take a drink and learn more about each other. Or I could cook you breakfast this weekend, whatever you want.” She smiled. 

I nodded casually but was internally on the brink of combustion, her initiative surprised me and I was upset I couldn’t approach her first, but I was pleased. 

“Absolutely, your mom took the liberty of texting me your contact so no worries I’ll be in touch.” I mimic her soft smile. 

“Perfect. Hope to hear from you soon.” 

“Whatever we decide to do I’d love to see you in some lavender.” I wriggle my fingers. 

She nods her head and my knees could’ve buckled then and there but instead I step back and turn to face the truck. 

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Sorry.” 

I jog slightly to the truck and unlock the door for my poor assistant who had to see the most unprofessional display of interaction with a client on her first day. I cut the AC on quickly and lean back in the driver’s seat to look over at her. But I couldn’t read her, was she upset or confused? I couldn’t tell. 

“How about we get you home, I’m headed—“ 

“Could you take me to Ellie’s? She’s just off the second exit on the highway.” She request then buckles her seatbelt. 

“Of course.” 

— 

Last night I promised myself to sort through the regular onboarding paperwork so I could pay my new addition for her time as soon as possible. I sat in an empty house under the hum of central air under me as I sort out the forms, some that I needed her to sign. Realistically, I could send the PDF to her email or invite her over so I can see her again.  I look over to my empty wine glass and the sticky red residue settled at the bottom of the cup. My stomach tightened for the third time, but I can’t ignore it, I needed to get dinner in order. 

8:53 p.m.: Need you to fill out some forms for me. 

Instead of sitting and watching grey bubbles appear and disappear, I started on sorting my grocery order I placed when I came back. After my third glass of wine I decided to make a lemon garlic pasta after reading one recipe and certain that it was simple enough for me to do tonight. 

I found a beer in hand and my phone in another with a caldron of a pot boiling over to the stove top. Chopped lemons lifted the scent in the house from rich to light and sweet as it grew dry on the counter. A bell-sound came from my phone and I jumped at the opportunity to read it but was highly unaware of my own mess. 

“Fuck,” I holler, my screen now covered in lemon juice. 

I drop my phone down on the counter amongst the ingredients and pick my angel hair pasta up, the package slips out of my hand and the threads of hard yellow sticks hit the floor. I watch them spread and roll to wherever they pleased. 

My door bell hummed at the front of the house and I slightly jogged to catch it, I wasn’t expecting her to pop up now, especially in a moment like this, shit.

“Hey, I wasn’t—“

“Oh.” Nora smiled timidly. 

“Nora, wow, hi.” 

“Seems like you were expecting someone. I can dip out…” She offers. 

“Um,” I wipe my fingers against the dish towel thrown over my shoulder. “Not at all come in.” 

I slip to the side and welcome her in. Her choice of loungewear was black linen pants and an oversized Howard University sweatshirt. She left her UGG slippers near the front door and crossed her arms as she admired the room. 

“Cooking or attempting to, um, in the kitchen if you wanna join me. Want a drink?” 

The water in the pot dulled, most of it gone into the atmosphere or on the stove itself.

“Oh gosh, Abigail,” Nora rushed to gather the stray pasta. “I’ve never seen anyone struggle like this to cook noodles.” 

If anyone else would’ve said that, I would have been highly offended but her non judgmental tone soothed me. She held them out like a bouquet before handing them to me to toss in the trash. Without thought she turned the heat off and refilled the pot carefully in the sink and carried it back. 

“I have pasta in my pantry, it’s capellini if that’s okay?” 

“Perfect.” I smile, clueless of what that is. 

As soon as she closed the door I jolted off to the bathroom to freshen up. Stepping in front of the mirror was a live horror show. My braid was veering off to the side with flying hairs sticking up around my crown. Quickly, I untangled my hair, brushed it out and threw on more deodorant. 

Nora was natural in the kitchen with her tea towel tucked in her waistband and using knives that have about as much action as me in the last five years. She brought over a much more adult bottle of a 2012-something and taught me how to identify the notes. I stood over her shoulder, watching her wrist make a swift motion out of a steel pan she brought from her home. The fragrant lemon sauce was coming together well with diced shallots and what I believe was fresh thyme, from her home garden.

She taught me how to properly swirl and plate the right portion and then store it for the days to come. We gathered at my dining table, slightly tipsy, but overjoyed at the fresh grated parmigiana’s compliment to the wine. Her lips were coated in the smooth sauce and her tongue grazed against them to clear off the residue. “I don’t remember my last home cooked meal.” I admit, chewing behind my hand. 

“That’s a shame,” she sighed. 

“Well, nope I just lied. My assistant’s parents invited me over for dinner, so I guess that counts. I think I was referring to more so inside of my own home.” 

“Do most of your clients prepare food for you?” She chuckled uncomfortable. 

“Uh, not meals but drinks, snacks, of course. They’re getting a bathroom demo and it’s a little bit exciting and I’ll be spending a bunch of time there — to be fair, I wasn’t the priority receiver of their kindness, they threw a party and invited me.”

"Great because mom can't cook." She smirked.

She twirled the last bits of the noodles around her fork and sat back to glance over to me, her hand slightly grazing her belly. My alcohol intake was far too high in the last couple of days and it was making me more and more malleable. I chewed on the corner of my lip as Nora’s eyes poured into mine seductively. 

“I am overjoyed Nora, thank you.” I mumbled, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

“Me too, I’m glad I stopped by.” 

I scooted my chair out to collect our dishes as her hand reached out to stop me. 

“Abigail, why don’t you get that after you walk me to my door?” 

All the blood rushed out of me as her dark voice beckoned me to obey.

“Well, yes ma’am.” 

Nora shuffled in front of me and led me to her property, covered in healthy plants and garden decor. I guess I never really looked at the items in her yard but she had a landscaping talent. 

“This is me.” She smiled before turning towards me and crossing her arms as she does. 

“I’m happy to have shared a nice meal with you. Thanks for saving my dinner.” 

Nora casually tucked a stray hair floating on the side of my temple and pulled it back behind my ear. “Abigail, I just followed the recipe.” 

I leaned down to place a long, intentional kiss onto her right cheek, her hands came to my shoulders briefly and back to her sides as I stepped away. 

“I’ll wait to see you fully in.” I gestured to her door.

꒰ঌ ໒꒱

You were waiting outside for over thirty minutes, banging your fist against Ms. Anderson’s door. One of her truck’s was in the driveway and nothing seemed out of order outside, so you were confused as to why she wasn’t coming to the door. 

All your calls went straight to voicemail meaning it was dead or she turned it off entirely. You do a combination of doorbell ringing and phone calling until the door flies open. Abby stood in an unusually silky black robe with a metal baseball bat. Her usually perfectly primped hair was matted and sticking to her skin. She sighed in audible relief that it was just me. 

“I heard banging,” She winced and covered her eyes with her palm. 

“I’ve been calling and banging for almost an hour.” You move past her. 

Wine glasses and dirty plates came in to view and a sinking feeling dropped in your belly. She had her neighbor over, she got to have dinner with Abby, touch her, kiss her, and by the looks of it fuck her too.

[clarkeybabey]

❝ no seriously get your hands off my man ❞

summary; you don't like the way she acts around him playlist; miss possessive - tate mcrae word count; 1.2k note; this is for @raekensluver as she is in her miniminter era rn, no one else asked for this so its very much self-indulgent, back to our regular scheduled program after this one.

You and Simon enjoyed many parties in your time, much more when you were younger but, if you hadn't shown up for the charity match after-party he would've been given quite a bit of shit as he took charge of setting up almost everything. He's not stopped beaming since he woke you up yesterday with a coffee in hand for you, ensuring you knew it was nearly time to get going so everyone would be checked into the hotel before training.

Danny makes his way over, Ten's arm hooked with his, a blonde girl whose face is vaguely familiar in tow, "Simon!" Danny dabs him up pulling him in to aggressively clap him on the back, Your husband stumbles slightly before straightening up. They go into a loud conversation about the match attempting to speak over the bass-boosted music.

Tennessee and the nameless girl ogling at Simon sidestep around the two men over to you, "Ten, darling, you are glowing," you pause to kiss her cheek before continuing, "And admirable, can't believe you're out. I'd rather be under several duvets and I'm not pregnant." She smiles, shaking her head, "Glowing, no, oily, absolutely. Wouldn't miss it, Danny's floored." The girl behind her clears her throat, reminding you both of her looming presence.

"This is Emma Moran, she was on locked in with us," and that's when it hit you. The insufferable woman from Locked In who couldn't seem to keep her hands to herself when it came to the guys on there with even the slightest bit of clout or interest in anyone but her. She wanted attention, negative or positive, in her eyes any of it would do.

You nod along as she fangirls over your husband and his friends, he had fans so this was nothing new but she seemed to discuss solely followers and how she had been trying to get in on a Sidemen shoot or their podcast since the end of the show but never had success. "Maybe you could put in a word," she smiles too big for it to be real, you find yourself unable to control the way your face twists.

Her blue eyes flit from you to him a few times before settling on his face, "Uh, I can't really do much, I mean, I can mention you?" The words come off your tongue sounding unintentionally bitter, "They honestly do their own thing guest wise, I'm just his wife."

"That'd be nice, thank you," you smile, albeit tight-lipped, the next thing she says catches you completely off guard and based on how her brows knit together, Tennessee was thrown off just as much as you: "He is very nice to look at isn't he?" You narrow your eyes in her direction, doing your best to let the comment roll right off your back, he gets that from hundreds of thousands of girls daily. "Yeah, he is. One of the reasons I married him."

Silence quickly falls among you, and Simon, being only an arm's length away, picks up immediately on your now stiffened form and the abrupt ending of the conversation. Emma senses the awkward tension within the circle "Think I'm gonna go get a drink." Her grin resembles the Cheshire cat as she saunters off to the drink table, and poor Arthur Hill gets roped into a conversation with her.

The hazel-eyed girl watches her slip through the crowd of people and once she deems her out of earshot she's quick to let apologies flow, "I'm so sorry about her, she's so odd." You shake your head, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "Her actions are not your responsibility, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"No really, I knew I shouldn't have introduced her," she fidgets with her fingers quickly becoming anxious, "Ten, it's not your fault. I'm fine, I promise." Fine, yes, shocked at her audacity, absofuckinglutely.

Warmth creeps up your neck and soon your whole face feels hot, but you continue the lighthearted conversation with your friend, trying your best to relay how fine you thought you were. You're partial to crashing out in the middle of a party celebrating your best friends but if you could see her undressing Simon with her eyes at that moment, that feeling might just change.

Your ears perk as Danny excuses himself, wanting to mingle with some others Tennessee mutters more apologies as she follows behind her fiancee. "What was that about?" He quickly asks after they've stepped away. Rolling your eyes at the thought of what she said, your hand finds the back of his neck, ushering him down to your height.

"You see that girl over there?" He hums leaning into your touch, "She's your biggest fan, you know that?" another grunt of acknowledgment rumbles against your back, "Said you're nice to look at."

His bottom lip juts out and his brows shoot up, "Oh, really?" You tell him about how she was eyefucking him while you spoke with Tennessee and while you do so Simon's lips meet the exposed skin of your shoulder, his fingers graze over where his mouth just was, sliding the sequined strap of your little black dress down but not completely off.

Public displays of affection like this were few and far between, not due to a lack of admiration but because you loved so deeply it felt too nice to let the negativity of the outside world taint it. Even in the early years of your relationship back in school, you saved it for when it was just you two, now you keep it for when you know there are no cameras to be shoved in your face to capture such intimate moments. At this very second, something within you was staking its claim over him so everyone was aware he was not up for grabs.

"She's definitely watching," his warm breath fans over the place where your neck meets your shoulder, goosebumps rising in the wake of his words. You meet her baby-blue eyes from across the room, watching as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. He speaks up again, rubbing down your sides, to your hips getting dangerously close to the hem of your dress, "Why don't we get out of here?"

You sigh leaning back into him, "Yes please." He laces your fingers together, his thumb fiddling with your wedding ring, keeping you close as he makes his way through the sea of people.

You stop in your tracks unknowingly close to the refreshment table where she was last seen, "Shouldn't we say goodbye before," you cut yourself off at the sight of Emma's manicured hand on his bicep, "Simon, right?" she plays into faux oblivion, "I never got to introduce myself," before she can continue, he removes her hand from his arm stepping back from her.

He doesn't bother exchanging pleasantries, "I'd love to stay and chat, but we've really got to go." Her mouth hangs open before she can rack her brain for some form of rebuttal he's turned, tightening his grip on your hand. You can't help but turn giving her the same sickeningly sweet smile she shared with you earlier, following it up with a wave as you round the door and are out of sight.

[chizuke]

webcam porn star

Streamer!Seungmin x fem reader, dubcom (reader doesn’t know she's being recorded) enjoy!

Seungmin spent the ENTIRE day gaming with his friends, Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung. Of course, this was his job after all, he's a streamer and gaming YouTuber. But you couldn’t help feeling left out, especially since Seungmin started playing this new game that got tons of views and positive responses. He and the guys were so pumped and focused on making content for their audience. Normally, you wouldn’t mind, but today was Saturday! It was supposed to be your day with Seungmin.

It was probably after 8 PM when you decided to head into the room. You knew Seungmin wasn’t streaming, just recording, so it wouldn’t really be a big deal if you walked in they could always edit you out later. In your best attempt to seduce him, you wore nothing but an oversized shirt with Seungmin's name on the back, no panties or bra. You opened the door quietly, hoping to surprise him.

What you didn’t know was that your boyfriend was in a video call with his friends, who could all see you. “Hey dude, your girlfriend,” probably Jeongin, warned him. He just ignored them, waiting for you to get closer, as you draped your arms over his shoulders, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “Minnie… I’m feeling needy.” You pouted, basically begging for his cock. His friends' reactions were instant. “Dude, how the hell do you have a girl this hot at home and you’re still here playing with us? Are you gay, Seungmin?” Jisung asked, laughing in disbelief. Felix, who had been quiet up to this point, chimed in boldly, “You know… I’ve always thought Seung’s girlfriend was pretty hot. I wouldn’t mind a little show.”

You couldn’t hear any of this, of course, since Seungmin had his headphones on. But your boyfriend was pissed he’s always been the jealous type. Thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to show his friends just how hot you were and that you were his, he thought, sure, they could watch and want you, but they’d never be able to touch. “Is that right? Then why don’t you be a good girl and suck my cock? That’s all the prep you’re getting, doll, so you better suck it well.” Seungmin could hear his friends freaking out through his headphones, unable to believe he was actually going through with it. He leaned back to give you space to kneel between his legs, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough for his already hard cock to spring free.

He knew he was big and wanted those three idiots on the call to know that this was the only cock that could satisfy you. He made sure to adjust the webcam just enough so they could see the scene, without you noticing. Kneeling between his legs, you gave his tip a little kiss first. “I love your cock,” your voice was full of need. You spit on it, spreading the saliva with your hand before finally taking him into your mouth. You started slow, licking and swirling your tongue around the head, just the way he liked.

Working the rest of his length with your hand, you gradually took more of him into your mouth, small gagging sounds escaping as his cock finally hit the back of your throat. Meanwhile, the noise from Seungmin’s headphones was deafening. He thought about turning them off but decided the satisfaction of hearing his friends want you but not having you was better. “Holy shit, how the hell do you have a throat goat like this at home and you’re not fucking that throat all the time, man?” Felix’s voice cracked, clearly affected by the sight. Seungmin chuckled. You looked up at him, bobbing your head up and down, your tongue swirling around his shaft. “Fuck, you’ve got such a good mouth,” Seungmin groaned, gripping your hair tightly.

“Dude, she sucks good, but please, I need to see her take that cock in her pussy, Seung. Don’t you want to show us how much your little girlfriend loves a good fuck?” Jisung, impatient as always, said. Seungmin had had enough too, or else he would’ve come in your mouth. He pulled you off his cock by your hair and made you sit on his lap, smirking when he saw you were completely naked under the shirt. “Damn, you naughty slut, walking around like this, just waiting for me to fill your holes. I’m gonna stuff your pussy full of cum,” Seungmin moaned into your ear, loud enough for the guys to hear on the call. He made sure you spread your legs, one on either side of his thighs, wide enough for them to not only see your pretty pussy but your tight ass as well.

“Shit, Seungmin, that’s unfair. Have you done anal with her yet? Please tell me you have,” Jeongin, clearly out of breath, asked. Everyone in the group knew how obsessed Jeongin was with anal. Seungmin slapped his cock against your pussy before slowly sinking inside, savoring the way your tight walls wrapped around him. “Fuck, how do you keep this pussy so tight?” He could still hear the buzzing from the guys through his headphones, but he wasn’t paying attention anymore. He started thrusting upwards while pulling your hips down. Your sweet moans and the way your pussy clung to his cock were driving him wild. Seungmin picked up the pace, his mind only focused on cumming deep inside you, but he remembered he needed to give his friends a show. So, he shoved two fingers into your mouth, playing with them.

When he thought they were wet enough, he slowly slid one into your ass, and then the second, all while fucking your pussy hard. He scissored his fingers inside you, making sure to put on a good show while also giving you pleasure. Seungmin could hear Jeongin, Felix, and Jisung losing it on the other end, and the obvious sounds of them jerking off. His fingers in your ass only made your pussy squeeze tighter around his cock, pushing him to the edge, but the final straw was you. “Seung, please cum inside me, I want your cum so bad, I need it, please? I love your cock, I’m close,” your desperate whines were all it took for him to shoot three thick loads deep inside you.

Panting, he pulled out of you, his cum making a mess between the two of you. He could also hear the other guys finishing. Deciding that was enough, he pulled off his headphones and ended the call. “Good job, baby, you were so good.” He kissed your hair, and you moaned in response before remembering something. “Uh, Minnie, was the camera recording?” your voice sounded worried and embarrassed, though you knew it’d be easy to delete the video. “Oh? No, babe, don’t worry.”

[omegaworld]

Liam Mairi x reader [Fourth Wing] - OneShot

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[One-shot/omegaverse]

Word count: 6.5k

summary: Since the first day, Y/n had been attracted to Liam, but would those feelings be able to resist the secrets he keeps? Author's note: Spoiler for the ending of FourthWing, I've only finished the first book in the series so this story doesn't contain spoilers for events in the next books. I couldn't accept Liam's ending so I had to do something for him. Spoiler: A happy ending for our Liam!

"If you keep looking at him like that in no time there won't be anyone who doesn't know," says Leah. Y/n chokes on her friend's comment and attracts a few glances that make her shift her focus from Liam to her breakfast.

She couldn't help it, as much as she wanted to keep her crush on Liam a secret whenever he entered a room her eyes were immediately drawn to him. She watches his smile and the way his blond curls fall slightly over his eyes when he's focused on carving another one of his figurines-

Leah's elbow to her rib interrupts his thoughts and tells her that she was looking at him again.

He probably didn't even remember her anymore, but Y/n had no way of forgetting him.

___

As she crossed the parapet, Y/n mentally cursed herself, it was already the second time that her boots had almost caused her to slip to her death, the rain had worsened the grip of the flat soles and the wind had worsened the unbalance caused by them.

"Fuck" Y/n shouts in a whisper lost in the wind. She looks back and sees that she is still a good distance from the person behind her. Stopping and trying to stabilize herself, she begins to remove her boots.

She was already standing on just one bare foot removing the second boot when a gust of wind knocked off her balance. Y/n felt herself falling with the wind and a terrifying feeling that told her it was the end ran through her like a wave of energy, but to her surprise, her unbalance was interrupted when a pair of strong hands held her in place by the waist. Watching her boot fall into the fog, Y/n took a deep breath and turned to catch a glimpse of her savior. He was a tall boy, with blond hair that formed beautiful curls and adorned his face in perfect harmony with his beautiful blue eyes. A relic of rebellion that emerged from under his shirt and covered his neck caught Y/n's attention.

"Are you okay?"

Of course, his voice had to be just as beautiful. Y/n takes a second to fully realize the situation and to look away from the relic on his neck before nodding positively.

"The boots-"

"Flat sole, I get it. Can you go on?" He asks in a strong tone, but one that makes her heart flutter.

Y/n notices him looking down at her now-bare feet and glancing at the boot left in her hand, she decides to let it go, letting it fall into the fog to perhaps meet up with the one that had fallen earlier. They would get new boots when they got to the other side anyway and those were useless, especially just one.

Taking a deep breath to catch her breath, Y/n nods "Yes, thank you".

Carefully Y/n starts to move forward, the lack of boots helps her to feel where she might or might not slip and in a way improves her grip. She could feel the boy move away from her a little, but his hands remained like ghosts on her waist. Didn't he need them for balance?

With her arms outstretched to keep her balance, she calculates each step, but this doesn't stop her from putting her foot in a puddle and slipping. Fortunately, the blonde's phantom hands immediately stop being phantoms and hold her firmly in place, once again preventing her from falling.

“Thank you,” she says with embarrassment. If it hadn't been for him, she would have died not once, but twice.

Y/n almost falls to her knees with reliefe when she finally reaches the other side of the parapet.

“Names?” A red-haired rider next to him, three stars on her shoulder, a third-year rider, asks with little interest.

“ Y/n L/n” she says and can feel the ghostly hands of the blond man behind her leave her waist.

“Liam Mairi” the boy says, making Y/n look at him. Liam Mairi, she repeats mentally.

In the middle of the crowd, Y/n had easily lost track of Liam, not that they were exactly walking together, but she still couldn't help being disappointed. Sitting down in a corner, she begins to observe the scenery around her. She hadn't taken much with her, just two daggers, a small knife that could be put in a boot, a braided bracelet that her mother had made for her for good luck, two notebooks and some pencils for her drawings.

___

As much as Y/n wanted to get closer, something always seemed to prevent her from doing so. Excuses like “It's just a crush” and “I don't even know if I'll survive the Threshing” were frequent, and as much as she wanted to help him, he never seemed to need it.

After surviving the Threshing and bonding with Zephyria, a female Green Club Tail, she had fewer excuses, but a new one emerged. It was already obvious that Liam was good, he had never lost a challenge on the mat, but after being the fastest on the Guantlet and bonding with Deigh, an incredible Red Daggertail it was clear that he was the best of the first years...that and the fact that the day after the Threshing she saw him leaving his room with another first year rider stopped Y/n from getting any closer.

“You're in love with him” Zephyria says.

“It's just a crush” Y/n tried, but Zephyria could see everything that was going on in her mind.

“That wasn't a question” Zephyria scoffs.

Y/n rolls her eyes and goes back to her drawing, totally ignoring the fact that she's distractedly drawing Liam again. This was one thing about her dragon that she didn't understand, her insistence and curiosity about her feelings for Liam. Day after day Zephyria made a point of teasing Y/n about her crush on the blonde, perhaps because although Y/n didn't want to admit it, her feelings for Liam couldn't exactly be called just a crush anymore.

Sighing, she tried not to think about it, she knew that in the quadrant death was more of a certainty than a fluke and she hoped that when she arrived and was confronted with this fact she would begin to allow herself to be “ enjoyed” just like the others, but the raw and pure truth was that even with death on the verge Y/n saw no pleasure in giving herself to someone who didn't have her heart. And right on the parapet, his heart had already found its owner.

"You know what? Maybe I'm in love too~" Zephyria says provocatively, catching Y/n completely off guard.

"You what?! With who?!" Y/n exclaims, but she can feel Zephyria's laughter fading as she mentally blocks her out.

She can't say something like that and then leave me without an answer! Y/n thinks in exasperation.

___

"Zephyria?" Liam asks.

"Yes, her rider is Y/n" Deigh says and laughs as the mention of Y/n's name disorients Liam. "What do you think of her?"

"Of Zephyria?" Liam asks as he remembers the huge Green Club Tail who was only slightly smaller than Deigh.

"Her rider" Deigh says in a tone that Liam could swear he was rolling his eyes at.

"She's...interesting" Liam replies, ignoring the fact that Deigh already had the answer he wanted.

"You should make her a figurine of Zephyria."

"But I haven't even seen that much of her."

"I can provide images." Deigh says as he sends Liam several images of Zephyria, making the rider wonder how close the two dragons really were.

___

In all honesty, neither Zephyria nor Deigh were trying to force a relationship between their riders, but since they both intended to mate, they couldn't help but be curious about how it would impact their riders who would have to be together all the time.

Both had blocked their connection with their riders in an attempt to protect them, so Deigh was unaware that Liam had finished the figurine and was heading to Y/n's room to offer it to her when the dragons began their mating.

A knock on the door pulled Y/n from her drawing and she quickly closed her notebook. Liam again, she had to stop this obsession, even she was getting perturbed with herself.

Opening the door, she was paralyzed to see Liam himself standing there.

“Hey, I just wanted to give you this... if you want it, of course.” Y/n looks at the figurine he holds out to her and her eyes light up when she recognizes Zephyria.

Immediately taking the figurine, she carefully examines Liam's work. It was exactly like Zephyria, every detail was carved to perfection and there was no doubt that it was her.

"It's beautiful" she says, looking into Liam's eyes.

Both remain silent, lost in each other's eyes without knowing exactly what to say. Just as Y/n is about to speak, a wave of heat runs through her body, causing her to fall to her knees with a scream. As she tries to take a deep breath, her breathing becomes heavy and her whole body seems to catch fire.

Liam. Her mind screams and only then does Y/n remember that he is standing right in front of her.

Lifting her eyes from the floor, she finds Liam leaning against the doorframe and from the look on his face she can guess that he was experiencing exactly the same sensations.

Y/n swallows dryly and when another wave of heat runs through her and clouds her thinking all her months of repressed feelings for Liam seem to culminate in her whispering in a pleading tone “Liam”.

His name being called like that by her seems to break something inside him. His blue eyes darken into a deep blue and he is quick to close the door behind him and grab Y/n.

___

Y/n groans as she feels her whole body ache, the precession of the night before hits her and she feels her whole body blush. Looking around her, Liam's absence is immediately felt and she can't help the disappointment coursing through her.

Only the memory of Liam's hands trailing down her body the night before could make her moan, the way he looked at her while he was deep inside her, how he brushed his forehead against hers and then kissed her, his lips molding to hers as perfectly as if they were simply meant to be.

What had happened to her the night before? Those sensations came out of nowhere for no apparent reason.

“Maybe I'm in love too~” the memory of Zephyria's teasing tone made Y/n choke.

"Zephyria?" Y/n asks, but she doesn't answer.

With a sigh Y/n stands up. Had he regretted it? She asks herself in an attempt to find a reason why he left before she woke up.

Looking around the room she finds his clothes carefully placed on the chair by the desk and the small statuette he had given her resting on the desk next to his open sketchbook. Open? Open on a drawing of Liam! She could have sworn she'd closed it before opening the door. Did he see it? The statuette is next to the notebook, of course he saw it!

“You're in love with him” the memory of Zephyria's words squeezes her heart as she picks up the statuette Liam gave her.

___

"Liam?" Violet asks, snapping him out of his thoughts "Are you okay? You've been distant."

"Yeah, I just made a mistake, that's all."

Violet gives him a look that tells him she wants to ask him more, but fortunately she realizes he doesn't want to talk and respects his silence.

It wasn't as if Liam wanted to leave her before she woke up, but he had to keep an eye on Violet and she was sleeping so peacefully that he couldn't find it in himself to wake her up.

While he was getting dressed, he had taken the opportunity to gather up her clothes and put them on the chair, but when he bent down to pick up one of his socks, which for some reason was under her desk, he hit his head and immediately stifled a groan of pain to avoid waking her.

As he picks up the notebook that fell when he hit his head, his eyes lock on a drawing of him and curiosity gets the better of him as he flips through the pages. The entire quadrant of the dragon riders seemed to be mapped out in her drawings. Among the many drawings of dragons, the drawings of Zephyria were the most frequent, although there were a good handful of drawings of Deigh more than any other dragon. There were also several drawings of people he assumed were from his squadron or family, one girl in particular was repeated about three times, but he definitely had the most drawings in that notebook, some of them of him with Deigh.

Looking again at the sleeping girl, Liam shivers as Violet's words repeat themselves in his mind.

"Stop flirting with her, she's a woman of long relationships."

Of course Violet was referring to her scribe friend, but he couldn't help seeing the resemblance. Would it be presumptuous of him to assume that she was in love with him? He didn't want to play with her feelings and he couldn't help feeling that he was taking advantage of her state, although to tell the truth he was in the same state as her.

It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive, in fact ever since he'd helped her onto the parapet he couldn't help glancing at her discreetly here and there, but it seemed that something was stopping him from getting closer. He was almost certain that if he spent more time with her he might fall in love with her, but he couldn't. Not with so much going on, he has many secrets, more than the others his life is at risk because he is the son of a rebel, but not her, she is a normal rider, who came here by choice and whose life has no more risks than anyone else in that quadrant would have.

Perhaps it would be better to keep a distance. Liam thinks to himself.

"I think this is going to be difficult" Deigh says, speaking to Liam for the first time since yesterday, but what he says next makes him choke up. "Me and Zephyria mated"

___

"You what?!?" Y/n asks mentally shouting.

"Me and Deigh have mated"

"Wait...is that what I felt last night? Oh my god that's why Liam looked the same! Zephyria we slept together because of you!"

"We couldn't have predicted that, we had you blocked hours ago. Besides, it's not my fault you're in love with him...a coincidence if you ask me."

Y/n sighs, now it all made sense, Zephyria's interest in her feelings for Liam and how she chose to have her draw Deigh 90% of the time she asked her for ideas. How could she be so blind?

"I don't think there's any point in hiding it anymore" Y/n says to Leah.

"What do you mean?" she asks, turning her attention away from the battle summary lesson to follow her gaze and find her looking at Liam, who was curiously looking at her too.

Sighing, Y/n turns back to her friend "Our dragons have mated, now they're a pair."

Leah chokes up so much that even the teacher asks her if she's all right, to which she very embarrassedly replies that she is.

___

Honestly, Y/n couldn't even remember why she was denying her feelings for Liam. Was she ashamed of loving him? No.

"There's no shame in loving" was what her mother had always told her and she agreed, so why on earth was she hiding her feelings? She admired Liam, he was an incredible man who she wanted to love with all her heart, so again, why was she denying such feelings?

"Because you've been an idiot" Zephyria says with a yawn.

"I wasn't asking you, you know."

"That little bird won't be able to resist you."

"Little bird?"

"His hair looks like a bird's nest."

Y/n can't help but laugh at the logic behind the nickname.

___

So for the first time in a long time Y/n was honest about her feelings. She admitted to herself that she was in love with Liam, she didn't deny it when Leah teased her. In all honesty Liam was the most desired first year in the quadrant so the fact that she liked him didn't exactly shock anyone and after a week of teasing her precinct lost interest in teasing her.

She didn't hide her concern when he went to the healers after the first battle of the war games and stayed close to him the whole time. She even spent extra hours drawing a perfect picture of him and Deigh to give him in return for the statuette he gave her.

___

"Are you sure?" Y/n asks Zephyria.

"Yes, it's already been too long"

"But it's his squad's prize and I'm not from the squad"

"Yes, but if we don't go there he'll lose the prize, do you want that to happen?"

"No... But I should ask someone-"

"It's okay, he already knows and the teachers agree, not that they could do anything about it."

"Him who?"

"Are you ready L/n?" The voice of the wing commander asks, startling Y/n, who hadn't realized he was there before. She is confused by the sight of him in the flight skins and seeing his mouth open and close Xaden decides to give a brief explanation "Sgaeyl and Tairn are also a couple"

"Right, I'm ready," Y/n said before turning and mounting Zephyria. She honestly knew that their dragons were a couple, but it simply didn't occur to her that that was the reason he was there, that just like Deigh and Zephyria, Tairn and Sgaeyl were also experiencing the pain of being apart.

After a few hours of silent flight, when they were about to reach the fortress, Xaden ordered Y/n to go ahead without him and she did so.

Arriving at the fortress, she sees Deigh already waiting for Zephyria.

“Ah, how beautiful love is” Y/n says provocatively, but Zephyria seems to ignore her, only speaking again after she has left her on the ground and is taking flight again with Deigh. "I could say the same, I think you should look back."

Y/n looks back only to see Liam dressed in his flight leathers.

"Deigh had said we were going back" he says still visibly confused.

Y/n didn't know if it was really a misunderstanding on the part of his dragons because they couldn't communicate at such a great distance or if they both orchestrated this meeting.

"Do you really think I could let you lose your prize?" Y/n asks with a sincere smile.

"Thanks for coming" Liam says smiling back and making her blush. She could have sworn that if there was one thing in the world she could never get tired of, it would be this man's smile.

___

“There's a group of griffins heading that way!” Zephyria warns.

“We're on our way, get ready!” a new voice sounds in Y/n's mind.

“It's Deigh,” says Liam with concern in his eyes.

Before Y/n can question the fact that his dragon has spoken to her everyone is ordered to gather their things and have to rush to their rooms in an attempt to put their belongings together and change into their flight skins before rushing off to ride the dragons. Y/n is surprised when she comes out of her room and immediately a hand grabs hers and pulls her towards the roof.

“We have to be quick!” Liam says over his shoulder as he continues to guide them towards the dragons.

When they arrive, Y/n watches Ridoc mount his dragon, which perches on the thin wall that seems ready to give way under his weight. “Liam, I'm not going to be able to ride like this!”

“It's okay, you trust me, right?” Liam asks looking her in the eye and Y/n nods yes without hesitation.

Y/n watches as Zephyria lands and lets out a surprised scream when Liam picks her up and sits her on his shoulder. Instinctively, she holds on tightly to his shoulder and his hand, which holds her in place. He walks along the wall with her on his shoulder before lifting her onto Zephyria's leg, much higher than she could manage on her own in that situation and allowing her to reach the back of the dragon.

“Liam!” Y/n calls out and Liam shouts back.

“I'll be right there!” He assures.

Y/n watches as Xaden and Violet arrive and to her joy Liam is the next to take off, quickly taking up a position next to her and Zephyria.

It's only when they're later flying in formation back to Basgiath that Zephyria decides to share some very important information with Y/n.

“You know, it would be easier if you guys talked like us instead of shouting”

“If we could” Y/n says with a roll of her eyes.

“But you can”

“How?”

“The same way Deigh talked to you and I talked to Liam”

“You talked to Liam?”

“Yes, when Deigh and I connected it made us all connect. Try, just like you talk to me talk to him”

Y/n takes a deep breath before grounding herself and realizing for the first time that there are now two more doors. Choosing the golden door, Y/n tries it.

“Liam?”

She laughs as she sees him looking at her from a distance and a few minutes pass before she hears an answer.

“Y/n?”

“It's me Liam”

“Deigh just taught me, apparently he thought I should know that he could talk to you just like Zephyria can talk to me, but he didn't bother to mention that we can talk like that too”

“Zephyria just taught me too” Y/n laughs.

“This should come in handy”

“I'm sure it will”

___

To say that Y/n and Liam used this ability was an understatement; from casual conversations to helping each other during tests, they talked constantly. If Liam had tried to keep his distance before, his efforts were now totally futile. Just as he had predicted, Y/n had managed to enter his heart and now lived in him as if she owned him, which, by the way, she did.

Her sweet and caring nature left Liam confused about her signet, she was supposed to have a much gentler signet power than the manipulation of fire, but the way she knocked opponents to the mat told him that maybe even fire didn't do justice to her.

The way she smiled at the sight of him and said goodbye to her squad colleagues just so she could talk to Liam affected him more than he'd like to admit. Even though he was always with Violet, she came anyway and even ended up developing a friendship with the little rider.

Violet probably thought something was going on between them, as anyone with eyes would, and while it was, it wasn't really because Liam wouldn't let it.

“I don't think it's fair for you to inherit the sins of your parents” he remembers her saying. What would she think if she knew he was committing the same “sins” as his mother? If she knew the truth, would she understand? Her mind goes back to when she claimed to trust him so firmly in Montserrat. Would she still trust him if she knew the truth?

Liam spent his nights tossing and turning in an attempt to convince himself.

I can't put her in danger.

“The greatest danger is ignorance”

She probably wouldn't think she liked me if she knew the truth.

“I don't think any secret is going to change her feelings”

And so Deigh would beat all of Liam's excuses out of him until he had to block him out for the night.

The truth was that Liam was afraid, afraid of giving himself over to what he felt, afraid of giving himself over to love and getting hurt. He had never looked for long relationships because he didn't feel ready for them, he had convinced himself that he could never give himself over to love. It especially pained him the way she smiled and showed him that she liked him without fear and he just pretended not to see it like a coward.

___

“Liam?” Y/n asks as he finds him sitting exactly where Deigh said he would be.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” Liam asks as he wipes his tears away with the back of his hand.

Y/n ignores the tightness in her heart at seeing him like this, she knew this wasn't an easy day for him. “I could ask you the same thing, it's almost four in the morning.”

“I didn't notice,” he replies, looking down at the floor.

“Come on, let's get you to bed.”

“But-”

“No buts, just go with her” says Deigh.

“You heard him” Y/n says with a sweet smile as he pulls Liam towards the dormitories.

Liam opens the door and lets Y/n in before closing the door.

“Y/n I can't sleep tonight” he says in a sigh and watches as Y/n sits up and signals for her lap. Without really having much strength to fight Liam lies down using Y/n's lap as a pillow. He can feel himself relax as she begins to gently massage his curls.

The way her eyes look at him only increases his guilt, he was a real coward.

“Y/n” Liam speaks hesitantly “What day do you think it is?” He can feel Y/n go rigid before sighing and answering as softly as possible.

“The day your mother was executed”

“The day my parents were executed” Liam corrects and Y/n sits with a dry mouth.

“But…I thought…My parents told me that your father remained loyal to Navarre”

“I saw them both executed on the same day”

“Oh Liam” Y/n exclaims and it's hard for Liam to hold back his own tears as Y/n's flow freely. Grabbing her by the waist Liam lays her back on the bed and they both remain silent just looking into each other's eyes. Slowly Y/n brings her hands to Liam's face and opens her mouth to speak when shouts in the hallway interrupt her.

“Emergency formation! We're under attack!”

They both rush to get up and Y/n is glad of her choice to change before going to find Liam. However, attack or not, she had spent too long procrastinating and couldn't do it any longer.

“Liam” she calls, holding his wrist and making him stop to look her in the eye "I love you" she says before moving forward without waiting for an answer. She didn't want to put him in that situation, that wasn't her intention, she just needed to make her feelings clear.

___

“War games, my ass” Y/n thinks, placing herself next to Zephyria's front paw.

“You'll have a chance to hear the little bird's answer later” Zephyria says in a calm but obviously amused tone.

“That's not why I-”

“Y/n!” Liam calls out in his mind “Come and join me, we're going to be part of the squad to the wing headquarters”

“Me?”

“Yeah, Deigh and I aren't staying five days apart” Zephyria declares.

“Right” Y/N nods “ That makes sense”

___

Y/n was busy doodling the landscape of the lake full of dragons drinking water with Liam peering over her shoulder at the drawing.

“It looks amazing”

Y/n laughs. “Andarna looks great too”

“Thanks” he says with a silly grin that makes Y/n blush slightly.

"Xaden!” Bodhi shouts making everyone run to where Xaden and Violet are.

Y/n chokes at the sight of griffins and bumps into Liam's chest as she backs away. Seeing the pain in Liam's eyes she looks around and realizes that no one apart from her and Violet seems to be freaking out at the sight of the griffins.

“Trust me" Liam's voice pleads in his mind. With her mind clouded, Y/n remains silent as the scene unfolds in front of her.

Shipment. Venin. City decimated.

Y/n observes Xaden's conversation, Violet's outburst and when she threatens them with thunders, Liam walks away and Xaden sends everyone to the other shore.

“Y/n” Liam's pleading voice snaps her out of her trance as he holds out his hand ”Trust me, I promise I can explain everything”.

She looks into his blue eyes, those eyes she loved so deeply, those eyes in which she could lose herself forever, die and be happy. Those eyes in which she saw not a hint of evil or betrayal. Love is trust, and there was no doubt in her heart that she loved Liam.

“I trust you, Liam,” Y/N says confidently as she accepts Liam's hand and entwines her fingers in his. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Violet flinch at her words of trust.

Liam looks shocked for a second before pulling Y/n with him to the other shore.

Y/n and Liam sit a little further away from the others next to Zephyria and Deigh. She listens quietly as Liam explains to her the truth behind the war and the creatures they treated as legends.

“So your mother was right! Your parents were all so right and yet…”

Y/n doesn't finish her sentence when she throws herself on Liam and hugs him, crying. Liam laughs a little eternally, it seemed impossible for this sweet woman to translate into fire.

“I told you you were wrong” Deigh says to Liam and guilt consumes him more than ever.

This was the woman he loved and who loved him back, the one he tried to convince himself countless times that she wouldn't trust him, that she wouldn't love him after discovering the truth. The woman who was now hugging him with tears in her eyes as she cried at how unfair what happened to her parents was, the woman who was giving him reason, the woman who never looked down on him for his relic or judged him, the woman he had been pushing away for months. And for what? It had been useless, the more he fought to get away the deeper he fell for her. The way she said so confidently that she trusted him even with the seriousness of the situation dictated his sentence, now he knew there was no point in resisting any longer, there could never be another woman in his life for him other than her.

“Y/n” Liam calls, gently pushing her away from his shoulder and looking at her lovingly. He places his hands on her face and gently wipes away her tears before bringing his face close to hers without ever looking away. “I love you,” he declares before closing the space between them with a kiss.

___

As they flew to the fortress Liam laughed as he felt the happiness that radiated from Y/n through their connection and he himself did nothing to block her from feeling the affection he had for her.

“The little bird has finally admitted he's in love” says Zephyria amusedly and Y/n laughs.

“Little bird?” Liam asks confused.

“Yes” Zephyria says and Deigh's laughter joins Y/n's.

Unfortunately, the fun quickly disappears when they realize that the post is empty and that the whole thing was just a trap for Liam and the others.

“ Y/n you-”

“I hope you're not going to ask what I think you're going to ask Liam! Of course I'm going to fight you!”

As confident as Y/n's tone was Liam couldn't help the growing worry, this battle was essentially a death sentence.

“Liam!” Y/n shouts as she flies with Zephyria at full speed into the tangle that was Deigh and the wyvern.

“Go!” Y/n says to Zephyria as she jumps from his back to Tairn's and Zephyria throws herself into the fight. She can feel the dragon's desperation and has to take a deep breath to keep her wits about her. Carefully but quickly she positions herself behind Violet, putting one arm around her to hold on and helping to hold Liam down with the other.

Everyone watches in horror as the wyvern bites Deigh determined to kill, Zephyria's club tail is harder than ever against the wyvern's body and the sound of bones breaking is heard with each blow.

“Liam!” Y/n shouts “Deigh won't die! I promise! Trust me!”

She can feel his hesitation, but he still shakes his head positively. She knew he didn't know, after all she hadn't told anyone, but he was still trying to trust her which brought a smile to her face.

“Yes!” Zephyria shouts as the wyvern's body becomes immobile and she snatches it away from Deigh. However, although he is alive, the red dragon is badly injured and unconscious in free fall. Zephyria gets underneath him, trying to support his fall as much as possible with her smaller body. The crash of the two dragons makes the whole ground shake.

“Violet” Liam pleads and Violet is quick to get them to the ground. As soon as Tairn lands, Liam and Y/n run towards the dragons.

Zephyria was injured, but fine. She would survive, yet the three of them could feel Deigh's life ebbing away. The desperation coming from Zephyria and Liam along with her own was almost too much for her to bear.

Y/n feared not for her life, which would come to an end when Zephyria's ended and which would consequently end if Deigh died, but for her three companions.

“Liam” she calls out and the look of pain and desperation he gives her leaves her with no doubt about her next actions “I promised. He's not going to die.”

“Y/n” begins Zephyria but she interrupts the dragon.

“If I can't, promise that you will live without me, Liam and Deigh have to be okay. If you won't do it for yourself, please do it for them.”

Zephyria roared in anguish, she knew it was true, if Deigh died all four of them would die. Opening her power completely so that Y/N could take as much as she wanted, she hobbled over to Deigh and put her muzzle to his in an affectionate act.

“He's not going to die” Y/n repeats.

Before Liam can react Y/n explodes into flames, not her usual red flames, but bright blue flames. The flames are fast and spread towards Deigh. Liam watches as Y/n's words repeat themselves in his mind.

He's not going to die. He's not going to die. He's not going to die.

The flames attract the attention of all the riders and Liam watches open-mouthed as Deigh's wounds begin to close.

He's not going to die.

Liam can see Xaden's surprise as he lands in the distance. Roars make everyone except Y/n look up at the sky where a new horde of wyverns appears. Liam looks at Y/n and the wounded dragons, they are totally defenseless. Using his power to observe the horde, Liam realizes that there are only two venin ones among all the wyverns.

“Zephyria, they're going to attack us. You have to warn Sgaeyl, there are only two venin ones in that horde!”

Zephyria does as Liam asks and Xaden and Violet set out to defeat them while he watches uselessly.

The fear that had previously plagued them begins to subside when they feel Deigh's presence more strongly. It's only when Deigh's last wound is completely gone that the flames go out and Y/n collapses to the ground.

Liam screams, running to her and taking her in his arms in desperation. Although he is unable to access her, the panic he feels for Zephyria and the preservation of that connection tells him that she is still alive, he still can't help but put his ear to her chest to listen to her heart and check.

It's weak, very weak, but it's there.

Deigh wakes up and the three of them watch as the horde of wyverns falls inanimate.

___

“There's nothing I can do to her, it's not a question of repair, it's a question of wearing out the signet” Brenman explains “Still healing a whole dragon before even possessing the signet for a year, how did your superiors let her come?”

“Zephyria says they didn't know, all Y/n shared was flame manipulation”

“Honestly I've never seen a two-pronged power before,” Brenman continues, still fascinated.

“I think…” begins Liam, but finishes so that only Deigh and Zephyria can hear “that this signet translates exactly who she is much better than just flame manipulation”

Zephyria nods, this signet translates exactly who Y/n was.

“Why didn't you tell anyone?” Liam asks Zephyria

“It was me, I asked her to keep a secret. I knew she would choose to fight alongside you, the best option was to hide this part of her power from the others to make her less important. That way the enemy doesn't have full knowledge of our strength.”

Liam nods, ignoring the fact that the dragoness can't see him.

“In any case, whether she wakes up or not depends on her strength,” Brenman concludes.

“She'll wake up” Deigh says.

___

“She's awake” Liam announces to the dragons even though he knows they can sense it.

“Y/n!” He exclaims wrapping her in a tight hug.

“Liam” Y/n says affectionately as she pulls away from the hug to put a hand on his face. He is quick to grab her hand and pull her into a kiss.

The kiss was intense, full of desperation and unspoken worries. Y/n lets herself sink into the bed with Liam on top of her as the kiss deepens and his hands begin to roam making her moan, how much she had dream of those hands was unwritten.

Xaden cleared his throat as he entered the room.

“I wanted to see how you were, but I think you were both doing much better before I came in.”

Y/n blushes and hides in Liam's chest.

“Yeah, we were definitely a lot better before you came in” Liam says with a smile that radiates his happiness.

Xaden laughs “Brenman will want to see how she's doing, but he's not here right now so I guess you're free to enjoy it” he says before leaving the room.

It's only then that Y/n seems to realize the unfamiliar place she's in.

“Where are we?”

Liam laughs “Welcome to the rebellion.”

[ghouljams]

hey ghoul, this isn’t really anything sex / writing related but i’d still really appreciate some feedback because i’m kind of at a loss here.

the other night i got, like, super high off a 25mg edible while hanging out with some friends who were drinking. there were two sober people in the group. being high off my mind, i was somewhat conscious of what i was doing but was in no position to correct myself besides asking the people around me if what i was doing was okay / if i was making them uncomfortable.

there was one person there who i don’t know all that well and it was the first time i’d hung out with them. i was super high, and they were incredibly drunk. i know i was laying over them a lot since my body felt incredibly heavy and id get really close to their face, but in my delirium i thought we were on the same wavelength with the energy they were giving back to me.

however, when i apologized the following day for how i acted, they told me i made them very uncomfortable that night, and i felt horrible and apologized profusely, to which they said they appreciated my acknowledgment of my actions. after talking to one of the sober people there, they told me “you were kinda all over them :/“ but i cannot stress enough that i COULD NOT control how my body felt. im not in anyway excusing or downplaying my actions, i know how i acted was wrong even though i was intoxicated. and also, that same friend sat down next to me that night and told me i needed to “tone it down by like 30%” because i was kind of all over people, and i started crying and telling them that i can’t help it and that it was mean of them to say that to me when im so high.

again, i’m not excusing my actions, but i guess what im wondering, is at what point do the sober people become “responsible” of the actions of such an intoxicated person? at what point do they need to step in and put space between that person and everyone else, if their actions are truly making people uncomfortable?

i’m so sorry this is so much, and you don’t need to respond, but i need to make sure im not like crazy or anything.

As someone who has babysat a lot of super high people (on various substances) but has not done much in the way of drugs I would say that if someone looks like they're TOO INTOXICATED then the responsible thing is to make sure that person is safe. I cannot tell you the anxiety I had reading your ask and hoping you weren't going to say someone touched you or assaulted you in some way.

This is just my opinion as a former trip sitter (which isn't the same as hanging with a greened out friend) but uh your sober friends should have gotten you to a horizontal surface if they noticed you were having trouble keeping yourself vertical. Also really questionable to tell someone clearly far past their intox limit that they need to "tone it down." That's just unkind.

I am not trying to say that intoxicated people are completely absolved of their actions or can't control themselves, but if you are sober and see an intoxicated friend making bad decisions or making someone uncomfortable, then it's your responsibility as their friend to get them out of that situation. The same way you would keep your drunk friend from going home with a guy she just met, your friends should have done a better job taking care of someone who was too impaired to function.

The only thing you can do is what you have already done: apologize to the people you made uncomfortable and let them know that you'll try and make sure it doesn't happen again.

Look I've had plenty of rollers laying on me or petting my head, or rubbing their cheek on my pant leg, it's a thing that happens when people get high. I'm not someone who likes being touched, but I also am someone who understands that they weren't meaning to do anything that made me uncomfortable, they were just super fucking high and trying to find something to ground themselves.

[nat-20s]

Please enjoy this short clois proposal fic that I specifically wrote to spread my "lois is the one to propose to clark" agenda!!

Despite planning this for a good six months, Lois actually puts everything into motion by thinking fuck it at 11:27am on a Tuesday. Clark, when not eating at his desk, usually takes off for lunch around noon, and what she needs to get done shouldn’t make him more than, say, 10 minutes. She is, after all, expecting a quick answer. She’s also expecting a positive answer, and if she doesn’t get one, well. It will be good to not see Clark for an hour after.

Slipping the (lead-lined) box into the interior pocket of her blazer, she crosses the whole five feet of bullpen to get from her station to Clark’s. With a quick knock on his annoyingly well-organized desk, she tells him, “Kent. Roof. Fifteen minutes.”

Five years ago, his reaction would’ve been entirely different. Confusion, worry, maybe even confusion. These days, there’s a twinkle in his eye and the shadow of a smirk, because he knows he’s either getting some interesting information for a story or simply, ah, getting some. Maybe she’s not been the best about professionalism since they’ve gotten together, but what else are supply closets even for?

This time, he’s wrong. She had an inkling that he’s going to enjoy the surprise nonetheless.

Fourteen minutes and thirty seconds later, the rooftop door opens with the same grating squeal as always. The top floor has a deep resentment for anyone that pops up here for a smoke break, but she figures their lazy asses could bring up some WD-40 if it was really that big a deal. There’s a moment of irritation when she thinks of the passive aggressive email she’s almost certainly going to get from Janice, but it fades near instantaneously as she sees Clark, smiling, relaxed posture, so utterly comfortable around her. Ugh. This “being in love” shit is utterly ridiculous. She’s already smiling back at him like it’s been weeks instead of minutes since she last saw him.

Whatever. This is something that she should be smiling for.

Before he gets the chance to say anything, or even go in for a kiss, she says, “I know these sort of things usually have a preamble, but you know me. Ask questions first, elucidate second.”

“Oh-kay?”

Ah, there’s the confused expression that always reminds her of showing a five month old puppy a new toy, tilted head and all. It’d be fun to let him linger in it for a bit, obfuscate her intentions, but she wants an answer more than she wants entertainment.

Rolling her shoulders and letting out a long breath, she pulls out the box and gets down on one knee in one smooth motion. She presses the little button on the front, making the lid pop open and reveal a, in her humble opinion, a rather stunning white-gold (near indestructible custom titanium-carbon alloy, courtesy of star labs, but who’s counting?) wedding band. “Superman, Kal-El, Clark Kent, any name you want to go by, will you marry me?”

Here’s where there’s supposed to be a Yes!, maybe mixed into a combo of laughter and tears and smoochin’. Instead, Clark’s eyes go wide, and his first response is, “Oh shit.”

That’s. Less than ideal.

To be fair, he immediately follows up with, “No, wait, that sounds, uh, I just mean, are you sure?”

Still less than ideal, but, you know, less less than ideal. She sort of looks around, starting to feel ridiculous with the cold cement pressing into her knee and a giant gold globe right above their heads. This translates to her snorting and telling, “Yeah, um, pretty fucking sure, dude.”

God, they really are the height of romance. Gene Kelly eat your heart out.

“You know, um, that you..you wouldn’t just be marrying..me. But. Also Big Blue, right?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, I don’t. I am completely unaware of your stupid double life, hence why I called you Superman when I popped the question. 30 fucking seconds ago.”

And, god help her, Clark is literally wringing his hands. “Ah. Yeah. Right. That. On the flip side, I wouldn’t, like, be able to wear my ring in uniform.”

“Well, it would be funny, and I’m sure Cat would have the time of her fucking life if she got to speculate about Superman getting hitched, but in general, I Figured.”

“We’ve also both talked about wanting kids. We almost certainly can’t actually have kids together.”

She shrugs, and starts to grin, despite the soreness that’s starting to develop from holding this position. “So we adopt. Or get a donor, hell, you and Bruce look close enough, I’m sure he’d throw us a bone, as it-”

“-Lois!-”

“-What! I’m just saying, there’s work arounds.”

This get a puff of laughter through his nose, and Lois feels a rush go through her entire body, Oh yeah, she’s got this in the bag. He scratches the back of his neck, and raises an eyebrow at her, sheepish in a way that somehow loops back around to shockingly confident. She has yet to figure out how that works, and she’s excited to get to spend the of her life poking at that puzzle. He keeps going, stating, “You’d be married to an alien, like a bad tabloid headline.”

“Technically speaking, you are also going to be married to an alien, I’m sure the Kandor press has their own shitty tabloids to run about that one.”

He finally, finally steps closer to her, eyes warm and soft and perfect. “You’ll probably end up living on a farm for at least a little bit.”

“Fat fucking chance, Smallville. You can commute to the city just fine.”

One more step closer. “I also thought you were, I believe, fundamentally against marriage as an institution.”

“Oh my god, Clark, I love you, I like you, I want to spend the rest of my fucking life with you, I miss you when we have to take separate commutes to the same goddamn job, and I’ll swallow some of my past words because I want a receipt and a trinket and a party to celebrate that! Now either say yes or fuck off so I can lick my wounds, I’m starting to cramp here!”

Suddenly, there’s the laughter. AND the tears. His voice is watery and bright as he replies, “Yes. Fuck, Lois, you’re the love of my life, of course yes!”

She gets as far as, “See, that’s more-”, in “see, that’s more like it,” before she’s being pulled up into a spinning kiss. It’s a messy thing, mostly because they can’t stop laughing against each other’s lips, giddy in a way that she only really gets with him. Oh, crap, there’s also a lit bit of snot, because she’s also crying as she’s laughing, and Clark has them both floating, literally. She doesn’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, too swept up in the moment. God, she loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him, and he’s just accepted her loving him for the rest of her days. All in all, almost certainly one of the best Tuesdays she’s ever had.

When they finally come down from the hysterical joy of the proposal, she still has her arms around his shoulders. He’s staring into her eyes, his own red rimmed, and he looks wrecked in the best way possible. Being who she is, she decides to break the silence between them with, “So. Lunch?”

There’s that sparkling laugh again, the one that makes her, soppily, think all is right with the world, and he presses his forehead to hers. “I could do lunch. The bagel place on 40th?”

“Shit.”

He pulls away instantaneously, hands on her upper arms, checking her over with worry. “What, what’s wrong?”

“I should’ve proposed at the bagel place on 40th. They probably would’ve given us free schmear.”

He goes loose-limbed and as happy as she’s ever seen him. “I love you, Lois Lane.”

She ducks her head and realize her cheeks hurt from smiling. Taking his hand into her own and swinging it between them like they’re 16 and not 30, she replies, “Love you too, Clark Kent. Now let’s go grab some grub.”

[saintsenara]

Love love the latest chapter of your Snoldemort fic. I was wondering...why does Voldemort keep Snape a secret unlike Bellatrix, who he's happy (or not unhappy rather) to show off publicly?

thank you very much for the ask, anon! i'm delighted you're enjoying scylla and charybdis!

the thought lord voldemort puts into his relationship decisions isn't particularly complex - everything he does, he does because it sustains his belief in himself as the protagonist of reality and in everyone else he encounters as irrelevant worms who haven't yet realised their irrelevancy.

it suits his purposes to publicly flaunt that he has another man's pureblood wife on his arm - it keeps bellatrix suitably in awe of him [thereby keeping her amenable to committing acts of terror in his name], it embarrasses rodolphus in the eyes of his peers [thereby preventing him from positioning himself as a plausible alternative if the death eaters want to get rid of their leader], it keeps his other death eaters compliant so he doesn't decide to go after their wives [which also prevents rivals emerging], it signals his contempt for the pureblood social conventions he's claiming he wants to champion, but not in a way which drives his pureblood supporters away [men having mistresses is a tale as old as time... most of his death eaters have their own side pieces], and so on.

and - most importantly - fucking a much younger woman [at the start of the story, he's fifty-one and she's twenty-five] who's also really hot gives him an air of virility and masculinity which bolsters his authority in the eyes of his almost entirely male terrorist organisation...

and then makes its way out through his information network into the ministry's perception of him.

the voldemort of scylla and charybdis is an active political force [in a way we only get hints was the case for the canonical one in the first war] who is gathering up a wave of popular support which sincerely believes that his intention is to drain the swamp of mudbloods and the weak-willed, namby-pamby civil servants who don't stand up to them, and then be minister for magic.

and he's a consummate actor, isn't he? he's going to play the part of the masculine populist for as long as it's useful for him to do so...

it wouldn't be possible for him to maintain this public image if it was widely known that he also fucks men - as much as i love the trope of the wizarding world being more enlightened on matters of sexuality and gender than the muggle one, there's just no way this would actually be the case for a society which is that obsessed with [male] lineage.

and that's before we get into the fact that snape is pathologically repressed about his sexuality, socially awkward, bad value at parties, and not exactly eye candy...

i also think voldemort's twigged that snape wouldn't actually want a more public declaration of their sexual relationship.

bellatrix wants everyone to know she's the dark lord's mistress, but she's only able to behave like that because voldemort allows it.

[which he clearly does in canon - if she thought he'd murder her for speaking publicly about him calling her his favourite, she wouldn't do it.]

in scylla and charybdis, we see that him allowing her to allude to their relationship in public isn't just a way of keeping her loyal to him - it's also a way for him to amuse himself by humiliating her without her knowledge. the bellatrix of the fic doesn't realise that she's one of many side chicks/side dicks voldemort picks up and puts down when he wants. she thinks she's the only person he has such an intimate connection with.

and so he lets her run around yapping about how he calls her his most loyal, his most faithful etc. because he knows that's a line he's using elsewhere [including - as we've seen - on snape]... and he finds that very entertaining.

snape - since he knows that voldemort's sleeping with other people beside bellatrix... because he's one of them - also thinks that her delusion that she and voldemort are exclusive is funny. and, in doing so, he enables himself to give in to his own delusion:

that - while bellatrix is a fucking idiot for having convinced herself that voldemort calling her a slut in company is evidence that he loves her - he is definitely not an idiot for thinking that voldemort's willingness to spend nights in with him talking about potions and political theory actually proves that the dark lord loves him...

[axl-ion]

Some TF2 headcannons because like... Why not yk? These may change over time. This is specifically the RED team + Pauling and Zhanna.

Scout:

Has a lot of sport related skills, either just being able to play/participate in certain ones (baseball, swimming, basic gymnastics, football/soccer) or knows the rules (rugby, volleyball, ice skating, hockey, handball).

Would have gone to art school if he didn't fail English.

He's dyslexic, which comes from Spy.

Has driven a car/van illegally a couple times as a teen. One of his brothers taught him how to drive.

Got a couple art gigs after the end of the comic.

If he didn't make it into the Team Fortress, he would become a petty criminal or an artist, but still engaging in his mum's bizz.

Soldier:

Has the perfect pitch, unfortunately he's partially deaf from all the rockets he has blown up.

Believed himself to be a magician at one point (he was kinda just didn't notice Merasmus living in the place he decided to crash at).

Has named all the pets he ever had and will always recognise them even if no one else can.

Sweet tooth, but only if he's got something to go with it like coffee or tea.

Still didn't occur to him that some of his teammates are queer, even if they were to kiss in front of him (he's not homophobic, he just thinks all the flirting between Heavy and Medic is just your average platoon behaviour)

He genuinely loves kissing Zhanna on her lips and both her hands.

Pyro:

Any pronouns user.

Speaks a lot under the mask, is just that the mask huffles everything. But he speaks full coherent sentences, sometimes even singing to themselves.

Pyro-vision is result of asbestos and the respawn going haywire one time she went through it. They are actually pretty unbothered by it.

Likes to swim actually and will happily dive in! Will challenge other Mercs to swimming contests.

Their bed is more an AuDHD nest than a bed, plushies, trinkets, yarn and granny squares everywhere. He actually knitted all the granny squares himself!

Mercs usually go to him to tell their secrets, because she will never snitch on them.

Engineer:

Wakes up the earliest of the Mercs, only beaten by Soldier.

Misses sweet tea greatly, always gets a gallon of it when they get a time off from battling.

He's got a whole collection of gloves for his robotic hand for different occasions.

Does often check Scout's drawings, has even asked him to help him draw some of the machines.

Would have used Linux on his computer.

Dislikes phonecalls very much. Will do anything to avoid actually calling someone. Face to face, letters, he's happy to do it, just no phone calls!

Demoman:

He's worked in almost as many positions as Soldier, got even into a bet about who can work the most jobs in a month.

Not a cat person, because he fears a cat may scratch his good eye. However he may still pet a cat if it's held by its owner.

Actually likes rainy weather on a non-combat day.

Banned from driving due to his lack of depth perception, but that didn't discourage Scout from showing him through the hoops (no parking tho).

Aside from bombs, absolute nerd about booze and medieval history.

Makes the worst puns known to man.

Heavy:

Absolutely hates toasted bread, but will accept being offered some, even if they are essentially charcoal.

Reading a lot outside of combat, brings back memories from college.

Does share some of the stories of his youth with Medic, but that's it. He won't tell anyone else since he's still in the "words are very dangerous" mentality.

Usually the one who's vented to about issues, when the Mercs actually want some actual advice.

He enjoys the books that have English text next to Russian text as it helps him learn the language.

Trying to learn some German, so far can understand basic stuff, but mispronounces every 3rd word.

Medic:

He's also learning Russian for Heavy and also can just understand phrases, but can't talk for shit.

Certified pet dad, knows exactly how to care for his doves and won't let anyone else babysit them (except Heavy and Soldier).

One of the worst cooks amongst the Mercs, but excellent baker.

Has made his fair share of terrible puns, but the terribleness of his puns comes from not understanding how English puns work.

Tried to sleep with one eye open like a crocodile on several occasions.

Doesn't know how to drive. Nobody is risking teaching him that.

Sniper:

Has the best relationship with his parents out of all the Mercs.

Can sleep sitting up. Has even slept standing up once.

Knows about what's edible or not as he does engage in foraging.

He's learned a lot of little stuff to do to entertain himself like small entertaining stims.

This is the first time in years when he's stably living with other people and not sleeping somewhere in the outback in his van all alone.

He's goes to sleep the latest of everyone, including Pyro and Scout.

Spy:

Was a very good swimmer in his youth, just doesn't really do that anymore.

Flips his papers upside down to deal with dyslexia (that's how he taught himself how to do it).

Can't see himself as anything besides his profession or someone else's weapon.

Knows a lot of cool tricks with cards and stuff, but never does them in front of Soldier (learnt the hard way).

Polyglot, since I'm a sucker for that headcannon!

Is spooked out by wax figurines and mannequins, but since the fighting against the robots (Mann vs. Machine) he's also spooked by them. Usually the reaction is like "Huah! Disgusting!" or something like that but French and he moves on.

Miss Paulinng:

Zhanna was very much her sapphic awakening or made her appreciate butch women some more.

Absolutely dislikes moths because of associations with bad childhood memories.

Would do some accounting jobs before finally finding herself after all that happened.

She drinks an unhealthy amount of coffee.

Would write a fictional retelling of Team Fortress 2, but she's too shy to have it ever published.

Really started looking into subcultures in the late 1970s and early 80s.

Zhanna (the best girl for last):

She got all Soldier's pets vaccinated and made them all collars/ribbons with their names.

Became great friends with Engineer after he made her the hand.

Does say movie lines unironically. It's her way of connecting to the American culture.

She would enjoy Led Zeppelin.

Likes to literally butt heads with her husband.

Does frequently sing while doing mundane tasks and chores.

[neetily]

SEBASTIAN BEGGING AND PLEADING FOR IT slightly forcing you into it please :3

this one is weird, maybe. but i really like creepy pervert sebastian the most </3... warnings: lying, dubcon, begging, masturbation, face humping, facial, cheeks..... wc: 2,506

It’s just because he’s bored.

That’s all— he’s just bored. A lazy Wednesday afternoon, Sam is busy working his shift at JojaMart, and Abi is… Well, he doesn’t rightly know where Abi is. All that’s important to know is that she isn’t here, and neither is Sam. Leaving just you, and him, all alone in his basement room after you supposedly dropped off some materials for his mother, and he bets it was his moms idea to have you come down to visit him just now too, right? You’d rather be anywhere else but here, huh?

Go say hi, would you? He’s not been out his room in a little while, and I think he could use some company!

Or something like that anyway… An unnecessary outing you likely felt obligated to complete out of sheer social pressure. This is why I don’t leave my room, mom.

But he’s thankful— Really! Happy that you felt the burning weight of niceties upon your weary wood carrying shoulders to kindly pay him a visit, even if only to make his mom happy for a brief moment. He’s glad that you’re seemingly unable to say no, not to his mom, and certainly not to him as he inches closer to you with a forced smiled tugging at his lips. You're in the perfect position for it too, unfortunatel.

“C’mon,” he leers at you, eyeing up the way the fabric of your clothes cling to your frame from the heat of his basement. “They’re just… They’re so cute, I can’t help myself…”

The art of acting casual never came easy to him, anxiety palpable on his face no doubt. But he isn’t lying at least, and that’s gotta count for something, right? His heart racing at the cute little pout you sport in response to his over eager affections, an expression that he’s sure wouldn’t be present if only he knew you a little better, took time out of his day to visit you and hang out with you beyond surface level hello’s and goodbye’s.

He’s trying now. Because he’s bored.

Or so he keeps telling himself, conveniently ignoring the plenty sleepless nights he’s spent fisting his cock merely to the thought of you. The sly glimpses he gets of you throughout the day burned into his mind, behind cracked door slits when you visit his mom, or behind crowds at the saloon every Friday night. It’s easy to forget all about just how much he loves whimpering your name into his cum stained sheets every night when your resting upon them right now, attempting to avoid his grabby hands as they creep closer, and closer, pretending not to hear the way you protest his touch.

“Jus’ a little…” He slurs, nonetheless approaching nearer to those chubby lil cheeks that have taunted him oh so much, oh so often. “Please,” he begs, pouting down at your pretty scowl with a twitch in his pants— he just hopes you cant see exactly how much your distaste turns him on. That'd be embarrassing, as if he wasn't being so already. “It’ll be quick, jus’— ah, jus’ lemme pinch em a little…”

It really shouldn’t sound so creepy, right? All he wants to do is squish and squeeze your cute chubby cheeks to his hearts content— as they’re begging of him right now. It’s only right that he gives your body what it’s asking of him, especially since you seemingly don’t realise it yourself. He’s just helping…

You mumble his name, but he’s a little too enamoured by the way your bottom lip wobbles as he grows closer, slowly creeping, until his fingertips hover above the apple of your cheeks and he’s so fucking close to making contact, and his cock drools a little bit in excitement over being so close to you, looming over your trembling frame, and— “Sebastian!” he hears you gasp, and the slight hint of annoyance present in your tone sends a shiver down his perverted spine. Followed by a sharp inhale of his own to recover the way you so easily knock the wind out of him, begging for his attention to which he so happily gives to you with a lazy smirk.

“Promise t’be quick, please.” He continues on regardless, unwilling to hear you out in favor of pressing the pads of his fingertips gently against your cheeks, soon followed by his thumbs, and oh you’re just as soft as he’d imagined as he presses them together… A little too squirmy for his liking, as he has to fight with the way you wriggle around in an attempt to free yourself from his grasp, but he’s not letting go so easily. Not any time soon anyway. Not when he can so readily position himself to be fully on top of you—silly girl, you should never have accepted his proposal to sit on the bed for a nice chat—straddling your hips before you have a chance to stop him, really. All so he can squish and pinch your cute, chubby little cheeks all night long if he wanted to. Because he’s bored. Because he can think of nothing better to do than to tug and tease your skin to his hearts content.

Because it’s fucking hot, actually. Obviously, rather. But he’s doing his best to hide that ugly truth, and hopes you’ll be thankful about it.

Because it’s much easier to hide behind the pure and simple want to squish your cheeks because they’re cute, rather than admit where his fault lie. And they are, don’t get him wrong. The cutest ever, actually. But it’s getting increasingly difficult to hide his hard on from you, because for as much as he ends up tilting your pretty face up to meet his half lidded gaze, you just as strongly attempt to fight back, and the way your body squirms from under him— God, he could cream his fucking pants on the spot to be honest with you. Just by looking at the prettily forced pout you’re forced to wear with his paws on your cheeks, cute kissable lips begging him for a taste, all nice and wet just for him, right? And the way your brows furrow together so cutely, sweetly knitted for his own personal enjoyment too. And— And fuck, how soft and squishy you are under his teasing touch... Pliantly allowing him to tug and pull on every inch of your cheeks he can reach, until you playfully, briefly, escape his grasp, only for him to find you once more.

“See,” He huffs down at you, unable to hide the wide smile you always seem to pull out of him. “Just teasing, s’all, promise—” a breathless laugh follows his lie, cock bobbing above you in his pants when you refuse to settle under him. If only he could just— just squeeze you a little more, y'know? Get rid of his boredom by pinching at different pockets of fat, a flash of your hips entering his mind and well, he's much faster and sneakier than you are.

It doesn't take much to get him going, and the squeak of surprise you immediately let out upon his grubby hands coming into contact with your hidden waist proves as much. Prompting a light sigh to escape him, though he's quick to recover to save face when around such a cutie like yourself. And more importantly, he was right. This is more fun, a faster cure for his boredom.

"Sorry, sorry," lies tumble from his lips, bitten before you to try and hold back on the lewd moans he so badly wants to let out for you, to show you exactly just how much fun he's having with your body right now. "I didn't mean to, I just— You're so cute and I— I mean," he can babble as much as he wants, he knows that there's no hiding the gross grin he sends your way, if your desperate recoil further into his dirty sheets is anything to go by.

"Couldn't help myself..." he finally mutters, like a dog. A broken record stuck on replay, mumbling the same excuses over and over again because all the blood in his body is rushing down to his cock and he can't make sense of anything beyond just how badly he wants to touch you. Grope you. Feel you. Do anything with you so long as his hands are on you. Like a filthy fucking pervert.

"Seb, I think— Think that's enough, right?" Your voice comes out as a quiver, a shaky sigh at best. Something so easily ignored, he thinks.

You should learn to speak up around men like him.

Because in truth, you're probably right. It's not like you consider him a friend as such, more like a welcomed acquaintance, right? And yet here he is, straddling your lap with his nails digging in to your soft sides, hard cock standing tall and proud before you as it trembles behind the layer of cloth barrier his jeans provide, and you're doing very little to stop him from going further.

Which means you must want him too, right?

Not that it'll stop him begging for it, mind you. Relenting in his prodding and touching only to be able to unzip his pants, his fat bulge spilling out for you to gasp at in the meantime. "Can I, just a little, if it's okay," He starts, practically drooling at the way you cower from him, like a coy little thing. "Can I get it out, please?" it's not really a question, seeing as he's already tugging his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free before he even finishes asking, a fat bead of precum rolling from the tip and onto your front to stain your clothes all sticky. "I just need to, only for a bit. Hurts, see?" He begs for your attention, following your gaze down to the way his cock throbs and jerks against his barely there touch, all hard and wet because of you.

"I, I see, but—"

"C'mon, please! It won't take long, not if it's with you. Promise for real this time." He shuffles with his words, soon straddling your chest with his cock twitching right between your eyes, and the way you squint up at it, unable to decline his advancement only has his cock pulsing harder.

And without even understand exactly what he's asking for—not that he gives you much time to anyway—he sees your very nod. Meagre at best, like you'd rather just get this all over and done with as soon as possible as opposed to any active involvement, but he's not about to complain. Cock rock hard and leaking all over himself just from feeling your breath fan against his balls, and God, you can't blame him for angling his tip down against those soft and squishy cheeks to smear plenty precum across them, especially when you let out the smallest little whimper, and despite being unable to decipher if it's enjoyment or fear, he's still fucking done for either way.

"God, I'm so sorry, but—" his hips buck against you, involuntarily but more than welcome given just how fucking good it feels to graze his cock upon your face. "But you're so pretty, and— and I really like you, and, oh fuck—" he thrusts again, this time placing his hand hard against the top of his girth, so his cock in turn rubs harsher against your face in the faux pussy he's simulating right now. Your face, his cock, and then his hand. A stupid sandwich that feels oddly intimate to him, in a way that his has balls taut and his cock drooling all over you some more, as if his aim was to be as messy as possible.

And he's not lying, he really does like you. It's one of the only truths he's said so far tonight actually, proven by how he almost immediately settles into an unfair fast pace against your cheek, humping and grinding recklessly despite the squeak of his bed under his weight. An added bonus to living in the basement— nobody but him can hear the way you stifle whines and swallow moans.

It's just that you suit his cock so well.

"Look, I'm sorry," he exhales shakily, slowly, trying to keep up with the silly speed he's set for himself, but the feeling of his balls slapping against your chin is so nice, and the wet squelch of his cock gliding against your lips and your cheek and up to your squeezed shut eye— "Let me feel good, let's feel good together, okay? Please?" it's too much as he continues to plead with you, because it all feels too fucking good to be using you like this, to have you willingly sit there and let him rut like a bitch in heat whilst he begs for your forgiveness, because he's nothing but a stupid mutt with a horny cock and he can't. Fucking. Help himself.

Can't stop feeling good, not even if he tried. Drool pooling behind his teeth at the way you try your best to sit still for his rutting, but the soft scowl you wear when his precum dribbles down the side of your cheek is tell tale enough. It's gross, isn't it?. He's being nasty right now, isn't he? But he thinks that that's whats getting him off the most.

Your dislike for him and the situation he's begged himself into.

"'M close—" he intends to warn you, but this yet again sounds like some sort of pleading. An imploring to sit still and be nice. "Please please pleasepleaseplease, fuck please—" he whines, all high pitched and feminine from the way his back arches into every thrust, really angling his cock tip to squish against your cheek with his humps and fucks until finally, after you exhale long and disapprovingly against his girth, he manages to show you just how much he likes you.

Thick fat ropes of cum shoot from his tip, inevitably painting your pretty face all white and sticky with seed. Fat load fucked right against your face, coating across your eye to glue it shut as a reminder of what's just happened, if you might have second guessed it later. And even then, after he's covered you in as much cum as he can, he absently spreads his stain all over your used cheek, aiming a few shots down at your lips so that you can taste just how much fun he's been having.

Though he's not done there, not even as he begrudgingly removes his cock from your sticky face and once again straddles your waist. No, still he waits for you to say something, only so that he may interrupt with another beg.

"Um... Sebastian, can you—"

"Please let me have a taste—" he cuts you off with a pounce, planting his lips firmly against yours just to share the sweet saltiness he's just rubbed into your face.

[bumbled-bees]

Would you describe Lily Orchard as Pseudo-Intellectual or Anti-Intellectual?

Both.

Lily demonstrates clear traits of both pseudo-intellectualism and anti-intellectualism, though they manifest differently in her public persona versus her genuine behavior.

Lily’s Pseudo-Intellectualism

In her public persona — particularly in her video essays and commentary — Lily consistently presents herself as someone with a deep understanding of media analysis, social issues, and psychology. She uses jargon, references theoretical concepts, and adopts an authoritative tone to create the illusion of expertise. However, when you break down her arguments, it becomes clear that she often lacks the fundamental knowledge necessary to support her claims.

Key Traits of Lily’s Pseudo-Intellectualism:

Surface-Level Analysis: Lily frequently critiques media without engaging with deeper themes, metaphors, or symbolic storytelling. As we've discussed before, she takes narratives at face value and disregards subtext — such as her criticism of Steven Universe for "locking Ruby and Sapphire inside Garnet," ignoring that Garnet is the metaphor for their relationship.

Misuse of Concepts: Lily often invokes psychological and social terms incorrectly to bolster her points. Her warped understanding of “boundaries,” for example, allows her to frame innocent interactions as violations to justify her own hostility.

Overconfidence in Shallow Knowledge: Lily presents her surface-level observations as definitive truths. Her approach is less about curiosity or engagement and more about asserting dominance in a conversation — something she relies on because she struggles to defend her ideas when challenged.

Performative Intellectualism: Much of her discourse relies on the assumption that her audience will trust her assertions without verification. Since she actively discourages her viewers from seeking outside perspectives or questioning her conclusions, she’s able to maintain an illusion of authority.

This pseudo-intellectual persona allows Lily to position herself as someone “in the know,” especially among viewers who may be less familiar with the concepts she discusses. By cloaking her ideas in intellectual language, she lends credibility to her shallow insights and manipulative narratives.

Lily’s Anti-Intellectualism

When Lily isn’t trying to perform as an “intellectual,” her genuine behavior reveals a deep-seated anti-intellectual mindset — one characterized by hostility toward learning, refusal to engage in critical thinking, and active discouragement of curiosity.

Key Traits of Lily’s Anti-Intellectualism:

Refusal to Learn or Improve: As seen in her Dragon Age videos and other content, Lily routinely skips over important information, disregards context, and refuses to engage with material in a meaningful way. Her tendency to button-mash through dialogue, then critique the narrative based on her incomplete understanding, speaks to her disinterest in actually learning.

Contempt for Expertise: Rather than acknowledging her own gaps in understanding, Lily often ridicules or belittles those who provide informed perspectives. This is seen in her infamous claim that media creators should "just fight back" against studio censorship — an assertion that reveals her ignorance about how professional industries work, yet one she stubbornly stands by.

Aversion to Recommendations: Lily’s hatred of audience recommendations ties into this mindset. Whether it’s fear of feeling ignorant, anxiety about stepping outside her comfort zone, or simply laziness, Lily resents being asked to engage with anything she didn’t choose for herself.

Encouraging Ignorance in Her Audience: By discouraging her viewers from verifying claims, cross-referencing sources, or exploring new ideas, Lily fosters an echo chamber where her word reigns supreme. Her aggressive stance against “debating her critics” stems from this as well — since allowing her audience to hear other viewpoints risks exposing her contradictions.

The Intersection of Both

Lily’s reliance on pseudo-intellectual tactics enables her to create an aura of authority, while her anti-intellectual mindset ensures she’s never challenged in meaningful ways. She weaponizes intellectual language to sound credible, yet actively rejects the principles of critical thinking, open dialogue, and evidence-based reasoning that true intellectualism requires.

This contradiction ties back into Lily’s impulsive nature and short-term thinking. Rather than genuinely engaging with ideas, she defaults to whatever tactic best serves her immediate goal — claiming to be informed when it makes her look smart, yet retreating into dismissiveness or hostility when faced with criticism or inconvenient truths.

Conclusion

Lily Orchard’s behavior blends both pseudo-intellectual and anti-intellectual traits. In her public persona, she leans on surface-level rhetoric to feign expertise and control her audience’s perception of her. Meanwhile, her genuine mindset reflects hostility toward learning, growth, and self-improvement. This combination allows her to maintain power over her community while avoiding accountability for her contradictions, misinformation, and manipulative tactics.

[dyingroses]

Of Fathers and Failings

You ever read a fanfic so good you write a fanfic of it?!

Well that's kinda what's going on here. Between reading the brilliant @mer-acle 's fic Fighting to Be Loved and all her other amazing fics about Athena I decided to write a little scene where Triton finds out about Zeus striking Athena with the lightning bolt.

Triton, son of Poseidon and Amphitrite, was Athena's foster father. She was sent to Lake Tritonis and Triton's household. But Zeus caused an accident causing his Triton's daughter Pallas to be accidentally killed by Athena and then she was kicked out and went back to Mount Olympus.

Enjoy!

"And where do you think you're going, Hermes!" Poseidon shouted, catching the messenger god by the wing.

"Somewhere out of the way so I don't get smited as well!" Hermes said, struggling against his uncle's grip, "It left a crater when he bolted Athena."

"What?!" Triton asked, suddenly speaking up from across the room.

"Nothing," Poseidon said as he gave his nephew a push, "Get out of here then-"

"- What happened to Athena?"

Hermes could hear the darkness in his voice, a mix of anger and fear. He was the god of lying but he was also a messenger, responsible for communicating things and spreading news. And there was something fishy here besides the schools that swam around the palace.

"Hermes, I need -" Poseidon tried to say but was interrupted by his son.

"What happened to Athena?" Triton repeated.

"Zeus struck her with the lightning bolt. Six times to be exact. Did you seriously not hear about this?"

"Why?! Why would he do that?!"

"Son," Poseidon said trying to put a hand on his Triton's shoulder, but he was pushed away.

"You knew! You knew, didn't you!" Triton screamed at his father.

"Would you like to me to tell you the full story?" Hermes asked. Poseidon glared at his nephew. Which Hermes thought was incredibly rude considering he had saved him from having to confess his treachery to his son. At least for the moment.

"Yes," Triton said closing his eyes briefly, "Tell me everything."

Hermes had a feeling everything included more than that night in the arena but that would require a lot more investigation and incite than Hermes had at the moment.

"Well, a couple weeks ago Athena came to our father to ask for help for a mortal. She actually used the word friend. I believe it was the first time I have ever heard her use that word."

Triton winced. He was almost positive it wasn't the first time she had used that word. But it could very well be the first time in Hermes lifetime. The first time in the last 4000 years.

"And father said if she could convince Apollo, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, and Hera then he would help her. And she did, unsurprisingly, Goddess of wisdom and master strategist and all. But the God King was not at all pleased. Maybe it was because while convincing Hera she brought up the fact that this mortal has never once cheated on his wife."

Maybe it was because for the first time in her life Athena wasn't being his perfect little pet soldier, Hermes thought, maybe he could tell that this mortal was more important to her than his approval. Hermes felt so slow for not seeing it. Not seeing how for thousands of years Athena held the title of "favorite child" by meticulously calculating how to earn his approval, and almost exclusively doing just that. He might had never realized had he not been so shaken up by the terrifying outcomes of his father's wrath.

Triton hurled the vase on the meeting table across the room. Then the mirror on the wall. He was about to throw the whole table when Poseidon grabbed him.

"Breathe, son, breathe!" Poseidon commanded, holding his son in his arms, "Breathe, my boy, just breathe."

"She lived, if that helps," Hermes said, "The first time he struck her it looked like she was dead. But she continued on begging him to release her friend . . . and taking more strikes. But Zeus did release her friend in the end. I can guarantee it since I was the one who saw it done. It was terrifying but . . . I've never seen Athena fight so passionately."

Triton closed his eyes, which were welling with tears.

"Where is she?" Triton asked.

"Ummm, I assume she's still in her palace," Hermes started to say, "I haven't really seen her si -

But Triton didn't wait for an answer, he was already leaving the hall.

"Where are you going?" Poseidon shouted at his son. But Triton did not answer.

"Triton!" Poseidon shouted trying to block his son from exiting the room.

"Get out of my way!" Triton shouted back.

"Just think for a moment!" Poseidon pleaded, "Athena was his favorite and he still bolted her! What is there to stop him from doing that or worse to you?!"

"It's true, cousin," Hermes interjected, "My sister has diligently served my father for multiple millenia. She was his perfect little soldier, and yet that counted for nothing against his wra -"

"- I don't care!" Triton interrupted, "Now get out of my way, father!"

"Son, if not for your own sake then for mine," Poseidon begged, "I - I won't be able to protect you against Zeus's wrath."

"I have to do this father," Triton said, his voice now soft with both empathy and desperation, "Now stand aside."

"Son, she's not worth it!" Poseidon pleaded, "Did you forget she killed your daughter!"

"She IS my daughter!" Triton shouted.