#somebody else please validate me

[nonokoko13]

Why can't people like a celebrity without imagine them as queer? Can't people like Taylor music without go saying she's lesbian/queer when she hasn't said anything about that. Pretty sure if she was attracted to women she would have already said it 🫠

Even in the hypothetical scenario where she was queer indeed pressuring somebody to come out or out them yourself is selfish, stupid, dangerous, toxic and overall fucked up (-᷅_-᷄)

We have so many queer pop icons out of the closet but you need to headcanon your favourite ally/het as lgbt for...comfort reasons? Just because she's your fav? Because you are queer? Dude she's not a fictional character can you not spread false information or discuss real people orientations and just enjoy their content 💀

all goofing aside I genuinely don't understand the urge to reimagine Taylor Allison Swift as a secretly queer icon when the pop music scene(TM) is like. literally overflowing with women who actually like women. Gaga and Kesha and Miley and Halsey are right there. Rina Sawayama and Hayley Kiyoko and Rebecca Black and Kehlani and Victoria Monét and Miya Folick if you're willing to get slightly less top 100. Janelle and Demi for them nonbinary takes on liking girls. like what are we doing here. like I'm not even saying you can't enjoy Taylor but why would you hang all your little gay hopes on her.

[snow-lite]

Did Ekko try to take Jinx away after the bridge fight ?

I'm heavily medicated right now, so bear with me.

I've seen a lot of theories about how the ash on Jinx's face is smudged and all, so I looked at the shots very carefully, it could be smudged BUT. I looked at it so much that I missed the obvious. Her whole body is a different place and position ! And now we know Ekko was actually there. Nobody else was until Silco arrived.

Look:

1. How Jinx looked after the explosion both at the end of 1×7 and in Ekkos memories.

2. How Silco found her. Forget the ash and look at the hair, it's away from her face and her arm is down. I took the screens before he touched her at all.

3.Position of her arm over her belly as if she had been carried.

Now for the location.

4. This is where Ekko found her, right next to the line. Notice her hair over her head.

5 and 6, this is where Silco found her, further away on the bridge, and her hair is down, again, as if she was carried and put down.

7. I know I'm right, validate me please.

Did somebody already point this out and I'm a moron ? Well...

[huellitaa]

𓏲˳˚⊹ 🧸 become obsessed with yourself.

you are stupid. i said it. there. you are stupid.

let me get this straight. you are out here listening to these people who make you insecure. you are listening and actually giving a shit about people who put you down, make you feel unworthy, inferior, less of the absolute goddess that you are. you people please, you go above and beyond to help people & change yourself for people who would never do the same and for what. for people to like you? honey nobodys gonna like you. you dont even like yourself.

listen ml you need to get your priorities straight. sit down for a sec. like. just sit and genuinely ask yourself "what do i get out of this? how does this serve me?". go on, ask yourself. all these people who constantly think theyre better than you, that they can walk all over you, the ones that dont care a bit for you with their actions even if their words say otherwise, all these habits that only make you feel more low, more insecure, and dont align with where you wanna go in any way, shape or form. honey how in the hell does any of this serve you ???😭😭

i am sick to death of seeing the word selfish everywhere the moment somebody steps up and is brave enough to try and better themselves. the amount of times ive gotten "youre so selfish" or "youve changed" or "you werent like this before" jst because i got out of the most severe depression of my life where i came close to being unalive so many times is riDICULOUS and just shows how normalised insecurity and people pleasing is nowadays.

you see, people are always trying to follow the trend, follow the leader, follow everyone else nowadays. nobody actually honours what they want & that is a reflection of their own insecurity and traumas and emotions they are too scared to face. do you really want that for yourself? youve got such big dreams, such big potential, but what on earth do you do to fulfill them?

i dont think you realise just how limitless you actually are. you can do anything. we are all born the same. its only those with the courage to get up and try who will reach what they want and achieve greater things.

GET OBSESSED WITH YOURSELF. i am so DRAINED and TIRED of caring about what people think. i like something? im gonna do it. i dont care. fuck people pleasing. what are they gonna do when youre rich and famous and successful and thriving? YOU ARE THE ONLY VALIDATION YOU NEED. life is so much easier when you genuinely could not care less, like you just dont give a single shit. you are the only person who knows you inside out and will be there with you 24/7 365. it infuriates me how self hatred is so normalised nowadays. like what the actual fuck, why would you wanna spend your entire life hating the only person whos gonna be with you every second without fail, when you are perfectly capable of reversing that???? its ridiculous.

get up. get obsessed with yourself. the only validation you should be chasing is your own. pull yourself together girl. this is ridiculous. you are so much more than this. start acting like it. be ur own biggest fan. be ur own bestest friend. everything you need is already within you. u got this. 💕

all my love 💓✨💗💘🎀💖

[ybklix]

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦

⋆˚✿˖° pairing: seo changbin x fem!reader

୧ ‧₊˚ ♡ somethin’ about him is made for somebody like me ₊˚⊹⋆

♡ genre - warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected piv, car and semi public sex, kinda slow burn? idk bear w me

word count: 3.1k

m.list

a/n: idk, a little something ab changbin as i prepare for 1k event fics!<3 and all my wips omg; just bc he’s so ariana slay

Changbin said it simply, whether or not you would go with him to the gym, via text message, to which you declined, you didn’t feel like working out at all, something about you that day seemed to depress you, but every muscle in your body tensed and your whole being woke up as you read:

uh, too bad

i wanted you to meet gyuri, i'm going to train her now

I thought you might get along😁

You jolted up, perplexed as you read the message from your best friend. Next thing you knew you were ready to go to Changbin’s personalized gym, this time dressed a little less sporty, you hoped to excuse yourself smoothly with something you would come up with later since you weren’t thinking clearly.

For years you had this best friend dynamic with Changbin, an unique dynamic where you never touched each other that way, but you treated each other with such affection that people thought you were a couple and, but knowing that he would be with another woman... made you grow jealous, you couldn’t deny it, he was yours, you were in love with him but the idea of a relationship suffocated you, you just knew you wanted him, his company in everything.

Changbin was a professional and personal trainer, he had clients of very high status, usually... other men so you were more than relieved, but a girl was something new to you. So with a slight shiver in your body, you unexpectedly knocked on your friend’s establishment door. He opened it for you within seconds, confused, wearing his tight workout clothes, making you slightly nervous.

“Oh, hey, love” he greeted you with a smile, “You drove here by yourself? You actually decided to come... but... you’re not dressed to...”

“Oh, no, let’s go eat later” you quickly interrupted him.

“Okay! But... you know I’m kind of busy, will you wait here?”

You blinked trying to think quickly, a valid excuse, something, something...

“Mr. Seo!” you heard a high-pitched but sweet voice, interrupting you and diverting his attention.

Changbin turned with a smile and then saw you. The inner fire of yours burst out in you more.

“Oh, it’s Gyuri, come in Y/n.”

You both walked further in, until you came to see a pretty young woman with two glasses with orange juice in her hands... she was, something else, she had such a bright aura, long hair and dyed a light brown. She really was Changbin’s type, if you knew him well enough.

“Changbin, please, I’m not that old” he joked correcting her, taking one of the glasses, “Oh, this is Y/n, Y/n, Gyuri.”

“Nice to meet you” Gyuri replied kindly with a smile to which you reciprocated the gesture, “Oh, I made orange juice, do you want...?”

“I’m fine really...”

And a brief awkward silence formed. Changbin sensed it instantly and took a quick sip of his juice.

“Well, let’s continue” he exclaimed.

You felt... like you shouldn’t be there, you weren’t even wearing work out clothes, you were sad in your apartment but you went all the way here by mere impulse as you felt Changbin was yours.

You watched them walk away, but Changbin quickly turned to see you.

“Ah, Y/n...”

“It’s okay, I can go” you replied awkwardly, your cheeks warm not exactly sure if from a bit of rage or general embarrassment.

“Oh, no, you can stay, I won’t really train, I’ll just make sure Gyuri does a good job and that the exercises I assign suit her.”

You smiled at him, you couldn’t even answer him, you felt so small, pathetic and jealous. And now you had to witness him, pulling her body closer, encouraging her, correcting her posture, lifting her ass to him. You couldn’t take it anymore. Usually you’re that girl, and you come out of your sessions very turned on by his yelling and flattery.

You texted Minho, your other friend, telling him to call you urgently, to which he initially complained and tried to ignore you but after a few minutes, very confused he did. You walked away embarrassed, pretending to have an important call and walked out, exclaiming that it was a call from Minho. Changbin watched you leave, a little confused... as you were acting weird, quieter than usual and the only time he saw your eyes light up was when you got the call from another man, causing him discontent.

You explained the situation to Minho, to which in a mocking tone, after laughing at you, he encouraged you to finally try something with Changbin, that if neither of you didn’t cross the line, something would never happen... so you decided to take his wise words. This wasn’t planned, you’re usually unproblematic and only the universe knows how hard you tried to resist, but you couldn’t help it, the boy was yours. He always was. Only you knew him like no one else and you couldn’t wait to try.

After an exhaustive talk on the phone for more than half an hour with Minho, whom you seemed to be forcibly holding back, you entered, finding Changbin and Gyuri finishing their session. You celebrated internally; you checked even the smallest detail of both of them was in order, analyzing them with the look that nothing had happened in your absence, and everything looked the same. Only the girl was a little flustered who had a slightly tired expression and was sweating, getting up from the exercise machine.

She walked in search of her tumbler cup with water, drinking slowly.

“I’m done, what do you want to eat?” Changbin walked over to tell you.

You still smelled his perfume, with him not shedding a drop of sweat.

You smiled at him, “I don’t know, let’s just go out.”

You were nervous and couldn’t explain it. What you didn’t know was that Changbin was also giving your long phone call with Minho a second thought. So he didn’t even pay attention to Gyuri, just politely bid her farewell, telling her politely that he would see her next session.

Once inside his car, he started driving, suddenly you found him a thousand times more attractive, the way his hair looked so fluffy, he was driving attractively with one hand and his seat belt squeezing between the middle of his pecs... you thought about what to say, honestly confessing with cheesy words was not your thing, what could you do...

“So... what so much did Minho say?” he finally spoke, trying to hide his curiosity.

“Minho? Ah, nothing.”

“Mmm... well, it seems like you talked quite a lot...”

You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you weren’t paying much attention to what Changbin was saying, but his subtle tone changed something in you... it was obvious his slight jealous tone so you quickly seized the opportunity.

“Uh... well yeah, you know how Minho and I are…”

“Minho and you? Since when? He can barely stand you.”

“Well… he tolerates me enough to listen to my voice over the phone for an hour.”

Changbin snorted in annoyance, bringing his other hand to the steering wheel, giving an incredulous half-smile.

“Anyway, let’s go to that food place we went to the other time.”

“Sounds good to me, maybe I can bring Minho something to eat too” you continued to tease him, enjoying seeing his disgusted reaction.

“Why would you bring him food? If you’re hanging out with me, he can cook something by himself. Did you tell him you’d bring him food? Does it mean you’re going to see him later?” exploded Changbin in emotions still looking straight ahead, unable to turn to see you.

You laughed and rolled your eyes in satisfaction.

“God, Changbin, are you listening to yourself?”

“Yeah so what?”

“Are you jealous?” you smiled mischievously.

“As much as you were of Gyuri” he now smiled.

The gesture was immediately wiped off your face. You couldn’t believe he said that. Changbin started laughing in his typical mocking laugh, coming from the pit of his stomach, his low and sonorous 'hehehe', you found it really annoying.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“Well, that’s the way you wanted to play” he added, parking his car in front of a fence on the street of the outside restaurant which was a street food place, a bit far from it.

You crossed your arms and acted indignant, hoping to get his attention, you were both attention whores. Changbin smiled at your expression, looking straight ahead with your arms and leg crossed. He unbuckled his seatbelt, and began to stirr your arm playfully.

“Come on, let’s go eat, don’t say you got mad. If you behave yourself I’ll pay for Lino’s food too and we’ll bother him later, we can see his annoying reaction when he sees us coming over” he mentioned in an amused tone, begging for your attention.

You slowly smiled and it wasn’t because of his comment, just for the simple fact that you really liked Changbin, and you loved the way he begged a little. You turned to look at him, slowly, scaring Changbin in a good way, as your expression was serious, you had a sweet smile drawn on your face, your eyes sparkled in the slight darkness and... you managed to make him nervous in seconds, you looked so attractive in his eyes, with a look that you had only seen him before for a few seconds when you got drunk, a seductive look almost inviting him to do with you whatever he wants.

“Hey, let’s go to...”

“Changbin” you said slowly; he was lost on you, he didn’t finish his sentence nor did he know what he was talking about, “Bin...”

You didn’t know exactly what to say either. You were just waiting for him to react and come to you and take what is his, with a kiss.

Changbin cleared his throat, averting his gaze from you, breaking the moment of tension and the magic moment where you were hypnotizing him. You would have thought it was cute... but instead you grimaced in disgust... was it that you had misread the signs and Changbin really didn’t like you too? You got so angry that you spat impulsively and without thinking:

“Yeah, well, at least Minho would have known to take this chance and would be kissing me by now.”

Changbin’s face perked up as did his ears at being so surprised, the sentence with the words ‘Minho, kiss, me’ didn’t seem to well at all to him.

“Excuse me?”

You moved dangerously close to him, almost brushing his lips, making him open his eyes in surprise:

“That he can read the room and understand what I want” you provoked him again.

“Oh yeah?” he expressed, smugly, brushing his nose with yours, “Then why don’t you go and bother him? But no, you have to be here... Binnie this, Binnie that... I’ve never seen you complain this much...”

“And what could it be that I always called you before anyone else?” his lips inches away, so agonizing that your body throbbed with excitement.

“What is it...? You have to tell me.”

“What do you want me to tell you, Seo Changbin?”

The air suddenly became heavy, your breaths could be heard in every corner of his car.

“Say what you want, you’re free to express yourself, love.”

You smiled, amused about to say the most corny thing in the world, unashamed, about to kiss him, “I’d say you’re mine.”

And you kissed him, being pushed by more than your silly steady wobble. His lips were soft and fluffy, Changbin quickly held the back of your neck gently to intensify his kiss, you took hold of his strong arm; he did it so well, he was slow but wild, taking you into splendid delight. After a little over a minute, his free hand sought to caress your thigh, he brought his hand under your skirt and explored the inside of your mouth dirtyly with his tongue, arousing you a little.

Finally you parted, lips swollen and incredibly aroused from each other, staring into each other’s eyes so lasciviously.

“Oh, Y/n...” he whispered, analyzing every part of your face, “Come here, I’m all yours.”

Changbin roughly slid his seat back, patting his thighs, you looked down at his hand and it was inevitable to notice that he was hard. You smiled broadly and found a way to slide from your seat to his, sitting on his lap facing him, with your thighs on either side of his, feeling a little of his bulge brush against your mons pubis, so close to your clit. You left your hands on his pecs and kissed him again, in a more desperate act, not caring that you were on a public street, you needed him, just now more than any other day, you couldn’t believe it, finally you and him, intertwining, under the night.

Changbin began to touch your body, running his manly hands up your thighs and down your ass, until he reached your panties, desperate, Changbin let one hand squeeze your thigh and the other caressed your sensitive clit, managing to cause you to shiver. You were so wet that it kind of embarrassed you to drop your whole body into his lap, but he loved how slightly needy you looked. Changbin gently bit your lower lip as he pulled away from you and worked more on caressing your throbbing clit; you bit your lip in pleasure as you saw his smug expression on his face, he was more than happy to see a new reaction in you, with your slightly open mouth, panting and your submissive look, suddenly discovering your body became so addictive and filled him with adrenaline.

You gasped harder, you were so ready to see his cock for the first time and decisively to start moving on it, you wanted it right now and you were about to ask for it; but seeing two young people walking down the street through the back window of his car, made you regain your consciousness a little.

“Cha-ngbin” you tried to speak, “we’re in...”

“In a fucking public place, I know dear, so you better be discreet; I’m not gonna take off any of your clothes, you can fuck me like this” he whispered breathy and sizzling near your lips, gently scrunching his nose and unable to take his eyes off your face.

You watched him and for some reason, you just nodded submissively, Changbin widened his smile at your response, sweetly showing his front teeth.

“Stand up a little, so you can feel my fingers...”

You did so instantly, and within seconds you felt the tickle of his fingers across your labia, then moving away the fabric of your panties from your soaked entrance and he slipped two of his deft fingers into your core.

Changbin raised his eyebrows in surprise and pouted finding you tender, your body trembled and you did your best to hold back the soft whimper leaving your lips at the sensation of your insides being touched.

“You’re so wet, love. I think you’re so ready to take my cock already, don’t you?”

He pushed his fingers in deeper, teasing you more, making you lean your limp body into him, enjoying the feel of his fingers digging inside you.

“Y-yes, Changbin, please.”

“I didn’t hear you right, what was the magic word again?”

“Pl-please.”

Changbin thrusted you with his fingers more intensely and rapidly bringing your climax closer and, your wetness spilling out of you, dripping down his hand and onto his thighs and, with his typical smug grin, he pulled out of you without warning, making you sigh in exasperation, but you caught your breath, as you watched him finally pull down his shorts and underwear; Changbin looked to his sides a little guiltily, his heart was racing; his windows were shielded but the rush of having a little bit of public sex filled him with adrenaline again, pumping his cock to perfection.

Finally there it was, something you hadn’t planned at all from the beginning but still circumstances led you to it; his cock, nice and erect and thick, his little trimmed pubic hair in his area perfectly detonating to his rigid and throbbing member with its pink tip coated in shiny precum. The curiosity in you won, stroking it admiringly, from its tip to its base and its soft sensitive balls, you wanted to do so many things with it, take your time, but both of you were already in a very compromising situation.

“Go ahead, baby, ride me” he gasped, somewhat despairing at your sudden masturbation to his cock.

You raised your gaze and lifted your body a little again, bringing it closer to his erection, Changbin grabbed your hips while you leaned on his chest, then pushed the fabric of your panties aside with one hand and with the other you perfectly centered his hard cock at your entrance, finally letting you slowly drop into it, feeling every inch of him stretching your hole and walls; it felt so good in you, that you both gasped at the same time, but it felt even better with his full length inside, as if he was tailor-made for you.

You began to move, whimpering a little, the sensation was indescribable, Changbin finally for you.

“Move for me, move for me, fuck you’re doing great.”

You rode his cock, expecting nothing less from Changbin, but his babbles filling you with compliments made your nipples hard, you wanted to be touched by him, every part of you, completely vulnerable, but for the moment you had to settle for intense car sex, living off the pure sensation and the grotesque sound of your soaking wet core being stirred by his masculinity. Your tiny skirt covered the scene; just two best friends, with the girl jumping on her friend’s lap, panting. You felt complete, you didn’t want to leave him ever, his balls were rubbing against your pussy as he was so fucking deep in you and with your throbbing labia brushing against his body, you were completely rapt, Changbin was too strong to carry you easily and move your body at his mercy, his cock destroying beautifully inside you, you were whimpering in pure pleasure, never stopping babbling his name. You thought you were moving but he was doing his part too, intensifying each thrust into you.

Changbin tightened his grip on you, almost marking your skin, squeezing the fabric of your skirt tightly against you, he grunted loudly and you felt his cock throb in, followed by his orgasm shooting deep into your core, you couldn’t hold it back that long either, you twitched gently a couple more times as you watched him try to recover and you swooned completely into his body, culminating in a shuddering orgasm that altered every sense in you.

You both stared at each other, shaken and with a smirk of satisfaction as if you had won a prize you were aiming for.

｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆｡°✩

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @houseapologist @bubblebisk

[drowning-in-paragraphs]

ON YOUR KNEES

jude bellingham x gf!reader

warnings: a bit of toxicity, +18 content, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, dom!Jude (maybe a bit mean), dirty talk, praising, possesive behaivor, a semipublic space, boys slut shaming the reader (not jude), and probably mistakes since english is not my first language.

summary: In the throbbing pulse of a nightclub, jealousy ignites a fiery confrontation between you and your boyfriend, Jude. Provoked by your dance with another man, he pulls you into a private moment of reckoning in the bathroom, demanding an apology that leaves no room for hesitation.

a/n: (somebody help me to come up with titles please)

The nightclub hummed with an intoxicating energy, a haven for lost souls seeking solace in the arms of strangers or the oblivion of a pounding bassline. The air was heavy with sweat, alcohol, and desperation masquerading as joy. You had dressed for war tonight, in a red satin dress that hugged your curves and heels high enough to command attention. This wasn’t your scene, not really. But Jude had been distant after the fight, and your insecurities screamed for validation louder than reason.

Jude Bellingham, your boyfriend, stood across the room, chatting with some friends. His laughter boomed, carefree and natural, and you wondered how he could be so unaffected by the rift that had formed between you after the fight. His presence was magnetic; even in a crowd, you were caught in his orbit, unable to escape.

And then there was Theo. A friend of a friend, someone whose name barely mattered. He had shown up with your group earlier in the night, and though he seemed charming in a low-key way, you hadn’t paid him much attention. Not until Jude, pointedly, hadn’t paid attention to you. His eyes swept over the crowd while laughing, skipping over you deliberately. It wasn’t subtle. The cold disregard had stung more than you cared to admit, especially when you’d tried earlier to bridge the gap with him.

The argument had started over something petty—an offhand comment about him always being preoccupied with football. You hadn’t meant for it to spiral, but his reaction had been defensive, his words clipped and final, leaving the tension between you unresolved. Now, with each minute that passed, the silence between you grew heavier. He hadn’t so much as glanced your way all evening, and it gnawed at you.

Theo, on the other hand, had noticed you. A cheeky grin lit up his face as he leaned closer, just enough to make you feel a little thrill of rebellion. When he offered his hand to dance, you hesitated for half a beat before slipping your fingers into his. If Jude wasn’t going to acknowledge you, then why shouldn’t you let someone else? After all, it was just a dance, and you were getting bored.

The music pulsed like a heartbeat as Theo led you to the dance floor. The space was tight, and the proximity lent an intimacy to every movement. He wasn’t overbearing, though—his hands stayed respectfully at his sides, his rhythm perfectly matching yours as you swayed to the beat. You weren’t trying to make anything happen with Theo, but the act of dancing with him, of letting him pay you attention, felt like an act of defiance. You wanted Jude to notice. To feel something.

And he did.

From across the room, you felt his eyes on you like a laser. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a visceral awareness of his gaze locking onto you. Jude’s jaw clenched as he stood rooted in place, watching you. He didn’t move, didn’t intervene, but his presence was suffocating. The heat of it made your stomach twist, nerves tightening with every shift of his broad shoulders. And then, as if none of it mattered, he turned back to his conversation, his indifference as cutting as his earlier intensity. Prick.

So you didn’t stop. If anything, you leaned into it, letting Theo spin you once, your laughter ringing out like a challenge. Your boyfriend looked at you again, and you saw Jude’s dark expression, his easy smile from earlier replaced by something stormy and unreadable. For a split second, you almost faltered, the weight of his emotions bearing down on you. But this was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? To make him care enough to do something?

"Having fun?" Theo asked, his voice warm and low, oblivious to the drama playing out behind him.

“Yeah,” you said, though your tone betrayed a hint of distraction.

Theo didn’t seem to notice, twirling you again with effortless charm. But you couldn’t shake Jude’s piercing stare. It was as though he were trying to will you to stop, to come to him, without ever saying a word.

Your heart raced for reasons that had little to do with the dance.

Feeling particularly suicidal tonight, thanks to your spectacular failures and, possibly, the cocktail of drinks coursing through your veins, you grabbed Theo’s hands and placed them on your bare sides again. His fingers rested lightly against your skin, just at the curve of your waist, the contact a muted sensation rather than the electrifying spark you might have hoped for if Jude was there with you.

Your skin does not catch fire. You do not break out in sweat or experience the shattering sensation of mysterious eroticism.

But it is good enough to keep going.

The pounding rhythm of the nightclub seems to slow as you let yourself melt into the movement, your arms sliding up and around Theo’s neck. You dance slower than the beat demands, provocatively, swaying your hips in a way that feels deliberate, jutting your breasts just enough to know it would catch someone’s eye. And it does—though not the one dancing with you.

Theo’s hands tighten a fraction on your waist, his grin growing, but you’re barely paying attention to him. The music pulses through your body, the bass reverberating in your chest, making your heart race with a symphony of chaos and rebellion. Every sway of your hips is a message, every tilt of your head a taunt, but not for the one in front of you.

Jude’s eyes burn into you from across the room. The sensation of his gaze is impossible to ignore, a toxic elixir swirling and bubbling within you, a concoction that promises a temporary escape from reality and a false sense of bliss. You’ve always known Jude’s intensity, but now, that intensity is wrapped in jealousy, and something darker. It ignites a masochistic thrill within you.

He hasn’t moved. Jude stands at the edge of the crowd, his teammates fading into the background as he leans casually against the bar, drink forgotten in his hand. The set of his jaw is hard, his shoulders squared, his lips pressed into a thin line. His stare is molten, hot enough to scald, and you can feel it even with the bodies and music between you. Then, just as suddenly, he smirks.

Your breath catches when his head tilts slightly, a motion that seems to say, Are you having fun?

Theo leans closer, saying something you don’t catch over the music, his lips brushing against your ear. Maybe he was not telling you a joke, however, you laugh, though it’s forced and far too bright, leaning into his touch with a little more weight. Your hands slide to his chest, flattening against the fabric of his shirt as you sway together, bodies close but still frustratingly detached for him—and perfectly calculated for Jude.

You glance over your shoulder, unable to help yourself, and the storm in Jude’s eyes pins you in place. Your body continues to move, but your mind stumbles, caught in the ferocity of his expression. There’s no mistaking it now—he’s furious. His knuckles are white against the glass he holds, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to shatter it. Now it is your turn to smirk.

This isn’t just jealousy. It’s possessiveness. A dangerous, intoxicating cocktail of emotions that makes you feel both vindicated and on the verge of collapse.

When Jude finally pushes off the bar and begins to weave through the crowd, your heart skips a beat. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, but there’s a predatory edge to them that sends a chill racing down your spine. He’s coming for you.

Jude is on you before you can even process the intent in his eyes. The heat of his fury radiates, sharp and unmistakable, as he steps forward through the sea of dancers. The music blurs around you, the world fading as his hand shoots out and grabs your wrist with an iron grip. His fingers are like steel, unyielding, and in a single motion, he pulls you away from Theo, nearly yanking you off your feet.

“Theo, I’m—” You try to say something, but Theo, standing there looking helpless and confused, doesn’t matter anymore. Jude doesn’t even spare him a glance.

Your heart starts to pound as you stagger for balance, nearly tripping in your heels, but Jude’s grip holds you firm avoiding you falling to the dance floor. He’s moving fast, and his pace doesn’t adjust for you in the slightest. You can’t match it. He’s walking like he’s a man on a mission—unbothered by the people swarming around, dodging them effortlessly as if they aren’t even there. You’re practically running to keep up, stumbling over your feet, but Jude’s grip doesn’t loosen.

“Jude! Where are we—?” Your voice is lost in the music, but he doesn’t even glance at you, doesn’t hear you, or at least pretends no to. It’s as though you don’t exist beyond the space he’s carved out for you in that moment, and it’s suffocating.

He’s not walking. He’s striding—his long legs taking confident strides, moving through the crowd with an almost predatory grace, a rhythm only he can keep. You can barely breathe as you’re pulled along, the rapid pace tightening the knot in your stomach. The world is rotating around you, and your pulse races—not from nervousness, but from sheer excitement. Your mind is spinning, heart pounding, as you try to make sense of what is happening. You imagine a lot of outcomes, each one better than the other.

You open your mouth again, ready to protest due to the pace, but his jaw tightens, and he looks down at you for a brief second, a smirk twisting his lips. That smirk makes your chest tighten even more.

“I thought you didn’t want to dance,” you manage to mutter, barely above a whisper, your voice thick with emotion. You’re trying to get under his skin, trying to understand why his anger feels so consuming, but all he does is bite the inside of his cheek, suppressing another smug smile and probably some words.

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t acknowledge the weight of your words. He just keeps walking, and you’re helpless to do anything but follow. It’s as if the entire club is distorting into a haze of colors and noise around you, and all that matters is Jude.

You want to speak again, to demand an answer, but you can’t. His grip is tight around your wrist, and the pressure in your chest makes it hard to breathe. His steps never falter as he walks, maneuvering through the bodies with ease—there’s no resistance, no interruption. He’s in complete control, dragging you along like a marionette.

The closer you get to the back hallway, the more you realize where he’s taking you. Your stomach turns. The bathroom. Not just any bathroom, but the kind that reeks of exclusivity, the kind where people disappear into.

“Jude!” You pull against his grip, but it’s futile. His smirk only deepens, and there’s something almost amused in his eyes. He’s enjoying this—enjoying making you squirm.

“I’m not just some toy for you to—”

Before you can finish, he halts in front of the door. His fingers tighten on your wrist as he spins you to face him, leaning down just enough to make your breath catch. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even need to. The look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. His silence is louder than any words.

And then, without a word, he pulls you into the restroom, the door slamming behind him with a finality that makes your pulse race. The smirk on his lips is barely contained now as he surveys you, his eyes dark and possessive, glinting with something that leaves you breathless and a little afraid.

“Jude,” you breathe. “What are we doing here?”

Instead of answering you, he just presses into you farther. “You made me watch him touch you.”

“Made you? Then you should´ve—”

“You made me. You made it impossible to look anywhere but you. Existing effortlessly in a room full of people, looking every bit of holy, divine, and angelic, practically forcing me to look at you. You made me watch him grind against you, inhale you.”

“I’m with you,” you whispered, meaning it more than you’ve ever meant anything before. “I’m always with you. I was just with him to make you jealous.” Then you lowered your voice, a hint of embarrassment creeping in, your eyes darting away. "Sorry"

Now you feel horribly. You used Theo, who seemed nice enough not to deserve it, and you hurt Jude. The tension between you and Jude had been building for a while, an undercurrent of frustration and misunderstanding, but that didn't make your actions any easier to justify. You'd pushed him to his limits, used someone else as a distraction, all because of your frustration.

“I couldn’t watch you with him anymore. I think that dude is bad news. Also, I understand that you wanted to dance but that is not the way. You know it. You pissed me off. I was sick of seeing him touch you.” The power in his hold rattles you to your core. There is so much severity in him right now that you know he isn’t joking.

You know it’s wrong, but he hurt you too. He made you feel as if you did not mattered. You couldn’t keep your toughts from him. So that leaft you with only one option. The truth. “Jude, I⁠—”

Rambunctious laughter and voices burst into the bathroom, followed by the door exploding open. It dings against the wall behind it, but the group of men, from the VIP zone, who just tumbled inside didn’t even care. “Theo, that little thing that was rubbing against you out there is a solid fuck. Had her in between my sheets a few years ago, before she was with her fucking boyfriend.”

“I’ll pass on your sloppy seconds, then. I’m capable of getting my own pussy.” The color drains from your face as you recognize Theo’s voice. But more importantly, the first man—whose voice you didn’t recognize—was completely lying. You feel a knot form in your stomach, but thankfully, their voices are drowned by the thumping bass and the chatter of the crowd around you. You glance at Jude, hoping he didn't overhear. A hot flush creeps up your neck, and your heart races, but, to your relief, he’s focused entirely on you, oblivious to the exact words just out of reach.

You’re thankful for the pressure Jude is putting on your back, or else your knees would’ve buckled. This is not how you wanted this conversation to go with him, and the last thing you want is for him to believe those lies before you could explain.

“It seems we have company, baby,” Jude mutters in your ear, “How about you put on a show for them like you did me earlier, hmm?”

Your body melts a little when you feel him grind into your backside, feeling his hardened cock behind the fabric of our clothing. A gnawing in your stomach starts abruptly, resulting in a pulse beginning between your thighs.

Your dress rode up some, enough to expose the back of your legs. You shivered at the scratchy feeling of his jeans rubbing against you. You bit down on your bottom lip as his hands fall to your lower half.

“I want you to make it up to me, Y/N. I want you to be my good girl and get down on your knees,” he starts, building this fantasy for you to act out, one that has your nipples taut and core dripping.

“And apologize for making me watch you and him. Make it up to me.” The grip on your waist tightens as he spins you smoothly so that you are facing him. Behind you, you can hear them all laughing about someone not doing a line of coke correctly. The way you had Theo´s hands in your waist before, it´s terrifying.

You hear footsteps and their muffled voices approaching the bathroom compartment where you and Jude are. The group of friends is moving closer, and the pressure in the air grows. Your heart races faster, the space suddenly feeling smaller. Panic comes back, out of fear of their reaction of finding you, but Jude pulls you back into his body, making everything else besides him disappear. He grabs your chin between his fingers, holding you there.

Your breath catches, heart racing as you lean in, closing the small gap between you. But just before your lips meet, he smirks, his dark eyes glittering with playful control. He doesn’t give you the kiss you’re seeking, and the teasing refusal makes your cheeks burn.

Flustered but determined, you tilt your head and plant a quick kiss on his cheek instead, a move that feels bolder than it should. Embarrassment floods through you, and before you can think twice, you hide your face in the curve of his neck, trying to steady your breathing.

Jude’s chuckle rumbles softly in his chest, and then you feel his lips brush against the side of your neck, pressing wet, warm, deliberate kisses that make your nerves spark and your embarrassment melt away.

“On your knees, baby.”

The air between you shifts, thick with tension, his tone wrapping around you like a velvet tether. Your breath hitches, a flush creeping up your neck as his gaze pins you in place. For a moment, you hesitate—not out of defiance, but because the weight of the moment is so intense it’s almost dizzying.

His fingers trail along your jawline, firm but not harsh, guiding you gently down as if he’s already certain you’ll obey. There’s no need for him to repeat himself; his confidence is undeniable, and it pulls at something deep within you.

You want to make it up to him. You want to give him this. So, you do as you are told. You creep down in a squatting position, dropping to your knees one at a time, the cold tile stinging your skin. You keep your eyes up, staring at him because you already know how much he loves it when you look at him while you go down.

“Like this?” you ask innocently, licking your bottom lip, waiting for his answer as your palms run up his thighs. Your mouth waters eagerly. The challenge of making him feel good, the opportunity to receive his praise, makes your toes curl and your heart race.

You made quick work of his button and zipper, dipping your hand into his jeans. Kneading his stiffened length through his boxers, you teased him. Chills racked your spine as you pulled him free, and your body hummed as you admired his dick. The anticipation crackled in the air, and you couldn’t resist running your fingers along him, savoring the weight of him in your grasp.

But just as the moment deepened, muffled voices from outside shattered the intimacy like glass splintering across tile.

“Y/N didn’t let you smash?” The crude question carried clearly through the thin walls, each word like a slap against your ears. Your movements faltered, your hand freezing mid-stroke as your head snapped up in shock.

“That uppity slut has barely let me touch her.” Theo sneered, his tone laced with venom. The words hit you hard, bile rising in your throat as your mind reeled. Theo—who had seemed kind, respectful, and far removed from this kind of cruelty—had just ripped apart his character with casual malice.

Laughter followed, rough and mean-spirited. “Skank’s probably the loyal type, man. She looked like a bitch starving for attention.”

Jude’s reaction was immediate and terrifying. His body tensed like a spring about to snap, his jaw clenching so hard you swore you could hear it. His nostrils flared, and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

“I’m gonna kill that piece of shit,” he snarled, the sheer venom in his voice sending a shiver down your spine. He moved, his rage propelling him toward the door.

“No, Jude!” you hissed, grabbing his wrist firmly. You looked up at him, your wide eyes begging him to stop. “Don’t. Please.”

His glare snapped down to you, fiery and unrelenting, but then he paused. For a moment, you could see the war inside him—the need to protect you battling against his trust in your words. Finally, he let out a sharp, furious exhale, his fist relaxing just slightly.

“Fucking idiots,” he muttered under his breath, his voice still seething with anger. But he didn’t move toward the door again. Instead, his gaze dropped back to you, his expression softening as his focus returned to what truly mattered—you.

“That’s right,” you whispered, your hand sliding up his thighs to ground him. “But forget them. Stay here with me.”

Jude’s lips quirked into a dark, frustrated smirk, his anger not entirely gone but redirected. His hand reached out to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Then his hands fell to your head, sneaking to the back of it to grab a chunk of your soft hair to hold on to.

Your skin is warm and tingling as you did not listen to them talk far away shit about you, focusing on pleasuring him. Seductively and without moving your eyes from his glowing face, you spit onto the head, using your hand to smear your saliva up and down his length. You lubed him all up so he slides down your throat smoothly.

“Maybe that footballer will fuck the bitch out of her,” Theo jokes, making the guys around him cackle.

Your scalp burns sweetly as Jude twists his wrist, pulling tighter on your hair. “You going to fuck the bitch out of me?” you asked, your voice a whisper for only him to hear, eyes wide, trying to get him to focus on you so that he doesn’t kill the entire group of friends of a friend of yours. You do not care about their crude comments; their words do nothing as long as he is with you.

Your palm curled around him at his base, pumping up and down while you opened your mouth to take him inside. You engulfed him fully, swirling your tongue, tracing the grooves. He pulled you off him before you could do anything else, bending at the waist so his face is near your own, “What bitch in you? I know how to handle you perfectly, love.”

A blush heats your cheeks, just before you feel him press your head down towards his hips. He pushes his cock past your lips, into your mouth, and down your throat, catching you off guard completely. His member tickled the back of your throat, making you choke quietly, but it doesn’t seem to faze him because he holds you there.

With no mercy in sight, he shifts his hips back as he places his other hand in your hair, stroking forward once again, creating a sloppy sound as he crams his cock into your mouth. His head is tucked into his chin, his eyes staring straight through your own. Your throat constricts around him, pushing him out with resistance, and your gag reflex kicks into high gear.

“Open up for me, baby. Let it feel right.” He groans lowly, using both hands to shove you farther down him next to his pelvis. The girth painfully presses against the back of your throat. Your breath through your nose comes out shaky as you wince, your eyes squinting as you focus on not making any noise so those outside of the stall don’t hear me.

You swallow around him, suctioning him with your lips, “That’s it. Such a good girl for me.”

Every time you try to catch your breath, he steals it with another hard thrust into your mouth, and you have no choice but to take it. You can sense the lingering edge of his resentment over your earlier performance, and it drives you to give him everything—to accept him fully, without hesitation or complaint. The raw intensity of his control sends a jolt of heat straight through you, making your walls clench and your arousal deepen with every movement.

And it only gets worse as the seconds tick by. His hold on your hair burns with the pull, and his strokes become violent. You struggle to breathe, desperately trying to keep your gags quiet. Although there’s nothing you could do about his soft groans of pleasure and the wet noise of his cock filling your mouth.

Finally, fate decides to give you a break, because you hear the group of guys start to file out of the bathroom. When the door shuts, you choke embarrassingly loud, pressing your hands into Jude’s thighs and forcing him out so you could catch your breath. A trail of spit from your mouth drips from his shaft, leaking down your chin and onto your neckline. You can feel the heat from your flushed cheeks, your eyes rimmed with tears that freely fall from the force of his thrusts.

“You think we are done, Y/N?” he taunts, pushing you backwards so that your head and his hands press into the stall door.

Your reply is empty. You’re unable to speak once he returns to your mouth, pushing deeper inside you than you thought possible. Your head against the door gives him a backboard to drive into so that his thrusts are harder, and you have nowhere to pull back to.

You move your head while his hardened dick chokes you, flattening your tongue so that it massages the underside of his length, lapping at the bulging vein every single time you force yourself down. It’s chaotic. The kind of painful ecstasy that makes you question your sanity.

Your eyesight is blurred with the faint lights from the bathroom, hazy with tears as he continues to find pleasure. Fully ignoring the ache in your throat and jaw, his moans become more audible and you find yourself dripping.

This is how it always happens with him. He pushes, pushes, pushes until you are unable to function. He does it so well, he always leaves you breathless. There are no breaks. There is no easy with him. He takes you to the complete verge of incomprehensible pleasure every time.

The number of grunts and moans pouring out of him is enough to keep you going, the kind of pleasure that feeds on itself, a heady mix of his reactions and your own growing need. You gag and sputter around him, your throat tightening as you bring you hand up to rest on his abdomen. You can feel his stomach seizing, his vicious thrusts turning sloppy and out of control. Your other slippery hand cups his balls, drawing a sharp hiss from him as his hips stutter, his head tipping back as he drags in a breath through clenched teeth.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and laced with lingering tension. With your name on his lips, he shoves deep into the back of your mouth, pouring his release into your throat. You swallow greedily, sucking until he is finished with you. You can feel his legs shaking slightly as he cradles the back of your head.

His hands cherish your face with a tenderness that feels almost at odds with the intensity of the moments before, your head resting against the door. He holds you up. You shudder slightly as you breathe him in. Your body feels heavy, yet weightless in his arms, the aftershocks of what just transpired making it difficult to ground yourself.

Jude shifts his grip, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His touch is gentle as he works to wipe away the evidence of your shared heat—the smudged makeup staining your skin, the faint sheen of sweat that clings to you. His brows furrow slightly, as if this small act of care carries the weight of an apology.

His thumb lingers at the corner of your lips, gently catching the slight wetness there. You watch him, heart pounding as his gaze flicks to yours, holding your attention with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice soft, tinged with awe and a bit of regret for the rudeness. “Messy, perfect, all for me.” His lips curve into the smallest of smiles before his thumb brushes over your lips one last time.

Then, as if he can’t help himself, he leans in and kisses you deeply. The kiss is slow, searching—an apology, a promise, and a plea wrapped into one. His lips move against yours with a reverence that makes your chest ache, his hands still cradling your face as if you might slip away.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and he lets out a breath that seems to carry all his unspoken thoughts. His fingers trace along your jaw, grounding you both in the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice rough with sincerity. “For not paying you enough attention. For letting that stupid fight anger me.”

“It´s fine,” you whispered, “I’m the one who is sorry though, I shouldn’t have danced with him to make you jealous. And due to how he was talking...”

Jude’s arms tighten around you, his warmth anchoring you even as your mind spins from everything that’s happened. The hard press of the door behind you contrasts with the softness of his lips brushing over your forehead, a kiss as much for comfort as it is a promise.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression shifting—softer now, but still infused with that controlled intensity that makes your heart flutter. His hands slip down to your hips, his thumbs brushing gently over the fabric of your dress as if to soothe the frayed edges of your nerves.

“We’re going home,” he says, his voice quiet but firm, a decision made. “It’s your turn now, baby. I’m going to make you feel good—so good you will forget your own name,” His eyes burn with the promise, the weight of his words wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

The sheer tenderness in his voice makes your chest ache, but then he glances toward the door, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. “But first,” he says, his tone taking on a new edge, “I need to have a little talk with that asshole and his fucking friends.”

Your stomach flips, a mix of fear and worry crashing into you. Your hands press against his chest instinctively, as if you could keep him here with you, away from whatever confrontation he’s thinking about. “Jude…” Your voice trembles with concern. “You don’t have to. It is fine, really.”

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing away your nerves. The gesture is slow, deliberate, and laced with so much care it almost undoes you. “I do have to,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his lips just grazing your temple. “But I’ll be nice, baby. Don’t worry.”

The words are meant to reassure you, but your chest tightens anyway. You swallow hard, trying to find the right words to convince him otherwise, but then he smiles—that smile. The one that’s as disarming as it is reassuring, the one that makes your stomach flip in a completely different way.

“Trust me,” he says softly, his fingers tilting your chin so your eyes meet his.

You feel a lump form in your throat, and despite every instinct telling you to protest, you find yourself nodding. The truth is, you do trust him—more than anyone—and the way he’s looking at you now makes it impossible to do anything but believe him.

“Fine,” you whisper, your voice shaky but filled with reluctant acceptance. “But you promised. Be nice.”

He chuckles softly, a low, rumbling sound that sends a tingle down your spine. “When have I not been nice, love?”

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. Your mind flickers back to only minutes ago, to when he had his fist tangled in your hair, your eyes welling with tears from the intensity of it all. The contrast between that and the tenderness in his gaze now makes your heart race.

With a playful roll of your eyes, you shake your head slightly, “You’re impossible,” you tease, though the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrays your words.

[roosterforme]

How You Play the Game Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was miserable without you, and the pain just wasn't lessening even though you left him weeks ago. He needed to find a way to move on, because you didn't want him, and you weren't coming back. But he should have known there was no substitute for the best thing he'd ever had.

Warnings: Swears, broken heart, angst, consensual sex, sex with a condom while intoxicated (18+)

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Weeks later...

As you flew to Vancouver from Detroit, you thought about that six hour flight to Boston where you hadn't stopped crying for a single minute. You thought about leaving San Diego and how it broke your heart to move on to the next city and the next assignment. At least this time you had a window seat instead of the middle seat in the last row. And this time you weren't continually wiping your tears on Bradley's Padres jersey. 

You had his jersey on again today, but this time you felt calm as you reached into your bag to take out your computer and read over the research you'd outlined about the Vancouver Canucks. Your eyes caught on the blue golf ball, and after a second of hesitation, you reached for that instead. 

You'd taken it everywhere with you. It joined you in every hotel room, on every flight and in every rental car. You had it with you in your tote bag when you were in Boston about a month ago working on the exclusive with the Bruins' coaching staff. You were carrying it when you bumped into Abigail Archer for the first time in person. 

With your article completely forgotten now, you dug your phone out of your pocket. It was in airplane mode, but you took a deep breath and unlocked it. You had to scroll a bit to get to the text thread with Bradley, and then you tapped his name and you almost let the tears rise to the surface. You held them back as you read the series of sporadic messages he'd sent you since early November.

I miss you. 

Did you make it to Boston safely?

Ace, please call me back. I miss you so much. 

I have this whole weekend off, and I can't help but think it would be easy for me to fly to wherever you are. If you would want that. 

I still miss you.

I hope you're doing well.

You hadn't responded to a single one of them. And you never called him back either. But sometimes, when you were in a hotel room in a city that you couldn't even identify without looking at your calendar app, you'd get lonely enough to listen to his voicemail message. See ya, Ace.

It took until you met Bradley Bradshaw for you to really understand just how lonely you were. Going back to your apartment in New York City didn't feel like going home. There was nothing there that made you smile. There were no baseball cards or too small Angels tee shirts. There was no Bradley making sure you were taking a break when you needed one. 

And he was part of the reason why you let yourself start to be convinced that you could have more out of your career. Maybe he was right. Somebody else might have something better to offer than Greg or the New York Times. When you talked to Abigail and started to test the waters, it wasn't as terrifying as you thought it would be. Making some calls to see what else was out there ended up validating one fact for you: Bradley was right, your writing was in high demand.

But you had to complete your contract with Greg before you could do much else. And that included Detroit and Vancouver. But you hoped after this, your work-life balance might improve. If you decided to take this information back to Bradley, you hoped he would listen to you. Maybe he would even see what you wrote about your career change in your Detroit Red Wings article. If he was even still reading your articles. There was a chance he might still miss you now, and maybe he'd understand that you needed to see the bigger picture for yourself first. 

Before you left him alone in his bed, he told you that you knew where to find him. He made you feel like it was still okay to go there.

--------------------------

Bradley walked past his coffee table dressed in his flight suit with his travel mug of coffee in his hand. He paused at the front door and looked back at the mess he still couldn't bring himself to clean up. You left him weeks ago, damn near a month ago, but he just couldn't bring himself to clean up all of the fucking baseball cards. 

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He was being ridiculous. He was never ridiculous before he met you, so you must have made him this way. Every time he tried to clean them up and put them back out in his garage, his hands faltered and he left the cards out on the table. It was like some sort of sick reminder that you'd really been here with him. It was a way to convince himself he didn't imagine up the perfect woman in his mind and then have to live through the aftermath of watching her leave. 

He tightened his fingers around his mug and rubbed the heel of his other hand against his eyes. Then he took his phone out. He knew he shouldn't do it since you never answered his other messages before, but he texted you anyway. 

I hope you're doing well.

When he re-read what he'd sent, he started to panic. It sort of sounded like he meant it with an air of finality. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he didn't want to hear from you, because it was quite the opposite. There were times when he felt so lonely, he'd have done anything for you to write to him or call him back. 

He swore he could still smell you in his house, and right now it felt a little too much like you were there. He wrenched his front door open and slammed it closed behind him, breathing in the crisp December morning air. He had to start making some changes, and he needed to do it this week. You weren't going to respond to him. After four weeks he should accept that as a fact and stop bugging you. 

He'd been skipping Hard Deck nights and leaving the locker room after work without really talking to anyone. Nat knew why he was miserable, but even she seemed surprised it had gone on for this long. 

A few days ago, she said, "You've never behaved like this over a woman before. This has all just been very surprising, and I don't know how to help you."

Bradley had shrugged and laughed sarcastically. "Well, I fell in love with her. First time for everything, right? I'll know better for next time."

And that was the truly fucked up part. He had fallen in love with you over the course of ten days. As he drove to work, he thought about your face and your voice. He knew exactly how many miles he put on his Bronco driving back and forth to see you at the games in Anaheim. He knew exactly how much money he spent on all the tickets. He knew how badly it hurt right now to be without you. And he knew he'd repeat everything all over again if he could see you for five minutes. 

Just like every other day, he had to collect himself before he could head inside to the locker room. There was no getting his time with you back. There was no second chance. There was no communication. He needed to stop. He took off his aviators that you'd liked so much and set them in his cup holder. When he checked the time on his phone, he had a notification that a new article from you had been posted eight minutes ago. It was like this every day. He'd wait to see each morning if you'd written anything, and then after it was posted, he'd read it at least three times. 

Your final World Series article was the worst one. It was released two days after you left. He must have read it a hundred times. He'd even take a screenshot of the short passage he was certain was about him.

This World Series was exciting and dynamic for so many reasons. We witnessed some of the best major league pitching in the last decade, and there were more stolen bases than the past three finals combined. Professionally, I may never witness anything like this again. And I can even tell you that on a personal level, I was profoundly changed for the better by everything I allowed myself to experience and enjoy between San Diego and Anaheim over the course of the series.

Bradley looked at his phone screen now. It had to stop. He desperately wanted to read your article on the Detroit Red Wings, but he needed to make this feeling stop. It was like he was constantly in pain every time he thought about you or even simply read your name on his phone. Your written words were never going to help him move on, so he needed to do something about it right now while he felt like he could. 

He deleted the New York Times app. He thought about deleting your number as well, but he needed to save some of his strength to get through his workday. So he just tucked his phone in his pocket and climbed out of the Bronco.

---------------------------

When Bradley walked into the Hard Deck on Friday night after work, he felt defeated and exhausted. He managed to delete the app you wrote for, but he still couldn't bring himself to delete your phone number. Moving on was a necessity right now. He didn't even know why he bothered to come to the bar, but staying home and looking at baseball cards on his coffee table didn't seem to be helping him. 

"You're here!" Nat called out as soon as he walked inside. The bar was decorated for Christmas. Was it that close to the holidays? He'd completely lost track of the weeks, but at the same time, he knew exactly how many days it had been since he'd seen you. His mind was too aware of that number, and it tacked a new one on each day. 

"Hey," Bradley managed to grunt when his friend came over to him and wrapped him up in a hug. The Christmas tree and the strings of lights blurred, and he had to close his eyes. He was missing the feel of your arms around him and the way you smelled. None of this was Nat's fault or anyone's fault really. Bradley didn't even blame you. He couldn't. You and he were nothing. 

"Let me get you a drink," Nat whispered, and she took him by the hand. He recognized the upbeat Christmas song, and he saw the guys waving from the pool table. But when he turned to face the bar, Shannon was right there with her usual smile and a pint glass in her hand. He didn't know why he wasn't expecting her. The last time he saw her was when he brought you here, and he'd give anything to go back to that night. 

Bradley just shook his head. "Something stronger. Please." Shannon raised one eyebrow at him and set the pint glass down in favor of a whiskey tumbler and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Yeah."

"Haven't seen you around in a few weeks," she said, watching the amber liquid slosh neatly up the side of the glass as she poured. "Kinda missed you." She met his eyes as she pushed the glass across the bar. "You look so sad."

He held eye contact with her, trying his best to push the intrusive thoughts away. "Maybe I'll be around more now," he muttered, downing the whole drink in one go and setting the glass down again. 

Shannon was familiar to him. Comfortable. He'd been messing around with women for damn near two decades without any deep feelings. You were really his first foray into something... more. But you were gone. You didn't want to talk to him. You weren't coming back.

She refilled his glass and said, "Take this one a little slower, Bradley." He nodded before downing it just like the first one, and she kind of smirked and shook her head. "You'll pay for this in the morning."

He laughed sardonically. "That's the idea." He left the empty glass on the bar with a little nod indicating that he would be back. He desperately needed to clear his head, but he'd been trying everything for weeks. Taking a walk outside, having a cold shower, going for a drive. Nothing fucking helped. 

He needed to forget the feel of your body and the sound of your voice. So he drank an extravagant amount of Johnnie Walker on Nat's tab, and he started to feel looser. He laughed at her when she asked how many he had so far. 

"Don't worry. I'll pay you back," he rasped with a smile that he knew could charm every woman except for his best friend. 

She just rubbed her hand up and down his arm and said, "I hope you know what you're doing. Let me know when you want me to get you home."

He kissed her cheek. "I'm fine, Nat. Just fine." He finished his tumbler and tried to remember if that was his fifth or his sixth, but it didn't matter. He was warm now, and his lips were a little numb. This was exactly what he needed tonight. After he shot a round of pool and lost, he flipped through the jukebox, but it was all bullshit Christmas music. He wasn't in the mood. He thought about playing the piano, but there was an empty stool at the bar now, so he headed in that direction.

"One more?" Bradley asked Shannon as he sat, and she reached out to touch his cheek.

"You sure you really need one?"

"Yep," he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat as she swam out of focus for a split second. "Just one more. It'll make it easier." 

She turned away from him to get one more clean glass. Then she filled it for him. "Thanks, Shannon," he muttered when she set it down in front of him. He was leaning on his propped up hand, and he knew she was kind of pretty. But he knew you were prettier and funnier and smarter. 

"You can't have what you want," he mumbled to himself after Shannon walked away. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and just looked at the screen. Delete it. He had to. He opened his contacts, and there you were right at the fucking top. 

Ace

You'd always be at the top, wouldn't you? 

Instead of deleting your number, he sent you a text before he could reconsider. 

Ace, I fell in love with you.

Fuck. Fuck! You didn't want him. And there was no way to take that message back now. He closed his eyes and shook his head, because he couldn't tell if he was about to cry or laugh. He was fucking miserable. Truly, he'd never experienced this before, and it hurt like hell. His thumb hovered over your name once again, but he couldn't delete it. He drank the whiskey and tried again. But still nothing. 

He watched Shannon move around behind the bar. She wasn't you. She wasn't what he wanted, but when she announced that it was last call, she made her way over to him. 

"But no more for you," she teased, reaching to take his glass away. But he had her wrist in his hand before he registered what he was doing. She looked a little surprised. The tears were in his eyes again, but maybe it wasn't so obvious to her. He couldn't say the words. He needed her to be the one. When he licked his lips, she leaned a little closer. "I'm done in fifteen. Are you interested? Or are you too drunk?"

He took a deep breath as his eyes closed. He needed to try to move on. The pain needed to stop, or else he didn't know what he would do. Right now he was numb enough. It was now or never. "I'm interested."

Bradley was very aware of what he was doing, it just vaguely seemed like someone else was doing it. He gave his keys to Shannon once they were outside. "Remember where I live?" he asked, walking toward the Bronco. 

"Of course I do," she whispered. 

He found himself with his back against the passenger side door with Shannon's lips on his. It felt fine. Would probably feel better the more he got used to it again. He could do this. He kissed her back and told her to drive, because he knew he shouldn't. 

She drove and parked and took him by the hand, leading him inside his house. As soon as he saw the baseball cards, he wanted to upend his coffee table. He wanted to do this and get it over with and go to sleep for a week. And if he didn't feel better after that, then he didn't know what he was going to do. 

When Shannon tried to turn on his bedroom light, he took her hand in his and guided it away from the switch. "Too bright," he mumbled, and she started to get undressed. He stumbled across the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door. When he looked in the mirror, he'd never seen anything quite so pitiful. He splashed a little water on his face, but it just made his flushed cheeks stand out more. He dug around under the sink for some condoms he thought he still had. When his hand closed around the box, he sat back against the wall and cried. 

He had no idea how long he was in the bathroom. He took his shirt off and used it to wipe his face. You didn't want him. He went back to his bedroom where Shannon was naked on his bed, her skin glowing in the light filtering in from the bathroom where he forgot to flip the switch off.

"Fuck," he grunted, running his fingers through his hair. But she must have taken that as a sign that he was ready to go. He wasn't, but he told himself he was. She touched him, and he let her. She kissed him some more, and he let her do that, too. He reciprocated. He knew to do that much. But it didn't feel like anything. He fucked her, but it just wasn't right. And then he fell asleep with a throbbing head and an aching heart and the wrong woman next to him. 

-----------------------

It had been years since Bradley had a hangover. When he opened his eyes, his left arm was hanging off of his bed, and his face was halfway smashed in his pillow. His mouth was completely dry, and he tried to press his lips together and swallow. He had no idea how he got home or what time it was. 

"Oh, shit," he groaned. He texted you last night. When he was sitting at the bar. He was pretty sure he told you he fell in love with you. He knew you wouldn't write back. You must have blocked his number by now. He was probably texting nobody by this point, but it still hurt like hell that you didn't want him the way he wanted you.

Then he remembered what he did after he texted you, and the bile rose in his throat so quickly. Shannon was right there next to him when he turned his head. He let her sleep over. He never let her sleep over before this. She was in your spot. He needed her gone immediately. 

"Hey," he grunted, his throat like sandpaper. "Shannon. You need to leave." 

She rolled over and glared at him. "Still tired," she whispered, completely naked in his bed. 

"Please," he begged. He was so fucking stupid, it was incredible. Now he was miserable and hungover and angry with himself. "I need you to."

She sighed and stretched, and Bradley made a beeline for the bathroom, stepping on a condom wrapper on the way. At least there was that. Then he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He sat back against the wall for a few minutes, afraid there might be more he had to throw up. He knew his head was throbbing due more to the fact that he regretted everything he did last night with Shannon than him drinking most of a bottle of whiskey. 

There was tapping on the door. "If you want me to leave, I need to use the bathroom."

"Give me a minute," he groaned, standing up and looking at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale. When he brushed his teeth, he felt the tears burning behind his eyes once again. Was this ever going to stop? It had been more than a month. 

Bradley rinsed his mouth and opened the door, barely looking at Shannon as she walked past him, still naked. He went back into his bedroom for a pair of clean underwear and some gym shorts and fought the urge to put all of his bedding in the washing machine. He couldn't even be in here right now, so he left for the kitchen. And he passed the fucking baseball cards again. He would have to throw them away or ask someone to come get them, because he needed them gone as much as he needed Shannon to leave. 

As he turned on his coffee maker, he heard someone knocking on his front door. He already wanted this fucking day to end. He tried not to look at the baseball cards as he passed the table and wrenched his front door open, and then his jaw dropped in surprise.

"Bradley. Hi."

He braced his hand against the door frame as he looked at you standing there on his tiny porch. You were wearing his Padres jersey. He had to be hallucinating. This had to be a dream. You were here.

"Ace."

He watched your face light up at the nickname, and you laughed softly as you examined him like you'd been dying to see him. He gripped the doorframe a little harder as he reached his other hand out to cup your chin and feel your silky skin.

"Holy shit, Baby. What are you doing here?" His heart was pounding, but he felt somehow normal again. Just like he had five weeks ago before you left him in a state of panic. 

"I came to see you." He stroked his thumb along your lip, but you didn't back away. In fact you took a tiny step closer as you added, "I have to be up in Anaheim tomorrow afternoon for some Ducks interviews, but I wanted to see you first. I thought we could talk."

Your eyes were open and earnest, and Bradley felt weak as he looked at his jersey on you. He let his hand drop away from your face, because he had no idea what to say to you right now. He had convinced himself he'd never see you again. "Did you get my texts? Or did you block my number?"

You pressed your lips together and then whispered, "I got your texts. And I've listened to your voicemail a lot. I've missed you." Bradley watched you smile tentatively and give him a little shrug. 

"You missed me," he said in disbelief. "And you got my messages. And you missed me. And you're wearing my jersey."

You looked down at yourself and laughed. "I've been wearing pretty frequently, actually. Turns out I don't have a dress code at my new office, which ironically is in Houston now, but I hardly ever have to be there in person."

When you met his eyes again, he asked. "New office?" He was so confused as he reached out and stroked your cheek with his fingers again just to try to make sure you were still real. 

"Yeah," you said softly, taking another step closer to him. "I have you to thank for that. I have you to thank for a lot of things." You bit your lip before you said, "I left the New York Times. I just finished my last assignment for Greg yesterday. I'm working on a brand new piece now. I actually begged my new employer to let me come back to California for the Anaheim Ducks article even though it's a bit of a fluff piece, because it meant I could come here and tell you that I'm happier now."

"You are?" he asked, unsure what you meant by that. He was having a hard time listening to your voice and looking at your face at the same time, and he wondered how he'd managed ten days in your presence for the World Series. You were just so overwhelmingly perfect. 

"Yes, Bradley. You made me think about my career, and I kind of took the time to change some of my priorities. Because if there's a man as incredible as you who is willing to take a chance on me, then I can take the same kind of chance on myself."

"Ace."

You smiled up at what he was sure was a look of longing on his face. "I'm working for Velocity Report now, and I'm going to have a lot more time off between assignments. Which is important, because you reminded me that I need to take breaks and eat and take care of myself. Even when you're not around."

"I loved doing that for you," he gasped, suddenly dying to kiss you. 

"Yeah, well, you were really good at it," you said as your smile faded a little bit. "But that's why I'm here. To tell you all of this in person. You deserve to hear it in person instead of over the phone, especially since I never responded to you. I wanted to, but I just wasn't ready until now. And I don't know if you read what I said about you in my Detroit Red Wings article... but, I still miss you. And I love you."

His heart was pounding so hard, he thought he was going to pass out. "You love me?" he asked, absolutely needing you to say it again for him as your eyes drifted to where the box of baseball cards was still out on the coffee table. 

Your smile grew as you reached out for his hand and tugged him closer like you were going to kiss him. "Yes, I do. I love-"

Bradley heard a noise behind him, and his heart sank as his eyes went wide. You were looking off to the side, and he heard Shannon's voice. "Oh, sorry." He turned to see her with a puzzled look on her face. He had completely forgotten she was even here. After a few minutes in your presence, you were the only thing that mattered.

"Oh my god," you gasped, wrenching yourself away from Bradley. "Oh, fuck." You looked at him with your hands on your forehead and tears in your eyes. "You know what? Forget I was even here. I'm sorry," you gasped, turning on your heel and walking full speed across his yard to the black car that was parked at his curb. 

It took him a second, but then he was right behind you. "Ace! No, Baby, you don't understand." But it didn't look like you were listening as you dug the keys to your rental car out of your pocket. "Ace! Please!" He ran barefoot out onto the street to try to beat you to the car door, but you were too fast. When he reached for your hand and spun you around to face him, you had tears streaming down your cheeks. 

He was frozen, clinging to your hand as you whispered, "She's the bartender. I should have never come here."

"No," he begged, stepping into your personal space, but you kept dodging him. "It's nothing. I want you here. I need you here."

But you pulled your hand free and reached for the door handle as you sobbed, and it broke Bradley's heart. "I need to go."

He was ready to drop to his knees. "She doesn't mean anything, Ace! Please! I missed you too, Baby! I've been miserable without you, okay? You have no idea." 

You wouldn't even look at him now as you pushed him out of the way so you could climb in the car. He felt all of his dreams slipping through his fingers twice now as you slammed the door closed, started the engine and drove.

"Ace!" he shouted running alongside your door until you hit the accelerator and left him standing in the middle of his street without shoes on. "Ace. I love you," he whispered as you turned left at the end of his block, and then you were out of sight. 

Bradley sank down until he was squatting with his face buried in his palms. "Fuck!" he screamed, the sound only slightly muffled as he jumped up to his feet and made his way back to his house where Shannon was standing on his porch. She looked disgusted as another car pulled up in front of his house. 

"Why are we sleeping together if you're clearly in love with her?" she asked, barely looking at him as she headed toward her Uber. "You should go take care of that."

As Bradley watched her away, he tried to pinpoint exactly how he'd fucked all of this up. He wondered if there was any way to fix it. Once again, he couldn't breathe correctly as that crushing feeling returned to his lungs. This feeling has vanished for those few minutes he was with you again.

"Maybe you don't even deserve her," he told himself as he walked back inside alone, thinking about how for a minute there, you'd loved him back.

------------------------------

Oh, Bradley. Oh, you sweet thing. Should I add one more part? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

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[jojo-schmo]

How did you come up with roleswap Elfilis' design? It's really cool!

Hi! Thank you so much! :D I'd love to share my thought process! Gather round the armchair by the fireplace, friends! It's story time!

I've said before that the Forgotten Land Roleswap started off as a doodle that swapped Dedede and Bandana Dee's roles as Player 2 and the Brainwashed Beast. But when I realized how fun that one little change was, how about EVEN MORE changes? That's how my one-time doodle turned into the full AU story. I swapped Meta Knight and Kirby, Clawroline and Leongar, and Sillydillo and Gorimondo- and because the story is so Waddle-Dee centric, I promoted Dedede to "Player 1" since the stakes would be higher for him as their King.

So now I had a story that had a lot of opposite traits to canon and I wanted to explore that further! When it came to the matter of Elfilin, I thought he would probably behave too similarly towards Dedede and Meta as he did to Kirby and Bandee. He'd be friendly and trusting, communicative, optimistic, knowledgeable, and cooperative. So how about providing them a travel companion who is defensive, has trouble communicating, a little wild, uninformed about themselves and the world around them, and has a bit of a temper?

But working with all these opposite traits didn't feel in-character for Elfilin anymore. So my natural next step was to swap Elfilin with Elfilis and make a new version of the Forgotten Land's lost little pup!

Enough yapping about the context behind my decisions, tho. How'd I come up with Roleswap Elfilis' design?

I see you out there, Fecto Forgo fans. Maybe somebody out there's thought, "Roleswap Elfilis does not look like them! Why not? That's what the other 50% of the Ultimate Life Form looks like! I demand justice for the angry glowing rat fetus!"

Maybe nobody has ever thought this. But I wonder sometimes lol

Your feelings are valid, friends. Please lemme explain my reasonings.

This fella, to me, is the abandoned wet specimen left to float in a jar for who-knows-how-long after a forcible physical and mental separation via spatial teleportation shenanigans. And I think part of their appearance is due to their role as the trapped and forgotten half.

The role of the half that got away fully formed his own body and inherited some traits from the complete being-

For Elfilin in canon, he got ears that are proportionally huge compared to the rest of his body, blue eyes that sparkle with the light of a thousand destroyed planets, a tiny bit of pink fur for his adorable blushies, and a really long fluffy tail. Maybe becoming a being free of chaos gave him those sweet eyes like Kirby and the Waddle Dees have.

My reasoning is that whichever half ends up escaping the Lab and fully forming their own body, they would carry the major physical traits the other wouldn't inherit.

Anyway, that left Elfilis with the horns, colorful and expressive eyes, whiskers, beige chest fluff, opposable thumbs, and pink tummy fur.

Elfilin gets the long tail in the bodily divorce so Elfilis has a short stubby little cotton tail like a bunny. Like if he ended up with just the very tip of the Ultimate Life Form's tail.

Behold this diagram above I came up with two years ago! Disclaimer: the canon Elfilin is the one in the chart. And I draw him a little differently these days lol. I ain't showing anyone how he ended up in the Roleswap yet tho!!!! >:0

But Roleswap Elfilis is more than just "baby version of the Ultimate Life Form..."

All the differences in the Forgotten Land Roleswap from canon stem from one event in the timeline. One change that I added to the events that were already supposed to take place. It's why the Ultimate Life Form split differently. Why the Beasts have different roles and aesthetics. Even why the portal took Bandana Dee and Kirby before Meta Knight and King Dedede.

How did that saying go again? The flap of wings somewhere can influence a bunch of huge changes somewhere else down the line...? What was the name of that theory again....? Hmm. Not important, I guess.

Anyway, the end!! You sly dog, you got me monologuing!!1! /lighthearted

[sleepyhouse2art]

when i see cute little reminders on social media to "take your meds" i feel so hateful. the commodification of mental illness and its growing popularity as a sort of astrological shorthand for an actual personality by mostly healthy people is mad depressing and annoying

dont tell me to take my meds, you creepy weird motherfuckers! the only people allowed to say that shit to me are my doctor & my husband & my friends. do you think i want to be treated like a baby because i have mental illness? why do YOU seem to want to be treated like a baby? youre on paxil sharon

like my mental illness makes people watch me and check on me and not trust my perception of reality or my memory of things. sometimes i do get straight up treated like a kid by people. if i remember an event differently, i am always wrong. its really frustrating

so no, i don't find it very nice when people infantalize me and i don't like watching people needlessly infantalize themselves. it is mad creepy. it feels like observing a diaper fetishist or something. the whole thing gives me the heebie jeebies

i wonder if it is life being so hard and mean that motivates people to adopt the "sick role"? i understand wanting care but i genuinely think people are hamstringing themselves by pathologizing normal feelings and behaviors because it's making them think they're sick when they really aren't that sick. often people aren't even sick at all and instead just going through the human experience, which is fraught and difficult all on its own without any augmentation by a brain on the fritz, no mental illness needed.

nobody should want to be a patient. its nothing to aspire to. there's no joy in it. it is uncomfortable and the medicine is not safe. i have to take it but it's not like i want to and i feel sour when somebody reminds me. please don't remind me of my shit when it already dominates like my whole life

no, sharon, i do not need a bedazzled pill basket. no, sharon, i do not want "peer support", you are creepy. i hate to inform you that you are not a tubercular 18th beauty languishing in a gorgeous sickbed. you are in a fandom that prizes sickness and this is shameful to me.

your sickness makes you binge watch tv and eat bonbons and passively ideate about scratching your thigh up with a pin. i know pain is relative but like, i used to store my own blood in ziploc bags to protect my home and every painting in my house has told me to kill myself. i have not left my house in over a year. i am on three antipsychotics right now and i am still having frequent hallucinations and they scare me so bad i can't help but react sometimes and that scares my husband and makes him want me to go somewhere just like everybody else wants me to. im trying to stay OUT of the fucking hospital, not WANTING TO GO. im terrified of being raped and killed and i know it will happen to me next time i go. everyone says no, but they don't have my knowledge.

what im saying is this stuff fucks my life up. i cannot live normally. i cant even really take care of myself on my own if im telling the truth. i know im sick. i get reminded all the time. i don't need validation. i wouldn't touch a psych or a therapist or a pharmacy with a fucking ten foot pole if i had the choice. i know im kind of going off rn but who the fuck would want to be a consumer of this boring, tedious, control-abdicating, bad for your body bullshit? i do not understand people like this. i want to be free. be free, sharon!! and stop telling me to take my fucking meds!!!!

[randomalistic]

Got an ask that made me sad. Imo queer discourse is not productive and labels are just a tool for us to identify with. Use them, or don’t use them. Getting defensive over definitions we made up in the first place is not worth arguing over period. I am still very new to all of this, and I don’t know if I hold the “right” opinion, but I just personally feel like when you let go of societal constructs, you notice you will live a much happier life

Conservatives will hate all of us, even the “Well behaved” queers, and that means you support the “weird” queers with contradictory labels, neopronouns, whatever the hell it may be. If we don’t love eachother, nobody else will. But that’s just how I feel about it

It’s okay to feel upset by some things, although you need to question why exactly you feel upset, and who “told” you to feel upset. To me I think the feeling comes from having mspec trans friends and feeling defensive over them and their experiences.

I used to feel really offended by the concept of “bi lesbians.” I think it might’ve been because I was in junior high school (aka Hell) and I was still insecure of my own identity as a lesbian and I was feeling defensive over bi friends, and hearing the argument that it “invalidates lesbians” from TERFs. And I thought they were right !! But in reality, I now understand that bisexuality is a complicated spectrum. In my opinion, if you lean more on the female-attraction side, I think you should use whatever term you feel most comfortable with.

Trans Exclusionary Radical feminism is also a really dangerous pipeline, or so I have heard. I’ve seen disinformation/ trans-isolating ideologies through infographics and what not- their ideology can be framed in a deceptively convincing way. Please be careful with what you learn and who you’re learning things from

If you have gripes with men as a concept, or you jump to conclusions about somebody “misappropriating” something, then do some critical introspection. Why do I feel this way? Who told me to be angry? Are their arguments valid? We’re all trying to figure out how to live and it’s hard to know where to turn for our “truth.” I hope understanding where feelings come from can help you recognize biases you may hold, and I hope it also brings peace someday.

[emeryleewho]

I am legitimately *scared* by how common the "never tell someone who is psychotic that what they're experiencing isn't real" advice has become because psychosis is a very broad scale of experiences, and insisting that it be approached exactly the same for everyone is a surefire way to get people killed.

I'm not saying that advice is *bad*. There is a time and a place for it. If someone is deep in a belief, do not argue with them about whether or not that belief is real. You will not convince them, and you will make them feel isolated and alone. HOWEVER if someone has previously told you that it helps them to be grounded when they are slipping into psychosis, or if someone is teetering on the edge and is struggling to discern what is real, telling them what is or isn't real can help guide them back to baseline or finding help whereas validating their delusions could be downright dangerous.

I'm sorry that this is not simple and easy to follow advice, but that's because psychosis is not simple and easy to deal with. Another way to look at this is that it's okay to validate someone's feelings, but do not validate the false reality. If someone says, "I'm terrified my best friend is trying to kill me", you can validate their feeling unsafe but do not validate that their friend is trying to kill them. On the other hand, if this is someone who is well aware of their psychotic tendencies but simply isn't aware that this particular thought is a delusion, sometimes just talking them through it works. "Why do you think your friend is trying to kill you? Oh, I see. If I'm honest, they seem like a really good friend so I don't think they'd want to hurt you. Is it possible that fear is coming from another place?" I've had conversations like these with loved ones that have made them realize they were slipping into a delusion, which allowed them to adjust their meds, speak to their psych, or even just avoid reckless decision making until it passed. Had I just said, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Yeah, it's hard to not trust your friends." They may have ended the friendship on false beliefs or put themselves in danger trying to avoid something that wasn't a real threat. A big part of it is understanding where that person is and how deep they are in the psychosis, what their level of awareness of their own psychosis is, and what sort of help/treatment they are on and they prefer in managing their own condition.

Please don't try to mass enforce health advice you find on Tumblr. Please understand how nuanced these things are and approach them with care. And for the love of god, if somebody tells you what they need, *believe* them.

TL;DR: The way you approach a stranger experiencing psychosis is different than the way you approach someone you know well. The way you approach someone in a full-blown psychotic episode is different than the way you approach someone dealing with some psychotic thoughts or features. The way you approach someone who is well aware of their psychosis and actively working through it is different than the way you approach someone who has no knowledge of their condition. And as nice as quick tidbits of advice can be, the information you get from medical professionals, the individual, and anyone else in the know on that individual's care should supersede anything you read online.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Helloo! I read your “My Treasure” fic and thought it was super cute and funny 😭😭 I’ve been successfully converted to PitayaFire 🙂‍↕️ anyway hope u have a nice day!!

I CONVERTED SOMEONE TO PITAYAFIRE??? AT LONG LAST???

Best Christmas gift I could've gotten 😫😫😫 I am OBSESSED with PitayaFire, they work SO well together and are SO interesting and NOBODY SEES IT, I've only known a small handful of shippers in the Western fandom (the ship is actually pretty popular in the Asian fandom, they're where I get my fanart fix from), I'M SO LONELY. I'M SO HAPPY YOU JOINED ME. PLEASE THEY MAKE SUCH A GREAT COUPLE. THEY HAVE SO MUCH POTENTIAL FOR SUCH A COMPLEX RELATIONSHIP DYNAMIC. IT'S ALWAYS HOLLYTAYA THIS AND FIREWIND THAT, YOU ARE ALL SLEEPING ON THIS SHIP AND IT K I L L S M E!!!! SOMEBODY ELSE WOKE THE FUCK UP!!! SOMEONE ELSE SEES THEM!!! DO YOU WANT TO SEE THE BIG WEDDING COMIC I MADE IN THE COMIC STUDIO? OR READ MY SHIP MANIFESTO THAT I'VE SLOWLY PUT TOGETHER OVER THE COURSE OF A FEW YEARS EXPLAINING WHY THEY'RE PERFECT TOGETHER AND USING IN-GAME SCENES AND DIALOGUE AS VALID EVIDENCE? PITAYA AND FIRE SPIRIT BELONG TOGETHER YOU GUYS I SWEAR-

Ok, no more screaming lol. In all seriousness, thank you so much for the compliment, first and foremost! And I really am happy I got you to ship PitayaFire, I love them with all my heart and have for years now. Them and BurningCheese are my ride or die ships. They're the reason I even made an AO3 account in the first place, fun fact! I got tired of there being hardly any fics for them, so I decided to grow a pair and be the change I wished to see in the world. (And that somehow led me to Tumblr where I now vomit BurningCheese stuff regularly lol)

If I may encourage you (and others who are willing to hear me out about this ship)... to read this fic as well 👉👈 and also perhaps this one 👉👈 (it's more about Fire Spirit and his bond with Tiger Lily, but there's PitayaFire in there too)... There are 2 or 3 more as well, but they're NSFW and I don't want to push those unless you're an adult and you're ok with reading that

I hope you have a nice day, too ❤️ thank you again for reaching out, it always makes my day when people come tell me they like my work

[perseidlion]

Potentially controversial opinion but the way to reduce the number of fics being deleted and to increase the number of fics that you want to read is to:

Support WIPs if you like the concept, even if it's just with a bookmark (bonus points for reading along and commenting on every chapter, even if it's just with emojis)

Comment and tell the writer you love it and WHY, or just express thanks for them writing it

Share the fic with others and encourage them to comment

Appreciate fic writers instead of taking them for granted

Recognize that fic writing is gift culture and not content creation and that writers get zero compensation for writing other than interaction with readers

Request the kinds of fic/dynamics you'd like to see rather than demanding anything. (IE: You write so and so together so well! Have you ever thought of exploring X? Or: This backstory is so interesting. Would you ever flesh it out more? Or: I'd love to see your take on X.)

NOT

Guilting writers for deleting a fic and saying it's a crime or that you feel "cheated" if someone takes down their work

Making a writer feel guilty because some hypothetical somebody somewhere who never told them so might have liked that work

Criticiizing fic to the author's face or in public (either constructively or not) when feedback wasn't explicitly asked for. (Discussing the merits of a fic in private is fine)

Only shouting about fic in private and never telling the author you love their work

Only reading completed fics and never commenting/otherwise supporting. There are plenty of valid reasons to only read completed fics, but realize that if you don't support fics as they're being written, you will get less of the kinds of fic you like and fewer fics will be completed

Generally acting entitled to fic

Whining that you hate when fic writers do X or that there isn't enough of X dynamic or otherwise trying to dictate what authors should and shouldn't write

Just be positive, folks! Fanfic is a community. I will churn out thousands of words a week if people tell me they're enjoying it. If I get no interaction, that fic is a lot more likely to never be completed or even deleted.

You don't have to unconditionally support all fic writers. It's totally fine to just to kind of like a fic and not comment (though if you read it all the way through, I think at least a kudos is warranted.) But if you DO love it, please please please tell us so, even with just a heart emoji.

The silent enjoyment of fic with no expression of that to the author is what slowly kills fandom - as does positioning us as content creators who get something simply by posting, or by criticizing what and how much we write.

This is especially important if the fic is a rarepair, or a weird concept, or otherwise offbeat. If it's your kind of thing and you don't see very much of it, shout about it! I've definitely deleted or abandoned fics that were a little weird because I felt embarrassed by the fact that no one else was matching my freak.

[elminx]

Somebody just shared a post of mine with the tag "personal correspondences are always valid"...

and just...

it's more complicated than that.

You generally need to know what you are doing to make a personal correspondence for magical purposes. And you need to test it magically, too.

You can't just say "Lavender makes people angry" and then put it in a spell and it will make somebody else angry.

Most good correspondences have a REASON that they bring that type of energy to the spell. That reason may not work for you for whatever reason, and then, you wouldn't want to use it in magic for that purpose. And that's cool but that's different than just willy-nilly making up your own correspondences for like funs.

Let's get a bit nuanced here and use the very debated one: caffeine.

Some people have weird nervous systems where caffeine doesn't wake them up, so using caffeine for its intended purpose wouldn't be the best for them. Cool. But to then go "Caffeine makes me sleepy so I'll use it for a sleep spell on somebody else..."

Do you see the problem there? If caffeine makes you sleepy, you might be able to use it in a sleep spell for yourself (I'm still skeptical there but if you've done this successfully, please lmk - I'm legit interested) but that doesn't give caffeine the correspondence of "sleep" in a generalized sense. To further complicate things, not all correspondences are created equal. Like, change any color correspondences you want - in my opinion. The Eurocentric view of color does not equal what color means to everybody. But that's different than a plant that has certain inherent properties which will carry through into the magic. (And we could get very technical about the inherent properties of color - like black absorbing light and white reflecting light, but I digress) To summarize, correspondence charts are shit and I encourage you to seek out and learn to understand how things work for you in magic. But that's also sort of advanced practice and it takes a long time or trial and error to get right. If you're just deciding something without that, you are probably playing make-believe.

[katzkookiesshipping]

Forever mad I can’t find the flavor of L and Light fanfics that go into the complicated fucked nature of their relationship. The evershifting power imbalance tilted in Light’s favor. The way that they both valued each other as opponents. The brief moments of companionship they shared, which might be the most significant in both their lonely lives. The way Light kept finding himself surprised (and momentarily rendered vulnerable) by L. From L honestly saying Light is his first friend to drying his feet on his knees, L was openly sincere with his warmer feelings for Light. But I imagine he knew Light was Kira almost from the get go. And I imagine he was also, understandably, terrified of Light on some level for all their time together. I don’t think he is the type of character who wanted to die. I think he’s human, and he wanted to live, was scared of death, and sometimes he doubted he was right (rarely)— but kept on because of his strong sense of justice and morality. Because somebody had to do it, and he knew he was the best person for the job.

Look at this boy realizing that he’s hearing death warning him. I imagine he has his own relationship with death, like Light does. He’s an orphan— maybe the last time he heard those bells was when, well. He lost his parents. And working as an orphaned detective taking dangerous cases where he kept his identity hidden— you have to imagine this boy with his love of sweets and sitting weird and playful odd nature felt the keen risk he was under always. How else do you stay so perceptive?

Light has an interesting relationship with fear as well. His entire time with L he is on thin ice trying to prove his innocence, knowing how much he has to lose (his life, his vision for the world, his death note, his family) if L gets his way. He is playing 3D chess with the smartest person he’s ever met.

I think he wanted to win the whole time, but as much as winning meant relief, it also meant L wouldn’t be there. I like to think Light regrets, somewhere in himself, the loss of the boy who asked him if he’d ever told the truth in his life, and put this startlingly vulnerable expression on his face (even if for only a split second.)

Then, when he wins, he feels the euphoria of having won against the smartest person he’s ever met, sweet relief finally for all his fears, the rush of hard earned success and machinations coming to fruition— all validating his god complex. And cruelty lives in him too, in the curl of his mouth. He’s enjoying L losing face, being knocked down below him after so long of being untouchable and inscrutable. The furrow of his brow betrays focus and concentrations because he still has to pull this off. He feels the threat of L up to the moment he closes his eyes for good.

And L gets to see Light’s malevolence openly. Knowing that his work will be continued and he is right, having gotten to dry his only friends feet and leave the world ready to finish what he started (and I think a little bit in relief of the game being over, and of seeing Light’s true face), he accepts death and let’s himself go at peace.

Something about this scene, about their relationship. The way L is cradled by Light in his last moments, the slow fall of Light’s open smirk as his opponents eyes close, and as he never gets a response at the funeral. I have so many feelings about the dark sincere nature of their relationship with each other— and I cannot find more than one fic that explores this. If anyone knows some, please send them to me I am so ready!!!!

Them. Just, them.

[penultimate-step]

Oshi no Ko 143 Reaction

This was a fun chapter. Ruby getting aggressive finally forcing Aqua to stop ignoring the problems in their relationship that have been simmering for 20 chaps now and actually have a conversation that puts it all out in the open. They're mostly saying stuff I predicted in advance, but some of it took me by surprise.

One bit that made me stand up and !!! was this page:

I thought I was doing something interesting when I compared Ruby's feelings towards Gorou to Aqua's feelings about Ai in my last two analyses but she just came out and said it directly on page, haha. I feel pretty validated.

I still stand behind most of what I wrote last week after this chapter. Ruby is desperately trying to make this a romance, but her best pitch is "I care about you in the same way we cared about idols in our past lives. Parasocially and without regard for the actual person, because I need to put somebody on an idealized pedestal or else I'll kill myself. This is what romance is, right?" Girl with so so so many issues, I love her.

The one thing that did really take me by surprise was the bit where she listed off Aqua's flaws as a person. In the past I assumed that Ruby was intentionally ignoring these flaws and making up a version of Aqua that didn't exist in her head. The way in her mind he's drawn like a romance hero and how she makes excuses for all the things she took issue with before lead me to believe she was intentionally distancing "Gorou, her idol" from "Aqua, the person, her brother" in her head. I'm not sure how to square this knowledge with the way she is (textually, now!) putting him on a pedestal. If I had to guess, I would think she actually is aware of who Aqua is as a person - she was friends with him as Gorou before and siblings for 18 years, she should know him better than anybody - but is intentionally separating this knowledge from the figure she is idolizing, because she needs to keep ahold of something for her mental stability.

I'm reminded of an analysis post of OnK ep 1 I read on tumblr almost a year ago, I forget who posted it so I can't properly credit it but it's not my own thoughts. (if anybody else remembers it please let me know so I can link it!) They contrasted Gorou's parasocial fan relationship with Ai to Ryosuke, the stalker who killed him: both put were fans of Ai, the Idol, but when confronted with the reality that she was more than an idol, that she had relationships and would have children, Gorou decided that the health and happiness of Ai the person was more important than his image of Ai the Idol, and did his best as a doctor to help her, while Ryosuke's reaction to having his image of the Idol shattered was to try and destroy Ai the person. The analysis put forth the idea that this was contrasting healthy vs unhealthy methods of being a fan - that there's nothing wrong with being a fan of someone, necessarily, but you have to keep in mind that you aren't entitled to anything about them, and there's always a real person underneath the performance.

I didn't fully agree with it - in my post about how the series portrays different kinds of love I talked about how it came down very harshly on dishonest and idolizing love - but I did think it was very interesting (obviously as I still remember it almost a year later). Anyway Ruby's approach to Aqua this chapter made me think of that a lot. She makes a big deal out of how Aqua is her idol, their relationship is idol/fan, and she can ignore all his flaws - but at the same time she points out that she does actually know what those flaws are. It puts her in something of a strange position. What would she do if her image of The Doctor, Her Idol, no longer existed, and she was left with just Aqua? Would she care for the person, or be mad at losing the illusion? According to this chapter she fits into neither of those, she chooses to pretend that the illusion still exists even while staring directly at the reality. Ruby seems aware that she is essentially using the idea of the doctor as a coping mechanism, but doesn't want to admit that this desire is directly in tension with the idea about caring about Aqua as a person, romantically or otherwise.

As for Aqua, it's great that he's finally being a little honest with his emotions and feelings after so long, to the one person who is really able to understand the context.

However, I think he's still holding a lot back, especially in the latter half of the chapter, because there are things he doesn't feel that he can say to Ruby, specifically about their relationship. He seems hesitant to directly tell Ruby that he can't be her lover or her idol, he can only be himself - even when he tries to tell her that he can't be the person he was she just brushes it off - and I think with how Ruby's mental health is holding on by a thread he is unwilling to do anything to jeopardize it, even if it means accepting the spot on her pedestal.

My read of the relationship between Gorou and Sarina 22 years ago was that they were genuine friends at the time. Regardless of difference in age and position they were both socially isolated people who found one person they felt they could be honest and open with. This makes their current relationship even sadder - Ruby has twisted the memory of their old friendship into dreams of romance and idolatry to fuel the desire to live one more day. Aqua, who in his last life would have been willing to do almost anything to get her to keep living, is forced to cut away his own relationship to her, both last life friend and current life brother, because being dishonest - being an idol - is the only way he can see to keep her alive and healthy. Both have already cut away most of their other bonds for the sake of the revenge plan, and now they can't even be fully honest with each other. Very tragic stuff.

All in all I really really liked this chapter. The interactions between Ruby and Aqua has always been multiple layers of relationships and mindsets existing on top of one another, and that just makes it super interesting for me. I love it whenever that leads to character tension. They've been friends and siblings and idols and all of that has to coexist, its a very unique kind of character writing that Oshi no Ko does well and I don't see very often and makes me care for the series a lot. I think I have a much more positive view of this arc than most of the fandom because the trainwreck of their relationship is one of the series highlights to me, so chapters like this, where exactly how bad their mindsets have gotten are placed as the main focus, are some of my favorite story beats.

I know there's a lot of negativity about this chap but I'm having a good time over here in my corner. Not sure if it's because I've been letting my thoughts about the series out in posts a lot more recently or because I liked this specific chapter a lot but this is definitely most I've been invested in the series for a while now. I think I was letting the Discourse kind of sour things for me and now I have mentally exorcised it from my mind.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

how do i deal with social anxiety?

disclaimer that social anxiety is a spectrum, it comes in very different forms, and there’s no one size fits all for how to deal with it. this is just the perspective of a 21 year old girl who’s trying to get by as much as anyone else. it’s perfectly fine if my way doesn’t align with yours; the goal is to ultimately find ways that do align.

with that said!! it helped a lot to realize that most people genuinely don’t care. this is the spotlight effect—you think that everyone’s laser-focused on what you’re doing, when in reality no one’s keeping this elaborate tally of when you embarrass yourself, of when you fail at something, of how you carry yourself in general. life is hard and busy for most people, and even if they do find amusement in something you did, it’s the equivalent of looking at a funny tiktok and scrolling past it ten seconds later. just like you, most people are tangled in their own little cobweb of problems.

this is not to say that people who do obsess over other people don’t exist. they absolutely do. but their opinion should be virtually worthless to you, bc no well-rounded, emotionally intelligent person is going to be spending their free time voyeuristically hating on somebody else’s every move. if they do have that kind of time, they’re probably miserable people without much going for them, and misery loves company. the best way to respond to them is just to starve them of the attention they’re trying to evoke from you.

i really wish someone would’ve told me this in high school, bc for me high school was the peak of that kind of behavior. teenagers have not been alive for that long, so i think the concept that other people have emotions that are just as complex, just as valid, just as deserving of compassion as theirs are is pretty hard for most of them to grasp. and hell, some of them even age into adults who never outgrow the “my feelings inherently have more value than yours” “everyone else is an npc” “my impulses must be validated first and foremost” mentality. it’s like yes, you should prioritize yourself at the end of the day, but sometimes there’s more nuance to it than that & that shouldn’t just be disregarded in favor of instantaneous comfort.

also very important to note!! please don’t be hard on yourself on days where you backslide. the halcyon standard of never being afflicted w anxiety does not exist. i try to bounce back from things pretty quickly, but even i have days where i feel like shit, days where i’m anxious about what other people think, days where i’m not courageous enough to do something, days where i cry in the shower etc etc. the calmest person you know has had them. they also just tend to be the kind of person who doesn’t disclose them, so you get this larger than life aura from them that makes you think you’re defective in comparison. i promise that is not the case. you are human and it’s okay not to be perfect. the key is to hold yourself accountable and to try to do better next time.

whether you’re dealing with teenagers who’re yet to mature, adults who refuse to mature, or just anyone who’s being hostile towards you without a sane cause to be, just know it has everything to do w them and nothing to do w you. it may seem like it does, but it really doesn’t. behavior like this is without fail a manifestation of other people’s insecurities, as opposed to an actual statement about your worth as a person. as long as you’re rooted in who you are, it will never matter how other people perceive you.