#starting this over cause i hate it so much

[classyrbf]

PART 2 OF PRISONER!GETO

prisoner!geto who can’t stop thinking about late at night, getting so worked up and horny, the most horny he’s been in a while. He’s pulling his pants down, closing his eyes while he pictures the way your scrubs clung to your body and showed off your ass. He thanks god he doesn’t have a bunkie or else he’d be in a real awkward position. He purposely gets into another fight a week later, the wound on his lip opening back up. He’s smiling to himself as he gets walked to the infirmary knowing he’ll see you there.

“Not you again,” you sigh.

“Told you I’d see you soon, doctor.” He sits on the small bed, watching as you put on gloves and examine his busted lip. He can tell you’re avoiding eye contact with him, trying your hardest to ignore his stares and slight touches. “Have you thought about my offer yet?” He asks.

You gulp, blinking as you rub the ointment over his wound. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play stupid, but you remember your last conversation so clearly. It makes you nervous. All he does is laugh.

“Come on. I’ll even beg.” He grabs your wrist, slowing pulling it down, a smug smirk on his handsome face. “You telling me you haven’t thought about it once since we last seen each other?” He whispers. He parts his legs, pulling you in between them. And god, you smell so good. So sweet. He could just eat you up right here.

You stand there, unable to form words because as much as you want to say no, you want to say yes. He makes your heart race and your pussy wet. What a sly bastard. With his stupid tattoos, muscles, hair and chiseled face. You hate how much effect he has on you.

“Listen,” he rubs a hand down your waist, “meet me in the supply closet by the showers during lunchtime if you’re really down.” He flashed a smile before standing to his feet and walking out the infirmary. “Bye, bye, doctor.”

Come lunchtime, you walked through the halls of the prison, mentally cursing at yourself. It’s just one time, one time. You bet he won’t even be there, that he’s just playing a stupid joke cause he’s bored with himself. And as you reach out to open the supply door, your heart beats against your ribcage, looking around to find the halls empty. You step in, seeing him leaning against the wall, the faint rays of light allowing you to make out some of his features. “Well, look who it is,” he chuckles. “Came here to help me out, doc?” He walks over to you, trapping you between him and the door.

“Shut up already and let’s get it over with.” You smash your lips on his, kissing him with such urgency and fervor. His large hands grab at your ass, squeezing and groping it as he pushes you against the wall, knocking a few things over. You both pull away, breathing heavily, lips swollen. “We gotta be quick,” you whisper, undoing his jumpsuit while he pulls down your pants.

“More eager than I am, huh?” He teases, earning an eye roll from you. “Come here.” He bends you over the small wooden table, snatching your panties off and getting a good feel of your ass. His dick jumps, pre cum already leaking from the swollen tip. He’s already so worked up, so ready to feel your wet and tight cunt. “Fuck,” he grunts, running his head over your sopping slit, nudging your clit slightly. “Already so fucking wet.”

He pushes his throbbing tip past your folds, a small gasp leaving your lips when you feel how thick he is. Inch by inch you feel the stretch, you mouth agape as you try and grow accustomed to his size. Geto’s entire body shivers, his fingers pressing into your skin so hard you’re sure he’d leave marks. “Ohhh shit,” he lets out a shaky breath. God, it’s been so fucking long since he’s had some good pussy and he can already tell he won’t last long. He finally bottoms out, feeling your walls clench around his length, sucking him in. “My god,” he laughs in your ear. “Lemme just enjoy this feeling—fuckkk—for a moment,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut.

He finally starts moving his hips, feeling his tip press against your cervix with each thrust. With each passing second, he gets faster, fucking your harder and rougher, your pussy has got him in a trance. “Pussy feels so fucking good,” he grips your hips, pulling you back towards him so you can meet his thrusts. One of his hands reach around your throat, gripping it just enough as he pulls you back against his broad chest. “Do you fuck all of your patients or am I just special?” He jokes.

“Mmmm…shut—ah—up!” You cry out, whimpering when he presses up against you, finding a new angle that makes your eyes roll back. “Just keep fucking me,”you say with a raspy breath.

“Doctors orders.” He can feel the way your pussy leaks, your juices dripping down his shaft and make his cock ache like never before. It almost hurts. He hold you tighter against him, the sound of skin on skin filling the small room. “You take it so well,” he breathes against your skin, pressing wet kisses to your neck. “So fucking well.” His thrusts grow sloppier, chasing his own orgasm. But in the distance, he hears the guards walking down the hall. “Shh, shh, shh.” His hand covers your mouth, his thrusts becoming slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every pulse before hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you.

Your eyes squeeze shut, trying your hardest to keep quiet, the guard getting closer and closer. Their keys jingle with each step and their voices grow louder. “Atta girl. You feel how fucking deep I am…shiittt. Keep fucking squeezing me like that—yeah, yeah you’re gonna make me fucking cum.” His brows furrow as he bites down as his bottom lip in attempts to contain his moans, but his abs tense up and his entire body shakes before he’s filling you up, stuffing you with his sticky, hot cum. “No, no, don’t you dare move. Just like thattt, oh yes!” His eyes roll back, still cumming. His pushes his cum deeper inside of you, feeling it leak back out before he finally pulls out.

Geto truly wishes he could’ve had more time with you. His mouth drooling over the mere thought of how you taste, wanting to make you cum on his tongue, but for now he’ll have to settle for this. “You came inside me, asshole!” You pull your pants back up, turning to face him.

“Couldn’t let it go to waste.” He reaches out and stroke your cheek. “Right?”

“Whatever.” You swat his hand away. “Where are my underwear?” You look around the dimly lit room before realizing he was holding them.

“I’ll be keeping these for later,” he swung them in your face before stuffing them in his pocket.

“You’re such a pervert.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You have my cum running down your leg right now.” He places a finger under your chin, tilting it towards him as he leans down and kisses you slowly, his tongue sliding over yours before catching your bottom lip. “Mmm, thank you, doctor.” He smiles before kissing you once more.

You push him off of you, trying to process everything you just did right now. It was so wrong but it felt so right, so good, so intoxicating. “If it makes you feel any better, I get out in six months.”

“No. This was a one time thing.” You place a hand on his chest, shaking your head.

“Was it? Cause I don’t think it was. Not with the way your pussy was squeezing around me. It was almost like she was made for me.” He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. His eyes searches yours, a smile forming at the corner of his lips. “Yeah…it definitely isn’t the last time.”

[debonairprincesposts]

well hello! what do you think about jason’s tits (those that he does not assume that are very big titties)?

Well my dear reader! I think that his tiddies don’t get enough attention. Like- imagine this:

Jason and you are just chillin’ on the couch and you wanna lay your head on a soft surface of sorts. And what do you know! His tiddies are just within reach. So, you just plop your head on there and pretend that you don’t know what your actions are doing to him. You can hear his heartbeat speeding up (he told you once before how sensitive his chest is and you just happen to put your head extremely close to his nipple. So your cheek is just moving his shirt where it lays as it just barely grazes his skin and it’s making him shudder and squirm in his seat. You smirk to yourself at his reaction).

Another time is when you feel kinda stressed and wanna just squeeze something. So, you just come up from behind him while he’s minding his business in the kitchen, and just casually cup his pecs and start squeezing and massaging them and playing with his nipples from over his shirt, twisting, pulling, and pinching while he subtly (it’s not subtle to you at all, you can read him like an open book) shakes and lets out little gasps where he stands and starts to lean against the counter for support as if to will himself to not completely submit to you and let you take him right then and there on the kitchen floor.

It’s gotten to the point where every time he spots you in the vicinity, he prepares himself and expects you to just come up from behind him and start your assault on his tits. (he doesn’t hate it, he’d just like a warning when it happens)

Every time you compliment him on having such plush, soft tits while teasing him, he quietly whines saying that they’re not tits or something (it doesn’t take long to convince him otherwise.)

I think it would go something like this:

“Look at how wonderful these are,” you say as you squish them together. You’re sat atop his lap as he lays back on the couch, shirt off. “I could play with these all day. Such pretty tits, don’t you agree, Jason?”

His breaths come out in soft gasps as you continue to twist and pinch at his chest.

“Not tits,” he gasps out while lightly shaking his head, “They’re not.” He’s tightly gripping onto your waist as you unhurriedly grind atop his groin which causes a soft mewl to escape his lips.

You grin at his reaction and grab one of his hands and place it on one of his tiddies and squeeze.

“Yeah, they are.” You say as you use your other hand to guide his chin to make him glance down. “Look at them, Jay. Aren’t they pretty?”

His face is red at he looks down at his chest, his breath catches in his throat as he takes a proper look, full of hickies and bright red bite marks from your previous ministrations. Your grinding isn’t helping at all. He might come in his pants if you keep that up. He moans as you keep up with your actions. Curious if you could get him to cum from just touching his chest and light pressure on his groin.

A reedy sound brings you back to the present (the color on his chest from your attention was distracting.) Lost in your thoughts from admiring your work. He looks mesmerizing. Eyes dilated so much that you can barely spot the teal of his irises, his eyes appearing almost completely black. His face is practically the color of his helmet, it’s almost impressive. Shudders leave his body as he completely sinks back onto the couch.

You use the hand that grasping his chin to point it to the side as you lean in to leave more bruises on his neck, your grinding unfaltering. His moans increase in volume as you bite and suck on his sweet spot right at the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

The hand that’s on your waist twitches, his mouth opens in a silent moan as he gasps loudly while throwing his head back on the back of the couch as he gives a full body shiver, cum staining the inside of his pants.

You stop your actions as you take a minute to admire the fucked out look on his face.

You lean your face close his ear as you say, “Think your tits are pretty now, Jay?”

He shivers from the air brushing against his ear. He nods with a quiet whine, sounding out an almost inaudible “uh-huh”, unable to get any more words out.

You grin in victory, “There you go.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

I think I went over board. It was only supposed to be a few sentences long.

Didn’t even know I could write like that.

Anyway! Hope that answers your question!

[bucksboobs]

And do you think any of you would even care so much if Lou had not done all his fan service and cameos? Cause nothing shown on this season so far between Buck and Tommy has even been worth all this drama

Yes because season 7 worked hard to establish Tommy as the guy that shows up for Buck no matter what and that was before Lou started doing Cameos. I think I even said after There Goes The Groom that Tommy was the most compelling love interest Buck had had since Abby and Lo and behold even the show acknowledges that he’s the “most transformative relationship” he’s had since Abby. I would also argue that 805, by its very design, did its best to sell us on their relationship as well, so it’s not like there’s nothing this season, even the way the breakup was structured made it clear they do want to be together but Tommy was scared.

And as far as “worth all the drama” please remember the reason I split off from most of the people that I did split off from was people being violently hateful in homophobic ways and refusing to acknowledge that saying a man deserves to die over flirting with his boyfriend is in fact, kind of homophobic. Ships were only the excuse people used to be like that and the fact they doubled down was what caused “drama”.

[sweetbunpura]

Filled with Static...

Summary: Yuu was already fed up before coming to Playful Land and now that it's over... She has some very choice words for she has reached her boiling point...

Sorry in advance~

Yuu watches with hollow eyes as Fellow and Gidel depart without having to face the consequences of their actions. Everyone jokes around her about what they just went through, but static is rapidly and quickly filling Yuu's ears. She moves away from the group and makes her way down a street, unaware of the sound of footsteps behind her. A hand lands on her shoulder and she's quick to slap it off.

"Ow, rude much?"

Yuu turns to see Ace with his arms crossed. "What?"

"Just wanted to know why you took off like that."

"Why do you care?"

"Wow, jeez." Ace scoffed. "I knew you were snippy from the start, but I thought that would've cleared up. What's the big deal?"

"What's the big deal? What's the big deal!?" Her voice echoes throughout the small area of the docks. "Ace, are you fucking blind as well as a total fucking moron!?" She jabs her hand to where Playful Land used to be. "We almost got turned into puppets and sold off because of you guys!"

"Hey, we got out in the end!"

"No, we didn't. If Fellow hadn't gotten that phone call, we'd be goners." The others have stopped a few feet away, but Yuu ignores them. "And you're cracking jokes about it."

"Well, destroying the park was-"

"I mean about the whole thing, you brainless baboon." She snarls. "From the start, you ignored all the fucking warning signs that said you should stay far away from this man. Did Azul tricking you not ring any bells in that empty head of you?" She tapped her finger against Ace's forehead. "And even when you were told that the warning signs were blaring red, you still ignored them."

"Hold on." Ace growled. "Why am I getting signaled out?"

"Oh it's not just you, Ace." She points behind him. "It goes double for those cacophony of idiots."

"Wow, rude, Yuu-chan..." Cater mutters.

"I get that you guys are like this. It's all fun and games to the ones who can use magic." She shakes her hand in a mocking way. "But this is just another scar on my body that I do not need." She pulls up her sleeves to show the overblot scars...as well as a new wooden looking scar on her wrist. "You guys think this is a joke, when it's not. You're risking my life with your guys shit."

"You came with us!" Ace argues.

"Cause I had to make sure my useless excuse for a fucking cat didn't keel over and die!" Yuu shouts and begins shoving Ace. "You. Treat. Me. Like. I'm. Expendable." She pushes him back. "I'm a living being too, jack ass, what I have done to warrant being treated lower than dirt? Every time this happens, and I almost lose my life in the process... how many more times is this going to be an almost before it actually happens?"

The red head narrows his eyes and snorts. "If you hate it here so much, why don't you just go back home?"

"Ace..." Lilia tries to say but is cut off by Yuu socking Ace in the face and sending him to the ground.

"NEWS FLASH, ASSHOLE!" The look in Yuu's eyes are murderous. "I'VE BEEN TRYING TOO! YOU GUYS CAN JUST CALL UP YOUR FAMILY OR SEND THEM A QUICK TEXT TO CHECK UP ON THEIR WELL BEING! YOU'RE A PORTAL AWAY FROM HOME! I HAVE NOTHING, I GOT NOTHING, I HAVE NO FAMILY HERE AND I AM REMINDED OF IT EVERY DAY BY YOU GUYS AND BY CROWLEY!" Tears well up in her eyes. "I've had it here. I'm gone. I'm leaving NRC, I'm getting far away from you guys." She turns to leave and rubs her eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your fucking lives."

"Yuu-chan!"

"Shrimpy!"

"Herbivore, come back!"

"Potato!"

"Henchhuman!" Grim tries to follow after her only to lower his ears and back up as she shoots the darkest glare she can muster at him. "I'm....I'm..."

Yuu disappears into the morning crowd that had gathered to learn what the commotion was about. She did not return to NRC that day...rather Crewel had found her, curled up outside his temporary house.

"Oh, Pup...." He pulls his coat off, wraps it around the crying young lady, and helps her inside.

[samwinchesterthewitch]

CW: noncon (turns mutual later)

The air conditioner in their motel room was broken. Sam thought his skull would split open. The pain was like a band wrapped around his head, squeezing, unwilling to let go until he got what he needed. He was burning up, shaking, his words stammered and breathless as he tried to tell Dean, I have to go.

Dean's eyes said no before his mouth did. To see Ruby?

I need to. I need to, Dean.

But the pain, the pain in his head couldn't compare to the pain in Dean's eyes, and Sam was the cause. He knew he was. He hated hurting Dean, but he needed this, needed to get better, stronger, so he could protect Dean, because Dean had suffered enough in Hell and was broken in ways that Sam couldn't fix, but he could fix this.

Dean's mouth curled. It wasn't a smile.

Sam felt it then, something snap, and it wasn't the band around his head. It wasn't the fingers digging into his shirt, grabbing. Or the hands shoving him on the bed, pushing, demanding. Love in the form of violence wasn't anything new to them.

"No," Dean said, clear through the haze of heat. "I know what you need, and it's not that bitch's blood."

The body on top of his, that wasn't new. But this wasn't sparring. Dean kept him pinned on his front, not letting him fight back, no chance to tap out. Sam struggled, hot with anger, and fear, and his body's shameful response to having his brother so close. He opened his mouth. Dean pressed his face into the pillow. It smelled like cheap beer and sweat.

"You need me, Sam."

This was true. But it didn't make sense, in Sam's melting brain, with his belt being unbuckled, or his jeans being shoved down, the denim rough between his thighs. He couldn't equate the body over his with his brother when leather constricted his hands, cutting into his wrists when he yanked -- his own belt, he realized, it was used to tie his hands to the headboard.

Shock clouded his mind for a moment. Made him go still, frozen, like those nights as a kid when he would just stare at his closet, waiting for the worst. But then Dean was yanking him up by his hair, fingers pushing past Sam's lips, and the shock was gone.

Sam bucked, a choked snarl coming out. He almost bit down, but Dean bit him first, teeth sinking into the meat of his neck -- and then Sam couldn't breathe, caught between a cry and a moan, body and mind wracked with anger fear pleasure pain guilt Dean Dean Dean.

The name came out slurred with Dean's fingers in the way.

"Don't," Dean breathed in his ear, a rough command. Stop. Stop fighting me. "This is all you're getting, Sammy. This is your fault."

This was also, somehow, true, mostly because it was always Sam's fault, all of this was his fault. That was probably why Sam stopped, stopped fighting his brother. Realized that this -- this was happening, and the fingers in his mouth were a kindness, his brother trying to make the punishment easier on him. Sam should be grateful.

He sucked his brother's fingers.

It was too hot, too much heat to think clearly, too sweaty to move. His cheeks were on fire. He didn't know what sounds were coming out of his mouth. It was like a dream come true and a nightmare that would never end, not until he got what he deserved.

Dean started with two. Two fingers, hard and impatient, making Sam's hips buck some more, fingers curling around the belt. He tried gritting his teeth -- the Winchester way, their dad would say, refusing to make a sound -- but Dean would yank on his hair, or twist his fingers, and the gasps came spilling out.

It wasn't much prep. Pain wasn't the problem though. It was hearing Dean take off his own belt, unzip, groan under his breath. It was feeling the head of Dean's hard, heavy cock brush against his rim, realizing that they were past the point of no return. Terrified that this would ruin them, that Dean would regret it once he calmed down and hate himself even more, Sam tried again. "Dean, st--"

Dean split him open. Sam muffled his scream in the pillow.

Too hot, he was suffocating. Burning. Was this what Hell was like for Dean? Sam tried to cling onto a coherent thought, but anger fear guilt pain pain pain my brother is fucking me took over.

Everything was in shards, fragments.

He's angry.

Pain everywhere.

It's my fault.

Dean's breath, heavy and fast, hot on the back of his neck.

But I need to--

Hands on his hips, hand on his scar, the one on his lower back from when he died and Dean traded his soul to get him back.

Ruby's the only--

"Don't say her name," Dean growled, and fuck, Sam said that out loud, didn't he? "Don't even think about her. All you need is this--"

Another thrust, but this time, a spark. More heat, but inside him, fizzling in his stomach. Sam clenched, mouth dropping in a moan. He didn't have to look to know his brother was smirking, that same look he got whenever he was right. Sam forgot what they were arguing about, but he knew who was winning.

"Say it, Sammy." Hot, so hot in his ear. "Say you only need me."

The stubborn little brother in Sam didn't want to. But his big brother kept going, pain oozing out of Sam's body, hips rising up for more of that feeling buzzing in his nerves, throbbing in his chest. His vision went blurry as Dean bore down harder, faster, determined to get the answer he wanted. Expecting his baby brother to give in.

Sam felt it coming. He was hard now, he needed to cum, the friction of the bed and his brother's cock desperately pushing in and out, harder each time -- the words just came out on their own.

"I only n-need you."

He was lifted up by his hair again, gasping. Panting and choking out little moans and whimpers while his brother kept going. "Louder," he growled, so Sam said it louder. "Who do you need?"

"You! Just you, Dean!"

"Right. Right, just me, just your big brother."

It was coiling inside him. Sam gasped out, "Need to--"

"No." In, out. Clench, release. Sam nearly sobbed. "You don't get that. If you're gonna cum, it's gonna be from my dick. Nothing else."

This seemed totally unfair in Sam's sex-cloudy mind. "Dean," he whined, like they were kids again. The thought should have snapped him out of -- whatever this was.

It didn't. Dean kept fucking him, and Sam came just from that, all over the cheap motel sheets.

---

The air conditioner was still broken. The digital clock read 4:56 in the morning. Sam's wrists had bruises and welts in them when Dean finally untied his belt from the headboard. Sam himself was also covered in bruises, and bites, and cum, and sweat.

His baby brother was out cold. Lost the energy to even jerk his hips up after the seventh time. A part of Dean was grateful for that; better then admitting his dick was totally spent.

The evidence of his crime was laid out on Dean's bed, eyes closed and breathing slowly. Dean pulled the covers over his brother like he was tucking him in, before sighing and forcing himself to drag his feet to the bathroom.

The self-loathing could come later. For now, all that mattered was that Sam was here. Safe. Nowhere near Ruby or any other fucking demon who wanted to take advantage of his brother.

Dean protected him, like always.

That's all that mattered.

S4 Dean deciding that to keep Sam from sneaking out at night to meet Ruby, he's just gonna have to dick down his brother so hard he nearly passes out. Every night. For Sam's safety.

PLEASE.

[srslylini]

okay in all honesty Sevika's character is so interesting and one of the things I loved the most about season 2 is watching her.

We see her character as soon as act 1 in season 1 and we also know that she used to be loyal to Vander, but because she is a character who rightfully wants to fight she sees Vander as someone who she can't continue to be loyal to

"Vander had his chance"

she hands the people she follows/gives her loyalty to chances. We see it time and time again with Silco. We see her loyalty waver but we also see it strengthen. She is extremely smart and cunning. She knew immediately what kind of powerplay Finn wanted to start and played along with it, so he wouldn't catch on (letting him light her cigar, dusting of his place before he sits down during that scene with Silco where Finn then gets killed)

But she also made a display infront of Silco to show him her patience is running thin. One of the reasons she went along with Finn is to show Silco that, while Finn isn't the one, there is always others. This also shows how damn respected she actually is, like lets imagine basically any other character having such a severe power play with Silco, she knew that he knew that there was a possibility she could kill him.

Her patience for Silco is also mostly running thin because of Jinx. Not because she genuinely just hates Jinx but more so because Jinx is in fact a disaster (sorry sorry) and DOES get in between her missions. And well Silco basically shrugs and goes your fault have fun cleaning that mess up. If we go and only take season 1 it's actually easy to think that Sevika really dislikes Jinx but with context from season 2 I just don't think that was the case and it was moreso frustration.

and now Silco is dead and she has placed her hope in him and his nation of Zaun. That talk with Jinx in season 2 is genuinely one of the best, if not the best, scenes out of that season. Her and Jinx begrudgingly get closer. She is still loyal to Zaun and well they don't give up their people and Jinx is one of them.

As early as act one she is shown to literally be ready to jump to death if necessary to be of use and like??? they utilized her character perfectly in season 2 before they decided to write her out of act 2 for what ever reason (still salty about that)

Their little found family coming because Sevika is admirably loyal and extremely smart but also just unwilling to relent to anyone and still always the fighter is the best the writers could have done.

edit: lol dumb thing to forget, genuinely I'm tired but the continuity of her gambling addiction and it also being a thing Jinx and her bond over in season 2 because Jinx gifted her a gambling arm was genuinely peak writing. Also there is something to be said how she also gambles with the lives of others (Silco in that scene, cause he HAD no idea if he would survive "where you tempted" "not for a worm like him but there will be others" like OKAY DAMN) and how she ALSO uses her own experiences to guide others, sometimes subtle, sometimes not so much.

just in general, I appreciate her character so much and I hope they don't disappoint in act 3

[drpvnk]

people who hate the direction of kit's character because he's upset with ty while also knowing ty is autistic... are the same people who fail to realize that while kit is more knowledgable in that area than most nephilim, he was STILL only 15 years old, and while he did go along with ty until last minute even ty questioned his authenticity at some point...

(also did we all collectively forget kits entire storyline? this kid was in NO position to make any life-altering decisions... tbh the only person who might have an inkling of what he's going through is clary, cause yea not even jace and his reassurance can fully encompass kits issues...

i mean here is a kid who was abused by neglection and harsh treatment, a kid who has only ever know to crave love and never felt it. and then one day his abuser/protector is ripped in half right in front of him, and he's promptly told that he is apart of a society who he was taught to hate his entire life. so there goes his first identity crisis. but oh wait, this entirely new society has been taught to expect tragedy to happen at anytime of the day so suck it up cause your one of us now and also we're placing you in a super tight-knit family that is going through their own traumatic shit, so they won't have time to even TRY and make you feel welcomed or acknowledged... like AT ALL. (cause wow, how many times was kit left on the sidelines while the entire LA institute had a giant group hug... LOL) but then you get accepted by these twins and become apart of their little group, and now you don't want to let go, you CAN'T, because this is the closest you've ever been to being apart of a family, so you have to bury your grief and be likeable and cool and strong. but then one of the twins die and suddenly everyone is looking at you to comfort the other twin, but you haven't even been able to figure out how to grieve yourself before having to experience this additional loss of a budding relationship. but you love this boy so OK you do what you can, even if it means going along with something that makes you sick to your stomach. but your still new here, you don't know which lines to cross, you don't know whats ok and what's not, who to tell and who not to tell, you dont want this boy to hate you, you can't lose this "home" even as it's being held by the thinnest string ready to break. even as you look at yourself and can only see the same look of disappointment and hate and secrets upon secrets, an exact copy of his fathers expression when he looked at kit, a man your not sure you even love. there goes your second identity crisis. (funny how much kit hates secrets and yet thats been the only revelation of his entire existence)

you suck it up until you can't anymore, until your feelings spill over in the purest words that you can express, words that mean a lifetime to you because these are words no one has have uttered to you, because these are words you know you probably need to hear too.

except now your left soppin wet and punched by your inconsolable crush and watching as he performs a failed resurrection. and then after being kept in confinement for some days its revealed that your part faerie, another race hellbent on being hated by the world. except your not just any faerie but the one true heir to TWO thrones... and there's your third identity crisis.))) also,,, dont get me started on the short stories where we expect to read about kit healing and then we actually just see him sink deeper and deeper into this pit of self-loathing as he's continuously put in positions that have him viewed as a threat and danger to his family... i.e. his heritage, tessa and jems reaction to him holding james' gun, mina's kidnapping, etc.

yea, by all means kit be angry!

and to address kit being older and still holding this grudge years later with the assumption that he knows more and maybe understands ty's thought process better,,, he's already admitted to being mad at ty for putting kit in a position that had him looking in the mirror and seeing johnny rook... NOT at the fact that he was "rejected" or even the resurrection itself...

is kit in the right for his misplaced anger? ofc not,,, but he also went through a lifetime of trauma that you can't simply let go of just because another person might not have fully understood the headspace that he was in at the moment

kits characterization within the fandom really makes me realize how privileged many people are to never having to go through the messy process of grieving your abuser while now figuring out who you are after them, all while their shadow is still casted over your entire being... like, no kit didn't runaway from being rejected by a boy, he ran away from being rejected despite his desperate efforts to be loved, even if it meant sacrificing his own sanity by becoming someone who resembled the catalyst of ALOT of his trauma,,,ofc this is all in his pov since we the readers are aware of tys feelings)

thats all to say that kit really is good at suppressing his feelings if even the readers glossed over the multiple times his mind began to stray towards the death of his father throughout the tda series. like, we're aware of johnny's treatment towards kit and we're also aware of the envirommemt he was raised in,,, so why is it that people focus on him "knowing" about the spectrum b/c he lives in modern society than they are about the life he's personally lived that influenced his decision and thought process throughout the story?

and if it wasn't obvious this post was entirely for kit's pov, ty has a completely different view of things and where kit might not fully understand how ty processes things, neither does ty towards kit. they're both on completely different pages!!

but thats the point of their story!! theyre gonna heal together! we will explore ty's pov and see what he REALLY saw during that time period and maybe kit can finally love himself the way he wants others to love him,,,,

[kurokawaia]

Asking for a hickey 彡 Umemiya Hajime ୭ suggestive, mdni, shy!reader, first time relationship (for both partners) + more?

Thinking about Umemiya (again) and you asking him to give you a hickey for the first time. You've never gotten one nor given one and you saw a girl around your age with one on her neck and as much as you hated to say it, it looked... nice. It was as if her man was asserting his dominance even though her wasn't there. And you? You weren't opposed to that.

So, there you are, standing in between Umemiya's legs while he sits on the couch, his big hands splayed on your hips, watching you as you looking down past him to the floor. As you tug on the hem of your skirt, so many thoughts were running through your head.

Umemiya and you had only been dating for two months and as much as you didn't want to rush things, as did he, you really want more, more than just the heated make out sessions. So, asking for this is the best way to start, right?

"What is it, baby?" he asks, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the fabric. "C'mon, look at me, sweets." Ume places a soft kiss to your covered stomach and butterflies fill not only your stomach but your lower abdomen.

He's making it so hard for your pretty little head to focus, you think that if he were to be so gentle with your body you would melt. "It's embarrassing though, Haji," you mumble, looking up from the floor.

You meet his gaze while moving your hands to cradle the back of his head, fingers entangling with his platinum strands. Nervous was what you felt, you know that this isn't something to be nervous about asking.

"You can tell me, ask me anything, baby," Umemiya reassures, another kiss to your stomach before pulling away, leaning into your touch.

You bite your lip before your cheeks heat up. "Could you... uh... give me... um... a hickey... please?" your say, voice dropping to a whisper.

Umemiya couldn't even process what you had just send, he is too busy malfunctioning as he's caught off guard, blinking in shock. This was only a quick reaction before his arms wrap around your hips, strong muscle pulling you into him, thus causing a soft yelp to leave your lips.

He looks up at you, soft puppy eyes and a tiny smirk playing on his lips. Your heart begins to beat faster in wondering what his reply would be, even though Umemiya looked quite the opposite of repulsed, you're still nervous of his reply.

A hickey, huh? Didn't think you'd be into that," he hums in a teasing tone and you tense up under his touch before he sooths you. "You sure you can handle it, sweetheart?"

If your face is anything, it's definitely flushed now, beet red. "Y-Yeah! I mean... I just... I wanna see what it feels like, and..." your thumb brushes over his lip hesitantly and he relishes in the touch, you add, "I trust you."

"Alright, sweetheart. If that’s what you want, I'll make it nice and memorable for you,” he adds "But don’t blame me if you end up wanting more after."

@unriding ume thoughts once again🙂‍↕️

[lilbabybackwoods]

god, i wish i could go back in time

just start all over and do it right, help build a stable foundation. there’s so much i regret that i’ve said and felt.

i’ve wanted this man for the longest, not just for how beautiful he looks on the outside, but also for the amazing person that he is, the amazing person i’ve been friends with for the longest

and now that i have him, i keep fucking it up. i let those ruminating thoughts cause so many problems because i can’t ever just let shit go

i wanted to paint and drink wine with him, help build a house of our own with a room full of plants and books

write songs about him while i played my guitar in our living room with our dog

sing his favorite songs softly in his ear to help him fall asleep better, he can never sleep well

show him the poems i’ve written about him, go on long hikes with our hands intertwined, listen to our favorite records while we smoke with his head in my lap while i braid his long hair

but instead, i’ve damaged it beyond repair because i can’t move past uncertain things

and regardless of those uncertain things, the only thing i truly wanted was to love him, in the most certain way possible

why can’t my emotions just be normal? why do i hold onto things that don’t exist? why can’t i just let things pass the way they’re meant to?

i hate myself for it. i’m so fucking embarrassed. i feel so ashamed for ruining things the way that i eventually always do

i’m so sorry.

[delulu4anime]

ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴ ʙʟᴜʀʙꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ɴɴɴ

⚔︎ 🔞ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʟᴇᴛʜᴀʟ. ᴇxɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ🔞

⚔︎ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴀᴜ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇɢᴇ ᴏʀ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴊᴏʙꜱ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴋᴀʏ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ.

⚔︎ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪ ᴄʜᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ɴɴɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪ ʟᴇᴛ ᴀ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ.

⚔︎ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴇʟᴇɴᴀ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇ ꜱᴛᴜᴅɪᴇᴅ.

⚔︎ ᴛᴡ'ꜱ: ᴍᴀɴʜᴀɴᴅʟɪɴɢ, ᴅᴏɢɢʏ, ᴘᴜꜱꜱʏ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴏɴʏ, ꜱʜᴏᴡᴇʀ ꜱᴇx, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜱᴇx, ᴍᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱ, ꜱᴇx ᴛᴏʏꜱ, ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀɪɴɢ, ꜰᴜʟʟ ɴᴇʟꜱᴏɴ, ꜱɪxᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ, ᴛʜʀᴜᴘᴘʟᴇ, ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ, ꜱᴄɪꜱꜱᴏʀɪɴɢ.

⚔︎ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ꜱᴜᴘᴇʀᴍᴀꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏʟᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ᴇʀᴇɴ

⇥How long does he last: About two weeks.

⇥Surprisingly resilient that is until you wear his shirt around the house on your days off.

⇥Pops a boner and the thought of taking care of it crosses his mind.

⇥But after what felt like the thousand time of splashing cold water on his face he couldn't do it anymore.

⇥He stormed into the living room where you sat on the couch. Fuck it.

⇥He yanks the thin fabric off of you and manhandles you over the arm of the couch.

⇥He's about to fuck you like he hates you for indirectly teasing him.

⇥Results? Loser.

He has one hand pressed down between your shoulder blades while the other has a bruising grip on your hips. His own snapping repeatedly against you as your ass ricochets off him. The sound of your skin meeting his echoing out throughout your living room. What a stupid bet this was anyways; there's no one in the history of forever that has ever lasted an entire month without touching their significant other. Especially one as pretty as you.

"F-Fuck baby just like that. Keep squeezing around me. You know you've missed this just as much as I have."

⚔︎ ᴀʀᴍɪɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥This precious baby.

⇥Too wrapped up on the fact exams are around the corner.

⇥Doesn't really care about NNN but thinks it's cute that you try to get him to cum before the end of the month.

⇥He's lost count on how many times you've climbed on top of him and rode him until you came.

⇥You really thought you could get him but the moment December 1st hit he spent that time doing what he really wanted to do now that exams and that silly little challenge was over.

⇥Results? Winner.

Your fingers buried in his hair as you arch your back and moan out his name. His hand wrapped around his cock as he stroked his length quickly. His pre-cum started out as lube before he switched hands and his fingertips covered with your slick was used to make it nice and slippery.

"Love making you feel good baby. It's what you deserve. Now lay back and take what I give you okay?"

⚔︎ ᴄᴏɴɴɪᴇ

⇥How long does he last: surprisingly almost till the end.

⇥This stupid bald idiot really was so determined to win this. Jean bet him fifty bucks he wouldn't be able to win and Connie was about to call his bluff.

⇥You were supportive cause hey, money is money. You both agreed. No sex, no revealing clothing, and no provoking media.

⇥It was easy and there was only a few days left before the end of NNN. The money was as good as yours.

⇥Until you both were cuddled up and watching Sex in the City of all things and for some reason he popped a boner.

⇥To be fair the money didn't matter. Not when he was thrusting up into you as you rode him on the couch.

⇥Jean's mocking words in the back of Connie's mind. He had more important things to focus on.

⇥ Results? Loser.

"S-So pretty like this." Connie panted out as he watched your expression. Your hands grasping his shoulders as you moved your hips though it was futile was how he snapped his hips up the way he did. "Pussy feels so good baby. Gonna make it mine over and over again."

⚔︎ ᴊᴇᴀɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥He made a bet with Connie and he didn't think he'd be able to win.

⇥But it turned out to be a busy month for both of you.

⇥Thankfully of course because the way you came in after work, despite being tired, looked so pretty to him.

⇥Especially when you took a shower after work and the urge to stroke his cock to the image of your naked body with water droplets running down your body.

⇥He didn't even get a chance to fuck you until you were a few days into December.

⇥ He ravished your body in the shower after you both got home.

⇥Results? Winner.

The water cascading against his back as he had one of your legs hooked over the bend of his elbow. One hand digging into the flesh of your plush thigh while the other held onto your jaw gently. He wanted to make sure that you looked at him while you came undone for him. His hips snapping against you as you held onto his biceps for dear life. You knew you both were exhausted but for some reason this felt better than it ever had before.

"Shit baby, you're so beautiful. Love seeing you like this. Love feeling you. Gonna cum for me okay? Be a good girl and cum for me."

⚔︎ ᴢᴇᴋᴇ

⇥How long does he last: To the end but barely.

⇥He had to distract himself so many times and you surely didn't make it easy for him.

⇥Seeing you making him breakfast in the morning in nothing but his shirt suddenly had him craving you instead of breakfast.

⇥ You eventually caught on to what he was doing and you started teasing him more. Like walking into his study late at night when he was grading assignments for his students. Leaning down and kissing his pulse point on his neck and running your hands down his chest.

⇥The way his breath hitches as you slowly start to unbuckle his belt only to pull away and have him cursing under his breath.

⇥ It was no surprise the second the clock struck midnight you were woken up by your lover practically ripping your clothes off. 

⇥ Results? Winner.

"You little goddamn tease." He growled in your ear as he gripped your leg tightly. You were on your side and his other arm had snaked around you and was holding you by the throat. Squeezing the sides gently every now and then as he thrusts inside you. "I'll make you think twice about teasing me like that ever again." He grunted as he continued to destroy your poor pussy. His hand that had been holding your leg now letting go and sliding down to rub your clit. "Now you're gonna cum for me again and again. It's the only apology I'll accept."

⚔︎ ᴇʀᴡɪɴ

⇥How long does he last: To the end.

⇥"My love do you know what No Nut-" "November? Yes, I'm well aware of what it is. I'll do it if you'd like but I'm not sure how well I'll do."

⇥Fucker forgets you had even asked him to do that.

⇥He was so wrapped up with his work at the lab trying to test the serum he made to help with chronic back issues to even think of anything else.

⇥ To be fair you were wrapped up in work too so you hadn't even noticed until it was December before you figured you would congratulate him.

⇥ It was a simple kiss that shouldn't have been anything more than that. A simple kiss.

⇥Oh but it turned into so much more.

⇥ Results? Winner.

You cried out in pleasure as he continued to pound into you. He had you folded into a nasty mating press and you watched through teary eyes the white ring around his cock only get messier. You lost track of how many times you had cum and when you look into those sea blue eyes Erwin couldn't help but groan.

"Can't believe I went an entire month without this. Never again. I want to feel you wrapped around me forever."

⚔︎ ʟᴇᴠɪ   

⇥How long does he last: Till the end plus some.

⇥Let's say it all in unison now: sadist. 

⇥Knows allllllll about NNN from all the young interns at the lab. Even his boss, Erwin, knows about it which is saying a lot. 

⇥He's more than happy to entertain you. Goes a whole month and a half actually and you were practically begging him on your hands and knees to fuck you.

⇥Oh and he does. Exactly like you are right now. Kneeled before him with a harsh grip on the leash attached to the collar he has around your neck.

⇥The dildo you're riding wasn't exactly what you were wanting but it was better than nothing. Especially with how much you ached. 

⇥Results? Winner.

Levi gives a harsh tug to the leash causing you to take his cock deeper into your throat. He hums in approval at the way you gag around him.

"Ride it faster." Levi commands and you do as your told and ride the toy faster and he lets out a groan. "There you go my desperate little pet. See how rewarding it can be when you're patient." 

⚔︎ ʀᴇɪɴᴇʀ 

⇥How long does he last: 2 hours and 15 minutes.

⇥This poor touched starved man.

⇥Can you blame him really? I mean he loves you so much. He can't help it.

⇥The moment you brought up NNN he hated it. 

⇥You honestly made him accept the challenge cause you thought it would help with his training. He said he wanted to do resistance training for wrestling anyways so why not?

⇥He was the best on the team and so you figured this would help him. 

⇥Spoiler alert...it didn't.

⇥Results? Loser.

He had you in a full nelson and you were already fucked dumb. You grabbed onto his wrists as he thrusted inside of you at a brutal pace. All you could do was take it. You had already cum once and he still was going. You were sure that his stamina was going to be the death of you. The sound filling the room over and over again. You couldn't believe he was still going but you knew you had brought this upon yourself. You had wanted to test his endurance and you were getting just that.

"F-Fuck sweetheart," Reiner moans out. "Taking this cock so well. S-So good...love you too much to ever do that stupid challenge again."

ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴀʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ᴍɪᴋᴀꜱᴀ

⇥How long does she last: To the end.

⇥She had heard of NNN from Eren but never understood the hype.

⇥The only reason she even agreed to it was because you gave her those puppy dog eyes she could never resist. 

⇥The deal was to see who cracked first and unfortunately that was you.

⇥I mean fuck have you seen her working out? 

⇥You never knew cross country needed that much work out and soon you started to wonder if she was doing stuff on purpose.

⇥Anyways it was no wonder you caved before you really wanted to and you tried. You really did but she kept bringing up the fact November wasn't over yet.

⇥To your dismay she goes the entire month without so much as a kiss.

⇥She makes up for it though by pulling you on top of her a few days into December and you happily accepted it since you were practically touch starved.

⇥Results? Winner.

You moaned against her folds as you felt her tongue dive into you again. Your nails digging your nails into her thighs as you dived back into eating a meal you had been deprived of since the beginning of November. You knew Mikasa felt the same way despite making it through the entire month because she been buried in your pussy the moment she stripped you down and pulled you to her face. You could feel your thighs tremble around her head with the way she flicks her tongue the way she did that drove you crazy. You whine against her and you can feel her smile against you.

"C'mon baby. Cum for me. I don't plan on moving from this spot anytime soon."

⚔︎ ꜱᴀꜱʜᴀ

⇥How long does she last: One week

⇥She's actually the one that suggested it to you and Niccolo.

⇥For some reason she was bound and determined to win this.

⇥You and Niccolo took it as a challenge of course and you made a bet between the two of you secretly.

⇥Who was going to break Sasha first?

⇥It was you of course. The way you whined her name that night you all had one too many drinks during Connie and Jean's after party.

⇥She snapped and the moment you touched her thigh.

⇥You looked so pretty in that dress and the way you blinked up at her with that pout lip?

⇥It was no wonder she grabbed you and your shared boyfriend, Niccolo, by the wrists and dragging you both to the first empty room.

⇥Since you won the bet between you and Niccolo, your reward was that he'd fuck you in any position you want.

⇥You had the perfect position in mind.

⇥Did the first empty room really have to be Floch's bedroom?

⇥Oh well it didn't matter. Not when clothes were pushed out of the way and the moans started to come from all of you. 

⇥Results? Loser. 

The way Niccolo snapped his against your arching core caused your tongue to pause its movements against Sasha's pussy often. She whined loudly as her grip on your forearms tightened. The noises you three made were easily drowned out by the music playing throughout the frat house. The full size mattress was barely big enough to fit all three of you and it creaked often under the weight it normally never felt. 

"Stop teasing." Sasha whined out and Niccolo sped up his movements with a moan. 

"Maybe you should've held out longer. You don't get to cum before she does." Niccolo grunted out as he was fixated on the way your tongue started to move against Sasha again.

"H-Hate you guys so much."

⚔︎ ʏᴇʟᴇɴᴀ

⇥ How long does she last: To the end. Easily.

⇥"Let's do No Nut November." "What?" "Do you seriously not know what it is?" "No genius I don't."

⇥Gods why do you always have to explain things like this to her. She's surprisingly so dense when it comes to this kind of stuff.

⇥"Oh yeah I heard about that on Tic Tok. Sounds stupid."

⇥Babe...c'mon.

⇥Agrees to do NNN and you expect something with all the teasing you had done but nope. 

⇥She's like Fort fucking Knox. 

⇥You die though of course. A whole month without the strap? Read your obituary now. 

⇥Need her so bad it makes you look pathetic and that's her favorite.

⇥Results? Winner.

You feel her place a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. Her grip on your wrists, she had pinned behind your back, tightens. Her hips snapping against you and your muffled moans along with the headboard hitting the wall fill the room. She moans softly while her grey eyes darken as she watches you closely.

"So desperate princess. Do you realize how pathetic you look right now? Acting like this all because we went a month without sex. Maybe we should do this more often. You sound so pretty for me right now." 

ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ꜱ

⚔︎ ʜᴀɴɢᴇ 

⇥How long do they last: Technically only lasted three weeks but you give them the win.

⇥Hange has two weaknesses: the constant need for knowledge and you.

⇥When you asked them about NNN they gasp with the most excited look on their face.

⇥"I was hoping you'd ask me! Let's do it! I can do a little experiment on this."

⇥They really thought they'd be able to outlast you easily.

⇥That wasn't the case at all.

⇥You quickly see how clingy they started to get. Wrapping their arms around you and kissing your exposed shoulders

⇥Trying to make out with you whenever you could and putting their hands all over your body.

⇥You could feel how desperate Hange was so you decide to call it.

⇥Results? Semi-winner.

You moan Hanges name as they grind their core against yours. It felt beyond heavenly and you wondered how you were even able to go this long without feeling Hange against you. Hange gazes down at you with lidded eyes as they adjust their hips against you. Your leg over their shoulder as they placed gentle kisses against your ankle.

"That's it sweetheart. Wanna hear you. I did win after all didn't I?"

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2024 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ

[pretentiousbrownie]

Art by @red-wood-raven

Art by @jadequarze

Art by jinxpawz

A lovingly curated collection of my OC power couple, Alto and Katherine: Bonded by the weight of shared responsibility, a common cause, and a fiercely protective instinct, the two are driven by a self-sacrificing love and the unyielding desire to fight for everything they believe in, to give their loved ones the happiness and safety they themselves so desperately sought.

This unlikely werewolf and angel pairing is one that represents two extremely distinct aspects of myself. Embodying strength, perseverance, and a quiet determination to persist, Alto is the protector of my true self - the savior of my younger self, and the guiding light towards the realization and acceptance of who I was then and who I am today. Characterizing grit, resolve, and a fighting spirit that is so unabashedly true to them, Katherine is the determination to not only exist and persist, but thrive, in all senses of the word. Together, they are the forces that helped me become the person I am today; they are the personified aspects of my past, present, and future selves, and all struggles they’ve dealt with in order to reach this point right now.

They are the story of how I came to be, how I came to understand and accept myself, and how I persevered - against all the odds - in realizing that self, and that is why each piece is so much more than the sum of their many stunning colors, rich depths, and powerful expressions.

To the artists and friends that have continued to work with me in creating these pieces and more, you have my eternal gratitude and love for giving these characters shape and form and color and life. They are everything to me, and more. Thank you all so very much!

As one final aside, I wanted to leave each of you with this as well; these pieces (and the other commissions I have done over the past few years), have also been a way of recapturing what was taken from me so long ago; I'm not sure you could quite call it a dream, or even a goal, but I was an artist. From young, I always carried a sketch book or drawing pad with me. Armed with pencil in hand and the spark of creativity, I used to lose myself for hours, completely tuned out of the world, engrossed in each and every line and detail I so painstakingly drew.

I did it for myself, but I also did it to explore more than what I was. It started with architecture, design, decor, and abstracts, before delving into people and creatures and animals. I won't ever claim to be "good" - I was a kid without any formal training and only the world around me as my inspiration, but I always hated qualifying terms like "good" and "bad" with art. I just created art, and I did so because I enjoyed it and it was comforting.

Throughout grades school, the relative value of my art had been recognized by the teachers and peers who shared in those same interests and goals as myself, and I was welcomed into so many spaces that encouraged and helped develop those skills further. For the longest time, I was so incredibly happy to be doing what I loved more than (almost) anything.

And then came high school.

I won't lie, I had a wonderful time in high school. Yes, even contending with difficult situations, certain traumas, a great deal of depression, and the loss of multiple people very close to me, but one thing beyond all of that did change in an irrecoverable way; art.

Coming out of middle school, I was recommended for studio art and the honors art track that could further hone and nurture those skills/passions I shared. In my final year of middle school, I had the immense good fortune of having an arts teacher that actively encouraged her students to explore art in whatever forms it took, and was set aside from the typical art class to develop my own portfolio throughout the school year. I was set to work on several smaller pieces and one large piece for an exhibition in a local arts competition.

I was given free reign and ended up with several pieces featured on display at local events and at the statewide exhibition. I was thrilled beyond all belief that I was experiencing art in its freest forms and being actively encouraged to pursue it.

But as luck (or rather misfortune, or I suppose more misunderstanding than misfortune) would have it, that same recognition and appreciation for art did not resonate with my parents as well.

They were supportive, to many degrees - they certainly loved the skills and talents I'd worked so hard to develop and commit myself to, but they weren't convinced there was any real purpose to my arts beyond the hobbies they saw. So, when the time came to make a decision towards my educational track in high school, they pushed me away from art and "encouraged" me to think more about practical things.

I was denied the arts track as I was pushed towards a long-term language goal (four years of foreign languages), I was placed in the music program (which, in fairness, represented some of the very best times I had in high school), and was then set up for an intensive program in double maths and sciences for the next several years (in addition to sports, other AP/honors classes, and part-time work).

The workload was grueling and positively miserable.

In the end, art had to take a backseat otherwise I'd lose myself and my time towards the things that supposedly mattered more. By my sophomore year of high school, I'd all but given up on art, and pushed out maybe a few last pieces before never returning to the supply store to buy more materials.

Fast forward almost a decade, and here we are.

I am an adult, living (mostly) my own life, and rediscovering the things that have made me, well, me.

The irony is that my job is art, in some loose sense of the word.

I operate a photography studio and shoot commercial photography for automotive clients. I work with a local dealership and one of the foremost importers of enthusiast vehicles in my region. I have deep connections to other prominent names in industry, including motorsports and NASCAR, and engineering and design. I shoot for all of them, they value my inputs, and many of my long-term goals are aimed at improving automotive design and ergonomics in design for more human-centric interaction in an increasingly disconnected driving world.

Between the work I have done, the goals that I've encountered, and the people I've surrounded myself with in my personal and professional lives, it's given me the time and the space to focus on the things that matter to me.

Art has been a way of recapturing the love my younger self shared for creativity and free will/expression. After coming out years ago, it's also been a way to engage in the spaces and ideas that have long faced me without answer. Art has allowed me to be truer to who I am, who I was, and who I'd ultimately like to be. These commissions are a partial reflection of all of that, and everything it's taken to achieve that, and they're also the goals I've set as I rediscover my love for arts with the newfound freedoms to explore it.

So, it way too many words, these pieces are everything to me. I don't quite know how else to put this other than thank you. Thank you to everyone that shares a common appreciation for art, that has enjoyed seeing these pieces as much as I have, and that feels in some way (no matter how large or small) a connection or relation to the words I've said here.

And to the artists that have made these pieces and others for me; you may never quite know what they mean to me. These are all the ideas I could fit on a page while working, so I am a bit pressed for time, but your time and your creativity and your energy spent realizing what I could not - that means so much to me. It means more than I could every reasonably tell you or pay you or otherwise verbalize in some actionable way. So, seriously, thank you all so very much. From the bottom of my heart, I love and appreciate all you each done for me.

And I will leave it there for now. Thank you all for sticking around - I know this has been a very long read. I really do hope you love my OCs as much as I can. And hey, if you have a sec, if you've got a couple ideas, go make some OCs of your own. If it's within your realm of attainable, commish some of your favorite artists, or doodle out some of your doods - I promise it'll be some of the most fun you can have!

[yaseraphine]

RANT ABOUT THERAPY AND WHY IT'S NOT MY CUP OF TEA 🤡

+ trying to guess the therapist's rising and our synastry and ranting about it cause I am tired man (and too sensitive lol)

Really messy post btw just a disclaimer lol

(Update 23/11/24 : I might have slightly overreacted 🤡😀😁 lol plus maybe the therapist was actually a Taurus rising lol idk man I am confused as fuck about everything bye 😝🤪🫡)

Just had my first therapist appointment since 2021 and what can I say....it was REALLY awkward. I don't know how people are able to spill their deepest traumas like that bro she just sat down and told me to talk 💀 like what I thought she would interview me or start the first appointment with pre-made questions to make a profile, regarding my background, family relationships,etc .. It was really messy and I was so confused throughout the whole thing.

I understand it's a privilege to afford therapy (it was 60euros for 45 minutes lol of course it is) but it is much more complex than just spilling your guts to a random with a degree.

Something about me is that I always thought i didn't really need therapy, no matter how painful a situation was for me. And it wasn't only therapy, it was also opening up to my own friends 💀 i could take care of myself like i always did anyways so whats the point of paying for it ? I understood people who needed it and felt helped by it. But it just wasn't for me. I have realizations on my own consistantly thanks to my self-awareness and trained and developped intuition.

What pushed me to go back to therapy even though i was , and still am, very skeptical in its effectiveness on me, is that this year, I realized asking for help won't actually kill me and that i have my limits as a human being.

I fear this appointment just unfortunately kind of validated my initial more negative feelings towards therapy and the idea that I don't really need it.

As a really introspective and painfully self-aware person who has a hard time asking for help (but is actively working on it), I really don't know what kind of therapy could help me, really. I know I probably have a few blind spots, but it's so out of my comfort zone to open up like that. I kind of hate it.

I want to keep an open mind, and probably try another therapist but damn if I don't f*ck with any, it just feels forced .. I trust divine timing for that because I don't really want to put myself in such a situation again.

Right now, I feel dirty knowing a random woman knows about my deepest traumas in a really messy and all over the place way. She has fragments of my soul, and despite me having somewhat giving my consent for it, it was too fast. Maybe it's my 8th house moon conjunct Lilith (1181) in Leo that is speaking but I feel literally violated. Strong words but this how uncomfortable it was for me.

Guessing the therapist's rising sign and ranting about 12th house synastry...

Random but I think the therapist in question had a Virgo or Leo rising... I already said it's the most common rising signs (especially virgo) and I am losing patience. We probably had a 12th house synastry that's why our exchange was really weird and scattered. She kept on making weird faces while I was talking telling me she didn't understand what I was trying to say.... I know it all too well because EVERY single person I knew or had interacted with that had a leo rising, my interactions with them were like this. I was saying stuff and it felt like it went in one ear and got out in the other. Like they could hear me but not listen and understand what i was trying to say. This kind of reminds me of Willy Wonka's relationship with Mike TV or wth his name is, in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Tim Burton's movie. Wonka always said stuff to him whenever he opened his mouth like "I cannot hear a single thing you say because you're speaking gibberish"or whatever. (Me being Mike TV and Leo risings being Willy Wonka).

This is how every single one of my interactions with Leo risings went, no matter their gender or age. It was always like that.

[loulovingho]

Here to stop you ✋

I lied. ANYWAY.

Okay, but how does it start? Do they hook up after a close call, high on adrenaline? Is Deacon fighting with Annie one night and Rocker’s there to comfort him? Is Deacon immediately attracted to him when they first meet and hates himself for it and is cold and distant until Rocker wears him down and asks him what his problem is?? Sooo much to think about 😩

OKAY FINE! It's actually a myriad of things. Deacon kinda feels like his life is crashing down on him. He and Annie have been getting into nonstop fights lately. Nothing he does or says is right. It's not all her fault, because he's been taking endless overtime too. Any free time he has he's spending with the kids but not really with her and she's frustrated. On top of that, they've had one bad call after another lately. Informants that turned on them, loss of civilians, endless hostage situations. And today he screwed up. Something he said caused a situation to escalate and he got his ass handed to him by both Hondo and Hicks. It was deserved, he owned up to it, but it still feels like everything is falling apart. Then he's in the locker room, and everyone else has already gone home (or so he thinks) and he gets a text from Annie that says, 'don't bother coming home tonight, it's not like you're ever here anyway.'

That's when Rocker walks in. He asks Deacon what's up and Deacon kinda shrugs it off, says it's nothing. Rocker sits down beside him anyway, says he heard what happened today and he thinks Hicks and Hondo were a little too harsh on him. Deacon disagrees, but says it's not just that. He doesn't really have a place to sleep tonight. He's nearing a mental breakdown, rubs his palms over his eyes to wipe the tears away, and Rocker's hand is on his back. It's innocent, just soothing circles but God it's so calming. And it's been so damn long since someone has taken care of him in any way.

Rocker says hey, why don't you come stay at my place? He's got two rooms! And something about that makes Deacon break down more, until he's kinda sobbing and Rocker is basically holding him in his arms. And maybe Rocker can be a little sarcastic and a little bitchy but he's not a complete asshole. He knows when someone needs help.

Also, listen, Deacon isn't blind. Rocker has always been fucking gorgeous, but some men are just hot. It doesn't mean anything. Except when Deacon looks up and Rocker is staring down at him and suddenly they're both breathing heavily and then their lips are brushing together. Deacon's surprised by the fact that he's the one who deepens the kiss, he doesn't back away from it. He brings a hand to the back of Rocker's neck and pulls him in close and they kiss and kiss until they're breathless. When Rocker pulls away, he asks again, more of a deep whisper this time, "Stay at my place tonight?"

And Deacon just nods and says, "Okay."

[foodtruckery]

I've been having crazy Stancest brain rot thinking about an AU where they don't have the portal incident and instead have crazy marathon hate sex instead (Inspired by some amazing art by @CoreArde on Twitter) and I thought it'd be fun to share that with you.

They start off arguing in the lab and then oops they're fucking on the lab floor, and they really should be thinking this through but nope now they're upstairs fucking on the kitchen table and okay maybe now they'll finally talk about it nah, they're fucking in Ford's bed now.

It starts off as rough hate sex getting out years of frustration, but by the time they make it to the kitchen its become insanely desperate and cloying because they missed each other, and their bodies fit so well together, and GOD how could they have not been doing this all time? They're going at it so long that they basically end up passed out in Ford's bed by the end, and Stan's not going to be sitting down for a while after this. He's probably just happy to be sleeping in a bed, but Ford is trying to figure out how he got so far from the initial plan.

Even better if the two of them have been harboring feelings for years and never acted on it, because they get the one-two punch of all the weight of their time apart and processing the fact that OH GOD I JUST FUCKED MY BROTHER (which of course they both wanted to do but still).

I have no idea what would happen after that, but both of them waking up sore, sweat soaked, sticky with cum (some still inside Stan because of course Ford didn't use a condom this wasn't supposed to happen) after having gone at each other like rabbits in heat despite never having expressed their attraction to each other before is a hilarious and hot idea to me. What do you think?

HI THERE ANON. i am so fucking sorry that i left you waiting for so long about this, but i need you to know it's because i was FUCKING OBSESSED with this. like just absolutely beside myself over it, and i refused to respond until i had a chance to sit down and respond PROPERLY.

cause uh YEAH FRIEND i know the exact fucking piece of art (explicit) you're talking about, because it's INCREDIBLE. and in case you didn't know, the artist is over here too and shares some fucking fantastic writing and headcanons also! (seriously, go check out @/cartoonsinthemorning if you haven't. and cart, i hope you don't mind that anon and i both kinda lost our minds about your art over here! i genuinely have no idea what tag etiquette is on this site and didn't wanna bombard you, but you did this. again.)

i'll be honest, anon, this kinda got away from me (fucking shocker) and i am too tired to do any legit editing of it right now, so please forgive any typos or weirdness! i'll try and clean it up before it eventually goes up on ao3. but thank you for such a LOVELY ask because this was so hot, and so inspiring, and i hope i did a little justice to your idea and cart's gorgeous art!

--- Ford isn't entirely sure how it had started. His memory, his perception of time, his ability to follow a linear order of events -- all if it is less than reliable at the moment, so he can't entirely blame himself for losing track of things here and there. But the jump between trying to wrestle his journal out of Stan's hands to trying to wrestle Stan out of his dingey jeans is a jarring transition to lose in the dull static that's been edging around his awareness for weeks now. 

Not jarring enough to stop him, though. 

He thinks, vaguely, while he's blindly tugging at Stan's denim, that there's a concerningly high likelihood that he's hallucinating. His head is swimming in so much caffeine and adrenaline that he doesn't even feel the rough concrete of the lab floor under his knees -- maybe that isn't where he is? Maybe he'd nodded off without realizing. Maybe he's going to come to with another lapful of polaroids and a new humiliating tattoo. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe -- he can reckon with a probability model later. For the first time in what feels like months, the stability of his perceived reality is not actually at the forefront of Ford's mind.

Pressing in on him harder than the doubt, harder than the disassociation from his physical body, and harder than the threat of the creature lingering in the depths of his subconscious is anger. It feels like a beacon in the muddled, fuzzy mess inside his head, something bright and real and his. It's searing through him, slicing away all the frayed edges of his paranoia and doubt like a hot blade through so much butter. 

Ford clings to the sharp edges of that anger and feels more alert than he has in weeks. 

He can't remember how their bickering had taken this particular turn, but if he's liable to lose his eyes and his life in the next few days, Ford will be fucking damned if he squanders the opportunity. He knows he's made a mess of things, that he's made the sorts of mistakes that can't and frankly shouldn't be forgiven. 

But he also knows with blinding, white hot certainty that he's only here, now, because of Stan's mistakes.

Ford may not deserve absolution, but he does deserves this. 

Laughter cuts through the lab, rough and mocking, and Ford's attention finally falls, properly, on Stan. He has a bruise blooming on his cheek and a snide smirk twisting his lips. He's also on his back, his jeans and a threadbare pair of boxers bunched in Ford's fists and pulled so low he can see the tight curls of his pubic hair and the root of his cock. 

"What's wrong, Poindexter?" Stan asks, mocking, and it's only then that Ford realizes he's paused halfway through stripping his twin's lower half. The bite of the cold concrete under his knees still feels far away, but the rough material in his palms, and the heat of Stan's body so close to him are sharp, clear details. "No hands on experience with a dick that ain't your own? Afraid you might actually be bad at somethin' for once?" 

Ford narrows his eyes, feeling the hot point of anger cutting through him, steadying him, and he jerks Stan's clothes hard enough that he gets the material past his knees in one tug. Stan laughs at him again, but it stutters into a little 'oof!' when Ford flips him onto his stomach. 

He doesn't care that Stan's pants are still caught around his calves and his boots. He doesn't care that Stan hisses something that sounds like pain when he's yanked onto his knees and dragged backwards several inches across the concrete. He doesn't even care that, once upon a time, he'd dreamed of this, of crossing this line with the only person he'd ever really loved in any way that mattered, and it's nothing like the softer, sweeter picture he used to imagine. 

Stan's hips are soft, and the skin gives easily under the iron grip Ford has on them, holding him in place as he grinds against his ass. Even through his slacks, the heat of Stan's body is intense, addictive, and he grinds forward again, harder, watching the friction rub a pink  patch against his skin. 

Stan, shameless and selfish as always, pushes eagerly back against him. Ford has barely done anything beyond rocking the outline of his cock against his hole, but he can hear Stan panting against the ground, can see his hands curling into fists. He remembers how many times Stan had called Carla McCorkle "easy" in high school and thinks, now, that the easy one had been his brother. 

"You gonna keep humpin' me, or are you gonna fuck me?" Stan demands, rocking as firmly back as he can with the bruising grip Ford has on him. 

"What makes you think you deserve that?" Ford bites out. It would serve Stan right, he thinks, if he got himself off exactly like this, no different than grinding against a particularly firm couch pillow. Just a conveniently warm object for Ford to release some tension with. 

Stan looks back over his shoulder and flashes teeth at him. It isn't a smile. "Oh, I get it. Cold feet? Well, we can just chalk it up to one more thing ya promised and then backed out of as soon as you actually had to make a choice. Good to know some things never change, Stanford."

He's being goaded, and Ford knows that. But the anger boils in his chest, and he thinks, why should he care about what Stan does or doesn't deserve from him? This is about what Ford deserves.

And what Ford deserves is to have his dick so far up Stan's ass he'll be able to feel it in the back of his throat. 

"Do you ever shut up?" he snaps while he releases one of Stan's hips to yank his slacks open. The bruise of his fingerprints already forming against Stan's skin thrills him, almost to distraction, if it weren't for Stan laughing again. 

"'Course not," he says, shifting his center of balance to dig into the pocket of his dirty red coat. The little packet he tosses over his shoulder bounces off his own ass to land by Ford's knee, the word LUBE printed in large, bold letters across the front. He should be surprised to see it, and part of him is. The word "easy" comes to mind again. 

Ford rips the packet open with his teeth. 

"F-Fuck!" Stan curses, turning his forehead against the ground when Ford presses his slick cock into him a moment later without warning. 

Ford grabs him roughly by the waist when he twitches forward and yanks Stan back until his ass hits the open fly of his slacks. He makes a choked sound at that and turns his face into the crook of his own arm when Ford pulls back and rocks hard back into him. 

"What's wrong, Stanley?" he parrots. He pistons his hips at a punishing pace, watching his cock pumping in and out of the greedy, grasping ring of Stan's hole. "Nothing to say?" 

Stan makes a noise that's too muffled by the sleeve of his coat to understand, so Ford reaches down to take a fistful of his stupid mullet instead. The hitching gasp that escapes his twin when his head is forcefully jerked up makes him groan. "What was that? Come on, Stanley, use your words." 

"F-Fuck off," Stan says, his voice strained, almost whining. 

"I see you haven't gotten anymore eloquent since you left," Ford scoffs around the breathlessness in his own voice, feeling the anger and pleasure coiling harder in his gut. "What was it you said? Good to know some things never change." 

When he pulls Stan's hair again, just because he can, Stan moans. And when he shifts his hips, driving in just as hard at the new angle, Stan shouts. With his own knees bracketed on either side of his, Ford can feel the way his thighs tremble when he clenches around his cock, and he can feel the sweat beading up under his palm where he's digging darker bruises into Stan's side. 

Ford feels like he's on the edge of delirium again, consumed by every sound Stan makes, every twitch of his hips, every ounce of his heat. He thinks, a bit wildly, that Stan may have been made for this, made to take his cock, for how well he does. 

It isn't until Stan jerks under him, going hot and tight around his cock and making a strangled noise in the back of his throat, that Ford realizes he may have said part of that out loud. That Stan came over it. 

He groans low in his throat and thrusts half a dozen more times into Stan's clenching hole before he comes as well. 

It's quiet for a few minutes other than their ragged panting, but it's Stan who eventually reaches back and swats at Ford's hand until he lets go of his hair. He takes the hint and pulls out, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his come trickles down Stan's thighs. It strikes him suddenly that he wants to follow the wet trail back up with his tongue. It's enough to make his cock give a feeble, appreciative twitch. 

He isn't sure if he's just terribly distracted or if he loses time again, because when Ford next lifts his head, Stan is on his feet, pants pulled up around his waist but still open, and he has his journal in hand. This might be more jarring than the last transition he'd lost. 

"What are you doing?" he demands, shoving himself back onto his own feet. He doesn't bother to tuck his cock back in, and he spots the moment Stan's eyes flick down. It's brief, but he'd seen it. 

"What does it fucking look like I'm doing? I'm taking your stupid diary and disappearing like you begged me to," Stan says. His voice is still a little raw, and Ford has a moment to realize how much he likes that, before the words catch up. 

He scoffs. "Oh! So now you want to actually help?! Is it always this easy to fuck the sense into you?" 

Stan's expression does a few things Ford doesn't understand before his brows ultimately slam down and he turns his back, storming towards the door with Ford's journal still in hand, and Ford himself hot on his heels. "You're fucking unbelievable, Stanford, you know that?!" 

"Me?! You're the one who came all over my lab floor and then decided he was ready to be reasonable!" 

Stan jams his thumb against the call button for the elevator several times in quick succession, despite the car already being on their floor and the gate sliding open. "Most people would just say thank you when someone agreed to help them out, but not you! What does Stanford Pines have to be grateful for? We're all just fucking lucky to get a task from ya, huh?" 

Ford crowds into the elevator with him before Stan can try to pull the gate or call the doors shut behind him. He punches the button to take them up himself, before making a grab for the journal, snarling when Stan leans back and holds it up above his head. 

"You're the one who threatened to destroy my work twenty minutes ago, Stanley! Why would I trust you with it now? Hell, I can't figure out why I trusted you enough to bring you here in the first place!" 

"Oh really? You can't?" Stan sneers, leaning in close. And when Ford takes a step back, Stan follows, backing him into a corner of the car. "I don't think you fuckin' trusted me to do shit, Stanford. I think you were all outta options cause nobody else could stand to put up with you anymore." 

Stan doesn't so much as hit a nerve as he takes a sledgehammer to it, and as soon as the elevator dings, Ford shoves him as hard as he can out into the study. Stan yelps when he stumbles, nearly tripping over his own feet, and it's only knocking into a cluttered desk that keeps him from falling on his ass. 

Ford doesn't give him any time to right himself, storming in after him and grabbing him by the front of his jacket. Stan flinches, like he'ex expecting a punch, but Ford yanks him in and crushes his mouth against his instead. 

There's a dull thump that Ford only realizes was the journal being dropped when he feels both of Stan's hands on his shoulders. They curl briefly, grasping at him, and Ford feels his mouth starting to go soft and slack. But as soon as he presses in, runs his tongue along that loosening seam, he's suddenly being shoved backwards. 

If he weren't so damn confused, Ford would probably appreciate the picture Stan makes, lips slick and pants open, leaning back against one of Ford's desks. 

"What are you doing?!" Stan demands, like he's the one who doesn't know what day it is, and keeps losing track of events. 

"I would think even you could figure that out after what happened downstairs, Stanley."

Stan flushes, visible even in the low light of the study, though Ford isn't sure if it's embarrassment or anger. The scowl on his face doesn't help clear things up, either, though the fact that he isn't actually looking at Ford is...telling.  

"That ain't happening again," Stan states, and there isn't anything convincing about the way he says it at all. But when Ford steps forward, Stan sidesteps him and the desk. He makes a wrong turn in the dark, in a house he isn't familiar with, and flinches when Ford flips on the light in the kitchen he's walked into.

"I don't know how you expect to leave and hide my journal after leaving it in the study," he points out, frowning at the back of Stan's head. 

He isn't surprised when Stan whirls on him. He is, however, stunned still when he realizes Stan's eyes are wet. 

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?!" Stan shouts, his voice cracking over his name, and it makes something feel like it's cracking inside his chest. 

Ford has to wet his lips when he finds them and his throat dry. "...I told you what I wanted," he says.

"Yeah, you did! And when I finally agreed to do it, you threw a fucking fit about it! And now you're pissy because I'm not?! What do you want?" 

The anger sparks sharply inside him again, and Ford grasps at it like a lifeline, willing to bloody his hands for that bite of stability. 

"You tried to burn it! My life's work! And you only decided you would help me after we--"

Stan cuts him off, looking towards the cabinets while he raises his voice and waves his hands. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry about the fucking lighter, all right?!"

Ford frowns. He takes a step forward and, still without looking at him, Stan takes a step back. It's the elevator all over again, but this time Ford is pressing in, backing Stan into the cabinets. He grabs the counter on either side of his hips when he tries to side step him again. 

"Stanley, look at me," he demands, frowning harder when Stan sets his jaw and stars determinedly at his shoulder. "Stanley--"

"What do you want, Ford? Just...just fucking tell me and I'll leave, all right?" Stan says, his voice tired and soft as he reaches up to rub a hand over his own face.

He wants a lot, honestly. And hasn't that always been the problem? He's always wanted -- to be normal, to be respected, to be the best, to be special. 

To be wanted. 

To be enough.

To fix things. 

"You," he realizes, watching Stan jerk his head up. His lashes are still wet, and Ford can't stop himself from reaching up and pressing his palm to Stan's cheek, skimming his thumb gently under one of his eyes. 

When he leans in to kiss him again, Stan makes a small, wounded little noise under his mouth, but he parts his lips for Ford's tongue this time. Stan's lips are chapped and he tastes vaguely of stale cigarettes, but Ford is still struck by how soft and sweet he is. 

More than anything else that had happened that evening, this is the moment that Ford knows he should suspect most of all. The way Stan relaxes between him and the counter, the almost tentative way he lifts his tongue to meet his, the careful fingertips touching the edge of Ford's coat and brushing against his loose tie. It's tender in a way Ford didn't think either of them were capable of, and it should be setting off warning bells and red flags in every part of his mind. 

It isn't. 

Ford is more certain of  the reality of this single moment, the gentle slip of Stan's lips against his own, than he's been of anything in a long time. 

And then Stan sighs between them and murmurs, warm and hopeful, "Ford," against his lips, and he's done for. 

It doesn't matter that they just fucked, that Ford's come is probably still drying between Stan's thighs -- he can't keep his hands off of him. Ford is suddenly frantic and desperate in a way that he hadn't been downstairs. He needs to relearn the new, wider shape of Stan's shoulders and pecs. He needs to feel out every new scar and take stock of all the old ones he remembers Stan collecting for him as kids. He needs to be surrounded by him again, soaking in the warmth of him. 

Ford doesn't deserve absolution, but he thinks he may be able to find something close to it in the low, shaky way Stan moans his name. 

And there's familiarity in the way Stan grabs at him in turn, tugging at his jacket and tie and surging into another, harder kiss. Ford thinks he may not be the only one looking for expiation. 

Then Stan drops to his knees between him and the cabinet, and Ford stops thinking so much. His cock is still out, and Stan wastes no time in getting his fist around the shaft and his lips around the head. He suckles and swirls his tongue, and Ford shoves the beanie off of his head to get his hands in his hair. 

"Stanley," he gasps, stroking his fingers along his scalp and fisting the strands between them. 

Stan moans around him and shuffles closer, sliding the seal of his lips further down the length of Ford's cock. All he can do is groan and try to keep from rocking his hips as more of him is greeted by the warmth of his mouth and the wickedness of his tongue. 

He keeps waiting for Stan to reach his limit, to back off and give himself room to breathe. He doesn't. He keeps leaning in, keeps taking him, and then Ford feels his cockhead slip into Stan's throat, sees his lashes are wet again, and he has to put one hand on the counter to keep himself steady. "Fuck, Stanley, you're so good at this."

Stan makes a horribly sweet sound around the girth of Ford's cock and reaches up to hold his hips as he swallows, and Ford is suddenly afraid he's going to embarass himself.  His hips twitch despite his best efforts to keep them still, but Stan simply relaxes his jaw and his throat and tugs a little to encourage him to do it again. He does, of course, how could he not? 

Despite the heat clawing its way through him and the pleasure mounting dangerously high, Ford almost feels outside of himself again. The picture Stan makes, with his eyes damp and heavy lidded, his lips wet and stretched around Ford's cock, his hair fisted in Ford's fingers and his own clinging to Ford's hips -- it's lewd, debauched, and so horribly sweet that it makes Ford's chest hurt. 

Stan gasps raggedly when Ford pulls him off. "I was go-gonna...I mean you can--"

Ford kneels down to kiss him, tasting stale cigarettes and himself, cock throbbing over the rough state of Stan's voice. "Not done yet," he manages, before tugging Stan onto his feet. 

They lose clothes and time on the journey upstairs, tripping over the steps and Ford's discarded pants, and stumbling into his wreck of a room. If Stan notices the state of things, he doesn't comment, mouth latched onto Ford's shoulder and hands all over his back and hips. 

The back of Ford's legs hit the bed and he sits hard on the mattress. Stan doesn't hesitate to crawl up into his lap. He'd lost his boots in the kitchen and his jeans and boxers somewhere on the way to the stairs, giving him ample opportunity to rub his bare cock against Ford's. 

Cursing, Ford rolls his hips and only belatedly remembers to reach up and tug the hideous red coat off of Stan's shoulders. 

"Oh, fuck, hold on. I think I have another one," Stan says, panting softly as he digs into the pockets of his coat. Ford takes the opportunity to run his hands across Stan's thighs and ass, squeezing whatever skin he can until Stan makes a triumphant sound and pulls another little packet of lube free. 

Only then does he let Ford toss his jacket aside and tug him further up the bed with him. He doesn't protest when Ford takes the packet from him, lowering his head to work open mouth kisses up Ford's throat instead, and he rolls his hips distractingly while Ford fights to get the damnable thing open. He ignores the snickering against his skin in the process. 

It stops anyway, hitching into something warm and startled when Ford sinks two slick fingers into him. 

"Oh, fuck," Stan breaths, reaching up to grab Ford by the shoulder, holding himself steady. "Y-You know you don't have to do that, right? Pretty loosened up already."

He is, to be fair. His hole is still soft and loose and fucked open. But Ford enjoys petting his fingers against the tender muscle and stroking them inside anyway. He likes watching Stan bite his lip and push himself back onto his hand. When he slides a third in after the first two, Stan's thighs tremble on either side of his own, and he makes a low, throaty sound. 

When Ford curls his fingers just right, Stan yells and grips his shoulder hard enough to hurt, and it makes warm satisfaction curl in his middle. So he does it a few more times, alternating between spreading his fingers and rubbing the tips against Stan's prostate until he's squirming in his lap. 

"I-I'm gonna come if you don't knock that sh-shit off," he gasps, slumping a bit when Ford chuckles and slides his fingers out. 

"I think I'd like that," Ford says, squeezing his slick fingers against Stan's thigh. 

He snorts and straightens back up, finding the discarded lube packet to squirt the remainder onto Ford's cock. "Yeah, I bet you fucking would," Stan agrees, but there's no malice in his voice, just warm amusement. 

His fist is warm and wonderful when it curls around Ford's cock, spreading lube, and then Ford is being held steady, Stan adjusts himself on his scuffed knees, and there's nothing else to do but hold on as Stan lowers himself into his lap. 

It feels as good as it had earlier to be inside of him, and Ford squeezes the thigh under his hand tightly, fighting against the need to buck his hips. Stan is panting softly, his head tilted back and a pretty, pink color is crawling up from under his t-shirt to flood his neck and face. 

Ford groans and leans forward, finding a nipple through his thin shirt to get his teeth and tongue against.

"F-Ford!" Stan gasps, fumbling the hand not clawing at his shoulder up into his hair, and Ford sucks hard on the firm nub,  rubbing spit-soaked cotton against it with his tongue until Stan rocks in his lap. 

Fuck, he likes that, the way his name sounds in Stan's voice, especially warm and rough after fucking his throat earlier. 

He squeezes Stan's thigh and his hip, giving him a little tug, and that's all the encouragement Stan needs before he's bouncing on his cock. Ford has that thought again -- that Stan was meant to be filled by him, that they're a perfectly matched set. But it isn't just feeling good and hot while Stan fucks himself in his lap. It's feeling like he's been missing something and he finally has it, like he's finally complete again. 

He's missed this, Ford realizes. 

Not the fucking his brother part. He'd fantasized about that for years but it still feels like a dream that it's happening, like something that's too good to be true. 

But being able to put his arms around him? To be this close to him again? 

Ford rocks his hips up, hard, and Stan says his name. He wraps his fingers around Stan's cock, and he gasps his name. He bites the same swollen, pink nipple through his shirt, and Stan shouts his name. 

He snaps his hips up to meet him a few more times and rubs the sensitive glans under the head of Stan's cock, and then there are teeth digging into his other shoulder and his fist and stomach are being striped in Stan's come while he shudders and jerks overtop of him. 

Stan goes easily when Ford rolls them over and pins one of his wrists to the bed. And despite the way he squirms and how his spent cock twitches and leaks, blatantly overstimulated, he hooks his ankles behind Ford's back and urges him on. 

"C-C'mon, give it to me. Fuck, just like that, Sixer!" 

The nickname hits him with all the subtlety of a truck and all the heat of a volcanic eruption. 

He doesn't even remember coming so much as he remembers every synapses in his brain trying to fire at once. Coming back down to reality is a little clearer, with his head spinning and pulse racing as he flops onto his back, but it still takes several long minutes before he feels fully cognizant again. 

Something makes the bed shift, and he looks over to see that Stan has rolled onto his stomach. Ford wonders if he looks half as fucked out as Stan does, with bruises blossoming across his body, his shirt rucked halfway up his stomach, and come staining his ass and thighs. Ford realizes Stan still has his socks on, and he can't figure out why that makes something twinge, hot but exhausted and halfhearted, in his gut. 

"Gonna...gonna get up in a minute," Stan says, his voice slurring and his eyes already closed. Ford watches him rub his cheek against one of Ford's pillows, and the soft sound of snoring follows soon after. 

The reality of the situation starts to settle in shortly after that, and Ford stares wide eyed up at the ceiling as if he'll find some sort of answers there. Unsurprisingly, there are no secrets etched overhead for how to reckon with the fact that he had just fucked his brother, twice, while the fate of the world was still very much hanging in the balance between his fraying sanity and Bill's looming threat. 

".....Fuck," Ford murmurs.

When the adrenaline finishes seeping out of his system, Ford expects to crash. The exhaustion certainly climbs back into his bones, but he's surprised to find himself still clear headed. Focused. 

The sound of Stan sleeping soundly beside him is as soothing as it is mocking, but he doesn't want to separate himself from it even though he knows he needs to get up. There's soft, gray light starting to creep in through the windows, and distant birdsong calling for the start of the day. He needs to readjust, to come up with a new plan, find some way to explain to Stan what's going on so they can buy themselves a little more time. 

Against all odds and his better judgment, there's a tiny, optimistic voice in the back of his head reminding him that there's strength in numbers. He isn't surprised that it sounds like Stan.

[shysublimecoffee]

I'd rather deal with Lila than Ladybug. At least Lila is upfront about her intentions. If she wants to hype herself up to impress her classmates, fine—go ahead. The moment you catch on to her game, it’s obvious what she’s about. She'd loose the veil and tell it how it is. She'd hate and destroy you if you continue to piss her off but hey at least she's truthful.

But Marinette? Oh, girl is something else. She’ll manipulate and use you like a tool and then discard you looking at you CN. And after what went down with Adrien in the London special? Who even needs enemies when you’ve got a friend like her, am I right? Lmao

The moment this girl entered his life, everything went downhill. She really had his friends and family lying to his face and keeping secrets under wraps. Sure, it was their decision—but seriously, Kagami? Girl, what happened to you? You used to be cool and honest, and now look at you.

It’s like every character who crosses paths with Ladybug gets sucked into this void where they lose all individuality and turn into her loyal yes-men. They stop feeling like actual characters. Its why I'm more pressed with her. They can't help it. Honestly, the only way to maintain your personality in Miraculous Ladybug is to be a villain or antagonist to Marinette. The second you join her "good side," it’s like an unspoken rule—you become just another follower in her shadow.

Imagine meeting a girl over a year ago, and in that short time, she’s managed to get Nathalie, Kagami (your former girlfriend), your cousin, Alya, Alix—basically everyone—to lie and keep secrets about what actually went down.

This girl caused so much damage, she might as well be the villain! Honestly, if isolating him and keeping him to herself was her intended plan, I’d almost respect the hustle. But no, we’re all just living in Marinette’s world, like she’s the center of the universe. Lmao.

The situation is so complex! Bitch no who said that?? lol. I feel like if it were anyone not Adrien in this situation she wouldn't really care now would she? Her rationale would be there and because the situation is distant she'd know the crimes have to be exposed. But her controlling nature really be there to anyone closest to her. Like she's toxic for real damn. I'd rather be her enemy then her friend because if this is how her intentions are then please keep her away from me.

Once the truth gets out, it’s not just Adrien she’ll have to face—it’s the entire world. Think about it: all the people whose pain was exploited and weaponized by Hawk Moth, their suffering turned into tools of destruction. And Ladybug? If her lies were exposed, and this show actually had the guts to go there, wouldn’t people start having conspiracy theories and questioning how far in is her involvement? She’s not just lying to the public about the true identity of Monarch; she’s actively hiding Tomoe and Nathalie—Gabriel’s partners-in-crime. That’s not just scandalous—it’s outright criminal. How does she justify covering for them? At what point does her so-called “protection” cross into outright betrayal?

She only has the audacity to pull this off because she’s hiding behind that mask. If her identity were ever revealed and the dominoes started falling, the trust people have in her would be obliterated in an instant. Imagine the fallout if everyone on the street—or even her own parents—found out the absolute shame. And spare me the whole “I lie to protect your feelings” excuse. This isn’t some harmless white lie, like pretending someone looks good in a dress when you secretly think otherwise. No, this is a catastrophic betrayal of trust, all to preserve her relationship with Adrien. And don’t come at me with the “she’s young” defense. Sure, she’s 14, but she made a very adult choice: to lie to the entire world—and especially Adrien—about his father being Hawk Moth. There’s no excusing that. You can't come back from that sometimes our words can have such a big impact and because to the world she is Ladybug her influence on the people is big people expect a superhero to be above that because she's supposed to be the protector of Paris.

I think many need to separate Marinette from Ladybug because this isn’t about civilian Marinette and her personal struggles because it doesn't matter. This is about Ladybug—the symbol of superheroism, the paragon of justice and integrity, at least what she’s perceived to be within her universe. Ladybug stands as an icon, someone the public looks up to and trusts implicitly. But when you peel back the layers, it’s clear she’s fallen. She didn’t just make a mistake; she failed to uphold the very code she’s meant to represent.

Superheroes are supposed to stand for truth, accountability, and the protection of others, even at great personal cost. Ladybug, however, has chosen to conceal life-altering truths and protect the guilty under the guise of “greater good.” In doing so, she’s betrayed not only Adrien but also the very principles that define a hero. And that failure strikes at the heart of her role as the so-called ideal of justice.

I really wonder how early Season 1 Marinette/Ladybug—or even the version of her before she was granted the Kwami of Creation—would feel if she saw her Season 5 counterpart. Would she even recognize herself? How would she process the distance between who she was and who she’s become?

Honestly, I’ve always had this sense, so I’m not exactly surprised. But after the special, it just confirmed something for me.

No matter how much the show tries to sell the idea that Adrien/CN and Ladybug are equals—no matter how many fluttering words or hugs they throw in—the truth is clear: Marinette will never see Adrien as her equal. And what does a lie with such vast and far-reaching consequences say about her character? It doesn’t matter how it was never meant to come off—because, truthfully, sometimes her actions speak louder than anything else. The way she behaves, the decisions she makes, they reveal far more about her character than any intentions or explanations ever could.

It tells you one thing for sure: You can be her Girlfriend her BestFriends or her closest working partner since the beginning of your debut. But if there is one thing you'd ever need to know best about her. You can never truly trust Marinette/Ladybug.

[ghousttm]

on a brighter note; has he ever forgot to stop monologuing as he eats and chokes like a dumb dummy dum dum

on a not so brighter note; when he walks with his guard friend to the red gate, does he start to notice Evbo's monologuing change overtime? (yeah so i endes up writing a whole oneshot fic of this omw home so -- enjoy!)

He's died some-amount of times before walking with egf again, so the difference has got to be pretty noticeable.

Especially since he's heard Evbo's monologuing from the beginning,

He used to monologue so loudly and obnoxiously,

Rung in his ears were the man (or- honestly, he'd rather call him a boy)'s annoying curiosity, delusion and stubbornness

But now he's, mumbling. Whispering with a strained voice. Tired and slurred. He'd heard that the Iron Swords started to try and make him shut up, but he didn't think it'd work-

And most of all, he didn't think.. it'd be so quiet to not hear Evbo talk so loudly about how he's feeling, what he's doing, what he's been trying to do. For some reason, he's begun to hate it less..

One day, in one of their walks to the red gate, the Guard spoke "..Sso, how's the- what was it? beating the same Gold Sword guy? -uhh, going."

It's the first time he's been the one to start a conversation between them, honestly what has gotten into him?? Asking Mr Yapper to Yap is well known to be a bad idea.

...

The green hoodied Swordsman's eyes bored the iron boots of the man in front off him idly

I need to find an opening.. I need to- I need to..

...?

replaying the seconds before his death, unwon fights mixed with flashes of his harvest,

I need to- for Tabi. I'll get her out.. Right? Yeah. Just- please hold on a little longer...

e...o.

The feeling of cold blade lingering on every flesh in his body.

"Evbo."

The Guard held his shoulders and shook him, causing Evbo to flinch and look up. His eyes darted as it tried to focus on what's in front of him

He's been zoning out a lot more recently. The repetition and almost meaningless act of dying, walking through the gate, falling, walking through another gate, falling, following whoever he ends up with, and when he looks up, he either has to sit in a dark quiet room until some comes to kill him again, or do another gate, fall, fight, die.

Nothing new, nothing to monologue about but the same 'save Tabi', 'strike him'.

"H..hey? Sorry- I zoned off. What were you, saying..??"

Evbo slurred and stuttered, as if someone who's just woken up from a walking sleep

As The Guard stared at him, he seemed almost.. panicked? Disturbed?... worried? .. freaked out.

Its so.. freaky. Freaky how much this childish man's changed over the past three weeks until its like he's not the same guy. Freaky how he continued walking as Guard stopped with his head down like a wandering ghost. Freaky how his eyes stared wide at the ground, terrified yet lifeless

"... I asked you how're you doing.. with beating Gold Sword?"

He almost sounded like that there was something else he wanted to know more, even if he didn't realize it.

Evbo blinked for a moment

"Oh- uh.. well-.."

He's somewhat taken aback, both from the jolt back into reality and from the question. It's the first time someone's asked him to talk about how he's doing -- with progressing in his goal.

"-It.. went about the same as always. .."

".. whats always like, then?"

And then Evbo. started rambling again, less lifelessly this time!!! There's not a lot to talk about, so egf had started asking him what the level looks like in detail, he'd never seen it too after all.. he's actually a little interested

It didnt take long until they reach the red gate, but those few minutes felt longer than anything he'd gone through since All Of This, felt real, felt alive.

The guard turned away, "well- I'll go now. Goodluck, I guess. " his tone stiff,

And Evbo gave him a wave, with that obnoxiously wide smile as he chirped "See ya next time! Hopefully- with some progress on the Gold Level.."

"Yeah yeah- just go already."

--and, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, Evbo did not indeed progress. He'd died again.

Hearing the news, the Guard rolled his eyes behind his shaded glasses, typical.

But this time, Evbo died feeling a little better, he went on another respawn feeling a little more ready to die all over again, after one of these deaths.. he's going to seehis Guard friend again. And he can tell him how he failed, even if he already knew.

Now that I started thinking about Evbo's monologuing...

Does Evbo talk ALL THE TIME? Is it only when he is stressed? Or when he's afraid? Perhaps when he's happy? Or sad?

Does Evbo mutter when he's trying to be stealthy? Does the kid shout wildly and loudly when he's fighting, speaking his opponent's every move? Does Evbo's voice shake when he gets hurt?

When he was used as the ultimate revival tool- fighters killing him without so much as a doubt- did his voice shake as he spoke how they approached him in that bloodied and dark room? How they swung and hit with their iron swords?

Did he try to stop himself from speaking, but it's become such a habit.. An instinct. For him that he couldn't stop even as he tried over and over again to clench his jaw and stop his mouth from moving as pain erupted once more?

Did his lips become bruised and bloodied as people got more and more annoyed at the fact that this stupid tool they use daily keeps talking? Did they plunge their swords right through his tongue, gouging and slashing at it every once in a while to stop him from muttering their every movement?

Did Evbo ever stop talking in that cell?