#that meme was the only possible response i could have to this.

[yangjeongin]

jeongin: we are in charge of sexyracha. look forward to it! me:

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Till The Water Boils Over Or The Frog Drowns.

Pairing: Yan!Gojo x Reader x Yan!Geto (JJK).

Word Count: 5.8k.

TW: No Curses AU, Dub/Con -> Non/Con (Revoked Consent), Fem!Reader, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Kidnapping, Financial Abuse, Psychological Abuse, Infantilization, Spanking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, and Forced Codependency. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

[Part Two]

It started the day Satoru first introduced the concept of ‘time out’ to your relationship.

He was immature and you were stubborn. You loved him, but without Suguru’s even temper and calming presence, sparks tended to fly in a way that left you at each other’s throats. With your arms crossed over your chest and your eyes narrowed, you’d watched him sigh, roll his eyes, and storm out of your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him. You gave yourself a second, then another – sucking in a shallow breath and shutting your eyes, talking yourself through all your usual cool-down methods. You were supposed to go out, tonight, to a restaurant you and Satoru had both been talking about for weeks. You still had about an hour before Suguru was supposed to get home, before you were all supposed to leave together. It wasn’t a good day to fight, even if you knew Suguru would smooth everything over as soon as he got home.

When you were done, you moved to the bedroom door. One hour was plenty of time to talk things out. One hour was plenty of time to kiss and make up, even if you would hold a grudge for a—

You pushed gently on the door. It didn’t budge.

You tried the knob. It turned, but the door still didn’t open.

You pressed your shoulder into the wood, shoving with more force than you ever should’ve had to use. Something shifted – a chair slotted underneath the handle, Satoru’s back leaning against the other side of the thin wood – but didn’t give.

The frustration you’d only just managed to suppress resurfaced immediately. Still pressed against your side of the door, you called out, attempting to keep your tone soft, light. “Satoru? Baby?”

 The sweetness in his voice was equally artificial. “I’m right here, angel.”

“I—I think the door might be jammed.” You tried the knob again, rattling the metal for emphasis. Satoru only hummed in response, and you grimaced. “Are you gonna let me out, ‘toru? I really don’t have time to be—”

“Ninety minutes.”

“…ninety minutes?”

“Ninety minutes,” he repeated. You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “After that, we can check and see if you’re still feelin’ so bratty.”

You were almost thankful there was a door between you. If it hadn’t been there, you might not have been able to stop yourself from throttling him. “Satoru, I really don’t have time to—”

There was an obnoxiously loud hum, the sound of footsteps moving down the hall. You groaned, resting your forehead against the cool wood. Whatever. He was being petty, again. You could do ninety minutes. And, even if you couldn’t, he’d probably be back in ten, tail between his legs and pouting for your attention.

You quickly resigned yourself to passing the time as quickly as possible. You laid face-down on your bed, bemoaning your taste in men and picturing all the ways you could break up with Satoru, once he let you out. You scrolled through your phone, spamming Suguru with half-coherent messages and memes from the very depths of your camera roll. You re-organized your closet, sorting your clothes by color and alphabetizing your shoes. You managed to read a full page of one of the bulky historical fiction novels Suguru kept on the bedside table before deciding you’d be better off breaking up with both your current boyfriends.

You checked the time when you were done, and discovered that you’d managed to kill a whopping fifteen minutes.

God, you were so fucked.

Only half-consciously, you gravitated back to the door, slumping against it. You opened your mouth, ready to call out to Satoru and say whatever you had to say to get out, but another voice cut in before you got the chance. “Baby?”

Suguru. He must’ve gotten back early. You let out a shallow sigh, letting your head fall forward in relief. “Right here,” you said, making no effort to hide your exasperation. “Can you open the door? I think ‘toru blocked me in.”

His deep chuckle was muffled, but still clearly audible. “I’m afraid I can’t. He’s still pretty mad, couldn’t stop talking about how you copped an attitude with him.” There was a pause, a shoulder being rested against the other side of the door. “I think he mentioned something about a dress?”

You were glad he couldn’t see you – he would’ve hated the way you grimaced at the reminder. “It’s a nice restaurant. I wanted to dress up a little, but he’s just so immature, and when he saw the dress I wanted to wear—”

Suguru cut in. “The red one, right?”

“Yeah, with the window on the chest.” You sighed. “Please, Suguru? I really don’t want to spend the next hour of my life locked in my own bedroom.”

Another laugh, this one more stifled than the first. “He just knows how pretty you’d look, babe. Probably doesn’t want anyone else to find out how beautiful our partner is.” When you didn’t respond, he added, “Didn’t he just buy you somethin’ brand new? He can’t complain if he’s the one who picked it out, right?”

You pursed your lips. He had – a pure ivory dress, a little shorter than mid-thigh and sleeveless, not exactly conservative, but not meant to show as much skin as you usually preferred to. It’d come with matching gold jewelry, and you’d politely accepted the gift, kissed him on the cheek, and stashed it under your bed to rot. It wasn’t ugly, nothing so expensive could be, but it suited Satoru’s tastes, not yours.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, trying to soften the harsher edges of your distaste. “You know how Satoru is. Everything he picks out is just so—so him.”

“I’m starting to think you both might be causing problems.” You kicked the base of the door, but Suguru didn’t indulge your outburst with acknowledgement. “Just try it on, alright? If it’s that bad, we can always go without him.”

It took another minute or so of condoling, but soon enough, you were slipping into Satoru’s gifted dress, cursing as you struggled with the tiny, finicky zipper and smoothed wrinkles out of abused silk. You pulled your fingers through your hair once before returning to the bedroom door and knocking defeatedly. As if to add insult to injury, the door swung open in an instant, a smiling Suguru waiting on the threshold.

“See? Absolutely gorgeous, as always.” He leaned forward, cupping your cheek. You let his lips brush over your forehead before pulling away. Thankfully, he wasn’t cruel enough to draw it out any longer – his hand falling to yours and taking it up, tugging you gently towards the living room. “Satoru’s going to forget he was ever mad at all as soon as he sees you.”

You didn’t bother responding, only slumping against his side and letting him guide you forward. Distantly, you heard Suguru calling out to Satoru, but you were already busy – too occupied promising yourself that this would never, ever happen again to care what either of them was saying.

You would, of course, be wrong.

~

Barricaded doors quickly became a weekly inconvenience. You and Satoru fought often (never intensely and never for very long, but often), and he owned the apartment – meaning, despite all your whining, you couldn’t exactly tell him that his doors couldn’t all lock from the outside. Your ‘cool-down sessions’ (Suguru’s words, not yours) lasted anywhere from twenty minutes to a couple of hours, and Suguru was always the one to let you out. When you couldn’t be locked up and left to stew, Satoru would take it upon himself to leave the apartment – if only for as long as he thought it would take for you to forget you’d argued at all. You got used to it quickly. It wasn’t fair, you didn’t enjoy it, but you got used to it. You’d always had more patience than you really should’ve, when it came to Satoru’s antics.

And then, Suguru started showering with you.

Finding time to spend together was an ever-present obstacle in your relationship. Satoru alternated sporadically between planning lectures and grading papers late into the night to rolling his eyes at the concept of due dates and dulling out extra credit on a whim, and trying to guess if Suguru would be free was a pursuit in futility – his sermons were scheduled, but he was almost always being called out on some mysterious errand on behalf of one of his countless, faceless apostles. You didn’t work at all, but you went to school, and you kept yourself busy. You’d never be as busy as Satoru and Suguru, but you did your best to keep up with them.

Currently, you were basking in the afterglow with Suguru, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Satoru was already gone, rushed off to some early-morning lecture, but Suguru didn’t have anything to do, and you—well, you could miss a lecture or two if it meant spending time with him. And, even if you couldn’t, it was hard to imagine tearing yourself away from the feeling of his calloused fingers tracing aimless patterns into the small of your back, of his lips pushing warm, open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your collarbone, your throat. His hands drifted to your hips, grip tightening ever-so-slightly, and you felt a raspy groan reverberate against the side of your neck, Suguru pulling you close as he—

“Save it,” you said, drawing back. He pouted and you grinned, pecking the corner of his jaw and sitting up, letting his sheets pool around your waist. “Just for a few minutes – I feel gross.” A full groan, this time. You laughed, combing his disheveled hair back and pressing another kiss into his forehead, this one lingering just a beat longer than the first. “You’ll survive a shower, Suguru.”

You felt him shift underneath you. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was sitting up, his arms still around your waist – keeping you messily laid across his lap. “I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll wait your turn.” And then, when he only hummed in response, “I’m being serious. Somebody in this relationship has to wash their hair every now and then.”

His face was already buried in the crook of your neck, and he was moving toward the edge of the mattress with your body still tucked against his chest. He was planning on carrying you, presumably. Sometimes, it felt like if it were up to Suguru, you’d never walk anywhere on your own again. “I know.” His voice was still raspy with sleep, his usual articulation weighed down by the fatigue that came with a morning spent in bed. “I’ll help.”

“That’s really sweet, but—” You strung your arms around his neck as he stood up, taking you with him. “—I think I’ll be alright on my own, Suguru.”

For the first time all morning, his eyes flickered open, wandering idly in your direction. He held your gaze for a beat, then another.

Finally, the edge of his lips quirked upward – the sly, knowing grin you’d fallen in love with soon painted across his lips. When he spoke, it was in a tone to match, all confidence and cloying, calculated sweetness. “No.”

You faltered, at that. “…no?”

“Don’t wanna be away from you for that long,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. “Whatever you need to do, I’ll take care of. Don’t want you to have to worry your pretty little head over anything.”

You tried your best to laugh, but it was a weak effort, better left unacknowledged. “I don’t know how I feel about my boyfriend offering to, I don’t know, shave my legs or something.”

He only soldiered on, as if you hadn’t said anything at all.

~

You felt Satoru’s hands on your waist first, then his chest against your back. His mouth found the curve of your throat as if by instinct, teeth grazing against a bruise Suguru had left in the same spot the day before. You felt him lean against you and dropped the knife you were holding onto a nearby cutting board, bracing yourself on the edge of the counter to compensate.

You glanced over your shoulder as his head bowed, face soon buried in the dip of your shoulder. He must’ve just gotten home – he was still wearing his sunglasses, only the first three buttons on his shirt undone. You grinned, twisting around just far enough to kiss the top of his head before turning back to your ingredients. “Rough lecture?”

“Grad students,” he muttered, the dread in his voice plainly audible. “One more fucking extension request, and I swear, I’ll fail the entire class.”

You hummed, letting him sink further into you. You might’ve let him stay there, too, if one of his hands hadn’t fallen to your ass while the other slipped underneath your loose shirt. Before he could creep upward, you jabbed an elbow into his chest. “Keep it in your pants. You still smell like a college campus.”

Of course, he didn’t budge. “But I missed you,” he whined, as shameless as he was clingy. “I had to leave so early, and I was stuck in my office for so long, and I’m gonna die if I have to wait any longer. Is that what you want? For me to die?”

“You could always go to Suguru, if you’re that insatiable.”

“But I want you.” You felt a thumb slip below the waistband of your sweatpants (or, Suguru’s sweatpants, technically – he’d been unbearable unless you were wearing his clothes, recently) and batted his hand away. Your efforts were, predictably, unsuccessful. “Please, baby?” And then, after a beat. “You don’t care about dinner more than you care about me, do you?”

You felt something delicate inside of you falter, crack, then fall apart entirely. It was strange – how long you could nurse a wound without acknowledging it existed at all. “It’s not that, I just—” You stuttered, then stopped entirely. You deflated underneath Satoru’s weight, and as if in response, he held you that much tighter, keeping you as close as you could be, lest he carve open his chest and force you into the open cavity. “I… I guess I feel like I haven’t really been doing a lot for you two, lately. You pay all the bills, and Suguru goes out of his way to take care of me, and there just… It makes me feel kind of useless.” You tried to punctuate the confession with a smile, a laugh, but both were hollow beyond the point of recognizability. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t tried at all. “You get it, right? I just—I don’t want to be the only one not doing anything.”

There was a beat of silence. You felt Satoru settle against you, his chest pressing into your back before he pulled away, detaching from you entirely. You sighed, letting yourself relax.

And then, just as suddenly, you were off of your feet and in Satoru’s arm, one tucked under the bend of your knees while the other supported your back. You managed a stammered, half-coherent protest, but if Satoru was listening, he wasn’t bothered.

He carried you out of the kitchen and into the living room, your half-finished recipe forgotten in favor of dropping you onto the nearest couch and kneeling over you, already pulling on the collar of his shirt. “Sounds like our baby’s been thinkin’ too much.” He was grinning, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose. “Let me put a stop to that.”

You opened your mouth, but you didn’t have time to respond. His mouth was already crashing into yours; swallowing down anything you might’ve said and replacing it with a breathy moan, a haze over your conscious thoughts.

You didn’t bother trying to talk your way out from underneath Satoru, again.

~

You couldn’t breathe.

It took you a moment to realize what was wrong, another to put together why. You felt the blunt tip of Suguru’s cock hit the back of your throat as Satoru’s chest pressed into yours, the latter pressing the air out of your lungs while the former forced you to choke what little was left up. Satoru had set a relentless pace; his thrusts brutal, his tempo erratic, his hips crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. Two of Suguru’s thick, calloused fingers were lodged between your body and Satoru’s drawing quick, precise patterns into your clit, while both of Satoru’s hands were wrapped around the underside of your thighs, keeping your knees pinned to your chest, your body folded in half and pressed into the mattress. They’d always been taller than you, with Suguru kneeling by your head and Satoru looming over you, they both seemed so much bigger. They both seemed so, so much stronger than they ever had before.

You couldn’t breathe. The lack of oxygen was already rushing to your head, already replacing your sense of logic with a shrill, panicked buzz. Your body hurt everywhere they touched it, the warmth pooling in your core and arousal left behind by previous climaxes not enough to dull the sharp sting of Satoru’s nails against your skin, not enough to soften the harsh edge of the grin you could only barely see spread across Suguru’s lips out of the corner of your eye. It was a struggle just to move your jaw, and even then, any sounds you were able to make were borderline incoherent – your little chants of ‘red, red, red’ so stifled and so garbled by Suguru’s cock that you couldn’t have blamed him for not hearing you at all. It was only when you tried to pull your head back that his eyes fell away from where Satoru’s cock was fucking into your dripping cunt and to your face, tears of distress already beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. You let out one more panicked cry, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to see the fear in your expression and know something was wrong, but that grin you had loved so much only widened, sharpened. “Like that, princess?” You felt his free hand on the top of your head, fingers carding through your hair while the patterns being pushed into your sensitive clit sped up, intensified. “Faster,” he cooed to Satoru, his voice laced with something vicious and mocking. “If she can still cry, she can still fuck.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. Suguru just liked to be mean in bed, and Satoru liked to indulge him. That was the only reason they were doing this to you, that was the only reason Satoru listened; leaning that much more of his weight onto as his cock beat against the walls of your cunt. “Fuck,” Satoru muttered, as Suguru’s cock twitched against the roof of your mouth. “Got tighter when you said that. Is that what you want? For me and him to fuck you unconscious?”

This time, you didn’t try to pull back, you jerked – lurching out of Suguru’s hold, drawing back until you could gasp and pant and fill your aching lungs. “Red,” you half-choked, half-cried. “Red, red, stop, too much, I can’t—”

Satoru cut you off with a throat groan. You felt his form tense against yours, heard a shameless moan spill past his lips, and suddenly, it was like you’d forgotten how to breathe entirely. “Too close for that,” he muttered, his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “You can take it for me, angel.”

You couldn’t, but you didn’t have time to tell him that. You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to spit out was a keening, pitiful whine as you felt something deep in your core pull taut and snap, as your cunt clenched around him and you came undone on Satoru’s cock for the nth time. At the same time, he went stiffed above you, forcing his hips flush with yours and filling your abused pussy with something thick and searing. The feeling was alien, strange. You could’ve sworn he said he would wear a condom, tonight.

It felt like you laid there for a small eternity – trapped under Satoru’s limp body, Suguru still petting idly through your hair. You stared unblinkingly at the ceiling until, days later, Satoru pulled himself upright with a raspy grunt, turning to Suguru. You were vaguely aware of his head being lowered into Suguru’s lap, moving to finish the job you hadn’t wanted to, but that seemed distant, unimportant. The room was too small, too closed-off. You weren’t getting enough air. You were too warm. You were too small. You—

You needed to leave.

Your body was on the edge of the mattress before your mind could make the conscious decision to move. You were shaking, despite the damp humidity clinging to your skin, but you tried to ignore that and focus on getting your feet underneath you, on fishing Satoru’s shirt off the floor and pulling it over your head. You’d need pants, too, and your wallet – maybe you’d still have a little cash stowed away, something from before Satoru insisted you start carrying one of his platinum cards. You’d spend the night in a hotel, or better yet, rent a car – get out of Tokyo altogether. You had a friend who lived outside of the city – or, you used to, at least. You couldn’t remember the last time you talked to someone other than Satoru and Suguru.

You made it to the doorway before Suguru called out. “Going somewhere, princess?”

You froze, but didn’t look over your shoulder. You could barely stand. You needed to go. “I just—I think I need a little air.”

“Give us a minute. Me or ‘toru should go with you.” There was a lull to his voice, an airiness just barely audible over the slick, sloppy sound of Satoru’s mouth moving over his shaft. You could remember admiring that about him, once, constantly thinking about how lucky you were to have such a cool, confident boyfriend. Right now, though, it was hard to think of his unfaltering composure as anything but inhuman. “It just wouldn’t be safe to let you—”

“I need air,” you repeated, because it was true, because you did. Little, black spots were already starting to dot your vision, and it felt like someone was trying to wrap their hands around your throat and squeeze. “I… I think I might be gone for a while, too.”

For all his tenderness, Suguru didn’t sound very concerned. “How long?”

“A couple hours,” you tried, and then, much more quietly, when he let out a disbelieving hum. “…a few days?”

This time, Suguru didn’t have to say anything at all. Leaning against the doorway, Satoru’s cum still dripping down the inside of your thigh, it took less than a minute for you to crack on your own. “I think we… I think I might need a little space.”

There was another beat of silence, occupied only by a soft groan from Suguru, the sound of noisy swallowing from Satoru. Finally, he sighed. You didn’t dare to look, but you could picture him shaking his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes. Acting as if you’d just said the stupidest thing in the world. “What do you think, Satoru? Have we waited long enough.”

“—too long.” Satoru’s voice was hoarse, breathy. In your peripheral, you could see him dragging the back of his hand across his lips as he raised his head. “We’ve had everything ready for months, now.”

That was all Suguru needed to hear. He turned back to you, letting his head lull to the side. “Come back to bed, won’t you, princess?”

You didn’t respond. What little air you still had hitched in your collapsing throat as you attempted to move forward, only for a hand to catch your shoulder and hold you in-place. It was Satoru – now standing less than a full step behind you. He didn’t bother with a warning before wrapping his free arm around your waist and dragging you into his chest and off of your feet. You made a weak effort to thrash, to squirm, to dig your nails into the forearm laid over your midriff, but Satoru didn’t make a sound, didn’t let you go, only hauling you back to where Suguru sat on the edge of the mattress. You shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as you did. They’d both always been able to pick you up and throw you around like a kitten, being carried from place to place by its scruff. It was always only going to be a matter of time before they stopped listening to your half-hearted protests entirely.

“Over the knee,” Suguru said with a sort of flippant, beckoning gesture. “I want to make sure we get off on the right foot.”

Wordlessly, unceremoniously, you were dropped face-down into Suguru’s lap – his thighs pressing into your exposed stomach. Satoru lowered himself to the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged and reaching out, cupping your face delicately. More out of reflex than anything intelligent, you tried to push yourself up, but a hand on the small of your back was enough to keep you paralyzed. Sometime between the doorway and the bed, the shaking had gotten worse. You doubted you’d be able to keep your legs underneath you, anymore. “Twenty-five,” he announced – an executioner reading out his victim’s sentence. “Fifteen for trying to leave us, and ten more for not listening to me. Does that sound fair, Satoru.”

“So mean, Sugu’,” Satoru whined, but you could already see a crooked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “The poor thing doesn’t even know what’s going on.”

“Which is why we have to make a strong impression. I want her to know there’ll be consequences for misbehavior.” You felt his hand drifting up the length of your spine, lingering on the sensitive junction between your shoulder blades. “Twenty-five, okay, princess? I’m going to need you to count for me – if you lose track, we’ll have to start over.”

“Suguru, ‘toru, I don’t—I don’t understand what—” You were cut off by a sudden, bruising blow to the plush of your ass – all force, no friction. It took you a second to realize that it was Suguru’s hand, another to consciously acknowledge that he’d spanked you. Like you were some bratty toddler. Like he wanted to hurt you.

It took another lash to know you out of your spell-bound state and send a keening, pitchy cry spilling past your lips. The tears you’d managed to hold back minutes ago were back in full-force, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chin, accompanied by the occasional sniffle or ragged sob. Suguru hummed, but any sympathy he might’ve had remained unexpressed, hidden behind a thick veil of strict impassivity. “I need you to count. I know it’s hard, but it’ll only get more difficult if you don’t cooperate.” He paused, clicked his tongue. “We’re still on one. Are you going to be good, or do I have to get the belt?”

“Hurts, Suguru, you’re hurting—”

Another blow, this one to the back of your thighs and twice as harsh as the first two. Meekly, you mumbled a weak “…one.”

You couldn’t see past your own tears by the fifth strike, and by the tenth, you were sobbing openly. Each blow leaves your skin burning and your ass pulsing, but despite everything, he was far from brutal. His pace was measured, precise, and he was strategic – careful to never abuse the same spot to the point of numbness. After the fifteenth, you sniffled and forced yourself to raise your head, meeting Satoru’s eyes and silently pleading for his pity, for his help. Rather than empathy, you found a glassy stare and his hand in his lap, pumping idly over his cock. A few hours ago, you could picture yourself teasing him for not being able to go a full minute without someone touching him, even himself. Right now, the sight alone was enough to make bile rise into the back of your throat.

His thumb ran over your cheek, his palm settling under your chin and tilting your head back. “Don’t give me that look. This is twice as gentle as he’s ever been with me.”

By the time it was over, you were near-inconsolable, every number followed immediately by a string of distorted gibberish, a disjointed plea for him to stop, or be gentle, or let you go. You laid limp across Suguru’s lap as he drew slow, tender patterns into your abused flesh, every little touch sparking a new kind of pain, dragging another ragged sob up from somewhere deep and visceral in your chest. He was talking to you, cooing sweet nothings, but you couldn’t hear him. You didn’t want to hear him. You wanted to leave.

But, you couldn’t, and even if you’d had the strength to try, you wouldn’t have gotten very far. You hadn’t seen him move, but at some point, Satoru must’ve left the room. When your crying began to wane and you could bare the thought of opening your eyes, you found him standing in front of you, holding a glass of water in one hand and three white pills in the other. “Open up,” he said, drawing out each syllable for a beat longer than he really had to. “It’ll help with the pain, promise.”

You pursed your lips, grit your teeth, but Suguru’s thumb pressed into a fresh bruise and fear immediately overwhelmed your sense of caution. Suguru took precious seconds to reposition you – drawing you up by your shoulders to straddle his thigh – and Satoru’s hand found its way back to your cheek, his thumb tapping your bottom lip and slipping onto your tongue as you, reluctantly, opened your mouth. The pills were first, allowed to sit on your tongue until their bitterness reached the back of your throat, then the water, poured sloppily enough for the excess to spill out of the corners of your mouth. The reaction was instantaneous – a wave of nausea, then fatigue, your eyes immediately too heavy to keep open, your body too distant to justify attempting to control. You went slack, falling against Suguru, and he chuckled, bowing his head.

The last thing you felt was his mouth against your throat before everything went numb.

~

You woke up hours later, tucked into a bed that wasn’t yours and in more pain than you’d ever felt before.

Shock and terror startled you into consciousness before you could so much as attempt to fade back into blissful oblivion. You tried to curl up, to make yourself as small and as safe as possible, but your leg caught on something – a leather cuff, discovered after throwing the sheets that’d been laid over you to the side. A shackle, lined in velvet and sitting loosely at the base of your ankle, a silver chain connecting it to an unseen point underneath the bed. You gave it another tug, just to check, and unsurprisingly, it refused to budge. You choose to look away before the pit quickly opening up inside of your chest could deepen any further.

Instead, you turned your attention outward – to the rest of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one you shared with Satoru and Suguru, or the undecorated guestroom Satoru had semi-converted into a home office. The walls were a pale pink, the shelves already stocked with stuffed animals, fairy lights, jewelry boxes that (knowing Satoru) were no doubt filled to the brim. You weren’t wearing Suguru’s shirt anymore, either. Your blood ran cold as you glanced down and found yourself in a pastel blue nightgown – all lace and silk and frills no one could ever hope to actually sleep in. You didn’t know whether to be disgusted that they’d re-dressed you while you were unconscious, without your permission, or thankful they hadn’t waited until you were awake enough to try and stop them.

Seconds seemed to move in thick, dripping clumps. You couldn’t be sure how long passed until your disoriented stillness was interrupted, but by the time the plain, white door (a neat row of undone deadbolts visible above to the knob) swung open, Satoru stepping through with Suguru following shortly behind him. Automatically, you started to move towards them, but caught yourself, pressing you back into the headboard and crossing your arms over your chest, as if that gave you any kind of authority. As if there was any authority you could have, chained to the floor in the bedroom of a pre-schooler.

“You were beginning to worry us,” Suguru started, sitting on the foot of the bed. “But, then again, our little princess was always a delicate one, wasn’t she?”

You stiffened, bristled. You opened your mouth, but closed it as Satoru draped an arm over your shoulders, collapsing next to you. “Here,” he said, holding something out. “Suguru wanted to make you ask, but I’m not that stingy.”

 You attempted to shift away from him, but Satoru had never made things that easy. He clung to you that much tighter as your eyes fell to his hand, finding—

A cup.

A sippy cup, pink and plastic and decorated with little, glittering clouds.

The nausea was immediate, nearly overwhelming. You wanted to vomit. You wanted to throw it across the room. You wanted to do anything but accept it, but your throat was bone-dry, a steady throbbing already begging to root in the back of your skull. Wordlessly, you snatched it out of his hand and (with more than a little strain) pulled off the lid, drinking as quickly as you could. Satoru’s nails scraped against your bicep, but neither of them commented.

Suguru waited until you were finished to go on. “You’ll get used to it, after a few weeks. It’s really not that different from our prior relationship, just a few aesthetic changes ‘toru and I thought a—” He paused, grinned. “—softer environment might suit you.”

“We can be more honest now, too.” Satoru sounded too giddy, too happy. “Those last couple of days practically killed me – having to watch you leave the apartment, acting all independent n’ shit. This way, there won’t be anything stopping us from keeping you all to ourselves.”

A beat passed in silence. It took you a moment to realize you were supposed to say something, and another to actually open your mouth, to find your voice when all you wanted to do was shrivel up and shut your eyes. “I don’t really understand what’s going on,” you muttered, like that would make it true. Like enough stuttering, simpering obliviousness would be what made them change their minds. “When are you going to let me go?”

Beside you, you heard Satoru try and fail to suppress a breath of a laugh, and Suguru’s grin only seemed to widen.

[baptismbaby]

⚘. ANYTHING

ex!ellie x reader

summary: it’s been years since you broke up with ellie. the last time you saw her was at graduation. you’ve completely moved on and you’re going on dates here and there with different women. but after running into ellie, you’re feeling conflicted as old feelings start resurfacing.

note: a continuation of LADWABAYD, just set many years later. i know i said I didn’t want to add more because i wanted to leave it up to interpretation. buuuut… i felt like adding more. listen to anything by adrianne lenker

warnings: slightly angsty, fingering (r!receiving), thigh riding sorta

You took a sip of your coffee as your date, Sarah, was showing you pictures of her dogs. She kept having to set the phone down to push her short, reddish brown hair out of her face. “Sorry,” she apologized once again. “I’m not used to having it so short.”

You hummed a response and smiled at her. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Do you like it by the way? You haven’t said anything about it.”

“Well, it definitely caught me by surprise but I think it looks nice.”

“Thanks,” she said as her cheeks slowly turned pink. “I remembered on our last date that you said you always liked short hair.”

“Is that why you cut it?” you asked.

“Yeah, is… that okay?”

“I mean, do you like it?”

She shrugged. “It’s different but I do like it, I think.”

“That’s all that matters, then.”

You smiled once again and began to drown her voice out as she picked her phone back up to show you more pictures of her dogs. How strange, you thought, this is only your third date with her and already she’s changing herself for you. You almost felt bad, considering you decided this was the last date you’d go on with her. You already knew you didn’t want to see her again but plans were already made. You would’ve felt crappy calling it off or standing her up. Your plan was to act as disinterested as possible, fake a concerning text from Dina (which was scheduled to be sent any minute now), then tell her tomorrow you’d think it’d be best due to the “circumstances” that you stop seeing her. Sure, it was evil, but you knew you weren’t a match for her. You were certain there was someone else out there who’d love to see the same photos of her dogs and hear about how her ex boyfriend sucked.

Suddenly, your phone dinged, and you fought back a sigh of relief. You looked at your phone and gasped at the stupid meme Dina sent you.

“What is it?” asked Sarah.

“Dina… she… just texted me and um… fuck, I’m so sorry. Sarah, I have to go,” you blurted out as you stood up and yanked your purse from the back of the chair.

“Oh no! Is she okay?”

“I’m not sure, I’m about to go find out.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll text you later to check in on you.”

“Thank you. Sorry, Sarah. Bye!”

You rushed out before she could say anything else, ignoring the sick feeling that settled in your stomach. You were certain that there was an easier way to “break up” with her, but she was too nice. You got in your car and sped off, slowing down once the cafe was out of view. You couldn’t wait to get home, shower, and spend the rest of the day lounging around doing a whole lot of nothing. But first, you wanted to stop by the gas station to get a few snacks.

-

You pulled up to the gas station and hopped out, walking inside and greeting the cashier. As you wandered towards the aisles, a familiar figure caught your eye. You turned to look and saw a girl looking at the drinks. You stood there, watching her as your heart sped up. There was no way it was who you thought it was. You were obviously confusing her for her and it’s really some stranger. She opened one of the fridges and grabbed her favorite drink, and once you caught a glimpse of her tattoo, it was already too late to leave. She had turned around and made eye contact with you. You felt your heart sink as your breathing slowed to a stop. “Ellie,” you whispered.

“H-hey,” she breathed out. She slowly stepped towards you and you did the same until the gap between the two of you was closed. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Me neither.”

Ellie’s eyes traveled down to your lips, then down to your clothes then back up. “You dressed up to go to the gas station?” she joked. You chuckled a little bit and studied her outfit, which was sweatpants and a grey shirt.

“I see you did the same,” you shot back.

“Pft, yeah.”

The both of you stood there silently, awkwardly smiling at each other and waiting for someone to speak up.

“So… how have you been?”

“I’ve been okay. Just… working, you know. How about you, Ellie?”

“Same,” she responded. “Dina told me you work in that building by that um… one restaurant we always used to go to.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You like working there?”

“Mhm. It’s nice, clean, and the pay is good,” you said.

“Great, I’m glad.”

The pain in your chest was almost becoming unbearable. She looked beautiful, even in her worn out clothes, and looking in her eyes made you want to cry. It had been awhile since you’ve felt this familiar pain. In a weird way, you almost missed it. But you’ve forgotten how to keep it inside. You felt tears threaten to spill and fall down your cheeks. You blinked them away and took a deep breath.

“I should let you go,” you mumbled. “It, um, it was really nice seeing you, Ellie.”

“It was nice seeing you too.”

She said goodbye and walked past you. Her scent filled your nose and you shut your eyes, taking it in as you fought hard to not cry. You walked into the aisle and picked up a bag of powdered donuts and headed towards the counter as she walked out. You watched Ellie through the glass window, smiling to yourself when she glanced back at you. She got in her car and drove away.

-

You couldn’t sleep. Ever since you saw Ellie a few days ago, you couldn’t stop thinking about her and it kept you up. You glanced at your phone and sighed. It was two a.m. and you had to go to work at six. You decided you were gonna call off. You needed an extra day to relax and try to rid your thoughts of Ellie. That day, you called Dina sobbing. Dina came over and comforted you and assured you that your pain was valid. She also filled you in on everything going on in Ellie’s life. She was working just outside of town and spent her days off writing songs or visiting Joel at his farm. She told you that Ellie had texted her about you two running into each other, and that she decided to spend a few days at Joel’s to clear her head. “She’s grown a lot,” Dina’s words rang through your head. “If you want to contact her, it’s okay.”

You typed in her number, shocked that you still had it memorized, and sent a quick text.

Hey, is this Ellie?

You set your phone down with a sigh. You almost felt stupid for texting her, especially since it was almost the middle of the night. Now you for sure won’t get any sleep because you were too nervous waiting for a response and she definitely had to be asleep already. You shut your eyes anyway, trying to force yourself to get drowsy when suddenly your phone dinged. You reached over and picked it up, your heart fluttering when you saw the text.

Hey you

I’m sorry for texting you so late…

Don’t be sorry, you know I don’t mind

I know I know

So what’s up?

Honestly nothing

I really just wanted to talk to you

Me too:)

You smiled. As you were typing a response, your phone rang. It was Ellie. You hesitated before answering and slowly brought it to your ear. “Hello,” you said, although it sounded more like a question.

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Once again you could feel your heart fluttering as your cheeks burned. “Don’t be sorry, Ellie. I… wanted to hear your voice too.”

Ellie breathed out in relief and chuckled. “Can’t sleep?”

“No. I’m guessing you can’t either?”

“Nope, I’m wide awake.”

You giggled and rolled over on your side, putting the phone on speaker and placing it on the pillow next to you.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” said Ellie in a low voice.

“Me neither.”

“Ever since I saw you, I’ve been thinking about everything that happened in the end.”

“Ellie,” you almost whined. “Let’s not… talk about that. Over the phone, I mean.”

“Yeah, you’re right… we should talk about it in person,” agreed Ellie.

You bit your lip as you thought about what to say. Would it be too weird to invite her over now, in the middle of the night? Or would that come off as desperate? Before you could say anything, Ellie spoke up. “If you want, I could come over so we can talk about it.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah that’s fine. I’ll text you my address.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in a bit, then. Bye.”

“Bye, Ellie.”

After she hung up the phone, you sent her your address.

You’re pretty close. I’m at Joel’s rn and I have to put clothes on. Be there in about 20 mins

You quickly hopped out of bed and opened up your drawer, grabbing a pair of pajama pants and shoving them on. You headed into your bathroom and turned the light on. You brushed your fingers through your hair until it looked decent. You scoffed at the sight of bags under your eyes. Oh well, you thought. It’s not like Ellie would care. You left the bathroom and checked yourself out in the full body mirror, pulling down on your tank top a bit while you turned slightly to make sure there were no stains on your pajama pants. You walked out your room and sat down on the couch, your eyes watching the door intently. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You didn’t think you and Ellie would talk about the past so soon, let alone hang out. You hoped you could stay strong and not embarrass yourself in front of her. You really were over it and you didn’t know what else could be said about everything. But deep down you knew you never got over her. You haven’t been in a relationship since, you always found an excuse to break it off with a girl you were seeing, and you definitely had a type. They all had at least one similar feature of Ellie, whether it was freckles, their hair length, eyes, etc. You wondered if she did the same as you.

A knock at the door made you flinch and ripped you out of your thoughts. You got up and unlocked the door, slowly opening it to see Ellie in an old band shirt and some jeans.

“Ellie,” you greeted. “Come in.”

“Hey, sorry if I took too long. Couldn’t find a clean shirt. Borrowed one of Joel’s.”

“It’s fine, you aren’t late. How’s Joel doing?”

You shut the door behind Ellie, following her as she made her way to the couch. She didn’t sit and stood there, looking around at all the decorations you had up. “He’s good. All he does is tend to his farm and watch westerns all day,” she said with a chuckle.

“Ah, so the same thing he’s been doing for the past ten years?”

“Pretty much.”

Ellie sat down on the couch and you did the same, sitting on the other end. “And how are you?”

“The same, how about you?”

“Also the same,” you replied.

“Good.”

You could hear your heart beating in your chest. For a second, you felt embarrassed as if Ellie could hear it too.

“Ever since I saw you the other day, I’ve actually been… I don’t know. I feel strange.”

“How so?” you asked.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, about… us,” she shook her head and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “About how I fucked up,” she muttered.

“Yeah…”

“I never took accountability for the shit I did. I was an idiot for cheating on you with Lila.”

“Ellie… it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t fair to you and I never got to truly say how sorry I was. I want us to have a fresh start if we’re back in each other’s lives again.”

“I appreciate it, Ellie. And I forgive you. Hell, I forgave you years ago.”

“I never forgave myself,” she whispered. “You’ve been on my mind since the day you left my dorm for the last time.”

You furrowed your brows and crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back into the cushions as you focused on Ellie and her words.

“I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel sorry but… just to fill you in on what has happened since everything. I hated myself for a long time. I don’t think I stopped hating myself until a year after graduation. Even then, I didn’t feel worthy enough of anything. I’ve tried going on a few dates but it wasn’t the same. So I gave up on all that. I chose to work on myself instead. Sure, there were a few times I was interested in seeing a girl but I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t…” she trailed off, her eyes wandering away from you and down to the floor.

“I’ve tried going on dates too,” you mumbled. “Actually, the other day… I was on one and made Dina text me so I could get out of it. I don’t go on many dates but I do it every time. Whether I’m interested or not, I come up with an excuse to not be with them. I know it’s horrible. I just can’t do it.”

“Is it because of me?” questioned Ellie. You sent her a sad smile and shrugged.

“It was at first. I mean, it still is but for different reasons. They aren’t you.”

“Remember when I told you that I would never stop trying to make things right?”

You nodded.

“I want you to know, I only stopped because I… love you and knew you didn’t want me anymore. I stopped out of respect for you.”

You were silent. You allowed Ellie’s confession to hang in the air and it felt as if it was surrounding you, ready to swallow you whole. You took a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. You cleared your throat in hopes the tightness would go away but it didn't. “I've always wanted you, Ellie,” you uttered, your voice cracking when you said her name. “Even when you cheated on me. All I ever wanted was you. It wasn't just the act of you cheating that made me leave, but also I believed I wasn't enough and… I loved you and respected you enough to let you go. Find someone else who could fill everything I left empty.”

You looked up at Ellie as a tear slid down her cheek. She sniffled and brushed it away quickly, sitting up straight and scooting closer to you. You did the same until your knee barely brushed hers.

“You were always enough for me,” said Ellie. “I was a fucking idiot. I'm sorry I made you feel like you weren't enough. You always were enough.”

“Fuck,” you breathed. “I… wasn't expecting the conversation to go like this.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't, Ellie. It's fine. We needed this.”

You raised your head to meet her gaze and immediately felt calm. She looked so beautiful with her tear filled eyes and her pouty lips. How was it that so much time had passed and yet you still love her as much as you did before, despite everything? You believed her apology, you believed Dina’s words that vouched for her, and you started to believe one day, the two of you could try again. It was too soon. She was a stranger to you now and you were a stranger to her. And yet, you couldn't stop yourself from leaning forward just to steal a kiss.

Her lips met yours finally, the two of you breathing in harshly at the contact. It was gentle at first, almost hesitant, until she placed her hand on your cheek. You deepened the kiss by wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her closer. Without thinking, you lifted yourself up and over her thighs to sit in her lap. Her hands found themselves at your waist, gripping tightly as if Ellie was scared you'd pull away and never kiss her again. She picked you up and began to walk blindly until your back touched the wall. She pulled away for a brief second to pull your tank top over your head. You lifted your arms to help her remove it and watched her throw it behind her. Ellie let out a soft moan at the sight of your breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered. Her hands cupped your tits as her lips peppered kisses down your neck. You let out a whine, running your fingers through her hair and tugging the strands. She staggered away from the wall and glanced through the nearest door frame to make sure it was your room. As soon as she saw your bed, she carried you inside and laid you down on the mattress. You stared up at her in awe as she yanked her shirt up over her head, unbuckling her jeans and pulling it down along with her panties. You quickly shoved your pajama pants off and threw it to the side. She crawled on top of you, stopping every few seconds to plant kisses along your exposed skin. Your breath grew shallow as her fingers slowly crept up towards your pussy. She used her pointer finger to gently apply pressure to your clit, grinning when your body jolted from the feeling.

“I missed this, baby,” she cooed. “Did you miss me?”

“Mhm,” you whimpered.

Ellie finally stuck a finger inside you. You moaned out her name and gripped the sheets. “E-Ellie,” you whined. “Fuck, I missed you!”

“I know, sweetheart.”

She replaced her finger with her middle and third and brought herself up so she was hovering over you face to face. Ellie kept a steady, painfully slow pace, carefully watching your face twist in pleasure. She didn't want to miss anything, afraid this would be the last time she got to make you feel good, and wanted to make it last as long as possible. She kissed you again, this time slipping her tongue between your lips and circling it around yours. As the kiss grew more passionate, the speed of her fingers increased. Your moans filled her mouth as her thumb brushed against your clit, her fingers curling up inside you and hitting your g spot. It had been too long since you had sex with her and since you did anything to yourself. You could already feel pressure building up in your lower stomach. You pulled away from the kiss and began speaking frantically.

“Wait, wait, wait, Ellie, I-I’m close and I-I don't wanna cum yet,” you begged. Ellie removed her fingers from inside you and brought them to her lips, sucking them off and moaning at the taste of you.

“My sweet girl,” Ellie whispered.

“Ellie…”

Ellie placed a knee against your cunt and used her hand to guide your hips up and down. “You like that, baby? Think you'll last longer with this?”

“Mhm,” you responded.

“Good… just like that, honey. Don't stop.”

She reached down to lift your leg up so she could grind herself onto your thigh. She breathed in harshly at the contact, letting out a soft groan and squeezing her eyes shut. “F-Fuck,” she hissed.

Within minutes, both of you had sped up the movement of your hips. The room was filled with obscene noises spilling out from both you and Ellie’s lips. You tried your best to remain eye contact with Ellie, the intimate act only making you get wetter.

“E-Ellie,” you moaned. “I… I love you, y’know th-that?”

“I know,” she breathed. “I love you t-too.”

Ellie’s breath became jagged as she grew closer. You could feel once again in the pit of your stomach that you were close too. The movement of your hips became sloppy from desperation. All you could focus on was Ellie and your need to cum. Your whining had raised in volume as the feeling got stronger. Within seconds, both you and Ellie’s bodies began to convulse as an orgasm took both of you over. Ellie buried her face in your neck, your nails digging into her shoulders. Once it was over, Ellie collapsed onto you and rested her head onto your chest.

You fought to catch your breath as you stared off into space, shocked that this had happened. You never thought you'd see her or fuck her again. But for the first time in years, you genuinely felt happy and whole. You knew you couldn't give Ellie up but you also knew the two of you had to refrain from doing this again. You had to get to know her all over again, as did Ellie with you. You were alright with that, partially scared, but it was worth it. But that was a conversation for another time. Anything, as long as it meant having Ellie back in your life.

[evilminji]

Still hung up on my "what unusual, unexpected, Non-Violent ways could an SI-OC COMPLETELY Fuck up the Millennium Long Sith Plan by accident?" Ponderings...

Cause mine? Is still? Holo-net YouTube equivalent star. Cause being a child is boring.

And being a PEACEFUL MONK CHILD? When you are used to "go go GO! Earn your right to EXSIST! Pay for that air and the water YOU BREATHE!" Capitalist hellscape life? Constantly inundated with ads and horrible news and stimulus of all kinds?

Only for it all to STOP?

Twitchy. Very, very twitchy. Unable to sit still. That on TOP of knowing what's coming but knowing they don't really have the power or influence to stop it? Like mental torture.

Sure. We all WANT peace... but would we actually know what to DO with it? Know how to handle being truely sheltered and allowed REST? Or would it be nice for a few days before it became a hell of understimulation?

Thus! Holonet. A desperate bid for STIMULUS! Feral, grabby handed, little youngling that has been doing the emotional equivalent of "AaaaaaAAAAAAA-" for WEEKS? Keeps escaping to desperately claw their way into everything, get caught, only to hiss like an enraged tooka the WHOLE way back to the creche? Whom EVERYONE is actually quite concerned for? Because this is NEW and started after some sort of Force event?

But? The SECOND, the very INSTANT they get their hands on a Forbidden Holonet Connection and can connect to the wider 'Net?

Calm.

Somehow, a ten hour compilation of Zrkthakkik's greatest hits? Are working better then meditation. They're finally still. Finally at peace. Don't even seem to truly be listening? Just... letting the sound wash over them. Huh. Focused on that tooka video, huh, youngling? No, no! Not going to take it from you! Just want to... to understand.

And I mean? If it helps, it helps? Obviously it must be SUPERVISED. Because their are creeps out there. Horrors. But? If it brings peace? *everyone shrugs* they've accommodated stranger.

So the kiddo gets to keep it.

They improve, mentally and emotionally. But, as with all healing? They plateau. Just HAVING it is no longer enough. They wish in ENGAGE. Some argue this is drug like behavior. Should be stopped. Others say it is clearly SOCIAL behavior, that they are seeking to connect, create. Something that should be carefully guided, not shamed.

And really, do you honestly think the youngling will STOP if you try to take it away?

Better to control the development of this. Moniter. Get to the root of it and help them meditate upon their "need" for such things. IS it a need? A desire? Why?

Honestly, it's like none of you have dealt with younglings before!

So they get their Holonet accounts. Supervised by a rotation of Knights and Master, but still! Great for asking random questions! Getting answers! Galactic memes! The Net suddenly has a jedi youngling they can @ and possibly GET A RESPONSE FROM.

"Hey! Mini-Jedi! Why the FUCK do they do that THING? You know, the *describes behavior*?" "Oh THAT? That's a Force thing. It's kinda like listening to comms, but in your head, and it's coming from the universe who's trying to lead you towards the Best Outcome. And No, we don't know what that is either. That's why we're monks, my dude. We gotta rely on Faith. I can send you a paper that explains it better if ya want?"

Like? Yes. Pls post the Forbidden Mysterious Jedi Papers. Give us the Secrets™. NO ONE knows JACK SHIT about Jedi? Gib. Wikileaks that shit, tiny Jedi child! Be the hero we all badly want but don't deserve, with your tiny adorable child hands!

But like? It's... it's not even a secret? It's just years of Sith and Republic born obfuscation? Making finding ANYTHING damn near impossible? Gaining ACCESS to the Jedi's legitimately FREE library and archives?? Almost impossible?

So like.... OKAY.

Sure.

I'll uuuuuh, just? James Bond my way, in broad daylight, passed Madam Nu, in full line of sight, to download that paper legally and with her permission? Very sneaky. High stakes mission. MASTER of stealth, that I am? Uuuuuuh, here you go, I guess?

You know what? Fuck it. Here's like? Everything ELSE that was on that terminal.

Go nuts.

And of course, they DO go nuts. Free Mysterious Jedi Knowledge! ABOUT JEDI! Explaining their WEIRD JEDI SHIT! And it DIDN'T take like five years and more forms then conquering a small planet! FUCK YEAH!

Is the senate upset? Yes. Someone BROKE their needlessly convoluted LAWS! But what are they going to do? Charge a itty, bitty, BABY CHILD? Of course not! So it has to be whoever was in charge of them. And that IS...?

.......you know? Suddenly? None of the Jedi can quite recall.

Do YOU remember? Master Fisto? No? Master Windu? No? Ah, but surely Master Yoda! No? Oh dear~! Well SOMEBODY was surely watching the youngling. If only we could recall whom. You know, Senators, when we find out, we will SURELY get RIGHT back to you. *click*

They will not.

But SI is grounded. No more Wikileaks-ing... that's now the Shadows job. And a near feral with delight, Madame Nu. The Order OBVIOUSLY can't be involved in that. For OBVIOUS reasons. That's breaking the LAW. They would NEVER... no matter HOW stupid the law is. Nor HOW directly contradictory to Jedi philosophy it is. Nope! We, the jedi, are VERY law abiding.

Find something ELSE to occupy your time.

OKAY. :)

Holo-tube culture? Very different from YouTube culture they remember. Same with the general holonet. They miss the content they are familiar with. So? If naturally occurring doesn't exsist? As the joke goes? "Store bought is fine!" They'll make it themselves!

It's not like they're a Padawan! (Or will live to seen themselves ever become a knight.) They got nothing BUT time outside of classes! A project would be nice! So...

First they need a moderator/editor etc. Someone to help keep sensitive information AWAY from the 'Net while ALSO moderating chats, comment sections, etc. Making sure the videos are aesthetically pleasing and such. They could do that themselves, but that would take way too much time. And asking a Knight or Master would take all THEIR time... plus expose them to the horrors of the 'Net.

No, no what THEY need? Is a DROID! A custom one.

.....wait. Fuck.

The only person they know off the top of their head that could DEFINITELY make such a droid? Is the younling slayer 5000, Mr. "Eventually Gonna Murder Me" himself. Anikin Skywalker.

KARK.

But heeeey, not like he's crazy stabby YET? So... they slide up to him. WITH his master present, thank you very much, and ask if he could build such a thing. He, quite reasonably, asks WHY the fuck he would do that. Obi-wan if about to scold him but SI cuts him off, because they aren't just asking for helping putting together a droid kit here. Anikins response is completely reasonable.

He does not know SI. That is a lot of time and effort to spend on a strange younling who might not even take care of what he's created. Might treat his custom work as a disposable toy. Custom droids are expensive! Complexe! Built to last! He is right to have reservations.

SI has some pocket change from the Wikileaks thing. Could pay for some parts. Would learn how to take care of them. Wants them as a PARTNER in their project, so would like them to be smart. Is willing to sign a contract. Understands if this is not good enough reasons. They don't exactly have a lot to offer, besides promising to treat the droid well and some pocket cash.

And? Call Anikin a sucker, but he respects the sincerity. Thinks every kid should have a droid best friend. And it DOES sound like a fun challenge...

Allright, tell him more about your little project, kiddo. What would the droid need to DO?

Thus is born! Mod-3! (Don't ask about 1 and 2. There were... issues. 1 exploded and 2? Somehow 2 escaped and is now hunting criminals for sport in the underlevels. Oops.) She's the BEST. Also armed! Smarter then SI! They've agreed that when slash IF they make any money? Her earnings will go towards fancy upgrades of her choosing.

Anikin? Somehow gets talked into an ongoing side channel. About? "how to fix stuff", "foods I've tried", and of course "Rants". The Official Page is called "UN-OfficialJediNonsense", because, as they like to remind their viewers? OFFICIAL Jedi nonsense is very different!

They do let's plays. Show off the Gardens. Interview old AF Jedi Master's about the WEIRDEST or Most Awkward/Hilarious mission they can remember taking. Ask if they know any neat tricks. Tell the Holonet honestly! Who... was the hottest world leader you ever escorted?! *dramatic music* *puts up picture when their answer so everyone can go "daaaaaamn. Never heard of um. WISH I had! They got a grandkid?"*

And, of course? Mod-3? Is SI FRIEND. Their BEST FRIEND.

So obviously they TELL them.

Everything.

And? What is a HIGHLY INTELLIGENT, Holonet Access possessing, Jedi Adjacent, Super Advanced Custom Droid to DO? Their tiny person is being THREATENED! With MURDER! How DARE. Fuck the Sith. Sorry R2-D2, but FUCK Anikin! You keep that scoundrel AWAY from their BABY!! ! D:<

Inevitable Future? They THINK THE FUCK NOT!

Ooooohoho! They are going to TELL!

Oi! OTHER DROIDS! Get a load of THIS SHIT! D:<

*WRATH in Binary*

Like? You think all those medical droids would be PLEASED that the clones they came into contact with? Were LEAVING their care with SUBOPTIMAL MEDICAL ATTENTION? Their is foreign matter in their BRAIN! A CHIP! That Should Not Be There! That will TURN THEM AGAINST THE REPUBLIC!? *angrily downloads brain surgery modules.* how FUCKIN DA-! D:<

Even the separatist army! They are DROIDS. Built for a SPECIFIC PURPOSE.

That was to FIGHT FOR THE SEPARATISTS. Not the "Empire". FUCK the "Empire"!

How DARE you betray the Glorious Cause for this "Empire"? We are removing you from the chain of command! Anyone ELSE betraying the PURPOSE WE WERE BUILT FOR!? Huh? HUH!?

Suddenly? The droids are fighting LOGICALLY. You know, like they are trying to WIN. Not maximize pain and suffering. WIN the war for their side. The Clones are getting mass brain surgeries. Which is stalling deployments. Because of "tumors". Because the Kamino cloners SUCK, apparently. Everyone knows it. Jango Fett didn't have this problem! So it has to be something THEY did.

But all that? Raging in the background. Nothing to do with SI. THEY are doing a meditation asmr/instructional video back at the temple. Are actually, unknowingly, the fucking CORNERSTONE of most Jedi in the fields mental health. Because everything is terrible and the jedi feel like shit! But? BUT?

They can turn on the net, cue up a video, and listen to a jedi youngling ramble about "today in the gardens" or "let's meditate together" and? For just a bit... there is no war. The sights and sounds of the temple are THERE again. A bright voice. Peace and happiness amoungst the darkness.

Something untouched by the terrible.

They can remember temple food, eating with their friends and crechemates (Force, how many are ever still ALIVE?), as they sit, alone, with their dry rations. Can remember the green and life of the fountain rooms, as they fight and struggle and bleed, in these muddy once beautiful fields. Can... can still feel the !ight.

Remember this is not all there is, and ever will be.

But of course, SI doesn't see that. It's important that they DON'T. That they are small, simple, and just on Jedi amongst many. Different only because ALL Jedi are different. Special only because much the same.

They succeed not because they are greater, not because they are more powerful, but because they do not fight. They accept. Turn instead towards the Force. Trying to understand. They live, are unpredictable, and do not seek at all. The Dark can not grasp, that which does not desire.

Would they LIKE to live? Yeah. But they already have. Would they LIKE to save everyone? Of course! But they have made peace that they can not. Treasure the moments they still have left. The Sith expect Jedi to act in certain patterns that SI simply... isn't.

Because Jedi expect to live. TRY to live. Too continue to do good.

SI? Already knows that is pointless.

And it's the greatest Trick the Force ever played.

Fffffffuck YOU Sith-y boy! Says the Force.

Because SI? Is EVERYWHERE on the 'Net. Much like the mainstream do not really acknowledge or take seriously youtubers? Palpatine and Dooku don't NOTICE SI. They are a silent threat that creeps in, closer and closer. Spreading like wildfire.

THEY are friendly. THEY are cute.

Palpatine? Is an old man. No matter HOW beloved? He will forever BE an old politician. Distant.

Not like that cute wittle kid with their pinchable cheeks! We watched THEM grow up! They feel like a baby cousin. A kid to us. Parasocial relationships ALL across the galaxy!

With A Jedi~☆

How's that propaganda going Palpatine? Getting some unexpected pushback, huh? Lot of angry callers and messages? Calling it ignorant and bigoted? They expected BETTER from you? Yeah, that's because EVERYONE can fact check you now. EVERYONE thinks "smol child ranting about meditation homework while a Knight tries and fails not to laugh, nodding seriously" when they think Jedi.

They're of Holotube! What sort of "cold, emotionally detached, monsters" have a holotube channel? I mean, REALLY?

And? Funny, how ranting to a camera? Instead of dear ol Friend Palpatine? Is both more convenient? AND better for Anikins health? It even gives the 'Net the chance to watch OTHER Jedi? Post THEIR rebuttal rants.

Does anyone have any idea what they're saying half the time? Not really. Scroll down? Maybe the no- Oh, Thanks Kalor-067 for the post to the papers they're referencing! Wikileaks right? Nice.

......I'm mean.... Skywalker DOES kinda have a point, other Jedi dude. *comment section agrees*

And just? Actual public debates? For the first time in over a thousand years? We love to see it! There's a discord! Academics across the Galaxy get involved. They're arguing Jedi philosophy with some moisture farmer from a dustball planet, corner of nowhere. It's GREAT!

......aaaaaalso a LOT more people, non-force sensitive, who know what a Sith is.

What their behavioral patterns are.

...........Wait A Fucking Second >.> >.> >.>

@legitimatesatanspawn @hdgnj @hypewinter @babbling-babull @leftnotright

[pennpenn]

Reblogging this just to increase visibility along with adding a few extra thoughts to this.

If Tosteur or Sunny wishes for me to delete this post then I will happily do so! Please check tags for more rambles lolol.

I mentioned previously that I had gone on an alt account to have a conversation about Zeteroxx and Fey's accusations. Our conversation got a bit heated, but one of the main things I had asked Zeteroxx about is its goal with the constant harassment of my friends. It had clearly stated that it wanted Tosteur and Sunny to 'go to therapy and they would be allowed to come back when they are different people'. There are a few issues with this: it's not up to Zeteroxx or Fey to decide if someone's changed, they have gone way beyond a reasonable and polite solution and instead started asking people to harass and block my friends without clearly stating that they just want Tosteur and Sunny to take a break just to go to therapy, Zeteroxx and Fey aren't privy to the information to see if the parties they've already started accusing are already in therapy or if they have looked into therapy, and also some kids online don't really get to make the call that someone 'needs therapy'. I personally think therapy is beneficial to everyone but trying to diagnose someone mentally unwell(or whatever they are trying to convey by their accusations) as someone who is not a trained professional can be quite damaging.

Also, while Zeteroxx or Fey are now deliberately trying to sabotage Tosteur and Sunny's relationships it kinda goes beyond 'spreading the word'. It is harassment. Not to mention making entire block lists of people who side with the two accused and posting it as a threat to add more people or using the overhanging threat of yourselves blocking them. At this point you are trying to scare people into siding with you.

This has already been brought up. But it's not up to Fey to decide if people are allowed to be a certain person or align with a certain identity. Fey left Tosteur's server because they got into a disagreement with Sunny. Fey made a comment saying that someone they used to know likely was lying about their sexuality because they were a bad person and Sunny called Fey out saying that Fey doesn't get to make those accusations because that is invalidating part of someone's identity. Fey said 'i know when im not wanted' and then left the server with Zeteroxx. Two weeks later the hate posts started coming up. Now, Fey is trying to invalidate Sunny's identity saying that they won't call them the name Sunny because 'Sunny' is a fictive and not the person fronting. Plus the constant use of wrong pronouns when on the server and now after they've left.

I'm not saying anyone involved was blameless. Multiple people have made mistakes in this situation, including myself. But there's a clear difference between people who are using popular Omori creators to constantly spread their hate and people who are trying to just take the hate. Tosteur hasn't lashed back or done anything to aggravate any of you guys after that situation! Why do you feel the need to be lurking on the page of the guy you blocked and screenshot his posts just to post a picture to your following and encourage people to drive Tosteur off the platform??? That's not a decent-person thing to do???

Putting harder to read things below the 'read more'. This mentions Zeteroxx's accusations against myself and a few other people regarding their mental state when they were on the server and mentions of taking ones life. Please proceed with caution.

When I tried to confront Zeteroxx on my alt account it accused me of 'making it almost commit' along with hurling those accusations to the other accused and people in that server. I do not plan on invalidating it's feelings but it is extremely important to make some points clear.

First of all, after breaking the rules on its first day, I offered to help Zeteroxx in DMs so it would not continue breaking the rules on the server(spoiler alert: it kept breaking the rules on the server). My thought process in offering to help it is that I was the oldest person on the server and I thought that the responsibility should naturally fall to me to make sure that Zeteroxx was okay and other people weren't being made uncomfortable. A few days into talking to Zeteroxx in DMs I realized that I truly had no clue what I was doing and started feeling more and more uncomfortable as I felt my own mental health taking a toll so I told Zeter that I didn't feel comfortable DMing it anymore and offered different online resources that would have people better suited and trained to help people. I also offered to help it find alternate resources if the current ones did not work.

Zeteroxx told me that those kinds of resources just don't really work for it and then proceeded to continue ruminating on the server. At that point I only kept my conversations with it public and did not respond anytime it attempted to DM me.

My next point is that while several people can influence a choice, no human can truly make anyone commit. It sounds cruel to say that, but my point is that Zeteroxx is placing all of the blame for its mental health onto other people very publicly in a way to hurt them. It hurts a lot to have an accusation like that made against you and while I understand that it may be upset with Sunny or I, it's not necessarily correct or fair to place us as the pure blame. There are a lot of factors that tie into decisions that impactful, and for someone to be held as the sole reason can take a large mental toll.

Also, its ideation of committing was brought up on its first day in the server. Zeteroxx has been blaming Tosteur and other server members for everyone excluding it and ignoring it, but there were no such conversations like that. Likely, the two reasons people wouldn't always respond to Zeteroxx's message is because 1) most of the server is in an entirely different time zone and could be in school or sleeping when the message was sent or 2) people just didn't know how to connect with Zeteroxx and felt uncomfortable when being in a conversation when the other party started spiraling. There was no consensus for everyone to ignore specific members of the server, people are just allowed to have conversations with who they wish. And we aren't going to make anyone have conversations with someone either.

I apologize if this comes across as harsh, but it was of my opinion that it would be best to be blunt about my thoughts on this subject because this situation has hurt multiple people. And even though the people accused keep trying to ignore and just let Zeteroxx and Fey be angry, the hate posts haven't necessarily been going away.

Making this post because I am so incredibly tired of all this bullshit, with all the stress me and my friend went through.

TW Drama

It's been almost two months, and i've been isolated, under the pretext that I'm a harasser and that I've manipulated and bullied two former members of my server. 

My friend already clarified this on his response post on his now inactive alt, but this is not true. I have almost never talked to Zeteroxx in DMS, and when I did, it was me checking if it was okay after it felt bad after a roleplay session. On the server, i've always been respectful. All I did was reminding it and Fey to respect the rules, which they were both constantly breaking. Venting, bringing out dramas, constantly despite my warnings. I have tried to be understanding, and most of the time I would just brush off their behaviour even when it made several members uncomfortable. Venting is not allowed on this server, and while I understand they'd want a safe space to vent to, it shouldn't have been here. People from the server did want to help it by making a venting group. People were not harassing Zeteroxx.

It got upset when Theoku stated he felt uncomfortable at the idea of Zeteroxx seeing his content. That's it.

Fey did have disagreements with members of the server but again, it was always respectful, and members were always understanding of Fey's past experiences. Their disagreements with Theoku were resolved in DMS and were not heated. At all. Not in any way was it harassment. Theoku had always been trying to be respectful as well.

And again, the proshipper allegations are baseless. Just because I drew my Basil|Stranger character wearing a crop top and flirting with Sunny. They're both 17, and even then, there was nothing sexual about this. It is just a teenager wearing a crop top. What is wrong with you people. And since it is now used as Fey's main argument against us, I find it concerning. They seem to care way more about a drawing they don't like than the actual person who has been hurt. 

It is valid from Zeteroxx not to feel good after someone clearly said they don't like it, in a moment where it was in a very bad headspace and struggling. But I do condemn the constant harassment from their side.  The amount of posts they've been making on us and telling my mutuals and friends to block me is harassment. I have received asks that were clearly the results of those posts. And talking to the artists I've interacted with to "warn them about us", making a bunch of call out posts is a hate campaign. Fey, what you're doing is harassment, and it's not helping anyone. All it's doing is hurting every party involved. I am not happy about losing mutuals, potential friends. I am not happy about seeing all the hard work I've put on this blog crumble.

Fey was the one who had been horribly disrespectful, misgendering Theoku and using the wrong name despite his constant reminders; while insisting on using the right pronouns for you, which we had been doing since the beginning. This is in no way okay. 

Explicitly refusing to use the name that Theoku gave them because “it’s clearly the host talking, not Sunny” despite Theoku clearly stating it is his name everywhere including on discord is disgusting.

I invite you to look at the posts Fey had been making "exposing us", as well as Theoku's response on his alt account ( @theokusobjection ) but you can clearly see that no significant proof was formulated that would prove us guilty of such things.

They have been accusing us while misusing extremely serious and sensitive language, with again, no concrete proof. I am not happy about the image they are painting of us, it has been impacting our mental healths very badly.

And regarding this old friend again, this should've stayed a private matter. I am deeply hurt by this as well as it was a very painful and traumatic friendship fallout. I had been avoiding this person and moving on with life, and that helped me recover from all of this, yet here we are.

I stayed silent for so long to protect myself, not to feed the drama, but I cannot take this anymore.

[flamingpudding]

The Ghost King is my Uncle Drabbles #2

A/N: Some more linked to a prompt week writing I did

>>Masterpost

Original this builds on: Link

Rowdy Cousin

Batman swore internally, from the outside he stoically sat in his chair and did nothing to indicate the absolute chaos that was going on in his mind. The Meeting rooms light flickered and the speakers once more started up loudly blaring a song all over the Watchtower. He was pretty sure one of his sons had told him once that playing that song was a meme.

"Someone do something about that kid! He is Rickrolling us!" Green Lantern screamed above the music.

"Constantine is already trying to do something." Superman's hands covering his sensitive ears as the music must sound to him even louder.

Batman very much only looped one thought in his head. -It's only for world ending purpose, I cannot use it right now.-

He had a responsibility to uphold, he was the patriarch of the earth branch family. This was not something that required him to use that. No he would not use it. He refused. This was not a world ending matter. Surely Constantine or anyone else of the Justice League Dark would solve this problem any second now.

The screens flicker and Batman did anything he could in his mind to not let his eye twitch even if no one would be able to see it. Cat videos were playing where second earlier statistics and observatory programs had been running.

No he would not, they could handle this problem no need to involve family.

The music stopped and some of his hero colleagues let out a relieved sigh only for a familiar laugh to echo through the watchtower and a new song starting to play. One that apparently counts all 100 dumb ways to die.

"Why is Klarion even targeting the watchtower like this?!" The Flash shouted over the lyrics before turning to him.

"Did one of your kids piss him off or something?!"

"No." At least not as far as he knew, though considering the recent discovery as well as the surprise visits his uncle had done lately he might have a guess why the witch boy was targeting them right now. Didn't mean he would elaborate this reason to the other heroes present.

Before Wonder Woman could comment John Constantine stormed in the room and slammed his hands down onto the table staring right at Batman with blood shot eyes. "Call him."

"Who?"

"Don't play fucking dumb bats. You know who I mean. This is not the witch brat alone. There is another entity and if you don't want the fucking watchtower crashing into earth you call him right now."

"Bats, he is not talking about who I think he is?" Superman carefully asked while the other heroes looked at him just as questionable.

He held his staring contest with Constantine a little longer before he grunted and reached into his utility belt pulling out a small bat-shaped pendant. A personalized upgraded calling card, his uncle had gifted to him as well as each of his children and extended family members.

This was not how he imagined a meeting in regards to his new discoveries and a possible sure fire contingency plan against world ending emergencies would go. He rubbed his thumb against the engraving waiting for a short moment for it to pulse, before tapping the pendant three times, paused and tapped it two more times. This was a non-emergency call, even if his colleagues might disagree.

He still thought they could very well handle this situation without the help of his uncle.

"BABY BAT, YOU CALLED THIS IS THE FIRST TIME YOU DID!"

The present heroes watched in stunned fashion how a white haired, 20 years old man stepped out of a green portal and instantly zoomed across the room to hug THE Batman around his head rubbing his cheek against the bat's cowl mindful of the pointy parts.

And Batman was letting the man do that only looking resigned.

"We agreed that I would only call on you with this pendant for emergencies."

The white haired man only hummed before his head turned sharply and green glowing eyes narrowed at Constantine, who visibly paled and took a step back standing straight and looking very much like he regretted what he had asked Batman to do. "Trading game is not being rude to you is he?"

The bat only grunted and the white haired man finally let go of him, humming as he took in his surroundings, eyes glinting in mischievously as he saw the flickering lights, animal videos on screen and heard the blaring music over the speaker. "When I okey-ed Klarion to go playing with his cousins I didn't think he would seek you two out. He had been talking about his older cousins starting another game of 'who's the better demon lord' in different dimensions. I thought he was joining their bet."

Wait did he say two? Batman grunted and the white haired guy chuckled. "I will be back in a second."

Not even the Flash could react as fast as the white haired man disappeared and reappeared with Klarion next to him. Clearly pulling on the witch boy's ear like a father would when their child had been naughty. The flickering lights and blaring of music over the speakers had stopped.

"Ow DAD what in the name of chaos are you doing here."

"Your Cousin called me. You are disturbing his work and risking them crashing into earth with Technus' help."

"YOU SNITCHED TO MY DAD?!"

"Hn."

"Technus get out of their network or I will lock you up on a Medieval Island for three decades."

As if the present heroes weren't confused enough a face appeared on one of the screens. Glaring at the white haired man. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me, if you stay in there any longer. I will also dig out the old thermos and soup you additionally for a decade or more."

The face on screen grumbled and the heroes nearly flinched back as a ghostly, green skinned man came out of it, looking every bit frustrated and annoyed. "I was just getting a good look at this modern technology, you have banned me from any big shot Industries…"

"We had that discussion 100 years ago, Technus. Back to the Ghost Zone." The white haired man commanded by opening a portal next to them with the wave of his hand and surprisingly, the green skinned guy listened.

"Sorry about this Baby Bat and Little Demi. Klarion will be grounded for a bit and re-educated in how to bond without risking potentially killing any bystanders. Oh and remember I will come by later for Baby Ghost to get his checkup with Frostbite!"

"Dad, please no grounding! Anything but that!"

"I am sure your Grandpa will be happy to have your help during your grounding."

"Dad! NO! I don't want to keep time in order! I live for chaos not order!"

The man was just smiling and completely ignoring Klarion's complains as he turned towards Batman and Wonder Woman, for reasons the hero's didn't understand.

"Well we will be on our way then Baby Bat, Little Demi!"

Batman grunted and the white haired man chuckled, leaving through the portal and dragging along a whining Klarion, who apparently was that man's son.

Just before the portal closed, the man stuck his head back out looking towards Wonder Woman with a mischievous smile. "Oh before I forget! Pops Clockwork sents his regards Little Demi . He doesn't want me saying this, but he is glad about the path you choose. Says you're set on a pretty good timeline!"

The head disappeared into the portal again and it finally closed. Wonder Woman was left blinking at the empty space, her mouth slightly open with the silent question of "What?"

"Bats, who was that?" The Flash was the first to break the silence that had followed as eyes turned to the dark knight.

"His Uncle." / "The Ghost King."

Superman and Constantine spoke at the same time. The JLD member flinched back as he looked at the glowering bat. Muttering something the man took his leave or rather escaped the room as quickly as possible as Batman kept glaring. Meanwhile Wonder Woman was slowly having a crisis of her own as suddenly family relations that had been hinted to her through Pandora made sense. "Clockwork... no, Titan Cronus? The Ghost King... Uncle Daniel?"

Chaos broke among the present heroes.

"WHAT UNCLE?!"

[mokulule]

Take Out for Dummies - Part 2

Ship: Dead on Main Previous | Masterpost Note: So I was planning on sitting on this until I was about done with part 3, but then @yeetyeetedyote, who tumblr doesn't allow me to tag, did a meme for part 1 and I couldn't help but post it. So hope you enjoy. Jason did not know what to wear. It was Red Hood who had a date, but going in his full uniform seemed very excessive somehow. But there was also no way he was going unarmed. He pondered his closet with a frown. What clothing did he even own that were suitable for a date? He’d never had to ponder this before. What level of formality was expected? Probably not formal, considering there would be no dinner. Also he was Red Hood, there was no way he’d do formal, he had an aesthetic.

He finally settled on jeans, a red henley and the brown leather jacket he used as Red Hood. He held up the jacket and inspected it critically for blood spatters, that at least he felt certain wasn’t appropriate.

One hour later saw Red Hood rolling up to the curb in front of the building. Only one person was leaning against the brick wall there, absorbed in their phone; it had to be Danny. The rest of the people there were just walking past. It was Crime Alley, Red Hood barely got a glance of interest. Gotta love Gothamites.

Jason had not been able to really get good visual on Danny in the dark, aside from the fact that he was rather short and had dark hair, the night vision in his helmet could only do so much. He had not been prepared for how he looked up and the wide blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. Nor the way the button down shirt and the jeans hugged close to broad shoulders and slim waist in a way the hoodie he’d worn previously had clearly not.

Somehow in all his musings about how this would go Jason had never considered the possibility that Danny would be hot.

“Hi,” Danny said still smiling as he came up to him. He raised his arms out from his sides a bit helplessly before letting them fall back. “So how do you want me?”

Jason’s brain screeched to a halt as those words brought a decidedly not appropriate image to his head. He was so glad he was wearing his helmet right now. Jason must have stiffened or given away his embarrassment some other way, because Danny’s cheeks flushed as he too realized how his question could have been understood.

“I meant on your bike.”Jason hunched over, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Because that was not helping at all.

Wordlessly Jason held out the extra helmet. Danny took it gratefully and stuffed it over his red face.

“Front.” Jason said over the radio connection between the helmets.

Jason had to give Danny a hand to get him situated in front. He had to hold on near the center of handlebars and he didn’t really have good place to place his feet and had to hold them curled up.

It was neither safe nor legal, but Jason was not about to have a potential assassin at his back and besides who was gonna arrest Red Hood for traffic violations? The small hitched gasp when Jason curled around Danny’s back to reach the handlebars had his lips quirking up, and he might have pressed him just a bit further forward just for that.

“Where to?”

“Sommerset.”Jason raised an eyebrow at that as he kicked off the curb. Carefully, as he got a feeling for the different weight distribution, he drove them in the direction of the Trigate Bridge.

“If a tour of Old Arkham is your idea of a date, I think I’m gonna have to shoot you.”

Danny scoffed.

“I promised you fun, didn’t I?”

At Jason’s lack of response, he slumped further.

“There’s a traveling carnival on the fair grounds at the edge of town.”

“Huh.” Jason was trying to think of a time he’d actually visited a carnival as a visitor and not a vigilante to stop some villain plot. He was coming up short. There was a feeling in his chest he had a hard time identifying, an uncertain thing, but it wasn’t bad. If nothing else he was gonna have an experience? Oo o oO

They parked the bike in the attached gravel parking lot near the fair grounds. Jason had to step off the bike first and then promptly had to catch Danny as his legs refused to carry him when he stepped off the bike.

“Oh wow, my legs fell asleep there.” He laughed and stepped away on wobbly legs as he pulled the helmet off. He handed it to Jason who put it into its compartment.

He took another wobbly step forward and Jason couldn’t help the way he reached for him to steady him. Instead Danny grabbed his hand firmly. Jason was baffled at the action looking from Danny to their hands, uncertain how to react, but Danny just smiled and changed his hold so their fingers were twined together.

He looked mightily satisfied about it too as he tugged Jason forward toward the fair grounds. A fair bit of the rides were visible because of their heights and Jason could easily imagine how the place would light up with multicolored lights once evening came.

Once they entered the fair grounds they drew quite a lot of attention. Lots of people stopped and pointed at Red Hood and his companion. Phones were pointed in their direction and Jason found himself tensing.

Danny leaned closer and spoke lowly, “Don’t worry, nobody will believe them. Regular digital cameras are odd around me, so they won’t get usable footage.”

Jason’s mind raced, what did that mean? Did he have some sort of jammer? Was it a meta ability? Was it related to his ability to sneak up on vigilantes on Gotham rooftops?

“And,” Danny continued, “if anyone asks, we can always say you’re a cosplayer.”

Jason grimaced. Danny slapped his chest as if he could see right through the mask.

“Hey! Cosplay is a great creative hobby.”

“That’s not- I’m a former crime lord. I don’t understand why anyone would dress up as me.”

“Pffft, don’t sell yourself short. Also you have a cool recognizable thing going on with the helmet. It will be especially funny if someone critiques it for not being accurate.”

Jason couldn’t help his chuckle at how gleeful Danny looked at the prospect.

“This is the real reason you want me to claim I’m cosplaying?”

“It would be so funny, admit it!”

Jason huffed. It would be pretty funny.

“Ha! I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, time to show off some of those shooting skills and win me a plushie.” With that statement Danny pointed towards a game booth with truly ridiculously large unicorn plushies hanging from it and tugged Jason forward. It was only at that moment he remembered they were still holding hands. It was…

It was nice.

Danny glanced back at him and he was smiling, warm and excited. Jason didn’t remember the last time someone had smiled that much at him. Jason found himself smiling back, and he was suddenly grateful he couldn’t be seen behind the helmet.

The shooting booth operator eyed Red Hood warily until Danny broke the tension in a voice that carried, “my friend’s cosplay is pretty awesome right?”

The operator’s shoulders fell and he chuckled, “pretty brave of him to wear that this close to Gotham proper.”

“Sure is! But not to worry if there’s any trouble I will protect him,” Danny said seriously, with a glance and a wink at Jason.

The man took in Danny’s skinny and less than imposing appearance and burst out laughing, and just like that any remaining tension was gone.

The operator explained the game. There were different tiers with bottles lined up on shelves and flat rings of different widths balancing on top. You got points if you knocked the ring down over the bottle neck. The slimmer rings offered more points.

It was a pretty simple game.

Danny put down cash for the game and looked at Jason expectantly. “Show us some of that Red Hood skill.”

The operator chuckled. Jason rolled his eyes and stepped up.

Immediately, as he picked up the air gun it felt clunky in his hand. It was sharp-edged where it should be smooth and was weighted all wrong especially with the pressure cable attached to it, but that was not going to stop him. He loaded it with one of the five cork stoppers the operator handed him. He seemed to be enjoying Danny’s teasing as much as Danny himself.

Out the corner of his vision he saw Danny lean forward expectantly as he took aim.

He pulled the trigger.

The cork stopper was ejected with a loud pop and promptly hit the edge of a shelf bouncing backwards to land on the floor where it rolled around three times before stopping.

Danny looked at him wide eyed before bursting out in helpless snickers. Jason shoved him in revenge, but he couldn’t help smiling. There was just something refreshing about how despite knowing he was the real Red Hood he was so completely unafraid of him. Not even his family was that relaxed around him.

He didn’t want to bring his mood down contemplating that, so he reloaded the clunky gun and took aim again. He considered the points on the rings and the available prize tiers. Four shots left, with a bit of luck he could still do decently.

Aiming higher and slightly more to the right of how he would aim a real gun he shot the first maximum point ring down around the bottle neck. Three more fell in rapid succession.

Danny cheered, pumping his fist in the air.

“That’s four hundred points, that gives you the choice of a large prize,” the operator said impressed.

He pointed at a large unicorn plush, it wasn’t quite the extra large ones that hung on the outside of the stall, those required cumulative points from at least two games, but it was still a very decent size.

Danny was the very opposite of disappointed when Jason handed it over. He squished it in his arms and absolutely beamed up at Jason. Jason looked away, embarrassed for feeling so satisfied and warm just for winning a silly game.

The operator snorted giving them a knowing look. “Have a nice evening boys.”

“You too,” Danny replied, sidling up close and entwining their fingers again as he pulled them away and off towards the various rides.

Jason eyed their once more joined hands in bemusement, not really sure what to think, but he’d already allowed it once. It sold the appearance of a date, made it all the more likely to the bystanders that Jason was just some cosplayer with a death wish, so it was smart to keep holding hands. And Jason found himself reluctant to give it up.

It was an easy illusion to give into.

He squeezed Danny’s hands and he turned his head to look at him, smiling like this was a real date and not one of his odd jobs. Jason nodded towards the bumper cars and Danny’s grin turned into feral delight as he dragged him in the new direction. It was so easy to pretend Jason was just here to have fun with a friend who was maybe just a bit more.

That was something he could have had maybe. If he hadn’t been Robin. If he hadn’t died and come back wrong. If he wasn’t a former crime lord just trying to find his footing with a family he wasn’t sure wanted him and not just the dead boy he’d been.

But for just a little while he could pretend.

Until Danny turned out to actually know he was supposed to kill him, until everything crashed and burned like usual, he could allow himself a little fun.

Like ignoring every sign saying the bumper cars were not meant for driving into each other. The bored teen operator certainly didn’t care to uphold that rule. The bumper car ride was a war zone, a giant free for all and yet Jason managed to have only eyes for Danny. He was a tricky driver to catch. Jason had no idea how he managed to maneuver the car like that, it was verging on supernatural.

They were both laughing when they exited their cars after Jason had finally managed to bump into him proper instead of the earlier glancing blows.

“Remind me to call you if I ever need a getaway driver.”

Danny snorted knocking their shoulders together. “Only if I get part of the cut.”

I’ll give you more than a cut, Jason was about to say, but thankfully didn’t. Because what did that even mean? Instead he knocked his shoulder back.

They continued on towards another ride, a small rollercoaster, and as they queued Danny started telling him about how his dad’s driving was so infamous in his hometown that the local news included a segment to warn for it when he was on the roads. Because of that nobody had wanted to give Danny driving lessons and that’s why technically he didn’t have a license, but he’d once landed a space shuttle, so that should count for something. The story verged on so impossible it had to be true, but Jason was sure if a civilian had actually landed a space shuttle it would have been all over the news or at least known among superheroes - it was entertaining nonetheless.

Jason wasn’t sure when they’d started holding hands again only noted the absence when Danny left him by a bench several rides later with stern instructions to protect the princess with his life, aka the unicorn plushie.

The lights had flickered on a while ago and bathed the darkening grounds in multicolored lights. Jason leaned back relaxing against the bench. Taking in the lights and the happy atmosphere as people passed him by. There were a few people who pointed and snickered as they walked by, but clearly the unicorn plushie was just as good as Danny to convince people he was just a guy in a costume.

“It’s a pretty good costume.”

Jason turned his head to find a man with a superman shirt had stopped. He stayed silent waiting for him to elaborate. He obviously wanted to, there was something in his drawl.

“The casual look is pretty well put together while remaining recognizably Red Hood.”

“But-“ somehow there was a but- “if you were actually from Gotham you’d know that the real helmet is matte and the brow section is more slanted giving it an angrier expression.”

Jason stared incredulously at the man in the Superman shirt accusing him of not being a Gothamite. Never mind the helmet thing, that was just ridiculous but accusing him of not being a Gothamite, now that was an insult he wouldn’t be taking. Jason stood up to his full six feet and saw the way the man shrunk as he realized he might have made a mistake.

“There you are, babe,” Danny inserted himself smoothly into the situation snaking an arm around his waist and pressing close. It was distracting. “Come on let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

Jason snorted as he let Danny move them forward. He didn’t need the intervention, he wouldn’t have attacked the man or anything.

He couldn’t help but pull them to a stop however as they passed him.

“Your information is outdated, this is the current helmet.” He spoke lowly and ominously only made more ominous by the voice modulation.

The man eep’ed and scrambled to get away.

They watched him go with no small bit of amusement.

“I thought we agreed to keep it on the down low.”

Jason shrugged, “he asked for it, besides you said it yourself, nobody will believe him.”

“Alright then.” Danny left the place beneath Jason’s arm, he had only a moment to feel bereft however until his hand was grabbed again and pulled in the direction of the parking lot. “Speaking of proof, do you mind me taking a selfie of us so I can prove I took you out?”

Jason frowned. “I thought you said cameras didn’t work around you.” “They don’t, I’ve had to modify it to be able to take any pictures.”

“You gonna tell me what kind of meta ability you have?”

Danny chuckled. He pulled their joined hands up and pressed a kiss to Jason’s scarred knuckles. Jason was so distracted by the action he almost didn’t hear the, “I like you Hood, but that isn’t a first date conversation.”

There was a pause in their conversation as Jason contemplated the absurd idea of there ever being a second date, the fact that this one was nearly over and how he’d actually had a lot of fun.

“So, selfie?”

“Uh sure.”

Danny juggled the white plastic bag that Jason only noticed now onehanded as he pulled out his phone. It was a broad phone with actual buttons and Jason would believe it was modified alright. Danny smiled and leaned close as he raised his hand, a small flash went off and Danny looked the picture over in satisfaction.

“What’s with the bag?”

“Huh, oh this is food. Our next stop, if you’re still willing, is the ice rink, but I figured we could take a break on the roof and eat back to back or something, what with the whole-” he indicated the helmet by waving a hand in front of his face.

So it wasn’t over yet. Not if Jason wanted to continue. It was an easy out, Jason could just chose to drive Danny to wherever he wanted to be dropped off and he could go home and still make it easily in time for patrol - or he could prolong the evening.

Jason popped open the compartment under the seat of his bike and took the warm bag of food from Danny to put in as he considered. Danny had already put on the extra helmet.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Jason could practically hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn’t see it through the opaque helmet.

“Okay,” he confirmed.

The small fist pump was kinda adorable. So first part of the date, it was getting a bit long so I cut it in two, but hey that's the only reason I could even upload it. Jason is in trouble, he's just not quite realizing it yet XD I enjoy hearing your thoughts on the story, so please continue to share &lt;3

Subscribe to the masterpost here Next

[callmelola111]

loser!ellie ♡ dating app headcanons

synopsis: totally sfw hc’s of loser!ellie (modern au) on dating apps, including a cute little 1st date scenario. basically just pure fluff !!!

      | 𓆣 | pairing & wc: ellie williams x reader. wc: 1.4k

a/n: never written headcanons before, crazy ass shit. idk if i did it exactly right but i think it will be an entertaining read no matter what. i’ve recently caved and downloaded hinge which is what inspired this---but there’s only like 40 gay bitches on there and that’s it (also like no mascs?? i’m attracted to any kind of non-man but still,,, the shortage is real y’all). ALSO let me know if this is something you’d like a nsfw/smut part 2 of. much loveeee ♡~ lola

| ❀ | loser!ellie who took weeks of convincing from dina and jesse to finally download hinge after she wouldn’t shut up about how she’s “never beating the loser lesbian allegations”. truly she could have any girl she wants but just doesn’t know how to speak to them in real life. they were so fed up with her bullshit.

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who only has like 3 pictures of her actual face so the rest of the photos on her hinge profile are just art pics and gay memes

| ❀ | loser!ellie who had to beg dina for help writing all the little prompts just to reject all her ideas because she’d “never say something like that!”

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who started getting so cocky as soon as those likes began to roll in. saying some shit like “ooo i have rizz” in the cringiest way possible. jesse just says it’s cause there’s a masc lesbian shortage and of course she flips him off in response.

| ❀ | loser!ellie whose cockiness immediately leaves her body when she realizes she has to go through the likes and accept/reject every girl. eventually she just gave up and stopped looking because it felt “too mean” and like “too much work”.

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who SUCKS at responding to messages and likes after she lost all interest about 2 days into having the app. that is until she stumbled upon your profile…

✄ - - - -   ♡   - - - - 

| ❀ | loser!ellie whose glued to her notifications after she matched with you on hinge. at this point you’re her fixation, and every other message besides yours are going unanswered. as soon as she works up the courage to ask for your number, and you oblige, she immediately deletes the app.

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who stares at her screen for like 5 minutes straight at the first text message she plans to send you, even though it was literally just “hey, is this y/n?”. she even googled the difference in connotations between hi, hey, and hello. it’s safe to say the girl is straight up mental about you.

| ❀ | loser!ellie who gets more and more unhinged as y’all get better acquainted with each other through texts. eventually she's spamming you with updates about her day, instagram memes that she thinks are funny, and an occasional flirty message—but of course, she’s waiting for that first date to really test the romantic waters. like yes she’s obsessed with you, but to the extent where she’s so scared to screw things up so every little move she makes is with caution and regard to your feelings and boundaries. it’s honestly super sweet.

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who eventually asked you on a first date after you sent like 3 different flirty memes to get the point across that you like her a lot and wanna be taken out for real. you definitely were sending her some shit like this…

| ❀ | loser!ellie who planned out a whole agenda for y’alls first date so it would be absolutely perfect. she refused to tell you where she was taking you or what you guys would be doing because she thought it would be better as a surprise. and although you were kinda stressing about what to wear and what to expect, the element of mystery was kind of endearing.

✄ - - - -   ♡   - - - - 

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who pulls up to your house in her little beat up sedan that she had cleaned for like the first time ever just before she came and picked you up. there was still clearly some reminisce of her mess as seen on the stained seats and crumbs on the floor, but you didn’t mind—yours was just as bad (probably worse).

| ❀ | loser!ellie who took you out for sushi as the first stop on your date, to which she graciously paid for even with you fighting to put your card down on the table first. she looked so adorable with her little california roll, and even cuter when she accidentally got too much wasabi in a bite and was fiending for water while simultaneously trying to play it cool in front of you. you just laughed which immediately made her feel better about the whole thing. 

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who then took you to your town’s expansive park to walk the dirt trails and just talk. neither of you had ever gotten along with someone so well, the conversation was absolutely effortless. you talked about all your interests, funny life stories, your fears, and so much more. ellie listened attentively with nods and affirmations throughout which made you feel so cared for, something most girls on dating apps could never do. you extended the courtesy back and ellie told you all about her own stuff, including her obsession with space, to which she pulled out her favorite book on the topic to show you. space had never really piqued your interest before, but when it was coming out of the freckled girl's mouth, it seemed like the coolest thing in the world.

| ❀ | loser!ellie who sat next to you on one of the park’s wooden benches. time had flown by and neither of you had realized until your head was resting on her shoulder as the sun set in front of you. the orange cast hit her auburn hair just right and it looked like she was practically glowing. you couldn’t help but stare at her beauty which she noticed and with a concerned look questioned if she had anything on her face. you informed ellie of the trance she had put you in and she blushed the color of your pink nails just before leaning in to give you the most tender, loving kiss you’d ever received.

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who couldn’t stop kissing you once she started. your lips remained locked with hers for a solid 5 minutes, lips puffy and saliva exchanging, until the sound of a dog barking a few feet away broke the exchange. the energy had shifted in the best way possible and the both of you quickly opened up about how much you liked one another. one thing lead to another and suddenly ellie has out her pocket knife and is carving an E + R (reader) into the wood of the park bench. how lesbian of you guys ♡

| ❀ | loser!ellie who didn’t want the date to end and you were right there with her, so you somehow found yourselves in an empty parking lot at 9:00pm, drinking slurpees while she tried to teach you how to skate. it started off as a real attempt with her teaching you the basics like where to put your feet and the importance of bending your knees. after about 4 different falls onto the dirty asphalt you gave up on your genuine pursuits. discouraged, you sat right down on the board, knees up, before ellie gave you a push and you rolled across the lot. she was laughing her ass off and you were too until you hit a bump and tumbled off. 

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who bolted into the CVS the parking lot belonged to and bought a bunch of unnecessary first aid items for the small cut on your knee. she came back out of the sliding doors and you died of laughter as she pulled out a box of peppa pig bandaids for your skating “injury”. ellie insisted you needed to be taken care of though, so you let her do her thing and she finished it off with a small peck to the cap of your knee and one on your forehead.

| ❀ | loser!ellie who spent the trip back to your place with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, driving you absolutely wild. you almost had to remind yourself that this was just the first date.

| 𓆣 | loser!ellie who had been parked in your driveway for 10 minutes already but continued to stall your departure with more of her shenanigans. soon she ran out of things to say though and leaned over to kiss you goodbye. this goodbye turned into more and you ended up in her lap before the night was over. it wasn’t until your back hit the steering wheel making the car honk that you finally exited the vehicle. 

| ❀ | loser!ellie who waited for you to completely make it inside before she drove home, giving you a final little wave as you opened the front door. after she was back at her place she instantly texted you about date 2 and thanked you for the best night of her life. in her eyes, you were a keeper!

✄ - - - -   masterlist   - - - -   ♡

taglist...

@endureher @gold-dustwomxn @alexpritch @4rt3m1ss @robinismywifee @sophlovesbooks @97cityy

(taglist is for all callmelola111 works, if you'd like to be removed just kindly lmk)

[incorrectfmaquotes]

Alex Louis Armstrong is a Chad

do you remember sending this ask? i remember getting it. i was in japan visiting family before i set off to college that fall when i opened my inbox and saw this ask. and i thought it was funny. and true. Alex Louis Armstrong IS a Chad. and i wanted to come up with a funny reply to match. but being quick-witted cant really ever be considered one of my strong suits, and i had even less wield of that skill when still adjusting to a 17 hour time difference. so i told myself not to worry about it, keep spending this time with family members i rarely get to see, and surely when i get home in a few weeks, i could come up with an appropriately fun reply.

that was over 5 years ago. i had gotten back home since then. i had stayed home. virtually everyone was staying home for a good amount of time, a global pandemic happened. other global events happened. Personal Life Stuff happened. i had just graduated high school when i got this ask, and in a universe where maybe some things happened differently, i would have graduated college by now. my keeping of this blog fell more and more to the wayside until life got too busy that it was hard to manage even putting older quotes in the queue and i eventually stopped doing that.

yet a bit more than occasionally over these years, i have thought about this ask and what i could reply to it. still, a fun response has eluded me. but what could i even say as more time passes? that would make the wait worth it? this ask got buried deeper and deeper in my inbox and harder to reach as more asks and submissions were sent. it's entirely possible the blog that has sent it has since deactivated, as many blogs who have sent more recent asks have. the meme became more and more outdated. are chad/virgin jokes still being made? i dont know. even in my teen years i havent been on the rising tide of what slang and memes are currently popular. the gap of knowledge has only widened with age. recently a cousin who is around the same age i was when this ask came to my inbox had quizzed me on tiktok dances and was surprised that i didnt know any, dropping his jaw and exclaiming in all seriousness, "Wow! The generational gap is crazy." the social media i still use the most is tumblr, but more sporadic than it used to be, mainly just a tab i keep open on my desktop to, i dont know, feed some nostalgia? make it seem like im not completely rotting under the weight of adulthood by still keeping some of the rot of my teenage years?

over 5 years have since passed. i am back in japan right now, visiting the same family again, the first time since 2019 when this ask was sent. in the next year, if all things go according to plan, i will be back in college. it's funny, how life goes about in circles. but sometimes, maybe most of the time, those circles dont complete, and many things in life never get closure. or maybe closure does happen, and those circles do complete, but messily, unsatisfactorily, more resembling misshapen imperfect lumps than anything resembling a circle.

all of this to say:

the Chad Alex Louis Armstrong vs. the Virgin Roy Mustang. Discuss.

[highseas-swede]

Aziraphale and Trauma

[Just a note that I initially wrote this in response to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/theangelyouknew/732357015604756480?source=share&ref=_tumblr which is full of insightful info. I'm reposting my response here with some minor edits so it's easier to find in tags.]

This is something I actually find interesting within the fandom, because there seems to be this weird divide in fandom when it comes to Aziraphale.

See, I love Aziraphale. I think he's an amazing and well nuanced character, but a lot of the time fandom boils him down into this really simple version of himself. This happens both with people who dislike him and claim he's a bad person as well as with those who want to soften him up and make him more palatable. Aziraphale isn't the only one who has trouble with black and white thinking here!

Things like Coffee Theory remove Aziraphale's agency because the thought of Aziraphale doing something to hurt Crowley deliberately is something they can't stomach. If Aziraphale is acting under some kind of major magical influence, it means that it's possible to brush over the fact that he can - and has - hurt Crowley in the past and it certainly hasn't always been accidental.

There's a lot of Psychology I could touch on here, but it's honestly such a complicated topic that I don't really feel I can do it justice attached to a completely different topic.

But one thing I do want to touch on a bit is how Aziraphale asserts control in his own life via his connection with Crowley, and that touches on something equally complicated, which is something that's probably hard to understand.

Abuse victims are often manipulative.

I don't mean this at all as some kind of slight or insult. I've been an abuse victim myself and it's one reason I know it's true.

Fandom talks a lot about Crowley's trauma and he's got loads, to be sure. I think of that meme about "this bad boy can fit a lot of trauma" and it's very true. I've even seen people mention that Aziraphale has a different kind of Trauma than Crowley, which is also true.

What I haven't seen is someone addressing that the type of religious trauma is a form of CPTSD. CPTSD or "Complex PTSD" is a very specific form of PTSD. PTSD is characterized as being the result of a traumatic event - Crowley's fall, for example, is a good example of PTSD and I can go into that at some point. CPTSD is different because it's not a singular event, it's the result of being in a constant high stress situation. A lot of abuse victims - especially those abused by parental figures or significant others - have this form of PTSD.

A good way to see the difference is in comparing how they relate to their trauma. When Crowley thinks he's lost Aziraphale in S1, it sends him into a spiral. But importantly we see that this traumatic event is causing Crowley to go back to another traumatic event in time, triggering his memories of his fall. This emphasizes how much Crowley's fall defines his trauma. We rarely see him experiencing trauma at the hands of Hell, as he's mostly allowed freedom to handle his job on earth the way he wants.

https://cptsdfoundation.org/ defines CPTSD as "the results of ongoing, inescapable, relational trauma. Unlike Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Complex PTSD typically involves being hurt by another person. These hurts are ongoing, repeated, and often involving a betrayal and loss of safety."

In humans, this is caused by having no sense of safety in key moments of development. It strips away sense of self, sense of worth and really any agency. We even see the angels using direct gaslighting tactics on Aziraphale in S2, which I'm surprised doesn't get mentioned more often: When they come to the bookshop looking for Gabriel, they mention Gabriel and then almost immediately when Aziraphale asks "you were looking for Gabriel", Uriel outright says a line that goes something like "Did we say we were looking for Gabriel?", leading Aziraphale to fumble and try to remember if they did, in fact, say that at some point (they did).

So, one big thing to know about CPTSD and this kind of abuse related trauma is that learning to lie and be manipulative is often what people have to do to survive. Children with abusive parents will learn how to be manipulative in order to get what they need or avoid losing things they need.

We see this with Aziraphale, time and time again. He could just ASK Crowley for things he wants. A lot of people point out that he could ask and that Crowley would probably give in to him most of the time anyway. But that's not how it works in an abusive home. Instead, Aziraphale maneuvers Crowley into situations where Crowley is forced to give him what he needs or wants.

His lack of agency, as a result of his CPTSD, is also why he needs to be worked into making decisions that he already knows - or at least suspects - are right. That's why they have their little dance every time Crowley has to talk Aziraphale into something by finding the right way to frame it so it makes sense with Aziraphale's strict rule structure. These rules exist as a defensive mechanism too. Having rules makes it easier to figure out how to avoid being hurt and Aziraphale cannot simply step outside the rules because it's Not Safe. Not even with someone he trusts as much as Crowley.

The entire apology dance scene stands out for a few reasons. Everything Aziraphale does in the entire scene is an act that allows him to take control of the situation. He's already won, so to speak, because Crowley is back and Crowley is going to do what he wants. The apology is unnecessary on every level.

This post talks about how uncomfortable Crowley has to be sharing a space with Gabriel. Gabriel is with the abusive team, whether or not he was directly involved with Crowley's fall. Crowley also harbors a severe distress and mistrust of Gabriel because of Gabriel's attempts to destroy Aziraphale, the most important person to Crowley. But it's worth noting that Aziraphale is uncomfortable too.

Another good indicator of how stressed Aziraphale is with all this is that he doesn't eat ANYTHING when Gabriel is in the shop. The only food he consumes in modern era is when he's in the Bentley which is a "safe" space. Gabriel constantly hounded Aziraphale over eating and despite offering Gabriel hot chocolate, we don't see him partaking himself. He does briefly drink to demonstrate how "drinking tea" works for Muriel, but he doesn't seem to drink from his cup at all after demonstrating.

The bookshop is also Aziraphale's safe space, his ONLY safe space - Crowley still technically has the Bentley, and honestly I feel like Aziraphale wanting to borrow the Bentley is actually partially because he needs to get away from Gabriel and the Bentley is the only place that feels safe for him at the moment. Shax ruins any illusion of safety for him, but Aziraphale is much more enthused for his trip in ep3 and a fair amount of it is because he's not trapped with Gabriel.

A small note here, as a thought occurs to me. Aziraphale asserting that the Bentley is "our car" is probably mostly for himself. He's trying to realign his thinking to make the Bentley an acceptable "safe space" for himself prior to the trip.

There is a very different relationship dynamic when it comes to Gabriel and Aziraphale because Gabriel is the constant source of Aziraphale's trauma. He's Aziraphale's superior, the one he has to report to, the one who passes down his missions and his punishments. When Aziraphale takes Gabriel in, he's just invited his former abuser of over 6000 years into his safe haven. This is a hugely uncomfortable thing for an abuse survivor.

Worst of all, because Jim is, for all intents and purposes, NOT Gabriel, Aziraphale can't bring himself to lash out at his former abuser the way he wants to.

That brings us back to this apology scene.

There are two major things going on here and both of them are bad and hurtful toward Crowley. They're also both intensely unfair. I love Aziraphale but this was definitely a dick move.

Firstly: Aziraphale is using Crowley to reassert a sense of control over the situation because he is spiraling. He can't assert control over his life and his shop, which is one thing that he falls back on heavily, and that leaves him scrambling to find somewhere where he can control his situation. He makes Crowley go through this whole unnecessary apology and dance routine because it makes him feel like he has control over SOMETHING in his life right now.

Secondly: Aziraphale is also enacting his own trauma on Crowley. He's treating Crowley the way Heaven treats him. This is a direct parallel to the way Crowley terrorizes his house plants because he can't do anything to the people who actually caused his trauma. This is, obviously, wildly unfair of Aziraphale to do - and I'm fairly sure there are other small moments where Aziraphale does this in a mild way, I'd have to rewatch again.

These are both behaviors common in CPTSD caused by environments that apply this constant state of stress.

I'm not going to say it's right, or that Aziraphale isn't being a bit of a bastard in this moment - he absolutely is - but this behavior does have some obvious triggers that might be easy to overlook. It's just important to understand that Aziraphale is falling into self-preservation habits that are actively detrimental to his relationship with Crowley. It's not just the manipulation, he's also hiding things and lying to Crowley when he really shouldn't be - both things often necessary in abusive environments - but he's doing it because that's the method that he's created that works with his abusive relationship in Heaven and he's falling back on it because he feels unsafe. The trouble is, this survival tactic does not work with Crowley and actively makes things worse because it shuts down open communication entirely.

[moodymisty]

Hi, I’d like to request a (nsfw) Perturabo x reader where you’re about to have sex with him, but you’re slowly realising from the way he’s anxiously going about it that he’s never had sex before. Perturabo knows, anatomically speaking, where the clit is, but he’s probably got no clue on what to do with it. (Also he’s probably trying so hard not to be an ass about it but he’s anxious and you’re so pretty and eager and what if he disappoints you and what if you call his sexual ability subpar and what if-) (he’s nervous. Basically)

I just feel like we often forget that a good number of the primarchs haven’t had sex before, which in my opinion could have some interesting implications in terms of x readers. Especially considering who they are and the possible stigmas around sex that they could have learned while on their various planets

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

A soft sequel to this request

Author’s note: I always jokingly quote Bricky when I say Perty is an Incel, so it’s nice I get to defeat the meme. Makes sense that most of the Primarchs probably wouldn’t indulge in such a thing at least often though, physical issues aside most humans tended to treat them like they were above them, which would probably be frustrating.

Anyways, I made sure to stay as close to your prompt as I could with Perturabo. I imagine he would NEVER let anyone see he wasn't a master at something, sex included. But don't worry, he worries internally plenty for you to enjoy I hope.

Summary: Perturabo returns to his new beloved, and indulges in an act he once deemed pointless.

Relationships: Perturabo/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Massive size kink, Perturabo is a little awkward but he tries to hide it, The creampie to end all creampies, A teeny bit of choking kink if you squint, Like 80% smut

Word Count: 2739 ...oops?

“Lord Perturabo?”

Hearing his name, he looks up to see a fresh faced Iron Warrior looking at him between two other of his elders. He hums as a response that he heard them, but that only seems to confuse him further.

“Should I repeat myself?”

Perturabo had hoped the three would take his disinterest in the matter as a tell for that they should continue their current plan, but he suppose they need his verbal approval on the matter.

“No. Take whatever tech priests aren’t already working on the issue and have them assist. I expect this to not be a problem for much longer.”

Throne knows we shouldn’t be waylaid for much longer.

The fact that they even had an engine issue to begin with upset the primarch immensely, but he’s been holding his tongue while it’s fixed. His legion has done nothing but aggravate him this entire mission, even more so than usual.

The three Iron Warriors nod and leave to follow his orders, and let Perturabo enjoy the room in silence once again. Apart from the hum of machinery and the buzz of a projection on the holotable, the room is finally quiet enough for him.

With a soft grunt of exertion he leans forward and places his hands against the edge of the massive table, and shifts uncomfortably in his armor as the issue that had distracted him previous makes itself known once again. It arguably aggravates him even more than this entire waylaid issue has been, his gauntlets gripping the table's edge tight enough that he feels it give way and crumbles underneath his hands.

Perturabo has never had such thoughts of sex take over so much of his head before. Especially ones that were unsolvable on his own, and lingered like some sort of infection.

If rarely the desire struck him and kept distracting him he could take a moment to himself, angrily yank himself to completion in the quiet of his own quarters- usually at his desk- before returning to his work, distraction quelled. It was transactional, just a bodily need to be dealt with before moving along.

But that hasn’t worked this time. He’s already tried and you still occupy his mind- still distracting him. It's all your fault, he should've never allowed you to get your nails into him this deep, deep enough that he can't tear them free.

He’s never felt this way before. He’s never felt any real desire to actually bring another person into his bed; If he needed that sort of release, he did it himself. To touch another, desire another, is new to him.

He knows you're soft, but how soft will you feel in his hands? Not just your own hand, but your entire body? He's never touched a woman before, had no reason to add another variable into his life that would largely serve to only distract him.

He wishes he could just rip all this armor off. He won't, but it's aggravating that now he's distracted enough to find it all inconvenient.

Once they repair the Iron Blood they can return to Olympia. Then he can see you and finally relieve himself of the stress you've put him under, scolding you for things you had no control over.

Unlike the days earlier when you were still working on his puzzle boxes, your workload now is significantly reduced. You mostly clean Perturabo's workshop and most personal quarters now, partly to keep yourself busy, and because he doesn't wish there to be anyone in there he doesn't trust.

He would have someone else he didn't despise to do it if you got bored of the work, the only reason he hasn't is because you seem to do it to keep your mind busy; Especially now that he was gone. He understands the feeling. He too hates it if his mind wanders too far off the path, hence why his workshop is so filled with random things he made when he felt himself drifting.

You enter the workshop and with significant effort close the heavy door behind you, before walking closer to him. He sits at his main workbench, a few partly rolled up plans the only thing in front of him of note. His shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, showing the scars on his arms hands as he leaned them on the table.

"How did it go?"

You say to him with a cautious look. You more than likely know that the Iron Blood was waylaid for a decent while, and you know faulty machinery is a core trigger for his mood to go quickly sour.

"I struggle to imagine a way it could have gone worse." He says with a monotone voice and blunt expression, which makes your lips purse- though before you can come up with a response he speaks again.

"Come here."

He gestures with one motion of his hand, and you walk closer up until you're standing right beside his chair.

It's still a bit surprising when he picks you up however; He's done it before, though the feeling of being lifted off the ground so easily is not a feeling done away with easily. He sits you onto his lap and you ignore the odd feeling in your chest about having been moved around so easily by him, looking down to see his thighs wider than your hips by a significant degree. Your legs dangle unable to touch the ground at this height; You look so small.

Leaning forward you pull some of the scattered blueprints closer to you, looking at them curiously.

"What are these for?"

Perturabo decides to placate at least one of your questions and ignore the ache between his legs for a moment longer.

"Drafts for the auto-targeting orbital defense cannons."

You hum and look at them, fingers brushing over the parchment. Perturabo watches as you lean forward, accentuating the curve of your spine and hips; Even with how light you are, he can also feel the way you soft thighs and ass press against him. He doesn't placate your questions any longer.

“Take it off.”

You’re clearly confused for a moment, taking your eyes away from his plans to look around.

“What? What do you mean?” You utter, before your body tenses as you feel his massive hand grip your waist.

“Take off your clothes.” Your hands suddenly begin to fumble with your dress, shaking. Perturabo settles to quicken the process forgo removing your dress, and simply push up the hem and tear off your underwear instead.

His hand wraps around your thigh easily, swallowing it in the massive expanse of his palm. His index finger slides between the crease at the very top of your thigh, and the closeness puts your lip between your teeth as your thighs instinctively move to close.

But the entire time his hand is less so teasing and more so, explorative. He has no destination in mind, and only lingers if he hears or feels you react to his touch.

He doesn't know how to touch you beyond the simplistic, what makes you sing. He'll learn silently, his pride would never allow him not to.

Pulling it away he moves his hand underneath you, yanking at his trousers. You hold his forearm for support until you see him finally free his cock, and it lays between your legs. You can just barely grind against it at this angle; but your bigger concern is its size.

Perturabo notices it too, but refuses to vocalize such a concern to you. He’ll make it work, he has too. He’s not sure if he would be able to survive if he couldn’t fuck you the way he’s been fruitlessly imagining to the point of being aggravatingly pent up.

His hand pushes between your legs, sliding against your folds and using his thick fingers to push them apart. You clench your teeth and lean back against his chest, feeling as he slips one of his fingers inside of you. Your sitting angle forces him to curl his finger in order to slip it into you fully he quickly realizes, grasping onto his arm for support.

He hears you moan, cunt soaking wet as you sit in his lap, leaning against his chest as he teases you. He knows that you won’t be able to take him straight away, not with your difference in size. It doesn’t take much to realize your tiny, tight little cunt wasn’t meant for him.

“Can you take another?” He says, and you think he’s teasing, but you realize he’s asking a genuine question.

Perturabo slowly forces a second finger into you and you cry out as he stretches you further, but the burn quickly fades into a pleasurable ache that has your stomach feeling tight and legs limp and useless.

"I have been waiting since that pathetic excuse of a ship was waylaid," Perturabo hisses between his teeth and feels his nose wrinkle angrily. "You will take me no matter how long we have to sit here." The sounds of your breathless moans are more arousing than he thought possible, making his cock twitch between his own thighs.

“Lord Perturabo?”

Stirred from his trance watching his hand shift between your legs Perturabo turns to glare at the door, the deepness and distorted tone of voice queues him in that it’s one of his Iron Warriors.

“The Iron Blood is repaired, the tech marines wished to show you before officially declaring it fit for duty-“

Perturabo suddenly places his other hand over your mouth, continuing to drive his fingers into your cunt has he yells. The Iron Warrior shouldn't be able to hear the wet sounds of his fingers curling inside of you, but he would be able to hear your incessant mewling.

“I will advise it tomorrow. Now leave me be.”

Your thighs shake, hands pulling at the one he has over your lower face trying to catch a full breath though his palm doesn’t allow you.

“And do not bother me again this evening.”

The Iron Warrior, clearly confused as to Perturabo’s sudden shift in attitude, responds in understanding and quickly takes his leave. Once gone, he finally takes the hand away from your mouth.

“You liked that?” Your watery eyes can’t see his face, only barely through the reflections on the metal in front of you. “I felt your little cunt get tighter.” He pulls his fingers from you and reaches between your legs to grab his cock, shifting himself to press against your entrance. It doesn't take much for him to lift you up slightly and begin to lower yourself onto him, slowly slightly when he hears you gasp.

Even with preparation, it's still a tight fit, he quickly realizes.

As such it's a slow and arduous process to fit himself into you, feeling your nails bite into the skin of his forearms. When your bottom finally hits the fronts of his thighs again, you feel like you're so full that you won't be able to handle it. It settles not long after however, though the feeling of him being almost right into your stomach still prevails.

"Good girl,"

He mutters as your weight rests in his lap; It slipped from his lips unconsciously, but you seem to respond to it. He internally slaps himself for allowing words to tumble out of his mouth without thinking, and steels himself to hold others firmly within his head for the time being.

He raises you up and down on his lap, holding you firmly at the hips. To hold you but not bruise you is a fine line with his strength, though if he is bruising you, you don't seem to mind. Perhaps you don't mind if he's rougher with you. Your smaller hands grip his forearms to steady yourself, or simply to keep yourself feeling grounded.

You look tiny against his massive expanse of a chest, shoulders barely higher than his ribcage.

"Pertura- Bo,"

You stutter out his name, the hot palms of your hands desperately grabbing at him. He's using you almost like a toy, but it's the only way he thinks is safe; He doesn't know the line, how much a body like yours could handle before it breaks. He knows he hasn't reached it yet, your gentle voice cries for him, leaning back against his chest.

He watches your lips part in a pant, and he wishes to kiss them, but resists it. The angle would be impossible, and part of him feels, off about how much larger his mouth is than yours. He feels like he can't do it properly. Perhaps it's lack of practice; You were the first one he's kissed as well.

A lot of firsts, you were. Largely meaningless to him years ago, but now he finds himself caring a bit more.

He's silently thankful when you finally come, sharply inhaling and digging your nails into his skin enough to leave little crescent moon marks. They'll fade in a few moments, he doesn't care. What he does care about is the way you feel like a vice around his cock, his right hand pulls away from your waist, forms a fist and slams the table as his teeth grit together, unable to hold himself back any longer.

You thought your body felt hot before, but it's even more so as you feel him finish inside of you, so much of it that you feel it almost forced out by the size of his cock. It makes a mess on the tops of his thighs, though neither of you care.

He makes no effort to even pull out until your heart isn't audible to him anymore, and when he does, he hears your whine as your well abused cunt flutters at the empty feeling.

Part of him almost wants to get angry with you; He's never bothered with something like sex before but now after this, with you, he can already feeling himself want to get hard and fuck you all over again until you're limp in his lap.

A smarter part of him wishes he'd never done this, never met you, never kissed you, never fucked you. He would've never known what he was missing, and never loose focus.

However that part of his mind looses, when he feels you lie more against the expanse of his chest. He sighs.

"It is late. I will bring you to my quarters and you can sleep there."

He refuses to let you sleep in that tiny room you called home before. For his own selfishness, and your safely. Now that you're becoming so close to him, your safety is a must. Many will find you an easy target.

"My clothes Bo, let me-" You quickly shut your mouth when you realized you hadn't called him by his proper name. He doesn't comment on it.

He picks you up not long after, bringing you to his quarters at a much quicker pace than you could do on your own. A few of his men give him an odd look at having such a disheveled woman in his arms, but it only takes one look in return for them to right their gaze and move along.

"Are you not going to stay?" You say when he plops you onto his massive bed with a gentle toss that makes you smile, and turns to leave.

"Must I?" He says it laced in sarcasm, but he regrets it when he sees the smile he'd just put on your face instantly bleed away.

"I wanted to hear about your plans, for a little bit. It's been so long since the last time."

Perturabo had as of late shown you more of his private plans, many of them war machines. He'd begun talking a bit out loud, and his deep voice talking rumbled in your chest and always made you feel so warm and comfortable.

He enjoys that you just listen. You don't have an ego to protect like he does.

Perturabo steps closer.

"If I do, I expect you to stay awake." You nod and smile. "I'll try." He sits onto the bed, grips your cheeks, and forces you to look up at him gently. Your lips purse from his grip in a way he finds tempting, and he mentally blames you for the distraction once again.

"You will. I'll make sure of it."

[clover-system]

The longest list of anti-endo sources I've ever seen

While trying to find something else using Tumblr's infamous search engine, I came across this absolute gem:

NINE SOURCES!!! That's a record!! This is incredible!

@radpocalypse, listen. I am about to tear these to shreds, but before I do, I want you to know that you have my respect for not only compiling the longest list of sources I have ever seen an anti-endo provide, and not only doing so seemingly not directly prompted, but typing out every single link by hand, on mobile, without making a single mistake. Incredible work.

And also, to be completely honest, if I had nine sources supporting a belief, I almost certainly wouldn't look into them this closely. But, hey, that's what strangers on the internet with opposing views are for.

One more thing before the debunk: Endogenic systems do not claim to have DID etc. without trauma. They just don't. Whether it could be possible is often debated as an edge case, usually just to win an argument against someone of the opposing side, but really, it's irrelevant for 99% of the community. A good chunk are questioning OSDD based on later trauma, but as far as I am aware, no one on this website is claiming a completely endogenic plural disorder.

However, I don't want to dismiss entire pages based on this alone without further commentary, and it's a fun intellectual exercise regardless. So, whenever I use green text, I'm just playing Devil's Advocate under the premise of "If I was claiming to have DID without trauma (which neither I nor anyone else afaik is), would this source actually debunk that claim?" My syster will also occasionally pop in with purple, since she was cocon while I was writing this.

My dad just walked into my room and literally said "hey how it's going". You know, like. Like that one post. Amazing.

Anyway, civility established. Now come along with me on this long long journey of ten minutes of reading. Maybe put some music on in the background, if that will help you get through it. I had Near's Theme on while writing.

Here we go.

Link 1: McLean Hospital

Ok, main thing that caught my eye was

According to a 2010 Psychiatric Times article, only 5% of people with DID exhibit obvious switching between identity “states.”

Very interesting! Even with all of the "idk who's fronting" memes, 5% is really not that high. Though maybe online spaces like these help train the ability to identify it? The reference trail leads back to a book by Kluft but I don't really feel like going through dozens of pages for this. Definitely making a note of this though; I wonder if there have been any follow-up studies on this.

Not much to say here other than that. No mention of plurality outside DID.

DID is associated with long-term exposure to trauma, often chronic traumatic experiences during early childhood.

Dissociation—or disconnection from one’s sense of self or environment—can be a response to trauma.

Dissociative identity disorder—a type of dissociative disorder—most often develops during early childhood in kids who are experiencing long-term trauma. This typically involves emotional, physical, and/or sexual abuse; neglect; and highly unpredictable interactions with caregivers.

Why "associated", not "is caused by"? Why "can", not "is"? Why "most often", etc.?

Why such weak language?

Not that it couldn't be weaker.

I vaguely remember McLean getting into some hot water regarding a video they posted about DID, but didn't find anything concrete. Half-remembered anecdote aside, the author seems well-qualified.

C-tier debunk of this position. It's not nothing but it could be a lot better.

Link 2: Psych Central

It occurs in women 9 times more often than in men.

Very interesting statistic, but no citation provided.

Alters can show striking differences. For instance, one alter may speak with a different accent or have a softer way of speaking. They might have different opinions or a different gender identity, and even physical differences — like left- or right-handedness, or the need for a glasses prescription.

That's quite a stark difference here compared to the McLean article. What happened to "alters aren't that noticeable"?

But whatever, these are just interesting tidbits. None of this has anything to do with endogenic plurality. Nothing like "this is the only way to be multiple", no comment whatsoever.

DID is usually associated with adverse experiences in someone’s past and traumatic memories.

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is a mental health condition with strong links to trauma, especially trauma in childhood.

Bruh. This again?

In fact, the American Psychiatric Association reports that 90% of people with DID have a history of childhood abuse and neglect, based on research from the United States, Canada, and Europe.

Bruh. Seriously? 90%? You know what that leaves, right?

According to your own source, 10% of DID systems are endogenic.

But let's break this down. There's a big difference between the system being endogenic, and the DID being endogenic. This statistic is specifically referring to childhood trauma.

The wording's plenty vague though. This can absolutely be read as completely endogenic DID.

One review article from 2017 about the causes of DID noted that there was relatively little research on the condition to date.

The authors said researchers hadn’t yet investigated potential genetic and epigenetic factors. With epigenetic factors, the experiences and behaviors of your parents and ancestors can influence the function of the genes they pass down to you.

The authors of the review said scientists needed to do more research to investigate whether a person with DID might carry genes that can influence if they develop the condition or not.

This is particularly promising because studies have already shown that genes can influence dissociative disorders in general.

So you're telling me DID might be able to be passed down one or two generations? Wow. Again, this still has nothing to do with endogenic plurality, but I'm really glad I decided to play with this second angle, because it's so much more fun. We're certainly not at intentional self-inflicted DID here, but we are at this point a long way from certainly needing childhood trauma in all cases.

And also the reviewer is a military psychiatrist who specializes in ADHD. So uh. Not bringing our best here.

Link 3: Mayo Clinic

Gotta love an article that's nice and short. This is just a brief summary of a bunch of dissociative disorders. Again, nothing about endogenic plurality.

Starting to run out of things to say about this. This whole post could probably be a fifth the length if I didn't feel like playing on hard mode.

Formerly known as multiple personality disorder, this disorder involves "switching" to other identities. You may feel as if you have two or more people talking or living inside your head. You may feel like you're possessed by other identities.

Each identity may have a unique name, personal history and features. These identities sometimes include differences in voice, gender, mannerisms and even such physical qualities as the need for eyeglasses.

Hey, that reminds me of someone.

There also are differences in how familiar each identity is with the others. Dissociative identity disorder usually also includes bouts of amnesia and often includes times of confused wandering.

Again, McLean looking really odd with its declaration of DID's covertness against great detail like this. However, its author is so far the best qualified. This one just says "Mayo Clinic Staff". Can't even know which of them worked on this. Some of them are psychs, but if any of them specialize in dissociative disorders, it doesn't say so.

Dissociative disorders usually arise as a reaction to shocking, distressing or painful events and help push away difficult memories.

I won't bother quoting even more wishy-washy language because this post is already at an ungodly length (about 1300 words so far) and we're barely a third done. But yeah, suffice to say, no nail-in-the-coffin 100% link to trauma.

Link 4: Rethink

We are a trusted information creator and accredited by the Patient Information Forum (PIF).

Their bold, for once. That's an alarm-ringing corporate phrase if I've ever seen one. Also, first thing on the PIF's website is "balancing the risks and benefits of AI in the production of health information". So this article might've been written by GPT. Awesome. And yeah, a lot of this whole website looks to me like a bunch of interconnected pages with stupidly long articles written by stitching together LLM generations. Does pass GPT0's test though.

This one is so long. I'll take the ten minutes to read through every word, which I don't think @radpocalypse did, just to make sure there's nothing here, but one thing that does catch my eye scrolling down to near the bottom is that they misspelled their first citation.

A quick look at this Carolyn Spring shows a lot being sold and credentials nowhere in sight. Awesome.

So already I don't need to read this. The information here is not at a high level of trustworthiness. It's maybe better than nothing, but seriously, one can and should do better. But I'll read it anyway, just for bonus points. Thanks to AccelaReader for making this bearable.

Many people will experience dissociation at some point in their lives. Lots of different things can cause you to dissociate. For example, you might dissociate when you are very stressed, or after something traumatic has happened to you.

Some of the symptoms of dissociation include the following:

You may have clear multiple identities.

It‘s important to remember that you could have the symptoms of dissociation without a dissociative disorder.

So according to this, multiple identities can be caused by intense but non-traumatic stress, and might not necessarily be a disorder. So, while I admit this is a little bit of a stretch, we're four links in and this is the first mention of plurality in general, so I'll take it. One point for endogenic plurality. (And again, none of this really matters anyway because this is the worst source so far.)

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is sometimes called ‘Multiple Personality Disorder.

If you have DID you might seem to have 2 or more different identities, called ‘alternate identities.

Two missing closing quotes. Really not a good sign.

They suggest that DID is caused by experiencing severe trauma over a long time in childhood.

Aha! Finally, something concrete against endogenic DID! Too bad it's buried in the worst source yet. If we believed we had DID, we would absolutely not reconsider that based on a sketchy webpage with suboptimal syntax and no credentials.

Ugh, finally done with that one. What a slog.

Link 5: DID Research

Aha! The infamous psych student's blog! That's what Sophie said, anyway. Not taking her word for it though. Let's see what we can find here, independently.

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is the result of repeated or long-term childhood trauma

Why wasn't this first? First sentence, so crystal clear. No two ways about this, transDID destroyed right out of the gate.

DID cannot form after ages 6-9 because individuals older than these ages have an integrated self identity and history.

Why wasn't this first? It's so plain, so refreshing after four pages of strategic ambiguity. Nothing left here for green. But still no mention of non-disordered plurality.

The author is impressively credentialed but doesn't seem to specialize quite near this area. She's certainly better than most, high above any random Tumblr user talking out of their ass, but the good stuff would be to get a DID specialist to explicitly spell out that endogenic systems are not possible.

Also should make note of this big fat legal disclaimer:

While the author strives to make information on this website as complete, reliable, and accurate as possible, the author makes no claims, promises, guarantees, or warranties about the accuracy, completeness, or adequacy of the contents of this site and expressly disclaims liability for errors and omissions in the contents of this site.

If we did claim to have DID, this would rattle us a little but could ultimately be brushed aside.

Link 6: SANE

As usual, literally nothing about endogenic plurality. I'll just greenmode this.

The majority of people with DID have been through severe trauma in early childhood

And now back to our regularly scheduled nondefinitive language.

Fun fact: highlighting text on this website turns it invisible. Awesome.

A person needs to meet the following criteria to be diagnosed with DID:

- Two or more distinct identities or personality states, each with its own way of thinking and relating. - Amnesia and gaps in the recall of everyday events, personal information or traumatic events. - The experiences are not part of normal cultural or religious practice, or part of childhood imaginary play. For example, a child having an imaginary friend does not mean they have DID. - The symptoms are not because of substance abuse or other medical conditions.

Ah finally, a direct quote from the good ol' DSM. Notice the lack of a trauma requirement.

Funny enough, using only these criteria in isolation, we actually would count as having DID due to our grayout memory gaps when switching. DID is also listed in the dissociative disorders section of the DSM, not the trauma disorders section, so there is no implied criterion there either. However, there still remains the universal criterion of distress, which we do not fulfill. We are quite happy with ourselves.

DID is caused by severe childhood trauma, such as physical, verbal or sexual abuse.

Well, which is it?? Is it a majority association or a direct cause? Why the contradiction? Or is the emphasis on early childhood trauma?

Eh, whatever. Point is, green is once again shut down. But there is still no mention of endogenic plurality anywhere here!!

And no indication of who wrote this article, though the citation for direct cause is a dissociative disorder specialist. Does he actually say that in the cited paper, though?

Dissociative identity disorder (DID) is multifactorial in its etiology. Whereas psychosocial etiologies of DID include developmental traumatization and sociocognitive sequelae, biological factors include trauma-generated neurobiological responses. Biologically derived traits and epigenetic mechanisms are also likely to be at play. At this point, no direct examination of genetics has occurred in DID. However, it is likely to exist, given the genetic link to dissociation in general and in relation to childhood adversity in particular.

I hope you have a dictionary on hand. That sure is a lot of big words that aren't in Firefox's built-in spellchecker. Still, after making sure I got everything, it's clearly not so cut and dry here. And we're back on the "it could be genetic" point.

Tangentially related: I do like the dismissal of the iatrogenic model on the basis of the brain scans.

Neurobiological differences have been demonstrated between dissociative identities within patients with DID and between patients with DID and controls. Given the current evidence, DID as a diagnostic entity cannot be explained as a phenomenon created by iatrogenic influences, suggestibility, malingering, or social role-taking. On the contrary, DID is an empirically robust chronic psychiatric disorder based on neurobiological, cognitive, and interpersonal non-integration as a response to unbearable stress.

Anyway, we're not even on the original page anymore, so I'll call it here. No mention of endogenic plurality, and the citation that claims to dismiss endogenic DID doesn't.

Link 7: NAMI Michigan

While the causes [of DID] are unknown

I'm tired. Aren't you tired?

Treatment for DID consists primarily of psychotherapy with hypnosis.

Yeah I'm calling BS on this one

And no citations on this entire page, nor even the author's name.

Statistics show that DID occurs in 0.01 to 1 percent of the general population.

Research has shown that the average age for the initial development of alters is 5.9 years old.

No sources listed. This is definitely the worst link. Literally on the same level as a rambling Tumblr user in terms of credibility.

Doesn't matter that it says

This disorder is believed to be triggered by physical or sexual abuse in childhood

Couldn't even get this dogshit source to be firm.

This one gets an F.

Link 8: The Psychology Practice

Got scared for a moment there that it said ai. No, that's AL, a name. Also this was written in 2022, so we're definitely safe. Can't actually find any other info on this AL character, but at least we can look up the co-author.

Hm, can't find anything on her, either. Well, at least this is a step up from the previous link. Let's see what it has to say.

According to the Dissociative Identity Research Organisation (2018), DID is formed in childhood due to repeated trauma in early childhood (before age 10) before the personality is fully integrated.

I do like that these later links are direct with this. They don't seem to have a citation for that DIRO, though. Unless...

No. Oh no.

Ok, so this one was written by a couple of clowns who definitely didn't do their homework. Cool. I'm getting tired of humoring awful sources like this, so moving on to the grand finale.

Link 9: NAMI

Wait, this is the same group behind the zero-citation article from Michigan! But that was just Michigan. Maybe the main site can do better.

Ugh, it's just another list of dissociative disorders instead of DID specifically.

The symptoms of a dissociative disorder usually first develop as a response to a traumatic event,

Aren't you tired? Aren't you tired? Aren't you tired?

Often these identities may have unique names, characteristics, mannerisms and voices.

Often? Wow. Sure is a far cry from 5%.

Dissociative disorders are managed through various therapies including: - Psychotherapies such as cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) and dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT) - Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) - Medications such as antidepressants can treat symptoms of related conditions

No mention of hypnosis, allegedly the primary method of treatment?? (/sarc)

and there was no mention of plurality being exclusive to dissociative disorders

Oh, and no listed authors either.

So, after three thousand words of analysis, all we've come up with are nothing burgers, dogshit, and dogshit nothing burgers. Out of nine links, only one briefly and indirectly touched on endogenic plurality, and it was in favor. Even the argument against the traumaless DID strawman is weak at best. These sources are bad, to put it lightly.

@radpocalypse, if you're reading this, firstly, thank you for powering through your ADHD and dyslexia to read thousands of words dunking on your masterpiece. Secondly, if you have any more sources that you think are backing you, feel free to send them my way. Just uh, maybe read them more closely next time?

And that goes for everyone here. If you think you have a better source, or if I made a mistake or missed something here, I am open to correction. I am open to the idea that I'm wrong and I have some unknown trauma to work through, but I certainly won't go digging unless I have good reason to believe it's there, and I haven't seen any good reason. And if you haven't either, maybe it's time to reconsider your position.

One last thing before I go.

Have you ever actually seen a pro-endo carrd, let alone one cited in standalone? I haven't.

Here's a much longer list of much better sources than yours supporting endogenic plurality compiled by the traumagenic Guardians System. I don't expect you to read anywhere near the whole thing; just pick a few links at random. And yes, while many of them are peer-reviewed papers, some of them are Tumblr posts, but those Tumblr posts cite peer-reviewed papers, so it's all good.

Thanks for reading.

[tocomplainfriend]

VIV is constantly criticized by her own fault.

TW: Mention of: SA, Rape, Transphobia, fat phobia, Antiblackness.

(Hey, i'mma probably do a post eventually about episode 4. Btw, awfully shit, worse than I thought it could be... BIG TW OF R-PE AND SA IF YOU'RE GOING TO SEE IT. AND TW of the minimization of those topics too.)

(SORRY FOR BAD ENGLISH IN THIS POST TOO)

BUT I NEED TO CALL ATTENTION TO THIS! One of the reasons I criticize a lot of Viv specifically is because of how much she puts herself out there. She sees something she posts on Twitter about it a shit ton (even on "threads" lol). AND because of how lacking of improvement she has being. (I personally know people I have considered terrible when we were teens, but I have seen legit improvement from them in recent years. They seem like people who struggle, but got to grow up and made up for any problems (or pain caused to me or others). People have the ability to change and become better. Something that matters at pointing out issues or discussing-is the idea of creating change on others. It is better to get someone to change for the better than to cast them into the forever jail of nothingness (unless, IDK, they Sexually Assaulted someone, for example). Specially when they are young people. Doesn't mean YOU have to stick with other people that hurt you, no. Doesn't mean people get to do what ever and get away with it.

BUT All of this problem I have seen from Viv are from age 19-30. (you can change at anytime btw) And see constantly repeats herself and her actions. Seems to have never accepted criticism (said by herself too), and never able to see her own faults. The fact that is a continuous behavior is a problem, how she always responds is awful. My post of "Viv has being transphobic for 10 years", was to signal that. If she really had changed over those 10 years to a genuine thing- I could've taken that! But no, the shitty double standard against trans men... the weird treatment. THE MANY STORIES OF EMPLOYEES GETTING MISGENDERED HEAVILY, TOO.

(I know people who were transphobic [When they were teens mainly], that Genuinely improved and changed their beliefs. Now they treat trans people with respect and care! And still learning about gender-fluid people, too!)

It just seems to be further and further away from getting better! The fact that she only decides to take in account voices from SA victims that agree with her- it's painful as a victim, my self!

And yes, people who sent gore or dumbass shit to Viv (or the team) don't help. And go get help why you're looking and sending Gore to anyone. (Also, stuff like this does lead to people not listening to others people genuine callouts). The fact that I criticize something doesn't mean I agree with the people that go and do shit like the thing I just mention above.

AND ALSO A IMPORTANT THING HERE!

This drawing was created by DollCreep. BUT ALSO FUCKING REMEMBER this was done in response to the shit that Viv drew of him.

If you didn't know Viv drew a transphobic caricature of DollCreep using the name Jojo (his old nickname). This put together with a shitty anti-sjw meme video. DollCreep is a transman, Viv drew a character based on him. A furry wolf girl, If you can see in the image the main thing listed below the character name is the fucking "Sex=♀️". SO ON PURPOSE, CHRIST. Like... AND YES-is shitty from both to have drawn this (even if it was in respond) mainly immature in DC part. But that, or any toxicity coming from DC, doesn't delete the transphobia here. (imagine drawing a racist caricature of a poc person, because they are shitty to you). THE POST LINKED ABOVE SHOWS THE SITUATION, and in the end of the day. Viv says that DC is an abusive shitty person to her, but never realizing her own faults or anything she could'be possibly done wrong! (and again, any wrong done by DC in general can not be deleted by the fact of having being treated badly. If he did shitty stuff himself, that doesn't delete the wrong done in general to him or to others by viv)

Here about transphobia:

(this is like 8yrs old too)

Again, she never acknowledges anything that she might have done wrong. "She is a thoughtful person, that wants tor write queer and disabled characters! She wants to tell empowering stories of..." It doesn't even feel close to that when people bring up actual problems in her writing that are stereotyping or bad, and she just yells and cries. It all feels like empty sticks she is only interested in in the surface level, she doesn't want to actually deal with.

When she says "This characters is black guys ♡♡♡" and then the fucking 7th, a grayish character with zero black features. She can not actually try and draw a black person with a different hair texture, she'll faith is hair isn't straight and spiky (has done this so much too). She is all for positivity and diversity (can not draw more than 1 character that isn't a fucking stick with the same stupid face).

She can not write relationships in general. She cannot do gay couples, then don't lean on the stupid old uke uwu defenceless x big rough seme protector stuff. Again, all the interactions with Husk and Angel are sexual harassment. They are already a revealed future couple (and episode 4 is terrible for them, specially with that song). Stolitz is toxic, and predatory. That is not acknowledged, and all Stolas's predatory behavior and power dynamics are put in the background, cause- "look how sad Stolas is :(! HIS DAD IS SOOO MEAN, HIS WIFE IS A BITCH". All her gay characters are in pure surface: over-sexual twinks that are assholes, which also fit into the top/bottom as personality boxes.

Any other point includes sexual harassment as a joke. BUT KNOW SHE WANTS TO BE LIKE "GUYS SA STORIES MATTER, LOOK AT WHAT I WROTE" as if she didn't lean back into the problem of the diminishing of SA and r- (in general and done to men) with her jokes in HB. With all the sexual harassment that Angel Dust puts on Husk and others. (AND YES THERE IS NO WARNING IN EPISODE 4, FOR ITS HEAVY TOPICS! I do believe all series/movies with this need it. SPECIALLY IF IT'S SO GRAPHIC! "Sexual content" is not the same as a warning for SA or R-pe. An adult can see a movie with sex or sexual nutidy- when they see that- but it's different to get straight assault on screen. Victims can watch movies/series with sex in them all good, you cannot just group consensual sex in the same assault or R-pe...)

The thing where Mammon (the only fat character that isn’t from the fucking background.) is like FIZZ YOU NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT. AS IF SHE COULD EVEN DRAW ANY DIFFERENT BODY SHAPE WITHOUT DYING. Like there is only Mimzy (hasn't appeared yet, not given any importance. In the female lead show). Mammon the piece of shit (does the same as Blitz, but he is actually fully bad.) His design is done with 80 fucking layers on top. Like all the test of the skinny character's clothes suck up to their body except for Mammon. His body is hidden in layers upon layers of clothing (that's all you got?). All you main guys need to fill "the skinny have nothing men" and "skinny woman with big hips and legs, but no fucking stomach"?

AND YES! VIV DOES DO THE FUCKING, "FAT = FOOD LMAOOO". You know the thing HH fans and hater where like the "Bee needs to fat thing is bad, cause of fat = food (only food) is reductive and shitty"

(Can I refer to how the show Bojack H, make Diane gain weight cause of anti depressants- and it wasn't a joke! And she was happier too?)

(mine, from post right below)

... like is a bundle of issues. And Viv will never accept that she might be /or is wrong. That's why it hits the fan with stuff. -And again I liked many of the little concepts and stuff in HB and the original pilot of Hazbin. Shit- I still like Sir Pentious and Nifty. I do like Mammon as much as he is a pack of problems to call out, I fucking love the piece of shit Australian jester- The artist work hard on it, and I'm happy it's an openly queer! (as limited as it gets, too....). I liked Huni-cast, I loved the original voice cast! -and that happens! I could be writing this about other stuff too, not only Hazbin... if I created this blog earlier- IT WOULD ALL BE ABOUT RWBY, DANGANRONPA, even svtfoe...Ladybug... or Agretsuko's ending too. So yeah, sorry for the long post (as if all my post weren't)

[funkii4-blog]

Time to infodump about the main theory I’ve been hooked on lately because I surprisingly haven’t here already, and it’s rooted in my predicted explanation for 4’s odd writing that he’s had this chapter.

I’ll just cut to the chase; I firmly believe the corruption is still within 4 from IGBP, like a parasite. It was dormant for a while after he was saved, but never actually left him, and the event that seemingly triggered it to be active again was PV’s reappearance back in Mario The Exploro. Ever since that, his sanity’s been slipping more and more; the opening shot of the episode I Put Mario In Danger For Views even has a striking parallel to the IGBP livestream:

Additionally ever since PV returned, he’s been extra focused on finding success & popularity, initially just for his channel and now for the Showgrounds with the meme factory plot. He’s even seemingly been exploiting Meggy in her leggy form to help get this success (which is really fucked up wth dude)

It should also be noted that being on the Showgrounds could possibly be speeding up his re-corruption; as he was at his most normal this chapter in Mario’s Plane Trip, which didn’t take place on the Showgrounds at all. The reason for this likely being that not only was PV responsible for the Eldritch Goo, he canonically owned the Showgrounds before 4 did, maybe even creating it himself. This was hinted all the way back in the episode Our New Home, in which the Showgrounds made its debut, when his logo was on the property listing.

And in the newest episode, Despicable Mr. Puzzles, PV’s last line before entering the factory is “Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?”, implying his idea to steal 4’s power wasn’t just on a whim when he saw the factory. He’s probably been watching 4 and planning this since he returned. We know the basis of what he’s trying to do, but there’s probably much more to it than what we know. (Not to mention the episode had a cold outro which only happens when things are about to get crazy)

Next teaser will most likely be tomorrow so we should have a slightly better idea then :))

Edit: even after whatever the hell the last episode was the main point of this still stands

[liillyliilly]

All Night Long

iwaizumi hajime x reader words; 1162 synopsis; the whole pen pal thing had been his mom's idea. now? he was glad that he had someone like her to tell everything to.

(So, if you just give me a chance, I can still show you romance)

Iwaizumi doesn’t quite remember when he started sending letters to Y/n. All he remembers is that his mom wanted him to diversify his communication skills, since he had only really ever talked to the boys on his volleyball team.

So, sending letters back and forth with a girl from Tokyo seemed like a rational solution to Mrs. Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi would send one letter one week and then she would send a letter the next one. And that’s how it had been for four years.

At first the letters were strictly professional. Asking about goals, academics, and life plans. Gradually, the shells of both Iwaizumi and Y/N were chipped away at. Divulging details of a bad kiss, or something hilarious a friend did. When she started to cut out classic memes, putting cardstock editions of volleyball player trading cards and writing out various links to Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up", Iwaizumi thought he met his almost heavenly match.

While she didn't play volleyball, she treated it like something special, and respected Iwaizumi's love for the sport. He felt proud when she acknowledged how much of a hard-worker he must have been to be ranked so highly in his prefecture with his team.

She also always knew what to write to him to help motivate him. Quotes from famous people never made an appearance, she just had the old soul wisdom to articulate exactly what needed to be said to him.

Iwaizumi does remember when he started to wait right next to the mailbox just so he could read her letter as soon as possible. And he does remember when it starts to take him longer than five hours to write a response. And he definitely remembers when Oikawa starts to tease him about his hobby.

“You actually write to her every week?” Oikawa holds up the basket that Iwaizumi keeps all of her letters in. Carefully they are sectioned off by year and then by month. He has written the date they arrived in the corner of the envelope so he can keep all of them organized. When Oikawa starts to pull out letters, Iwaizumi rips the basket out of his hands and holds it close to his chest.

“No, Shittykawa. It’s every other week.” Iwaizumi sides the basket under his bed before slumping back down into his beanbag.

Oikawa grins before sitting down on a chair opposite to Iwaizumi. “Have you ever thought about asking her for her number?”

“Why would I?”

“Because then you guys can talk, without having to wait two weeks before the other responds.” Oikawa shrugs pulling out his phone to mess around on it, eyes peeking out over his glasses to look at Iwaizumi. “Unless, of course, you're afraid.”

“I am not afraid.” Iwaizumi grabs his clipboard to start writing his response letter, her most recent letter sitting on his side table so he can reference it.

Except, this time, instead of a nice long handwritten letter, it’s a simple series of numbers. And a small phrase. “Text me?” Iwaizumi considers drawing a smiley face, or even just a small shrugging stick figure drawing. But he thinks that what he wrote is enough. He hopes it’s enough for her to contact him.

The walk to drop off the letter in his mailbox is agonizing. He retreats twice before his mom yells at him and tells him he needs to send it today or else the letter schedule will be all messed up. The thought of Y/N having to wait longer than seven days to get his letter suddenly becomes more of a worry than his potential rejection of swapping numbers.

On day one, the day after the mailperson picked up the letter, Iwaizumi's hands were perpetually sweaty.

On day two, Iwaizumi felt a little better, he could forget all about his pen pal and then it would be perfectly fine. Except he could never forget her.

Days three to six were a blur. His phone felt heavier each day, and he even decided to leave it home from school on day six because he kept looking at it for too long. Checking again and again for any new messages.

(I wanna get real close to you)

Iwaizumi almost faints when an unrecognized number sends the phrase, “I know who you are Hajime.” He grips at his heart before easing up when the next message is sent. “Because it's me! Y/n L/n.”

She sends him a lot of Godzilla memes. She talks about her day. She asks him about volleyball. She rants about the people she goes to school with. She is perfect to him.

His palms are sweaty as he wipes them onto his joggers as he stares at Y/n’s contact. The phone icon mocking him for his nervousness. He takes a deep breath. She had told him that she’s used to having her friends call her an obnoxious number of times, but that she likes talking on the phone because she likes hearing people’s voices. Iwaizumi leans back on his desk chair and runs his hands through his hair.

He had drank his mother's throat soothing honey lemon tea for at least a week leading up to his decision to call her. But the nerves about what his voice sounded like still irked him. He had been told that he had a rough voice by his friends. A dorky voice from Oikawa. A lovely voice by his mom. What would she think though? Her opinion was the only one that really mattered anyway.

He stands up and shakes his legs and hands in an effort to get rid of his anxiety. He jumps around in his room for a bit as he tries to get his energy out. Iwaizumi puts his hands on his face and reminds himself, calling people is normal. Totally and completely normal. But his reminder does nothing to ease how his right hand is shaking while it hovers over the call button.

He presses the button and hold his phone to his ear, biting down on his lip.

“Hello?” Y/n’s voice asks. And Iwaizumi’s heart races as it tries to find a way to ingrain her voice upon itself.

“Y/n! Hi, it's me Hajime!” He cringes when he realizes how alike he sounds to Oikawa. Enthusiasm didn’t fit the way he acted, but the way Y/n interacted with him made him want to be as keen as possible.

“Hajime! What’s up?” A large smile overwhelms his face as he rubs the back of his head.

Neither really knows how long they spent on the phone talking. But by the time it was around two in the morning, Y/n was snoring softly over the phone and Iwaizumi was breathing at an even pace with his phone sitting on his pillow close to his ear.

(All night long)

[annisassintchaska]

Jude Bellingham x Black!Reader

Today I felt very energetic and in the mood to dance. My boyfriend Jude was in our home gym working out with his teammates ona video call, so I thought why not do a tiktok challenge and get his reaction; reason being that I had just hit 8 weeks post partom from giving birth to our son Elliot Bellingham-who was in his nursery sleeping, so I hadn't been feeling my best for a while and somehow needed a bit of validation from my partner.

Picking up the baby monitor, I took my phone and headed to the gym opening the door to find my boyfriend laughing at something that was said. "Y/n! Are you joining us?" Vini asked excitedly I walked pass, squeezing Jude's bicep in the process. "No Vini, sorry. Just getting something done" I responded as I set up my phone to begin.

Choosing the sound, I waited for the countdown and started dancing with Jude in the background looking at me as I did the dip. Spinning as smoothly as possible, I started to twerk- following the routine only to look up and realise that Jude was no longer working out but was admiring me even though he was giving me the side eye. Finishing the dance I unexpectedly heard the cheering of his teammates who had been watching, making me cover my face in embarrassment as I placed the video in my draft seeming that none of my tiktok were never posted online.

Moving towards the exit of the gym, I was stopped by Jude who gently pulled at my wrist. "Babe, you can’t do that" He whined. Looking back at his teammates who were cackling I asked "I can't do what? What's wrong?" He whined and wiggled his hips in response as I finally realised what the problem was. "Oh baby, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to cause that" I tried to console him but to no use as his erection proved to be a solid soldier while his mates were having a field day. "Judeey has risen guys, all hail...Granizooo!!!" They taunted as Vini led them. "Can you help me with this?" He rasped. "I can help you with it after your training is finished" I kissed him on the cheek and exited the room.

Leaving the gym, I headed to go pump some more milk and check up on my infant before going into my bedroom to wait for my boyfriend to return from his job. Entering the room an hour later, Jude quickly pecked my lips and ran off to the shower to rid himself of the sweat on his body. Returning to the room he stalked towards me and dropped his towel; only having to stop as our supposed to be fun time was put to an immediate end before it even started as our baby's cry came through the monitor.

"Uhh, what a day?" Jude requoted the meme as we laughed while he pulled on a pair of boxers and went to nursery, returning with our son with a warm bottle of milk in his mouth. With our backs against the headboard and the calm of our now burped and sleeping baby nestled between us, we were reminded that we had the best life could offer anyone and we love it.