#they're all like what the fuck that's not normal ! ! ! ! !

[221bshrlocked]

What a time to be alive!

My heart can't take it if there is heartbreak again!

“Give me a clever girl with your eyes, and your smile and I shall be happier than any other man alive.”

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WHAT THE FUCK MAN

Jeez man they're so horny....so am I tbh

O.

MY.

GOD. YOU DID NOT GIVE ME THE KING OF ALL KINKS!!!!!!!!

@juletheghoul WHAT HTE FUCK DUDE YOU CAN'T JUST LAY THIS SHIT ON MY ALL OF A SUDDDEN AND EXPECT ME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT IT!!!! YOU REALLY SAID "LET ME MAKE MAGGIE CRAZY WITH HER WEIRD ASS RANDOM LACTATION KINK BECAUSE SHE WILL LOVE IT" AND YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!!!!!!!!

The rest of the chapter had me aweing like an idiot but let me tell you something, those few sentences with the lactation kink really did it for me. Like damn. Hot damn. Hot smoking damn. Hot diggity damn. Thank you so fucking much for this man. I desperately needed it.

home

a/n: The premiere look was a literal gift from the Gods, truly fantastic stuff. With that said, of course I had to work on the next chapter of The General and his Girlwife. This isn't the end for them, there is still so much life for them and I have a whole inbox full of amazing asks (I promise I haven't forgotten about them!) to get through, and I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives! Hope you enjoy 💕xo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus eats pussy because he's a KING, lactation kink, creampie, Marcus gets emotional, pregnancy and baby stuff, childbirth and some graphic descriptions of pain, talks of infertility, **FEELINGS** let me know if I missed any!

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 5k (whoops!)

reblogs are appreciated

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The ritual had been completed, and a week later–life had gone back to normal. The two of you had vowed to put it out of your mind until the Gods made their intentions for you clear. 

Marcus, however, was leaving; he'd been called on by the Emperor for a tour, and he had no choice but to accept.

You pouted, and he smiled. 

“It is only for a short time, my love. Barely a moon's turn and I will be back in this house, and your arms.” He smiled despite your obvious displeasure, giddy with the way you clutched so greedily at him. 

“I wish to follow you Marcus, I do not wish to stay here without you.” You buried your face into his neck, taking in his comforting scent greedily. Your nails dug into his shoulders, holding him close while his own wrapped tightly around your waist. 

“And I wish nothing more than for you to be with me, but you cannot. It is not a place for women and I would not have my beautiful,” his hands cupped your cheeks, pressing kisses to your mouth between words, “lovely, tempting wife there pulling at my attention, as well as that of the bolder men in my company.”

You sigh, knowing he would not change his mind. 

“Very well. I will content myself alone.” Your tone made him laugh, and you smiled into his skin, well aware that you sounded more akin to an unruly child than a grown, married woman. 

“You are spoiled, terribly misbehaved and spoiled.” His hands slipped down and grabbed at your backside, “and it is entirely my fault.” 

“Yes it is.” You jut your chin out and he pressed a kiss to it. “When do you leave?” 

“Preparations are being made and I depart in three days time.” He pressed another kiss to the back of your hand, smiling as he led you to sit with him. “Once I am back, I shall plan something for us. How does that sound?” 

“And what shall you plan?” 

“We could travel, we could go to the sea and take in the fresh air, we could do anything my love. Whatever makes you happy.” His eyes shone with the same love you felt in your very bones for him. 

“I only need you for that.” 

-

The intensity of the craving made you frown, pulling your attention from the task of refilling the cellars of your house. One minute you had been taking note of how much grain there was, how much olive oil and wine was in your stores and the next, the desire for figs and honey and fresh, ripe pomegranate was so strong it almost moved your feet towards the kitchens. You stopped yourself though, running through your mental tally of days since your last blood and willing yourself to stay calm. 

“Girl, be a dear and fetch me figs and honey if you would.” You pat her hand softly, unable to stop yourself from softening the imagined blow of asking for something instead of fetching it yourself. Her eyes widened for a moment, before nodding. 

“Yes Domina.” She ran off, and you ignored the looks of the women who were helping you with your accounts. 

“Shall we call for a Medicus, Domina?” The eldest of them whispered in your ear, one who has always treated you with a softness that at times felt motherly, her work roughened hand landing soft on your shoulder. Nerves fluttered in your belly, a deep seeded fear threading through your very being as the memory of your loss filled your mind's eye so vividly it set your hands to shaking. But another emotion emerged, a fragile thing coloured with a hope so big it didn’t fit within your body. Without Marcus, it was difficult to navigate the swirl of different feelings fighting for dominance.

“Domina, let me call for the Medicus.” Gently, she guided you to sit, silently dismissing the staff tending to you. “I think it best you rest while we wait, I shall have him brought here to look you over.” 

“Yes, yes that is what we must do. I—yes I should rest a while.” With a shaky breath you smiled a smile that did not reach your eyes, and headed towards your chamber. 

When the medicus finally did arrive, the older woman held your hand, doing much to calm you in the absence of Marcus. Silently the man went about his business, checking and prodding and looking for the signs that you tentatively prayed were there. 

When he raised his head and smiled with a nod, both you and the woman cried with joy.

-

He was eager to step foot in his house, eager to be reunited with his heart. 

His blessedly peaceful campaign had gone well, the Emperor was in good spirits and for the first time in years, there was peace. He couldn’t wait to tell her how it had gone, couldn’t wait to press his kisses upon her skin. 

The house was surprisingly quiet when he finally arrived, the guards were hushed, his usual attendants were nowhere to be seen and his love was not where he thought he’d find her. 

When he reached their shared room things were stranger still, the gauzy linens were drawn across the windows, blocking out most of the sunlight. Incense was burning, and for a moment he feared she’d fallen ill while he’d been gone.

“My love? What is the matter?” She reclined in their bed, propped up on a nest or pillows, and her face lit up to see him. She was glowing, a soft sheen shining on her brow and for a moment he thought it might be a fever but she looked well, she looked beautiful. 

“I am well Marcus, truly.” She beckoned to him, arms outstretched and he all but ran to her side, sitting close to hold her hands. “We have been blessed, my love, truly blessed.” Tears shone in her eyes, he frowned for a moment until she placed his hand on her belly, and then it felt like his heart would jump out of chest. 

“You are sure?” He brought his face to her womb, pressing his lips to it while trying not to fall apart with joy. “Truly?”

“It has been confirmed, I am with child. You are to be a father, Marcus.” She shone with life, with vitality and was as beautiful as a Goddess, he couldn’t handle the joy in his heart. He wept into her belly, thanking the Gods, and praying for the health of the love of his life, and the child inside her.

-

Every single day of those first few weeks greeted you with fear.

Every free minute, every spare thought was filled with silent prayer, offerings were made to appease the Gods, you ate only the foods suggested by the Medicus. Marcus let you do nothing except rest, and take short, slow walks throughout the house. He was thorough with the instructions given to him, he rubbed the special oil onto the skin of your belly to help with the growth, he never left your side, he was gentle in all things. 

Once you started to show, and the most dangerous period had passed, even you started to shed some of the fear. Hope, and joy filled the house and everyone shared in it. The women were eager to have a little one running around, Marcus grew more and more excited at the prospect and filled your house with things for the child. Toys and a special chair, robes and little tunics to dress them in.

“Have you thought of a name?” You asked him as he rubbed at your tired feet, easing the ache as your stomach seemed to grow before your very eyes. 

“I have, but I haven’t really given any option much thought. It is best to wait until the child is born I think. And you? Is there a name you favour?”

“Well, a boy would definitely be named Marcus after you.” You smiled, imagining a miniature of him. 

“And for a girl?”

“We could honour the Gods, name her Diana, I also think Aurelia is quite pretty, or Acacia and name her after her father.” Your smile grew, imagining a little darling with his soft waves, his square feet.

“Fine choices.” He smiled, moving to the other foot and you sighed, soothed by his touch. 

“I will pray for a boy, to carry your name and carry on your legacy.” He shook his head.

“Give me a clever girl with your eyes, and your smile and I shall be happier than any other man alive.” He pressed a kiss to your shin. Tears sprung to your eyes, it was happening a lot of late, the baby made your emotions run rampant, his sweetness didn’t help.

“There there my love, no tears.” He soothed with gentle tone, well aware of your sensitivity, yet still as patient and loving as always. 

“I cannot help it, the joy is overwhelming, the love for you, for this little being is too much to fit inside me.” You held your belly, tears falling to dampen the skin of your chest. He moved to sit beside you, and gathered you into his arms, once again soothing you beyond words could explain. 

“I understand, I have been so blessed in this life it is difficult not to dwell and fear the worst. Let us just enjoy our good fortune, no more tears, it pains me to see you cry.” He pressed his lips to your forehead and you nodded silently, throat aching with emotion. 

With a tenderness that only made the ache stronger, he kissed the tear stains on your skin, smiling softly. When he got to your mouth, it was a reassuring press, a silent promise to you and to the life growing inside. It helped, but your mood, your appetites changed like the winds these days and the tears turned to desire for him so fast it made your head spin. 

Your tongue breached his mouth, corrupting the softness of his kiss and pulling a groan from somewhere in his chest. His hand pressed softly to your womb, while his mouth claimed yours in the softness of your shared bed. 

“Marcus-” It came out half moaned, half pleading. 

“Yes my love?” He breathed the words into the skin of your neck, his tongue mapping out the lines he liked to travel with his kisses, unsurprised at how quickly your passion for him was stirred with the child inside.

“Do you desire me? Do you wish for me to give you my cock?” Slowly, he exposed you, pulling the special tunic made to accommodate your belly off. The large swell, the heavy weight of your breasts, the swelling in your feet–all of the changes in your body had made you fear he would no longer find you desirable. He’d been quick to correct that assumption however. 

With your lip caught between your teeth, you nodded. 

Carefully, he turned you on your side, supporting the weight of your belly with pillows and linens before divesting himself of his own layers. The sight of him, skin golden and cock hardening turned your cunt to liquid. He smiled at the open desire on your face, positioning himself so he straddled the thigh resting on the bed, while lifting and holding the other, lining himself up at the mouth of your cunt. 

“Are you comfortable?” Your heart swelled for a moment, smiling at him before nodding. 

He took himself in hand, stroking a few times to bring himself to full mast before finally sinking in to the hilt. 

“So wet.” He whispered almost to himself, eyes focused on the way your cunt swallowed his length whole, coating it in your arousal. “My pretty little wife, with her pretty little cunt.” His fingers gripped at your thigh while he found his rhythm, angling himself to find the spot–

You keened, gasping as he huffed out a satisfied laugh. 

“There it is, that is the spot, yes?” He focused, hitting it like a bullseye while you clutched at the linens, too blissed out to answer but it mattered not, he knew. Sweat beaded on his brow, the muscles in his arms gleamed in the low candlelight as he panted out his exertion. His beauty so obvious, so highlighted there as he loved you that it filled the little space in your belly not filled with his child with the beating of butterfly wings. 

Your fingers reached out to him, needing to feel him surround you and he smiled, leaning forward to catch the tips of them with his lips while his hips moved faster. Your arousal pooled at the base of him, soaking the fine patch of hair between your legs, as well as the curls at the base of his cock.

With a crooked grin, he reached between your legs to swirl his thumb around your swollen clit and the climax is so close your legs start to tremble. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop Marcus–” It was so close, building like a fire in your hips, spreading like lightning throughout your veins, dripping from where you were joined onto the linens of your bed. Your hand crept down, joining his to press his fingers closer, to guide his movements faster until you burst around him, squeezing him so tight he groaned and slowed his steady thrusting to a grind, his groin pressed tight. Your cunt fluttered around him, pleasure blooming and flooding your body like good, strong wine and it only intensified when he started moving again, chasing his own end while you floated on your cloud. It only took him a few thrusts before he filled you, fucking his seed deep. 

His chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, smiling and laughing softly as he pulled himself out.

Your combined passion smeared against your hip when he surged forward to claim your mouth in a kiss. His big hand curled around the curve of your neck softly, such a contrast to how it gripped your thigh. It slid down, smooth as silk before squeezing at your breast. 

“Oh!’ The warm drip shocked you, the milk beaded at your nipple before dripping down the valley between your breasts. The bigger shock though, was how quickly he chased it with his tongue. The arousal only flared again, sharp as a knife at the moan he let out. With an almost drunk expression, he wrapped his lips around the peak, and tasted your milk straight from the source. 

“Good?” Your fingers threaded through his sweat-soaked waves, cradling him close while he drank deep. His expression was almost sheepish, almost ashamed when he pulled away. 

“I do not know what has come over me,” He licked at the tip, staring at the other breast longingly, “I had to taste you, it’s so sweet.” He dipped his head again, drinking from the other breast, deep, strong pulls that only made the red hot coal of desire within you burn even brighter than before. When he pulled away he was breathing hard, shocked at his own reaction. 

“Did I hurt you?” He licked at sensitive peaks again, filling your brain with a fog of lust so strong you could barely think. 

“No, not at all, it feels really good.” You pulled him closer, urging him to drink, while guiding his hand between your legs. With a knowing grin, he obeyed. 

-

You knew from the moment your eyes opened in the morning, that the baby would come. There was an ache, a pulsing, a violence to its movements within your womb. The child was as impatient to emerge, as you were to give birth and finally have it whole and healthy in your arms. 

With a sigh, you tried to adjust yourself, smiling as Marcus pressed himself closer in his sleep, his big hand holding the swell. 

“I think today is the day, hmm?” You whispered to your belly, it kicked hard enough to make you wince. 

“Gods above, I felt that one, this child will be strong.” He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, pulling another sigh from you. “How are you feeling?”

“I think it will be today, it feels like the baby has moved lower.” You did your best to rise, groaning before he all but lifted you to sit upright. 

“I will make the preparations, the midwife is ready and waiting for our summons.” He rose quickly, making you laugh with his urgency.

“Peace Marcus, it will not be right this second, but I do feel it mightl be today.” You stood, gingerly padding towards him, waving away his frown of concern. “Walking is good for me, it will help me with my labours.” He still frowned, meeting you halfway and squeezing you as tightly as he could without causing you pain. 

“I will be with you, at your side the whole time.” There was a small tremble in his voice you did not recognize, a nervous aura about him that seemed to bolster you. How curious, you thought, that his moment of fear, is my moment of courage. 

“The midwife and her attendants will be there, most men wait until the child is born–”

“I am not most men. I will be with you, holding your hand and wiping at your brow. This is a battle I cannot fight for you, but no one will keep me out of that room.” He pressed his face into your neck and you softened, his fear was justified. Many children did not survive their coming into the world, many mothers died alongside them. You said nothing, nodding softly as his fingers dug into your robes. 

The sun made its way across the sky and as it did your pains grew stronger. Cramps painful enough to steal your breath would squeeze at you like a fist for a few minutes before releasing you. The midwife walked with you, she took note of how much time passed between each attack, readying the birthing stool as well as her oils, her sponges and enough water and linens to be able to tend to both you and the baby. 

The sun was kissing the horizon when the water came, spilling all over your feet like a tidal wave and sending Marcus into a cold panic. 

The midwife did her examinations while your body ripped itself in two. With barely contained screams, and sweat dripping down your brow you got into position, doing your best to focus on your breathing while Marcus kept his word, silently wiping at your brow, and letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you could. 

“It must be now, push.” The midwife and one of her girls were in place, moving your robes aside to have access and you did what you had to do. You pushed. 

It was agony. 

It was liquid fire burning its way through your body, this baby wasn’t being born, it was clawing and tearing its way out of you. 

Marcus whispered into your ear, encouragingly, lovingly, patiently guiding you to breathe, to not give up. He reminded you how strong you were, how loved and how soon it would be over. How could it be over soon? It felt as though this pain had been with you at your own birth, all of your life this pain has been here, it had to be. Hours, days? You could not tell how long it had been.

You cried, you begged for it to end, you willed it to be so; shouted and screamed that it hurt too much, that it was too hard and that you could not do it. You told them that the baby would not come, that you could not do this, you were not strong enough. You screamed that this would surely kill you, you would tear in two and die.

“You will not die, you can do this, my love. Bear down, and push.” His gaze was steely, focused and firm and it filled you with courage.

With a sob and a scream you pushed, and pushed. You pushed so much you thought you’d burst and then pushed more still. Until finally, blessedly, the baby came out.

“You have done it! You have done it my love, my beautiful, strong, courageous girl, you have done it!” Tears were in his eyes as he held onto your limp form, but he was not looking at you. 

“Why does the child not cry?” It felt like you’d drunk too much wine, the relief from the pain so great you would faint soon, yet still, silence. There was a lot of movement, a terrifying moment that seemed to stretch on for an eternity and despite Marcus all but carrying you and laying you back to rest, no one met your eye. 

“Answer me, Marcus, why does the baby not cry? Give it to me! Is it a boy? Is it a girl?” Tears flowed and fear swelled like bile crawling up your throat until a cry loud enough to hurt your ears sounded and the entire room breathed a collective sigh of relief. 

“She is a beautiful, healthy and whole baby girl.” Swaddled and screaming, the bundle was placed at your breast. Marcus sobbed, openly and loudly into your shoulder, his big hand covering her tiny head while you looked at her in awe. She had so much hair, such strong lungs, such a force that you laughed, still crying. 

“Yes my little love, I know, you fought so hard.” You pressed a kiss to her little brow, doing your best to soothe her. 

She took to nursing your breast quickly, a good sign the midwife said and while she and her girls set everything to rights, you could focus on nothing but her. Her little hands clutched at you, taking a few greedy pulls before falling asleep, milk smeared all over her perfect face. 

“She is utterly perfect, she has your hands.” Marcus lay beside you, his gaze on her as though entranced. 

“She has your hunger.” You smiled, the euphoria eclipsing everything. It was so hard to stay awake though, the birth had taken so much out of you. 

“Give her to me and rest. I will be here with you.” With gentle hands, he took her, managing to put her onto his chest without waking her and before he’d even fully settled, sleep had claimed you. 

-

She had fought, both of them had. 

His girls had battled, fought tooth and nail and had come through victorious, though his love had paid a price. She’d bled, bled enough that it had frightened him, chilled him to the bone and when the midwife pulled him aside he already knew what she would say. There would be no more children, another birth might kill her. 

He mourned the fact that his daughter would have no siblings, no other children to fill this house alongside her but his wife would live. That was all that mattered. 

He watched her as she slept, glowing still, if a little wan, weakened by her labours but beautiful all the same. He could no longer imagine living this life without her, he could not see the joy in anything without her there beside him and now his daughter held the other half of his heart. She was the fruit of their union, she was the parts of them that would live on, the living embodiment of his good fortune and just the sight of her filled his eyes with tears. 

He pressed his lips to her little brow, smiling at the furrow in them when he jostled her, so like her mother it made him cry all the harder. 

This was all that mattered, his entire world was in this bed and he was loath to ever be separated from them again.

He didn’t know which name to call her, they’d never settled on anything. Acacia didn’t seem right, how could he name her after himself when she so resembled her mother already? Aurelia, that was pretty, Diana too. He would wait though, let her have the last say. He basked in the glow of the candles, in the comfort of his wife’s warm weight beside him, in the small weight at his chest and said another silent prayer in thanks.

-

She was so big already, three whole months and her growth never ceased to amaze you. She still looked tiny in her fathers arms, his broadness compared to her small body always made you smile, especially because for her he was less the brutal Roman General, and more of a soft, lump of honey. She ruled him implicitly, her every cry, her every happy sound was the reason he breathed.

“My love, I need to change her, those little robes are covered in milk.” There was no bite in your words, there could be no anger or annoyance in you at his adoration of her.

“Yes, yes you are right, she must be changed.” He smiled, bringing her to you. She was tired, yawning and fussing, fighting off her midday slumber with a fierceness that made you laugh. 

“Yes yes I know Diana, one moment and then your father will rock you.” You cooed at her, making quick work of the change and taking the opportunity to wipe her down with a damp cloth before returning her where she slept the best, her fathers chest.

Once he took her and sat at his favoured chair, she was out, little fist curled under her chin. This was his favourite, and yours. Watching her sleep peacefully, safe and loved within your arms, or his. 

“I never grow tired of studying her, already her little face is changing.”

He pressed his lips to her head, breathing in the clean, baby milk smell of her. 

“She will have your hair, already it curls when I wash it.” You thread your fingers through the fine wisps of it softly, smiling to imagine her older with curls flowing down her back. 

“She has your look, your look exactly. I am still in awe that we have created something so perfect.” His hand took yours and brought it to his lips, you bent to press yours to his forehead. 

“As am I, how blessed we are to have her, to have each other.” 

-

When he slipped into bed, you pressed your fingers to your lips, eyes wide to warn him.

“She is finally asleep, we must not wake her.” Your whisper was frantic, and he nodded.

“Yes my lady, I will be silent as the grave.” He pulled you close, whispering in your ear before pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. 

“So long as you can keep your voice down when I love you.” His hands pawed at you but you were so tired, it was hard to reconcile the intense want for him, with the ache of the day settling heavy on your bones. 

“My love, my mind desires this, but my body is so tired.” You pouted at him, mildly upset to deny him.

“Shall I use my mouth? You can lay back and relax, I can take care of you—my lovely girl deserves pleasure, and rest.” He smiled, undeterred and you could not help but smile. 

“And it does not bother you that I will just lay here? Most likely asleep before you have come up for air?” His grey waves were so soft when you raked your fingers through them. 

“It pleases me to please you, you are the mother of my child and the love of my life, I would do anything for you.” He kissed your fingers before spreading your legs wide with the breadth of his shoulders. “Do you wish for me to stop?” He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and then the soft patch of hair at your mound, before kissing the lips of your sex. 

“No, I do not wish for you to stop.” You spread your legs a little wider and his smile grew bigger, letting a big glob of his own spit fall onto your sex before chasing it with his tongue.

He is focused, honed in with his gaze and with his tongue on your clit, flat wide licks from where your arousal drips up to the bundle of nerves and it’s like a spike of arousal pierced the very heart of you every time he swiped his tongue over it. Warm, wet and perfect, he swirled around it in time with your heartbeat, fanning the embers burning in your belly for him. 

The fingers that softly scratched at his scalp, now curled into the waves holding him in place as you struggled to keep your mouth shut, but he made it so difficult. The ache building as his brow creased with concentration and his own excitement. His own hand crept down and grasped his cock, stroking at it in time with the delicious circuit of his tongue. That he gained so much pleasure from this only heightened your own, and soon the knot tightened. 

Muscles clenched, all of your body a taut string waiting to snap with every pass, every strong lick. You pinched at a nipple, pulling his eyes up to find yours and he let out a low groan, the vibration of it pushed you over the edge with a silent gasp, and empty rhythmic clenches around nothing. He bestowed a final, filthy kiss to your overstimulated clit before moving quickly to get into position. With the shine of exertion glinting on his golden skin he knelt between your legs, pumping at himself furiously before silently, violently spilling onto your still fluttering sex. Hot, milky splashes of him covering it while he gripped at your thigh hard enough to bruise.

He caught his breath, smearing himself in his own mess between your legs past the point of discomfort. He was so beautiful like this, with the flush of passion lighting up his cheeks and his ears, spreading down his chest. 

He smiled, winking at you before he grabbed the cloth from the basin and cleansing the mess he had made. You wanted to hold and be held by him, but by the time he was done, you were already asleep.

-

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[svenzio]

cho hyunju as your girlfriend

« non-binary reader » « other acc: @antinitoniny »

« not proofread, lots of mistakes & errors »

prompts w imagines after the cut, lmk ur thoughts !

softspoken gf!hyunjuㅡ whether it's during a casual conversation or an argument, you always feel huge amounts of affection & warmth in hyunju's voice

ㅡ after an unspecified misunderstanding

"can we talk?" hyunju softly knocked on an opened door to get your attention, leaning on the doorframe.

"i'm sorry, i promise i didn't mean toㅡ" you were so close to crying while trying to explain til hyunju interrupts you

"i understand" hyunju smiled, sitting in front of you. she placed her hand on top of yours.

"i didn't mean to invalidate your emotions earlier, i was just confused. i'm sorry. i know that you just want the best for me" hyunju talked so softly that one would think that she's putting a baby to sleep.

"but stillㅡ" you attempted to not justify your actions

"it's okay, i promise" hyunju said, giving an assuring smile. she cups your cheek, placing a peck on it.

hyunju's crazy good with eye contact. she always manages to make you flustered even during casual conversations. she actually just makes sure to listen well

it's a normal saturday afternoon for you & your girlfriend. for this weekend, you're in charge of planning & your plan is to stay at home and do nothing. when hyunju heard about the plan, she can't stop laughing at it because her plans have always been outdoors & active.

now, you're sitting on the couch with hyunju, talking about your week. you guys made it a habit to catch up after a busy week.

"yeah then like cath yelled at him and i was likeㅡ DESERVE!! as she should" you said with all of your emotions, eyes focused on the television 'coz you're trying to find a show to watch later.

"HAHAHAHAHA then?" hyunju responded enthusiastically. it's always fun to tell stories when hyunju's present.

you reached out for the chips and sat back, planning to focus on telling your story as you look at hyunju.

"cath basically told him to fuck off and that g-guy ha-hasㅡ oh my god! stop staring at me" you panicked, unable to keep a smile in.

confused hyunju: "huh?"

"nevermind umㅡ yeah soㅡ" you looked back at hyunju only for her to look so focused on you. you had to internally meditate before continuing, meeting hyunju's eyes.

"um yea, the guy, his name's mick, he gaslighted cath right in front of oㅡ oh fuck i can't" at least you tried for five seconds.

it's not that you're weak with eye contact, hyunju's eyes just sparkle as if they're adoring you right in front of youㅡ you get it? yea. you can hear that tiktok sound "blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff"

"why?" hyunju laughs, knowing exactly what's happening but wanted to tease you about it anyway

"why are you staring at me like that?" you asked

"like what?" hyunju teases

"like you wanna shut me up with a damn kiss or something"

"i feel like that's what you want & it has nothing to do with my stare" hyunju laughs

"NUH UH UR EYES ARE PRACTICALLY STATING A 300-WORD POEM FOR ME"

hyunju LOVES forehead kisses. she doesn't know that but you've noticed that she kisses your forehead like five times in one hour

"good job, my love" hyunju kisses your forehead.

"am i gonna get a kiss whenever i do a good job?" you asked, smiling. hyunju smiled, patting your head.

"hmm... sure" hyunju said, hugging you from the back as you continue figuring out the manual instructions for the cabinet. you know damn well that hyunju can do that for you in 20mins but you wanted to try by yourself anyway.

"does this go here?" you asked yourself, placing a screw on a hole.

"no, baby. it's for the handles" hyunju softly corrected you, snuggling on the crook of your neck.

"so no kisses for me since i got it wrong?" you pouted

"a kiss for trying" hyunju smiles, kissing your forehead.

hyunju who never gets jealous but enjoys how you overexplain because you don't want to make her overthink unintentionally

on your way home, you & hyunju decided that it'll be nice to take a 30min walk at night since the weather's pretty nice. you talked about various of things, noticed different things, started a 10min worth of conversation from just a passerby's shoesㅡ it was a great evening for the both of you.

until, you passed by a club. unexpectedly, you saw your high school friends outside. you haven't seen them in years which is why you were so excited that you immediately ran and hugged them.

the conversation between you & your two friends went on for 10 minutes. of course, you also introduced hyunju to them & bragged about her.

during the next couple of minutes, the walk was filled with silence. it was the complete opposite of the energy that you guys had before meeting your friends.

a lot of things went inside your head. you can't read hyunju at all. is she tired? but she still initiates conversations even when she's tired. is she mad? she would've told you if she is. is she...

you stopped in your tracks which made hyunju stop as well. hyunju looked at you quietly, wondering why you suddenly stopped when you're four blocks away from home.

"are you jealous?" was the conclusion that you made.

hyunju managed to keep her smile inside because she's curious about how this situation will escalate.

"i'm not" hyunju said with a straight face

you were stressed, you didn't know what to do, you don't know what's running inside her mind so you're clueless abt how you're gonna assure her.

"those were just my classmates from high schoolㅡ we're not even following each other on social media iㅡ we'reㅡ i hated everyone during high school" you rapped, panicking.

you're afraid. you don't want to unintentionally hurt hyunju in any way.

hyunju smiles "you don't have to explain" she says

"huh? oh my god do you not trust me" you cried out dramatically which made hyunju chuckle

"i trust you. that's why you don't have to explain" hyunju said, holding your hand.

"i love you so much & i have the same amount of trust on you so you don't have to worry" she said

"then why are you so quiet?" you pouted, leaning your body on her as you guys walk.

"i thought you're tired & wanted to enjoy the scenery." oh right, you're the type to make your own little bubble whenever your social battery runs out.

"i thought you were mad" you said

"...me? when was i ever mad?"

"exactly. i thought tonight's the first time"

"you'd never see the first time" hyunju smiles.

hyunju hates it when other people touch her hair but she LOVES it when you experiment with different hairstyles w her hair

"baby, a package came for you" hyunju said, entering the room. you jumped out of the bed & immediately opened the package. hyunju stood behind you, resting her head on your shoulder as you open your package.

"TADAAA" you excitedly said, showing her the pastel clips & ties that you ordered.

"that'll look fantastic on you, love" hyunju genuinely said

"it'll look a lot more fantastic on you" you said with a wide smile, facing her.

hyunju's confused face slowly turned into a smile. at this point, it's a monthly activity for the both of you to style each other's hair (or usually just hyunju's)

"any requests?" you asked, brushing hyunju's hair.

now, you're sitting on the couch while hyunju's on the floor, holding the boxes of clips.

"you do you. i just want a mix of black and pink clips" hyunju said as if she's talking to a hairstylist (roleplaying is ur thing too)

"alright, pretty lady"

bonus: hyunju having a whole ig highlights of the hairstyles you gave her.

hyunju who has a habit of unconsciously giving you her first & last bite of food

you brought hyunju with you at your friend's night out. your friends are also her friends so it doesn't really matter.

during meal, you're a lot more focused on talking with your friends than eating. on the other hand, hyunju's starting with her meal already.

hyunju tapped your shoulder lightly & fed you a spoonful of her food. you ate it without looking at her nor batting an eye as if it's a normal thing between the both of you.

since you weren't eating much due to the intense topic that you're having, hyunju's basically feeding you spoonfuls from time to time.

"baby" hyunju said, trying to take your attention

"i'm full, sweetie. thank you" you told her

"last one." hyunju smiles, showing you her last spoonful of food.

"i feel like these two got an invisible private bubble with just the two of them" your friend told the other

"that bubble is probably heart-shaped" the other responded

"may this love find me" your friend says (basically begging the heavens)

hyunju's the BEST when it comes to comforting you. probably also bcs she read a lot of books to help you manage your emotions

you're curled up on the couch, staring at the wall. hyun-ju walks in, her steps were soft but deliberate, carrying a steaming mug of tea. she places it on the coffee table in front of u.

“hey..i made you chamomile. don’t argue, just drink it. i know you didn’t have lunch today.”

u didn't respond, but your eyes flicker briefly to the mug before dropping back to their lap. hyunju sits down beside u, keeping enough space to not feel imposing.

"you know, it’s okay to take time for yourself. but.." she pauses, her tone softening “locking yourself away like this isn’t helping. I can see it in your eyes—you’re not resting, you’re just… running.”

"i don’t know how to face anyone right now. It’s like… I’m not enough. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

hyunju leans forward, thinking.

"i read something a while ago. about how we talk to ourselves.” she said, glancing at you.

"if a friend came to you saying what you just said, would you tell them they’re not enough?” she asked

you shake your head, lips pressed together.

"exactly. so why is it okay to talk to yourself like that? why are you doing that to yourself? you don't deserve that" hyunju said, your tears threatening to fall but you didn't respond.

"you’re allowed to feel lost, but don’t let those thoughts win. they don’t know you like I do.” hyunju continued, smiling warmly at you.

"you make it sound so easy…” you said, tears pooling in your eyes.

hyunju smiles gently, reaching over to place a hand on yours.

"it's not. it'll be a rough path & it surely will be filled with tears and crazy evenings" hyunju said, sighing

"but you won't be facing them alone. i'm here, and I’m not going anywhere. so… drink your tea, and let me stay in your corner. Okay?” hyunju smiled, handing you the mug. as you take it, hyunju wraps her arms around you, making you feel protected and warm.

right there, you knew that you'll be just fine.

hyunju who's so good w words & have a very unique perspective about things which makes your late night conversations amazing

the two of you are sitting on a park bench, watching people who's doing their midnight workout at the park.

“you know what’s funny about people? we think we’re so smart, but we act on instinct most of the time. all gut reactions, fear, and hope.” hyunju suddenly speaks.

“hope is an instinct?” you raised an eyebrow

“of course. it’s survival. you think a soldier keeps moving forward because they’re brave? no. they hope the next step gets them out alive. you think someone falls in love because they’re logical? no. they hope it won’t destroy them.” hyunju nods

“so, we’re just… running on hope and instincts?” you asked, actually thinking about it.

hyunju chuckles & nods, turning to look at you.

“yeah. and you know what? that’s not a bad thing. makes us unpredictable. makes us dangerous. and…”

“it makes us human.” hyunju proudly smiles, looking at the nightsky

“sometimes you sound like a philosopher.” you said, resting your head on her shoulder.

“don’t get used to it. i’m only this deep after midnight.”

the two of you sit there a little longer, hyun-ju’s words hanging in the air like the stars above—simple but impossibly vast.

active dates. hyunju's physically active (and in this case, you're not) but you always do your best to do her favorite activities w her.

you’re both halfway up a hiking trail, and you’re already out of breath. hyun-ju stops ahead, turning to look at you with a smirk.

“you good back there? or do i need to carry you?” hyun-ju asked, her grin teasing.

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you said, panting as you tried to keep up.

“maybe,” she said, grinning wider. “but you’re doing fine. come on, just a little further. the view’s worth it.”

“the things i do for you,” you muttered, trudging up the trail.

hyun-ju was waiting for you at the top, holding out her hand. “and that’s why you’re my favorite. now, let me show you why this is mine.”

she pulled you up, and as you caught your breath, the view of the valley below left you speechless.

lazy dates, ofc. hyunju considers every moment w u a date. even staying on the bed for the whole day is a date for her

the two of you are tangled in a mess of blankets, the sunlight peeking through the curtains. hyun-ju is lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching you scroll through your phone.

“you know this counts as a date, right?” hyun-ju said, her voice soft but playful.

“lying here doing nothing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“yep,” she said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “as long as i’m with you, it’s a date. simple as that.”

you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “you’re too easy to please, you know that?”

“maybe,” she said with a smirk, leaning in to rest her forehead against yours. “or maybe i just know how to enjoy the good stuff.”

you laughed, setting your phone aside and curling closer to her. lazy days had never felt this perfect.

protective hyunjuㅡ lowkey on army mode whenever the both of you are in a dark street. makes sure to remind you that she's capable of protecting you even if you don't expect her to.

the two of you are walking home late at night, the streetlights casting long shadows. hyun-ju is walking slightly ahead, her posture sharp and alert.

“you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

“and you don’t have to worry, because i’m looking for both of us,” hyun-ju said, her eyes scanning the dimly lit street.

you sighed. “it’s not like anything’s going to happen.”

she glanced back at you, her expression steady but confident. “you don’t expect anything to happen. that’s why you have me.”

“you’re really pulling the ‘special forces’ card right now?” you teased.

“damn right i am,” she said, smirking but still alert. “i’ve got instincts, training, and enough muscle to make anyone regret trying something stupid. you’re safe with me. always.”

you smiled, slipping your hand into hers. “i know. thanks, captain.”

“don’t mention it,” she said, squeezing your hand gently. “but if anyone even looks at you wrong, they’re getting a lesson they won’t forget.”

doing hyunju's makeup! you love helping her w her makeup. whether yk a lot of things abt makeup or not, u just love seeing hyunju's happy smile whenever she finishes her look

hyun-ju sits cross-legged on the floor in front of you, a mirror propped up on the table and her makeup bag between you. you’re carefully applying a touch of eyeliner, your tongue sticking out in concentration.

“you’re taking this way too seriously,” hyun-ju said, her lips twitching into a smile.

“and you’re moving too much,” you said, gently tilting her chin back. “i’m trying to make you look flawless.”

“i already look flawless,” she teased, though her cheeks flushed slightly.

“yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling. “let me finish, miss ‘flawless.’”

when you finally pulled back to admire your work, hyun-ju turned to the mirror, her face lighting up.

“not bad,” she said, grinning as she checked her reflection. “you might actually put me out of a job.”

“i don’t know what i’m doing half the time,” you admitted, laughing. “but seeing you smile like that? worth it.”

hyun-ju looked at you, her grin softening into something warmer. “you’re the best, you know that?”

“obviously,” you said, smirking. “now, where’s my tip?”

she leaned in, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “how’s that for a tip?”

“good enough,” you said, laughing as she grabbed her lipstick to finish the look.

hyunju who dries your hair after your late night shower. you can barely keep your eyes open so she asks little questions about your day to stop u from dozing off

you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around your shoulders. hyun-ju stands behind you, gently running a soft towel through your damp hair. your head keeps drooping forward, but she nudges you awake each time.

“don’t fall asleep on me,” hyun-ju said, her voice light but teasing. “you’ll wake up with a wet pillow, and then I’ll have to deal with your complaints.”

“m’not complaining,” you mumbled, eyes half-closed.

“uh-huh,” she said, smirking. “so, what did you eat today? anything that wasn’t instant noodles?”

“had a sandwich,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

“a sandwich? impressive,” she said, ruffling your hair gently with the towel. “what kind of sandwich?”

“...the kind with bread,” you mumbled sleepily, earning a soft laugh from her.

“genius answer,” she said, shaking her head as she grabbed the hairdryer, switching it to a low setting. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

the warmth from the dryer and her steady hands lulled you further, but she kept asking small questions—about your favorite part of the day, whether you saw anything interesting—until she finally shut the dryer off and kissed the top of your head.

“all done,” she said softly, her voice almost lulling you to sleep completely. “go on, lie down. i’ll be right here.”

of course, drying hyunju's hair too every morning is part of your routine.

hyun-ju sits on the edge of a chair, her hair still damp from her morning shower. you stand behind her with a towel, carefully running it through her dark strands. she leans back slightly, her eyes half-closed as she enjoys the moment.

“you don’t have to do this every day, you know,” hyun-ju said, her voice soft but amused.

“and yet, here i am,” you replied, gently squeezing water out of her hair. “besides, you’d just leave it wet and call it ‘air-drying.’”

“it’s efficient,” she said with a smirk, cracking one eye open to look at you.

“it’s lazy,” you corrected, grabbing the hairdryer. “sit still, or i’ll make it worse on purpose.”

she laughed quietly but stayed put, closing her eyes again as the warm air from the dryer brushed against her skin.

“you’re good at this,” she murmured. “if you ever get tired of your day job, you could make a killing as a hairstylist.”

“i’ll stick to this one client, thanks,” you said, smiling as you gently smoothed her hair down. “she’s picky but worth it.”

hyun-ju tilted her head back to look up at you, her grin soft. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“and you’re lucky i’m patient,” you teased, finishing with one last stroke of your fingers through her now-dry hair.

“perfect as always,” she said, standing up and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before heading off. mornings didn’t start right without moments like this.

you love every morning with hyunju.

"you look amazing" you told hyunju, both of you are barely awake. waking up w hyunju every morning is what you consider a blessing. it's such a great way to start your day & you believe that a sight of her in the morning would make it impossible to ruin your day at work.

"but i just woke up?" hyunju laughed, hugging you.

"ethereal" you said, admiring her face.

hyunju got shy almost immediately, kissing your forehead. "i'll go make us some coffee" she said, sitting up.

"sounds good" you responded, drifting off to sleep once again. hyunju chuckled as she stepped out of the room.

you were sleeping soundly when you felt light taps on your shoulder & soft pats on your head.

"baby, i made breakfast" hyunju said, almost a whisper to not startle you.

"i love you" you responded, half-awake.

"i love you too so please get up, you're gonna be late" hyunju laughed at your state, kissing your shoulder.

you pulled her to the bed, unintentionally tickling each other. the room's soon filled w laughs for a solid five minutes.

"i love mornings with you" you said, caressing hyunju's cheeks

"i love my life with you" hyunju said, kissing the tip of your nose.

hyunju who was once afraid of public display of affection because of the weird stares from other ppl so you were always the one to initiate.

the two of you are walking through a crowded park, the early evening breeze carrying the hum of chatter and laughter. hyun-ju’s hands are stuffed into her jacket pockets, her shoulders slightly tense as she glances around.

you reached out, slipping your hand into hers without hesitation. “relax,” you said softly, giving her fingers a light squeeze.

hyun-ju hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to a nearby couple, then back to you. “people are staring,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“let them,” you said, smiling up at her. “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

she looked at you, her expression caught somewhere between apprehension and awe. “you make it look so easy.”

“that’s because it is,” you said, swinging your joined hands slightly. “besides, if they have time to stare, maybe they’re just jealous.”

hyun-ju’s lips quirked into a small smile, her shoulders relaxing as she laced her fingers more tightly with yours. “you really don’t care, do you?”

“not even a little,” you replied, leaning closer to bump her shoulder with yours. “and one day, you won’t either.”

she chuckled softly, her grip on your hand firm now. “with you around, maybe.”

the rest of the walk felt lighter, the world fading into the background as you led the way, her hand warm and steady in yours.

bonus, same prompt:

the two of you are sitting on a bench at a quiet bus stop late in the evening. hyun-ju keeps glancing at the couple across the street, who are laughing and holding hands, before quickly looking away. she fidgets with the hem of her jacket, avoiding your eyes.

you reached over and placed your hand over hers, stilling her nervous movements. “hey,” you said softly. “you’re thinking too much again.”

she let out a small sigh, her gaze still fixed on the pavement. “it’s just… people look at us differently. like we’re doing something strange.”

“who cares?” you said, giving her hand a squeeze. “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

hyun-ju hesitated, then finally looked at you. “but doesn’t it bother you? being seen as… not normal?”

you smiled, leaning closer until your shoulder brushed against hers. “we are normal. the world’s just slow at catching up.”

she blinked at you, her lips parting slightly, before a quiet laugh escaped her. “you really believe that?”

“absolutely,” you said, lacing your fingers through hers. “we’re normal, hyun-ju. and anyone who thinks otherwise? that’s their problem, not ours.”

hyun-ju’s smile grew wider, and this time, when a passerby glanced your way, she didn’t flinch. instead, she leaned closer to you, her hand firmly holding yours. “we’re normal,” she repeated, almost like a promise.

[jiraiiboy]

jiraiblr try not to post the shittiest fucking takes pretending they're fact. y'all make me fucking sick.

any harm done to yourself with the purpose to hurt, psychologically or physically, is self harm.

that includes cutting.

that includes burning yourself.

that includes hitting yourself.

that includes opening cvtblr tags and looking at people's posts where they cut to beans.

any amount of purposeful self harm is valid because guess the fuck what?? that's not fucking normal for a healthy human being to do! no healthy person goes out of their way to say "oh i'm gonna go find a blade now!" because even if they otherwise appear "fine" or do this "for attention" that is an unhealthy need for attention.

"you're not a jirai because this and this and that!" if you explode, guess what. that's right! you are a fucking jirai.

we are landmines. that means we explode. real-life landmines, like the actual bombs, don't care how and when and who's around when they explode or who they harm. you could only explode on yourself when no one's looking and you're a jirai. that is fucking valid.

you don't need an ed. you don't need addictions. you don't need to overromanticize and desire deterioration to be a jirai. you need to be unstable enough to be in some way a danger to yourself and others. that's it.

if you wanna go and prove me wrong based on how the toyoko kids did it, go do it. but i'll tell you something, not only does that make almost all of us "not real jirais" but wanting to be like the toyoko kids? that's fucking weird. those are teenagers doing sex work, addicted to drugs, they're suffering. you wouldn't wanna be a teen prostitute dependent on drugs in the southwest of the us (i'm not shaming anyone. i just wanna make it obvious that that is most definitely not fun), would you?

i'm sick of all this discourse. might as well get off jiraiblr and make this a regular vent account.

[voluptuarian]

I'm trying to avoid people's dumb takes on Nosferatu but I keep being exposed to the tip of the iceberg and am annoyed enough about it to rant about it.

There's nothing in there that implies she was a kid. She lived in her family home, in the room she had lived in her whole life-- very typical for an unmarried adult woman at the time, especially in a well off family. Everyone determined that this had to be Orlok "grooming" a "child" are just fixated on that interpretation because it's nasty-sounding enough that they can condemn the relationship as "irredeemable" and "problematic" without sounding like pearl-clutchers. It's the magic word that lets them look vindicated in writing the whole thing off. She's not played by a child, she is dressed and styled as an adult, and the needs she's expressing, for attention, for recognition, for physical and emotional intimacy, are in no way limited to children. She's a young woman yearning for things that everybody wants and she's been denied. Ellen having been neglected, lonely, and starved for affection doesn't negate her adulthood. Her walking into a bad situation as a result of all that doesn't make her "groomed." Plenty of grown adults wind up in bad relationships because they're naive and desperate for love.

Similarly, everyone determined that one side of the triangle here wasn't "real" or that she "actually" only felt a connection with one of them and nothing for the other is similarly ridiculous. Thomas is the relationship Ellen chooses intentionally and conscientiously and which provides her the future she wants while satisfying her physical and emotional desires in a safe, secure, loving environment. Orlok is the first love, the first major relationship that she fell into because she was reckless and desperate for affection, that at first satisfied her needs but turned sour and dangerous-- that relationship becoming scary, unpleasant, coercive, doesn't erase the good things they had together once. Ellen and Orlok is the bad breakup between people who's freak matched too well. In the normal world it'd be a bad breakup with a toxic partner; in hers he's unfortunately also a an amoral inhuman manifestation of consumption.

And as for "Orlok doesn't love Ellen blah blah he's only an appetite blah blah." Love is an appetite. Need is an appetite. Loneliness is an appetite unmet. It's all hunger!! Why the FUCK is a zillion year old ghoul aristocrat holed up in a ruin in Eastern Europe tuned in enough to immediately respond to the random calls of some nameless unimportant woman he's never met a thousand miles away?? Because he's as desperate as she is, and for similar things. He was already listening, was already looking for someone-- he was desperate and searching first. His needs are twisted because he's a literal monster, but they still echo hers. The freak is matched, the freak in this case being deep emptiness and desire to be wanted and embraced. Unfortunately for him, Ellen can look elsewhere to satisfy those desires when he no longer makes her happy and find people who will-- and she does. Orlok can only go where he is called, must be chosen under special circumstances, which, seemingly out of everyone within his considerable reach, only she has offered. If what Orlok feels isn't love, its the survival in his mockery of life of what would have been love. But what ends in real love with union, ends for him with destruction and a return to lonely solitude-- that's his curse.

Ellen saves the man she chose by rejecting their future together, by breaking their marriage vows, and by sacrificing herself. She chooses the sacrifice as an act of autonomy, but one that subverts her own desires and victimizes her. It's a tragedy, but it's also a victory. It's a succumbing to the predations of the lover who wouldn't let her go, but its also making peace with him, taking into her embrace a figure she hates and fears but still feels connected to. It's fulfilling the monster's insatiable need, granting him the union he craves the only way it can be: through his death. Orlok is loved, and betrayed, and saved. Thomas is loved, and betrayed, and saved. Ellen chooses love for both of them, betrays them both, saves them both, betrays and saves herself. All of those things can be happening at once, just as tenderness, rejection, repulsion, evil, and love can all be happening at once. Is it comfortable? No. That's the point! But expressing your discomfort with that story as "I will willfully misinterpret this movie and dismiss its themes in whatever most easy to excuse way I can because I feel uncomfortable" is the path of the hack and the coward, and I think that's the what the majority of these "takes" are really about.

[smittenmeraki]

I have so many random ideas of Andreil being found out by the media in the strangest ways. My personal fav so far is them going pro and being on different teams. They end up playing against each other and everyone starts to think their rivals because Andrew keeps launching the ball at Neils helmet. After like 7 headshots from across the court Neil swears at him in german something along the lines of "I know you're doing that on purpose quit being a bitch for the sake of your entertainment or I swear I will empty your candy drawer" and of course Andrew's just there with his blank expression leaning on his racket, knowing Neil will forget all about it when they're home. However, all the fans see is Andrew targeting Neil over and over no matter where he is on the court so everyone thinks they hate each other until some weeks later an article is released with pictures of them grocery shopping together. Andrew is in the cart eating candy he hasn't even bought yet while Neil scans the aisle with a hand in Andrews hair. Another picture of them loading everything into the car, Andrew with a hand on Neils waist as he opens the backdoor. The article is titled something like "rivals or lovers : a deep dive into their history" and it brings up points like Andrew protecting Neil from Riko and Neil getting Andrew to shut down the goal with just a few words (ones no one knows), but also points of them shoving each other and getting in each others faces (tbh they were just flirting but from an outside prospective it was violence because they are never normal) all of the fan theories come to a head when Neil gets interviewed.

"What is your thoughts on the rumors about you and Minyard?"

"Rumors?"

"Yes, the ones about you two being teammates turned rivals turned lovers. Many fans are speculating what your relationship is and several articles have become very popular over it."

"We were never rivals??" Neil is absolutely lost at this idea, complete confusion.

"Really? Never once over the years?"

"No? And what articles? I don't understand how this has anything to do with Exy."

"Its about your career in the sense that Andrew Minyard has been a challenge for you." Neil smiles at the idea of Andrew being a challenge. "There was a really big article that shared some photos of you two together at a grocery store. It's rather unusal to see you two in a domestic setting, can you tell us about that? Many are wondering why you shop together." The first photo is pulled up on the big screen and Neil just stares for a moment, unsure of when it was taken.

"1. Its creepy that that was taken without us knowing. 2. I don't know what you want me to tell you, Andrew's not allowed out of the cart because he's a mence to shop with or maybe he refuses to let me go alone because I constantly forget things. Its just normal every day life, same as everyone else. 3. Because we live together?? I still don't see the relevance any this has to Exy. Many spouses go against each others teams, it's a part of being pro's."

"Spouses? So you are confirming you and Minyard are married?"

"Not on paper. Fundamentally yes. I thought this interview was supposed to be about how our season is going?" Neil sits back, baffled but also slightly smug from the look of shock on the interviewers face.

Meanwhile Andrew is at home with the cats eating a tub of ice cream while watching the interview thinking to himself 'yeah, fucking tell her. Noisy ass drama seeker.'

[aniesvision]

𐂃 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚- 𝑴.𝑺

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒓!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒚, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒇! 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒗, 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕, 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

𝚊/𝚗: 𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒐 ♡︎ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆!!

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎

3450 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔

Selling weed to drunk teenagers and young adults at parties wasn't my first option, but high school ended a few years ago, I live alone since my parents kicked me out of their house and college is expensive as fuck. I tried to get a normal job, but my classes were taking a lot of time and it wasn't working out. Maybe it could, but I felt like I was going to explode any second, and mental health is also expensive so I couldn't afford a therapist if I needed one.

I used to love parties, drinking and dancing with my friends, just running away from all the responsibilities. Now I hate them. I have to talk to people I don't like, people I don't know, weird guys that give me what I need to sell and then I get back barely enough to pay my bills. They're not exactly dangerous, but I don't have the energy to fight back and ask for more.

My luck was to become friends with a girl in college who knew influencers and got us in a few parties. Honestly it wasn't a surprise that almost all of them used something, I mean, they have to find a way of going through life and sometimes getting high is a great escape from reality. I do it myself and I don't even get hundreds of comments about everything I do online.

Since they were all rich or close to being rich I always charged more than normal. They could pay and I needed that money, so it's only fair. Funny thing though it's not all influencers are assholes and I ended up getting involuntarily closer to one of them.

Matthew Sturniolo. Didn't seem like the kind to use stuff, and didn't look like he had done it before when I handed him a joint. I had to teach him how to smoke, something I've never done before to anyone, and when I realized his shaky hands and bouncy legs I immediately caught the reason he even asked for it.

We talked a lot the day we met, even told him my number in case he wanted more weed, but deep down I was curious and hoped he would text me so I could see him again.

When days later he called me wanting more I was surprised. First because he called, not texted like everyone does, second because for some reason I could feel through the tone in his voice that he felt the same he did at that party. He was beyond anxious and I felt bad, he seemed decently nice to be in the environment he was in that day, but I guess he needed to be present.

I found out he's a triplet, and his brothers had no idea that he wasn't sober anymore like the other two. I wonder if they're also as nice and calm as he is, at least he talks about them with love so I think they're all really close.

I have no idea why, in fact, it's a really bad thing for him to trust me enough to get in my car and smoke with me without even knowing me, but I was glad he did. It was the first time I was hanging out with a customer, and I wasn't mad at all. I did the talking for a few minutes, watching as he visibly calmed down, and eventually started talking back.

When he left I made sure to warn him about the smell so he could take a shower before his brothers noticed, and when I drove back to my place I couldn't stop wondering if he'd call me again.

But this time he texted. And he was alone, so he asked if I wanted to smoke with him inside his house. It was a bad idea, clearly a huge red sign, and I still said yes. We know a little bit about each other by now, and he had the opportunity to do anything when he got into my car, yet he seemed more like a scaredy cat than anything else, for him I probably looked like the dangerous one.

Matt is cute, all shy, but kind. More of an introvert, he gets anxious a lot, but have things to help him, and people, weed shouldn't be on the list. It was the third time we saw each other, the third time smoking together, third joint I had sold him, and I was already starting to regret selling him.

-Why did you want to smoke? -I ask, holding my joint in between my fingers and looking at him.

His smile falters as he processes the question, taking a deep breath before deciding to open up.

-I think my anxiety was getting worse and I couldn't find anything to help me anymore. I didn't want to bother my brothers, they have their own things going on as well.

I nod, feeling more empathy for him than I probably should. Talking to him felt like talking to a normal boy, not like talking to those internet famous people who somehow became "famous". He was genuine, he was showing true feelings and being relatable, I just couldn't help feeling like he was my friend and I had to help him, or try to.

-What did you do when you felt like this?

I take another hit, carefully placing my joint down and kicking off my shoes to get more comfortable on the couch. He follows my movements with his eyes.

-Journalling, going on walks, nature, fortnite. –He chuckles, looking to the other side. -I like seeing animals, watching movies, I don't know, anything that could distract me.

I smile, nodding and taking a sip of water from the third bottle we've opened since we started smoking.

-That's cool. Why don't they seem to work anymore?

He shrugs, taking the last hit before throwing the finished joint into a bowl. The smoke left his lips smoothly, now being more used to the feeling and not coughing, eyes turning slightly red as the effects hit him.

-I don't know. They don't feel the same, it's like I'm losing interest, y'know? -He asks, with his accent showing up.

I nod once again, knowing exactly what he meant. That's one of the reasons why I started smoking, years ago, and knowing how I just simply cannot live without it I feel responsible for making Matt realize this is not a good option and there are other ways of making the anxiety disappear. I don't want him to be like me.

☘︎☘︎☘︎

Matt has texted me at least once a week for the past three weeks and it was starting to worry me how badly he needed more. Smoking more than one joint, smoking alone, I warned him I wouldn't sell him that much, but he was getting used to the idea of not thinking about his problems while high and our texts were no longer just about him wanting to buy stuff.

We talked every day. I tried to keep it as superficial as possible, but it was no use since we ended up opening up to each other. I told him my reason for selling, almost all that happened in my life, and I knew so much about him too. My concerns only increased as the days went by and now, with him in my apartment for the second time this week, I knew I had to do something about it.

-Long time no see. -I joke, seeing him at my front door.

His face said what he didn't need to, he was almost panicking, sweating, pink cheeks, glossy eyes, shaky hands. He didn't seem healthy at all, and it was hurting me to know that part of it was my fault. I gave him access to drugs, I showed him how to smoke.

-I need one. -He sighs, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

We sat down on my couch, him watching me intently as I started rolling a couple of joints.

-That bad, huh? –I ask, my voice sounding a bit lower than normal. -You know I can't keep selling you this shit, right?

I look at him, my eyes sending him a warning. We talked about it before, I had to bring up how much he was contacting me for drugs and how much I disliked it.

-I know, I'll stop, I just feel really bad right now. -He tells me, but I had no trust that he'd actually stop.

-I hope so, I care about you, Matt. You're not just my customer, you know that.

My voice was soft, full of sincerity, and he knew that, his eyes also softening when he realized he was being too much.

-I just need to find other ways to deal with it. -He looks down, almost embarrassed, fidgeting his fingers.

There's a silence for a minute, all we ever talked about, how much I worry about him, how I feel responsible for him, how I'm so grateful we met and how much I hate to see him like this, all going through my mind. I couldn't bear to watch him suffer and fill him with drugs to make it go away, because I knew that it wouldn't, it just makes things worse.

I'm not an addict, at least not to the point it makes my life harder, I just use weed whenever I'm stressed, which is a lot. Although, I have the strength to do what I need to and that's good for me, it means I'm still healthy enough to go through my stuff. But Matt isn't. He doesn't seem or act healthy, and although is not just because of the weed, I think it makes him feel like he can only do stuff when he's high. And that is dangerous.

I try to think about other ways of making him feel better. My tongue sealed the first beck, putting it aside as I worked on the second one. There weren't many options, all the things he used to like seem boring to him now, and there's not much we could do. He needs something that makes both body and mind work at the same time, something that makes him tired, makes him feel.

I was reluctant to ask him what came into my mind, but as I saw him become impatient and my fingers close the second beck, I knew I had to do something, and I had to do it now.

-Matt, would you fuck me? -I ask, sealing the second beck and putting it aside.

I could've worded it better, but I felt desperate to avoid him smoking again. His eyes widen, jaw falling in surprise. I was also surprised with myself, but if I'm being honest it wasn't the first time I asked this, the only difference is that I usually ask it to myself, in my brain, not out loud, not to him.

-What?!

-You heard me.

Saying it once was enough, I had no courage to ask him twice, but at least it was kinda working, he stopped fidgeting his fingers and didn't even look at the joints that I discreetly set on the coffee table.

He seemed to think about it, processing my words, eyebrows raising as his eyes looked everywhere but at me. He licks his lips, placing each hand on each side of his body.

-I mean, yeah, I guess, but why?

His answer was not what I expected, but I didn't know what to expect. It made my heart beat faster and now I felt like the shy anxious one. I never did this before, nothing that I did with Matt I did before in my life with anyone else. Being friends with a customer is not usually the best idea, most of the time it's not even possible, but more than that?

He knows me. He truly does, and I know him, as much as he lets me. This is not just a common selling-buying relationship, it's way past that.

-Well, sex is a decent way to help with your anxiety, better than drugs.

I explain, my voice slightly shaky, eyes meeting his awkwardly, hoping I was making any sense.

When he studies me with his eyes I feel nervous, he could pay for the weed and go away, never talk to me again, say all the worst things he could think of.

Instead, he only nods, face turning serious.

-Do you want to do it or do you just want me to quit the weed so bad you're considering it?

His words caught me by surprise, but by now I shouldn't be surprised with anything anymore. Although it was kind of a harsh statement, I knew where he was coming from and the tone in his voice showed me he was as hesitant as I was.

-I do want you to quit, but I wouldn't do it just because of it. -My answer was clear, and almost a relief, for both of us.

There was another silence, not long, but that carried all the emotions and uncertainties both of us had at the moment.

-I get anxious a lot. -Matt says, half joking, half teasing.

Feels like we got ourselves an agreement, and I just know things are changing drastically between us now.

-I'm aware of that. -I joke back.

We smile at each other, taking in the final moment of acceptance before Matt's lips are on mine. I quickly kiss him back, our lips moving slowly at first, savoring each other's taste. There was a pause to breathe that didn't last long until we were kissing again.

With those two kisses I was more than happy with myself for thinking of such a good way of helping him, if I wasn't sure why I felt the urge to do something about it now it was crystal clear. I like him. Talking to him, being his dealer, being his friend, getting to know him, caring about him, it might or might not be in a romantic way, but I like him, a lot.

Feeling his lips on mine, our tongues brushing together, him carefully laying me down on the couch and hovering me, with one hand finally holding my waist. I definitely like him, and I like this, I like his touch as much as I like his voice, I like kissing him as much as I like hanging out with him, I like all of him.

Our shirts were on the floor, my bra hanging over the coffee table, his hands exploring my skin as I shivered, eyes connected as he slipped my pants down. His fingers were cold, pressing on my soaked panties, eyes admiring it like a work of art, speechless.

All anxiety in his body left when my last piece of clothes was discarded and his mouth did wonders on me, moans probably pissing off the neighbors as I tried to pull him closer by his hair.

-Fuck, Matt, I'm gonna cum... -I warn him with a whiny voice, back arching and head falling back.

-Please do, wanna taste you so bad. -He barely takes his mouth out of me to say, hands gently caressing my thighs.

My first orgasm with him was surprisingly good, not that I expected it to be bad, but definitely didn't expect it to feel so... perfect. He smiled at me like he was proud, kissing all over my body until his lips found mine again, making me taste myself.

His clothes were soon discarded as well and just by the sight of him I knew I had one more reason to like him. He seemed the calmest I've ever seen him, considering what was happening, a smirk of confidence on his lips proving he knew exactly what he was doing to me. His hand wraps around his length, teasing my folds with his tip and holding himself up with his other arm.

-Wanted to do this for so long, if I knew I had a chance I wouldn't even ask for so much weed just to see you. -He smirks down at me, circling my sensitive clit with his tip.

The feelings were so intense I almost missed what he said, but when my brain processed his words I was shocked. My jaw fell in surprise, eyes widening and my arm lifting so I could slap his arm with my hand, giving him a look of disbelief.

-You're unbelievable, you didn't have to buy anything, or use anything! We could've just hung out. -I say, trying not to smile at the fact he confessed he wanted to see me.

But in awful terms and I felt even more responsible for his acts.

I didn't have time to be mad at him, though, because he decided it was the perfect time to push all of him at once. My gasp was so loud that the entire building probably heard it, my walls fell on fire for a few seconds and he remained in the same position until my expression softened and he started to move.

His confession fully disappeared from my mind when I felt just how good he could feel. It gave me butterflies to feel him moving at a slow pace, keeping eye contact like he wanted to make sure everything was okay. His eyes looked so pretty, dark and full of desire, but also affection.

Matt kisses me again as he fasteners his thrusts, making me moan against his lips. One of his hands grabs one of my thighs, holding it up against my chest, hitting deeper.

-So fucking good. -He whispers, a long breath leaving his lips as his eyes roll back and his head falls.

My nails leave bruises on his back as I feel my second orgasm building up, sounds getting louder and my body squirming non-stop under him. Didn't take long for me to reach it, him following and pulling off just fast enough to paint my stomach with his seed.

After deep breaths and a long hug to calm down, Matt stands up and walks to my bathroom, already knowing how to navigate through my apartment, and comes back with a towel to clean us. When we were done he left me putting on my clothes again to get me some water.

Both decently dressed, a pause to the bathroom and lots of water later, Matt and I sit back on the couch, looking at each other, my head resting on the backrest and his hand moving my hair behind my ear.

-I didn't smoke all the joints I bought. I gave some to my friends who smoke. I only smoked once without you and I hated it. I was too nervous to ask you to just hang out, I wasn't sure if you'd want to, so I kept coming back to buy more because I knew I could spend time with you that way.

His voice was soft and sweet, only sharing his truth with me without being scared of it. Although it was adorable that he wanted to see me so much he found a way he thought it was the best, I hated how unsure he was if I'd want to spend time with him back. I also hated that weed was involved in this.

I smile at him, taking his free hand in mine and interlacing our fingers, rubbing my thumb against his skin.

-Matt, I really like seeing you and hanging out with you, there's no need to feel nervous, weed or no weed I still want you around. Honestly, preferably with no weed, you don't need it, never did.

His eyes showed so much gratitude, almost shining with relief. He smiles back, nodding his head and looking down at our fingers, his other hand still playing with my hair.

-Yeah, it didn't help me that much, but at least it brought you into my life, so I'm grateful for it.

My heart swells with affection, butterflies flying free in my stomach. I reach out to press a soft kiss on his lips, wanting to show him just how much I enjoyed knowing how he feels.

-I'm so happy to have you in my life, Matt. -I whisper, pulling away just enough to say it.

We smile at each other, both of his hands now on my cheeks, cupping them gently.

-Does this mean you'd say yes to a date?

I giggle, nodding and wrapping my arms around him.

-Yes, I'd love to.

➪ @riowritesitall @sturniolosarethebest @hyacinthst @deers4luv @sturncakez @watercolorskyy @delooshunalhoe @sarosfilms @blahbel668 @sturniyolo69 @sturniolosl0t @colbsposts00 @fallingforfalll2 @stvrnmc @faithlia @katie-tibo @monroesturnns @chrisxcherry @shaquilles-0atmeal @fratbrochrisgf @dayzeandhaze @h3arts4harry @star-yawnznn @asherrisrandom @pip4444chris @sturniolo-fann @beansprout713 @conspiracy-ash @sturnsxbitvh @ivysturnss @mattsbitchh @larallott @stqrnlvs @sssoniaswiftt @s1ut4chris @lovingregulusblack @sturnslutz @star-yawnznn @jupiter-rebel

[horsechestnut]

I think my ideal Steph, Cass, and Tim dynamic would be that they're all best friends, but they can not all hang out together. Like, if you ask any one of them who their best friend is they genuinely will not be able to pick between the other two, but all three of them together triggers each of their insecurities in the worst way and always leads to a fight.

Like, Steph and Cass are so affectionate with each other, and constantly flirting and Tim assumes their teasing, but what if they're not, and oh god is he third wheeling on a date between his ex-girlfriend and his sister? They don't actually want him here, they invited him to be nice and he was to oblivious to realize it wasn't genuine. He should leave. But before he can come up with a believable excuse they've changed topics and... hang on, did Steph just say her dad threw a book at her once? Because so much of Steph and Cass's relationship is built on an understanding that they won't make a big deal when they mention something messed up about their past that they just say stuff like that, but Tim does not have that same understanding. So Tim hears that and instead of rolling with it, it's "Steph you can't just say that like it's not a big deal... why is Cass laughing? You can't laugh at that it's fucked up! I don't care that it was a long time ago!" And now Cass is confused and Steph is angry and Tim feels like shit for probably ruining what they wanted to be a date and frustrated that he's being treated like he's overreacting despite being the only one with a normal reaction to child abuse. Mostly he's terrified that he screwed this whole thing up somehow and neither of them is going to want to hang out with him again.

Meanwhile Steph and Tim are so intrinsically linked to each other. They've shared things they will never share with anyone else, they were each others first love. And Cass understands that, she does, but it's hard sometimes seeing how easy they are with each other. The way Steph knows Tim's upset without having to read his body langue the way Cass does or Tim can predict exactly how late Steph will be to any given situation. More than that though, what truly makes her want to hide away from them, is the history they both had but didn't share. The sly comments about Tim looking like a character Cass has never heard of or jokes that make no sense but send Steph into laughing fits. The kind that when she asks are brushed off with "it was an old meme" or "just a show from when we were kids". The reminders that she isn't normal, she can never really be like them. If she doesn't ask most of the time it doesn't occur to them to explain, it seems so obvious to them. They start doing a synchronized dance from some movie that came out when they were in middle school and Cass slips away into the shadows. Later she gets a string of concerned text that slowly turn angry when she doesn't answer. Cass never tells them what was wrong.

And it's hard for Steph to look at Cass and Tim and not feel jealous, because more than just being friends, they're siblings. They are full members of the club, Bruce's children, let into the fold in a way she never can be. She doesn't even want to be anymore if she's being honest, but it still stings. They'll casually mention family dinner or reference inside jokes from the last Wayne charity whatever and Steph will feel the growing desire in her chest that she can not, under any circumstances, let anyone see. The desire that has caused her so much pain, she will not give it control over her again. And Cass calls Tim Robin sometimes, and he calls Cass Batgirl in return, and Steph has to bite back the urge to scream at them that she was Robin too! She is also a Batgirl! But it doesn't matter because she wasn't Cass's Robin or Tim's Batgirl, and it drives her insane that they're romanticizing that time, because don't they remember how much of an asshole Bruce was back then? And now Tim is mad at her for bring up the past as if they're not the ones who started it, and Cass is assuring her that Bruce has changed, and maybe he has, but it's to fucking late! He already ruined any chance of Steph every feeling fully comfortable with her place in their lives. So she storms off, fuming, leaving a baffled Tim and Cass to go enjoy their stupid family dinner.

So yeah, they are best friends. They all love each other more than they know how to say, and trust each other more than anyone else in the world. But they can never all hang out together. That only ever ends in disaster.

[genderisareligion]

I do have a suggested solution for all the normal trans women out there who aren't sexual offenders (as you're usually former gay men or HSTS): fucking do something about the recent mass influx of "transbians"(former straight men) who threaten to kill "TERFs" after breaking a nail (not getting slept with) and make the rest of y'all look like enablers. Kick them out of the community the way you think kicking lesbians out is going to solve the problem.

Tbh I barely even have a problem with HSTS in my bathroom and what not because I know y'all aren't checking for me and truly are trying to mind your own business/avoid rude questions or murderous straight men.

The problem is that you've let these lazy het fucks ride the coattails of your decades worth of previous activism that made sense cozied up in the LGBT acronym, they're using you for a come up and acting like their inceldom compares to you feeling so extremely othered because of your sexuality that you'd rather appear straight to get people off your back.

Like why aren't you mad? I'm mad for you lol

"You can't stereotype trans women and call them predators, that's like when people assume gays are predators" and you can't just borrow that line and make it an excuse given your statistically proven track record

It's just a trip to me that we're supposed to find you safer than "cis straight" males but why the fuck when y'all have significantly worse rates of offense for crimes that significantly impact females alone? 50% compared to 17%??? That's 1 of 2 trans women for about 1 of 5 straight men and considering how vastly outnumbered you are that's fucking horrific

I don't have US stats on me but I can only imagine it's similar (and getting worse as the years have gone on)

[iwoulddieforher]

Casey cannot speak Latin | Casey Novak/Alex Cabot

Summary: Alex and Casey have been making out for the last couple weeks, this time they encounter a slight hiccup and Alex for some reason decides the issue is best addressed in Latin. Essentially just 2k words of kissing. and emotions. but mostly kissing.

Slight trigger warning for mentions of Alex's shooting & topless women but they're not fucking (rn anyway)

Casey's lithe fingers traced idle patterns on the lower portion of her ribcage, the copper headed attorney too distracted by Alex's mouth eagerly on her's to pay attention enough to do anything else.

What felt like minutes later, they finally broke apart to breathe, panting, Casey's face flushed from breathlessness in a way that made Alex laugh softly and land another soft kiss on the bridge of her nose. The copper headed attorney slid her fingers along the edge of Alex's shirt- a real shirt today, not a blouse as usual. It was a nice shirt, sure, but Casey thought to herself it would look much better on the floor.

"Can this come off?"

Alex hesitated, hard, as Casey toyed with the hem of her shirt. She never let anyone see her bare-chested- not in the past years, anyway- even with the men she fucked on occasion, she just undid the top buttons of her blouse, and they were normally satisfied with that degree of cleavage.

And she wasn't fucking Casey, no. After difficult cases they simply needed a little reassurance and they'd lock themselves either one of their offices, Casey would yank the blinds while she turned off the lights, and they'd tangle arms and lips and occasionally tongues and find some sort of solace in despite depravity of the world they were constantly reminded of. It was hard to wallow in misery and pity with a woman as ethereal as Casey pressing a line of kisses down the curve of her neck, hard to think of anything at all when the redhead's hands were cradling the base of her skull in desperation to kiss her deeper. She assumed Casey felt the same, lest be confused why she allowed this to keep happening. It was always Alex who pulled her in first, pushed her gently up against a wall or a couch or a chair or a desk, and although Casey sometimes made to switch the position so she could feel the blonde arching against a wall, Alex was always somewhat the reason it had started and was continuing. It gave her some degree of control that Casey apparently did not mind indulging her in. Evidently Alex was the needier of the two, and Casey resigned herself to serve.

Casey had never requested anything similar before- actually, Alex was unsure if she had ever asked anything of her at all. Alex felt mildly guilty- she had stripped the younger of her dress shirt before so that she could run her fingers along the muscles of her back and her arms and lavish her body in gentle attention, and she wasn't sure she had even asked or if she had went for it and Casey complied automatically as a natural progression, but now Alex was shifting in her seat and not in the good way at her request.

She had never thought twice about what Casey had previously been doing- running her fingers along the costal cartilage of her lower ribs, tracing the patterns of the anatomy beneath Alex's skin, and she did immensely enjoy the feeling, so there was no need to. Casey had done it before, too, and it was a staple in their interactions now.

"Qui prodest?" She questioned weakly, without thinking, hearing her own voice raspy, "Hoccine quid opus est?"

Casey's hands dropped immediately, before raising just enough to tug Alex's shirt back down where it had been ridden up on her hips, smoothing out the fabric delicately. God, Alex missed the feeling of her fingertips the second she felt them leave.

Who benefits, Alex had just asked her, before following it up with a murmur in Latin that translated roughly to 'is this what is needed'. Casey's head reeled slightly, a crease appearing between her brows as she grew slightly concerned.

Casey had absolutely no idea why the elder had said that in Latin- maybe the shame and the panic she could see in the curves next to Alex's eyes and between her eyebrows felt less real if she spoke in a language that no longer really existed. Maybe she just wanted Casey to understand how stressed she felt. Maybe she was using the language of scholars to emphasize the importance she felt this had. Regardless, Casey's heart ached to console her.

"No," Casey said slowly, wishing she had paid a bit more attention to her highschool English teachers, "non opus- not at all, Alex. Not needed." She bit her lip hesitantly. In the back of her mind she hoped Alex would not continue speaking in Latin because if she was honest she didn't really understand that much of it, let alone be able to formulate intelligent responses in the dead language.

"Nisi quia," Casey started, 'unless because', hesitantly, noting how Alex wasn't meeting her eyes and momentarily panicked she wasn't saying the right thing, "voluntas tua." 'It is your will.'

Alex didn't respond, but her eyebrows softened after hearing Casey's low hum, so Casey tried to continue. "Your pleasure is my priority, Alex." She breathed, in English, because very honestly she had no clue how to translate that, "I don't want to do anything that would be only for my benefit. I only feel good when and because you do-"

The blonde attorney cut her off by pulling her into an embrace, her arms lacing around Casey's shoulders to bring her head to her collar. She made a small strangled sound that was entirely unlike her usual demeanour, and Casey felt like this was probably as close as Alex would come to crying in front of her.

Casey immediately returned the motion, her hands interlocking with each other behind Alex's body while she left the other woman's hands balling the fabric of Casey's shirt in her fists. Alex's head rested on top of Casey's shoulder, Casey's forehead in the crook of Alex's neck, intentional because Alex did not want to feel Casey's eyes on her but lord she needed her close.

"Casey, I'm-"

"I hope you're not about to say you're sorry, because you shouldn't be, there's no reason to be. You never have to feel sorry with me." Casey soothes, lifting her head to kiss the side of Alex's face softly. "You're okay."

"It's just-"

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want too-"

"Hush," Alex interjected, overriding her notion to cut her off again, and Casey obediently relaxed with an apologetic exhale against her neck, letting her continue with a "volo te scire hoc."

I want you to know this, she meant, so Casey stayed unmoving against her, although she did suck her bottom lip into her mouth to toy with it.

"I haven't let anyone other than my doctors see the bullet mark," Alex breathed simply, burying her head in Casey's hair. "Previous partners unbutton the top of a button-up enough if they want to see my breast. You can do that. But I know you don't want something as shallow as that. You want skin, and to explore me, and mine is- mine is broken."

Her words end in a loose sigh and she pulled Casey impossibly tighter, and Casey returned the pressure, now, much more gently in comparison to the desperation in Alex but tight enough to comfort her.

Alex held her tightly for a long moment, before she relaxed slightly, still in the embrace, for a longer moment, eventually leaning backwards with a sigh, allowing Casey to let go of her.

"Where is it, Alex?" Casey hummed, eyes flickering down to her clothes torso. Alex grimaced, hesitating, but Casey shook her head.

"You don't have to show me it. Just show me where."

Alex then understood what she meant, so with another flicker of anxiety she reached with one hand up, slowly placing her index finger on the fabric of her shirt, clenching her jaw as her mind wandered back to the trauma the place she indicated was lasting evidence of.

Casey caught her before her mind traveled too far, though, catching Alex's wrist to interlace her fingers with Alex's, Casey's other hand coming up to cradle Alex's cheek in a way she knew she liked to press her lips against the blonde's. Alex relaxed, returning the kiss, the hand not held by Casey traveling to rest on the crook of the copper headed woman's waist. Casey permitted Alex into her mouth, which the blonde reveled in, feeling a bit of power return to her blood at the small movements the redhead was making to accommodate her when she pushed forward just slightly.

Casey broke the kiss, a small strand of saliva connecting her lips with Alex's for a fraction of a second, before tilting her head to the side and connecting her lips to the edge of Alex's jaw, then again a few centimeters below, and then again in a pattern. Alex, caught slightly off guard, sighed a half-amused laugh.

"Perfectus es in oculus meis," Casey breathed, very proud of herself for remembering that one, in between peppering the column of Alex's throat in little kisses as the older attorney squirmed just slightly beneath the attention. It meant, and she echoed the translation in English regardless, "you are perfect in my eyes."

She paused, before realizing she didn't know enough Latin to really formulate anything else, so she just said, "You are not broken, Alex," and continued with her line of kisses down, reaching Alex's pulse point, which she kissed a bit firmer to feel the thrum of life under Alex's skin. "You are not broken." She echoed, her hand slipping down to the base of Alex's spine, encouraging her to arch her torso upwards so Casey wouldn't have to move away to continue the path she was running over, over and over again, in her mind, because she knew even thought she could take as long as she wanted (to a reasonable degree, the realistic part of her brain chimed) when she was done she wouldn't have had enough of her.

Alex paused her when Casey began kissing above the fabric, writhing slightly in a way that pushed Casey slightly off, and with shaky fingers fumbled for the hem of her shirt. Casey tried to shoot her a look that conveyed the fact she was not asking for that, she didn't need it, and if Alex only was providing her with what she thought she wanted she really didn't want that, but Alex shook her head.

"Plus quam dolor sit fiducia," Alex breathed, and at Casey's momentarily blank expression, she tilted her head back and laughed. "Trust is- it's- I trust you, and that's worth more than pain. Please. I want you to do this."

Casey did not need to be asked twice, although she refrained from helping Alex with her shirt so that if the blonde at any second decided she was done with this interaction she could hesitate, or pause, or stop, but in one fluid motion Alex tugged her shirt over her head and let it fall off the edge of the couch, leaving her panting in a modest bra. Casey nearly swooned, yes at the sight of the expanse of skin, but more so the triumphant and almost breathless look on Alex's face, the way her eyes lit up as if she was immensely proud of herself, and Casey broke her previously unbroken path of kisses to claim Alex's mouth once more because she couldn't help it, although kissing while smiling so much was rather hard for both of them. Alex felt nearly giddy.

The copper headed woman's fingers found Alex's ribs again and it was as if the previous tension had never happened in the first place, Alex leaning forward and up, pushing herself further into Casey's light touches and using her hands to cradle Casey's skull.

"Angelus," Alex sighed when Casey broke the kiss again to return to the original task, kissing briefly and impatiently along the length of Alex's collarbone before becoming immensely soft, tender kisses along the small scar that had almost claimed Alex's life.

"Okay, I know that one- thank you-" Casey paused, looking up at Alex with a teasing expression, "but please, I really don't know Latin. Why do you know so much Latin? Don't answer that, actually, I'm busy kissing you."

She was rewarded for the lighthearted jest with a small cascade of giggles from Alex's mouth, as much as an attorney as esteemed as her was capable of giggling, smiling into Alex's skin as she kissed a bit more firmly. Alex's hands never left Casey's head, encouraging, rewarding her for her service by tangling in her curls gently in a way she knew Casey was fond of.

Her brain was fixated on Casey- she didn't have the space to share her mind with self-consciousness, or occupation-based misery, or the trauma of being shot and being in witness protection or any of the other things wrong with her life or her past or the world. She was in being kissed in the DA's office like a giddy rebellious teen, and it was warm, and she was shirtless, and Casey was so impossibly attentive with her kisses. Casey...

"Oh, wait, Casey-" Alex stopped, being hurled out of her bliss by a sudden realization, her voice immensely serious, and Casey startled, immediately shooting backwards. "Yes?"

Alex moved her hands out of Casey's hair, her fingers finding the buttons of the younger woman's blouse, and gave her a pointed look, although playful lights shone behind her eyes.

"Can *this* come off?"

[anonymousredactedconfessions]

Right don't get all fucking toxic on me, I know what you're all like. I ask this as a fringe/ new listener (I don't know all the lore on demons/daemons).

How long are empathy daemons considered 'children' if they're essentially thrown into the real world with jobs that are designed for adults? Better yet, why are these supposed 'children' tasked with therapizing and maintaining the emotional well-being of adults (adults who are, by virtue of their existence, constantly involved in inherently adult situations, including the sexual?)

He's always given the impression of Cole from Dragon Age to me more than a kid, mainly because both characters are incredibly inexperienced with the human world. I mean this as in they're capable of deep emotional understanding, yet lack the practical life experience to function in practice. They're both somewhat detached from human interaction, but inexperience isn’t because they’re children, but because they've been sheltered from the complexities of the human world.

I just figured (again not some redacted sleuth chill) that Caelum just has a different set of priorities and experiences that don’t align with normal human development. So, while he may be physically mature, his emotional and social skills are underdeveloped, like my guy Cole. Not a child, but out of touch with conventional norms. Maybe some sort of coding for autism there, I don't know. That's just how it came across to me.

(before you all go insane no I don't ship Caelum because he's highkey annoying asf but even if I did you don't have a right to tell me to kill myself anyway, in my opinion)

.

[dykewithbenefits]

Idea: two big titty dykes being paid by some loser straight boy to let hin fuck their tits.

Normally theyd say no, they have to keep their gold stars after all, not to mention, who the fuck does this limp dick asshole think he is? But then again, that is a LOT of cash...surely it wouldnt hurt if it was just once

So they wrap their tits around his loser dick and let him hump to his hearts content, looking incredibly bored and annoyed all the while. Somehow he manages to go for an hour, cumming a frankly absurd amount of cum all over their titflesh. When he finally passes out, they take the money and a bit more just because of how annoying he is

A couple days later, he comes by with more money asking for the same thing. They raise their prices. He agrees

Two dykes and their loser cash cow obsessed with their big, lesbian tits

I really adore the idea of some boy paying a dyke couple to do all sorts of depraved activities with him. The gals keep whining and looking annoyed while having to do it, but they did agree that he could use them until he was fully drained, and it just so happens that he has both hyperspermia and the stamina of a bull. 

The first few times it's just a simple double titjob—nothing a pair of lesbians shouldn't be able to handle. Then, after a while, he approaches them with a new offer: if they eat his ass, he'll pay them double for the session. They accept, because that is more cash than the both of them would make in a year, and, y'know, just rimming a boy wouldn't make them lose any gold stars.

He keeps raising his demands, but also the amount he's willing to pay, so the dykes keep reluctantly agreeing. Surely, just losing one gold star is fine as long as you get paid for it, right? Surely, you're still a lesbian if a boy is just using your mouth as a fleshlight, right? Swallowing what feels like a gallon's worth of boy jizz isn't cheating on your girlfriend if you both do it, right?

Whichever way it is, you can bet they still keep that same irritated expression on their faces while servicing him. Even if he pays them extra to call themselves his "dirty little cum-swallowing dyke whores" as he coats their faces in ropes of white, they'll do it in the most monotone, unenthusiastic voices they can muster up.

One thing quickly leads to another. Dykes can do anal, right? It's fine for my girlfriend to lick a boy's cum out of my ass, right? If he pays that much, surely, he should be able to use my pussy too, right?

Eventually, the both of them quit their jobs—after all, it turns out it's much more profitable to be some boy's little lesbian sugar babies. They're still very much sapphic, it's just, they spend most of their time being his free use whores, and the only time they ever get intimate with each other is when he's paying them for it, and usually while he's balls deep in one of their holes at the same time.

They're still very much sapphic, right?

[jeanmoreausautismstickers]

im gonna go on a tangent and I am so sorry

i feel like this about most of the characters but especially jeremy and the girls. like. yeah they're going to fuck up have you MET a 22 year old?? not one of them has anything figured out ever and that's normal. they SHOULDNT know how to respond to jeans trauma perfectly because why would they? they're not licensed therapists nor is it likely they've gone through anything similar??

i feel like it would be unrealistic and I personally wouldnt enjoy the book or the characters as much if the were all perfect at responding to his trauma and always knew what to do about it. it would be stilted and awkward and it would push you of the story?? they're bound to be pushier than Betsy, or cross more lines that Neil and Andrew might because they're not used to this and they're learning an entirely new way of taking care of someone else.

cat is naturally affectionate with Laila and Jeremy. her kissing jeans forehead is normal to them, same with shoulder touches and any other unasked affection. its not done because she wants to cross his boundaries, its a natural reaction and way of showing affection towards the people she cares about. she SHOULD be wanting to do those things, or people would be questioning whether or not she even likes having him as a roommate.

many people who have read the books have similar trauma to the foxes and jean, myself included. that is why we know what is and isn't okay with him (other than y'know being in his head). so yeah, its frustrating but when you take a step back and try to read it as though you're Laila or cat or Jeremy, you'll be able to understand what they're doing and why. it isn't out of ill-will, but because they love him. it isn't valid to pin them as bad people for not knowing how to respond to a severely and abnormally traumatised person when they've NEVER experienced something like this before.

i kinda find it unrealistic that this expectation of jeremy to be perfect with no mistakes at dealing with jean. this is still a 22 year old boy who clearly has his own issues trying to help someone with little to no information. ofc he’s gonna fuck up sometimes. they both are. i don’t think this is a story of one saving the other, but they’re both gonna save and heal each other in some way. we still got 2 books ahead of us !!! we literally dont know shit

[lairofdeer]

Somebody posted about caribou cock, which caused me to remember some thinking I had done on the subject of being "raped" by a wild cervine. It's not impossible. Probably pretty easy, actually. I've seen plenty of videos of amorous bucks in rut trying to rape just regular clothed, bipedal people, and many others of them attempting to mate with decoys and even bronze statues that resemble deer. I don't think it would take much. A cheapo tannish fursuit, like the ones they sell at Halloween. Maybe some scent killer, to minimize our human stink, and a very liberal dose of estrus doe urine, a secluded place in deer-infested woods during the rut, maybe a doe-call gizmo. Lube and some inside prep may be a good idea, because you've seen how they mate. At best it will hurt, and at worst be the end for you. Shame deer aren't more considerate lovers. A little probing and then all they have, in one thrust. Not much fun, really- other than how cool it would be to just have had a wild animal fuck the daylights out of you. Feeling all the cum sluice out of his cock in one heave must be awesome though, that's what gets the does to cum. I'd probably cum too. I'd like to try to blow him. Right down the throat like a sword-swallower. He'd cum directly into my esophagus; pity I didn't get the opportunity to taste and swirl his seed around in my mouth though. Semi-domesticated reindeer/caribou would be easy, it's probably possible to teach some young bucks to just be a little more gentle, best done out of rut. But, once they know you can get them off it might not be possible for you to interact with them in a "normal" way until you've got them off again. Animals don't forget you when you allowed them to cum in you, and they're not going to let you forget either.

this is like a BOOK! a GUIDE!

well, can't say i'd exactly want to do all that irl given the risk, but damn it's fun to imagine 🥴

if only i could get a stag to lovingly breed me and care for me though 😔

[redsrooftopprincess]

Pls ignore me if your requests are closed buuuuuuutttt

Headcanons for a reader that can't stop 'mirin(staring full love and joy, especially when they're not looking) with infamously insecure Big Red ?

And if not, know that you're loved and appreciated regardless and I'm glad you and your blog exist

Hello my dear Gornack! Hope the new year is treating you well. Thank you for the ask! 🥰

Mountains and Sunsets and You

Raphael x Reader

No warnings

"You got something to say?"

His sudden attention snaps you back into reality. 

Shit. Fuck.

Caught red handed, you try to keep cool as heat fills your cheeks. 

You were doing it again. He could see you out of the corner of his eye for the last hour. You were sitting on one of the benches, pretending to work, and watching him as he and his brothers worked through their katas. It had almost made him trip twice.

It's always new and exciting at first, but you've already known him for a few months. The novelty should have worn off by now. But it keeps happening. He catches you staring. It's only him, he's paid enough attention to know you don't watch his brothers like this. It's unnerving. Distracting. He'd taken a backhand to the jaw during sparring last week, and even spilled his midnight coffee on April's carpet. Twice.

"No..." you say a little too innocently.

Training had wrapped for the night, and it had been Raphael's turn to put the equipment away, leaving him alone in the dojo with you as you gathered up your paperwork. You stood, turning to leave, when your eyes landed on him. You couldn't help but follow the lines of his side with every stretch, and the way the muscles in his arms shifted under his skin as he almost reverently placed each weapon back on the wall. 

There isn't anything wrong with it, per se. You aren't looking at him with hatred or fear or disgust, if anything you look... fascinated. And not in a "weird mutant science experiment" kind of way. He can't explain it, and he can't explain the warmth that pools in his stomach every time he catches you doing it. And it's frustrating as hell.

"Then why the hell are you looking at me?" He growls, "Why the hell are you always looking at me?" He takes three steps towards you before stopping, instinct identifying pain and confusion as an an opponent, but you don't flinch. You know you're not in any real danger. Never from him. 

His scales catch the multicolored lights in the lair making him shimmer, and as he fidgets your eyes move over the gentle color shift that will only let you see his markings when the light is just right. You've never met anyone like him, seen anything like him, and everything he does is captivating. 

"Because you're beautiful," you say, simply, before you can stop yourself. 

This catches him off-guard, and he hesitates for a moment before he scoffs and looks away, "You're hilarious."

"Am I laughing?" You ask, without so much as a smile.

His eyes meet yours, hurt and suspicion deepset in amber. You can't be serious. When your features don't change, and he realizes there's no oncoming punchline, his eyes soften and fall away. 

Your jaw tightens. You hate it. You hate the way the world has ground imperfection and insecurity into every single scale. He's worth so much more than this broken place, and he's been beaten into believing he's unworthy of less than this. 

"Does that make you uncomfortable?" You ask, gently.

"Does what?"

"The fact that I find you beautiful." 

He hesitates, "... yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's bullshit." He snaps.

"Why?"

He looks at you incredulously.

"Why?" You repeat. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"Why?" You nearly demand, "Why not you? Why can't you be beautiful?"

"Because I'm not." The words ring out against the cement walls, as solid and true as the foundations of the earth.

He's not. He can't be. He's not human. He's not normal. He's a 6'5" turtle with chronic pain and a bad attitude. Covered in scars, shell cracked and gouged and broken in places, he's all thick hide and hard edges. How could anyone find that "beautiful?"

A few moments pass, and you gently break the silence, "Can I ask you something?"

"I got a choice?" He sighs, his frustration dissolving into exhaustion. He doesn't want or need a pep talk, and he sure as hell doesn't want someone like you trying to make him feel better. But somewhere, in the short time you've known each other, he's begun to trust you. He motions for you to continue.

"Do you think a mountain is beautiful?"

His gaze returns to yours and blinks twice, "... What?"

"Do you think a mountain is beautiful," you repeat. 

"Uh, yeah... I guess..." His brow furrows.

"Do you think..." You think for a moment, "a sunset is beautiful?" 

He sighs heavily, shifting his weight, "Yeah. Why. What's this got to do with anything?"

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" A small smile turns the corner of your mouth. He can't help glancing at it.

He hesitates. He just met you, and he really likes spending time with you. You're quick and kind and a hell of a good listener, he's vented to you about his brothers more than once already. You have a way of talking to him that makes things make sense. And Gods, yes, you're beautiful. Like a sun he can't stop staring at, even as his eyes are burning.

"Yes," he finally admits softly, holding your gaze. 

You try to ignore the way the word ricochets around your ribcage, and push on, tilting your head slightly, and questioning softly, "Would you ever consider me ugly for not looking enough like a mountain or a sunset?" 

"What? No! Why the hell -" he stops when you raise an eyebrow. It dawns on him slowly, and he blinks at you. 

You decide it best to let him turn that over for a while. He watches you wordlessly as you walk past him, bumping his arm gently with yours on your way out of the dojo. "See you later, Red," you say with a smile, before disappearing through the door.

....

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @milykins

[genderqueerdykes]

Hey hello! this is probably a weird ask but I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma? when I've heard stuff like "you might gain weight going on T" it's been giving me nothing but joy for the future. Like I actively Want To Get Bigger? I'm really skinny now, and have been all my life, and I keep getting comments from people being like "woahh you're so thin I wish I was as skinny as you" and like. I feel bad for wanting to be larger? I know fat people face a LOT of problems and discrimination due to their size, and it's not like I'm not aware of that, but I'm worried this is some weird fetishizing thing I need to unpack. me wanting to be fat that is, and loving the idea of gaining weight on T. like, going from skinny hairless girl > fat hairy man is something I really really want, and is basically a transition goal atp. But I haven't said anything about this bc I'm worried this is disrespectful to fat folk or just downright gross?? idk

that is not fetishizing, you're okay, you should never be made to feel bad for wanting to be bigger, i'm so sorry people are treating you that way

they are objectifying your body and i am so sorry. your body is yours, not theirs. the thing a lot of people don't want to accept is that some people genuinely want to be larger, chubby, fat, and so on. some people genuinely want to be a weight that's higher than what's considered "normal" and that's genuinely not a problem. like i don't get how people don't understand that someone's weight impacts them and them alone. and no it doesn't impact their doctors, because doctors need to be open to working with all body types

people are so possessive and weird about body weight. people feel so entitled to each others' bodies that they will take someone else's weight gain personally. as if it's an affront to them. (or are they upset because this affects whether or not they're attracted to you...?) even people who claim to be fat liberation will get pissed off at people who want to gain weight on purpose. there's nothing wrong with gaining weight on purpose. it's not going to inherently cause health problems for you, and if it does, you can tackle that when it comes. but people are so weirdly possessive of others' bodies. like. i don't think this behavior comes from a standpoint of concern for that person's health.

we are so fucked up about weight that i genuinely think that when they see a well fed fat person they get pissed off because that can't be them. that person is too concerned about dieting and losing weight and toning up and cutting back calories and going without and skipping meals and ignoring cravings. like. it's a projection of how that person feels about their own weight. their taking out their issues about not being able to eat what they want and be the size they want. so much of this comes from internalized fatphobia. most people who get pissed off when fat people enjoy being fat and enjoy eating are people who desperately want to be able to eat what they want, too, but get mad when they see someone who's doing it because they just don't have the courage. a lot of the time it's jealousy

also keep in mind that a lot of people actually like being "overweight" "obese" and so on because they have issues with disordered eating, gastrointestinal issues, anxiety, personality disorders, cancer, chronic illness, or anything else that might lead someone to struggle to keep on weight. for some people, being fat is actually safer.

a lot of people who go on T do so with the goal in mind to be a big fat hairy guy. i was already fat, but i that was my goal as well. i wanted to stay fat. i wanted to add some muscle and then stay fat, which is what i'm doing. so many other trans guys want this. i'm sure many will speak up on this post!

anyways, i'm sorry people have made you feel like that. it's your body you get to choose what weight you feel the most comfortable at. ive never been bothered by my weight. i don't feel held back by it. this is just the weight ive been for almost my entire life. i don't care if the way i look offends someone else, i'm the one who sees me all day long, not them. i'm gonna look the way i want for me, not for anyone else. good luck anon, feel free to come back any time. you are allowed to do whatever you want with your body

[buckbuckleykinard]

here's a little snippet from a fic i probably wont ever finish but may repurpose into something else

He curls his legs into his chest and presses the warm glass of his phone screen to his ear.  With his free hand, he drags his fingers across the rough, night cold grit of the stone beneath them, just to feel the scratch against his skin.  Little grits of sand and moss lift up and stick in the whorls of his fingerprints as his phone rings once, twice, three times–

“Evan?  Are you okay”

Tommy’s voice is drowned out a little by the distant but unmistakable sound of chopper blades whirring to a stop.  It’s only 6pm in L.A. and Tommy is still on shift.

“Shit, you’re at work.  Sorry.  I forgot about the time difference.  I’m fine I–”

“It’s okay.  We just got back from a call, just give me a second to get somewhere quieter and I can talk.”

Buck considers telling him it’s fine, that he’s fine, that his crisis can wait till Tommy isn’t at the tail-end of a 24 but the problem with that is that he wants. And maybe he’s selfish and childish and all the terrible things his parents think he is but maybe Tommy wants, too.  

Because Tommy answered his call.

“Okay, I’m in the bunks now.  How are you?  How are your parents?”

“I'm good.” A lie. “My parents are fine.  How they usually are.”  The painful truth.

A semi truck speeds by, blaring its horn at nothing, headlights cutting through the dusty blue evening.

“How are they usually?”

Mean, Buck wants to say.  Careless, oblivious, belittling.  Maddie always says they’re not bad people, just bad parents, and he has always parroted it back.  He feels like he’s said it so often that it had just become true, but at the time he hadn’t been around them.  It was easier to put on some rose-coloured glasses and pretend that things were better than they actually were, or at least less painful.

“I don’t think they like me very much.” Maybe it’s too honest but he finds the more they talk, the more he wants to be honest with Tommy.  Some wicked part of him thinks that maybe if he shows this man the ugly, jealous rot of his insides, that he’ll leave before it hurts too much.  That it won’t be like Abby, who he’d thought he loved, or Taylor who he knew he did.

His parents loved Daniel, and how fucked up is it that he’s jealous of someone whose dead.  Then again, maybe they're more alike than he thought because yes, they had loved him, but they erased him too.  They scrubbed their lives clean of him, threw out his things and painted over the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.  Maybe the only difference is that Buck is still alive.

“Yeah?” Tommy says, a little probing but kind.  Buck knows that if he dropped it, if he moved on to something lighter, that Tommy would let him.

“They repainted my room”  He knows it's ridiculous as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“They didn’t tell you they were going to?”  Tommy asks, like this is a completely normal thing for an adult man to be upset about.

“No, they didn’t say anything.  They threw out all my stuff too.  Not that there was a lot there, but stil–”

“They should have at least given you the opportunity to come get what you wanted to keep.”

“Yeah, exactly!”  He says with a chuckle.  “I mean, I’m pretty sure my skateboard was still in the closet up there.  They’re not cheap, you know.”

“You skateboard?”  Tommy asks.  Buck swears that he can hear the smile in his voice.  

“I used to, sort of.  I'm pretty sure I spent more time falling off than actually riding.”

“God, you were a total punk in high school, weren’t you?”  Tommy laughs.  It’s nice, like warm honey settling low in Buck’s stomach. 

“Oh, definitely.  I think I spent most of my childhood injured in one way or another.”  It’s hard for him, looking back, to find a memory that doesn’t include bandages or a cast or a sling of some kind.

“You know, considering that the first time we met was flying a helicopter into a hurricane, I’m really not surprised to find out that you’re incredibly reckless with your own safety.”

“I had a motorcycle, too.  Got it basically as soon as I learned how to drive.”

“God, Evan.”  His voice is still tinged with amusement.  It floors him a little, how Tommy had managed to steer the conversation away from his morose family musings toward something lighter.  It makes Buck want to run through every time he’s ever almost died.  Chase away the amusement and ruin this on purpose before he does it by accident.

“Does it bother you?”

“Depends on why you're doing it.”  Tommy doesn’t ask what he means, doesn’t need to.  Buck wonders if he can smell his insecurities through the phone line.  He waits for Tommy to continue.

“Every time you go into work, you put yourself in dangerous situations to save lives.  So do I.  That’s the job.”  Buck can hear some shifting from Tommy’s end, tries to imagine him sitting on the edge of one of the bunks at the Harbour station, phone pressed against his ear.  Maybe he’s gotten more comfortable, lying down, eyes closed as he tries to get a little bit of rest between calls.  They shouldn’t be having this conversation over the phone, but the thought of having to do this in person, to have to look Tommy in the eyes and ask to be soothed, sends a chill through him that's much stronger than the one caused by the rapidly cooling evening air.

Some kind of sports car speeds by, music thundering through the closed windows as it slows around the corner and disappears.

“But being reckless with your life because the only time you felt like your parents looked after you was when you were hurting?  Yeah, that bothers me.”

And there it is, The Breaking Point.  He’s found a way to push Tommy too far.  Tommy, who’d already given him far more chances than he deserved.

“I mean, I’m familiar with shitty parents, believe me, but if I made my kid feel so unloved that they thought they had to hurt themselves to get my attention, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.”

Huh.

That’s unexpected.

“Evan?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here.”  There is another beat of silence.

“Sorry, if I overstepped.  I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t.”  Buck says, definitively.  “I’ve just never really had anyone see it like that?”

“Like what?  What do you mean?”

“Like my reckless behaviour isn’t some sort of defect of my personality.  Like maybe, I was hurting, too."