#this needs tweaking to be what i wanted it to be

[ateezscupid]

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

your adorable nerd boyfriend yunho ♡

"Yunho!" You walk into the studio holding a bag of carry-out food. "You still here?"

Yunho's head peeks out from behind the soundproof door, his eyes bloodshot and weary. "Couldn't get the harmony right," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the faint strums of an unplugged guitar. "Think I'm gonna need to tweak the bridge a bit."

"Aw, baby," You walk over, sitting the carry-out on a chair nearby and kicking the door behind you closed. "You're burning the midnight oil again. What's up?"

"I just-" he sighs. "Hongjoong asked if I wanted to help on the album and I said yes but it's just not coming out right. I'm no good at this."

Your face curls up as you giggle. "Yunho, are you kidding? You're, like, super fucking talented when it comes to making music! You literally wrote a song for me every valentines day and every birthday I had since we first started dating. Why are you so…down? What's with the sudden self-doubt?"

"I've just--been real stressed." He sighs. "I had a shit ton of promotions and a shit ton of practice and work to do and then having to work on the album I-"

"Then tell Hongjoong you won't be able to? You know he won't be mad. You guys have been friends for ages." You rub his shoulders gently, feeling the tension knotting his muscles. You smile warmly and push his glasses up his nose. "You're doing too much."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. But I want to keep working on it. I wanna participate. I wanna help Hongjoong. Everything has just been stressing me out and we haven't done anything with each other in ages-"

"What do you mean? I hangout in the studio with you literally every time you come in here." You furrow your eyebrows and then pause realizing what he means. "Oh..~"

Yunho nods his head. "Yeah, but it's not the same. I've been so busy, I feel like I've lost touch with everyone, especially with you." He turns to face you, placing the guitar aside. "And I don't wanna disappoint him. I know he's counting on me."

"Well do you want me to help…?" You tilt your head and place your hand on his thigh. "Help with the tension?" You say with a cheeky smile.

Yunho laughs, the first genuine one in hours. "I'd love that," he says, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes. "But I actually meant with the music."

"So you don't want head?"

He pauses. "Well, both, actually." He opens one eye and peers at you with a half-smile. "I mean, I'm not opposed to it."

You smile and get on your knees, scooting closer and grabbing the hem of his sweatpants. "Just work on the music. I'll do what I need to do." You start to massage his legs, feeling the tightness in his muscles slowly release under your skilled touch. Yunho sighs deeply, leaning his head back.

You bite your lip, pushing his sweatpants down and running your fingers over the bulge showing in his boxers. "Let's get these off," you murmur, your voice low and teasing. He lifts his hips slightly to help you, his breath catching in his throat. You never got over his size, and the way his body responds to your touch still sends shivers down your spine. As you pull his boxers down, his erection springs free, and you wrap your hand around it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Yunho groans, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, full of heat and need.

With a wink, you lean in, placing soft kisses along his inner thigh, making him squirm. The studio's dim lighting casts a warm glow on his skin, highlighting the goosebumps that rise from your touch. The faint smell of sweat and the lingering scent of guitar strings mingle with his unique scent, creating a heady cocktail of desire. You trace the veins on his cock with your tongue, feeling him twitch in your grip. You look up at him, his eyes now wide with anticipation, and you take him fully in your mouth, sucking and teasing with the perfect amount of pressure. His hips buck, but he quickly stifles the sound, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the night.

"So pretty…" he mumbles, watching as you work your magic. The words are barely a whisper, but the intensity behind them sends a thrill through you. You've always loved this power, the ability to make him feel this way, to make him forget about the stresses of the world outside these walls.

You move your mouth up and down, finding the rhythm that makes his toes curl and his hands tighten in your hair. His eyes are glued to the sight of you, kneeling before him, your lips wrapped around him. The taste of him is familiar, but it never gets old, never fails to make your stomach flip with excitement.

He grabs your hair, guiding your movements, and you feel a shiver run through him. The quietness of the studio is only broken by the occasional sound of someone passing by outside, the distant sound of cars on the street, and the muffled thump of music coming from the other side of the building. It's a stark contrast to the symphony of your heart beating in your ears and the wet sounds of your mouth on his skin.

"You're so pretty, baby," Yunho whispers, his voice strained with pleasure as he watches you, his eyes hooded with lust. You look up, meeting his gaze, and the connection between you is palpable, a silent promise that no matter what happens, you'll always be there to take the edge off.

You moan around his cock, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. He's getting closer, you can feel it in the way his thighs tense and his breathing quickens. You pick up the pace, eager to give him the release he so desperately needs. The tip of your nose nuzzles against his pelvis as you deep-throat him, your throat tightening around his length.

"F-Fuck-!" he chuckles and leans forward, his hand gripping the chair's armrest tightly as he watches you in rapt attention. "Just like that, baby… just like that…" His voice is a hoarse whisper, his eyes glazed with lust as you continue your relentless ministrations. The way you take him in, the passion in your eyes as you suck him off, it's like nothing he's ever felt before.

You flutter your eyelashes as you look up at him, your eyes watering slightly from the effort, but the look of pure ecstasy on Yunho's face spurs you on. You feel the heat building in your own core, the friction of your own arousal against your thighs as you continue to suck and lick, bringing him closer to the edge. His grip on your hair tightens, and you know he's about to come.

His eyes are tightly shut, his head thrown back, and his breaths come in sharp gasps. You feel the muscles in his thighs tighten even further, and you know that he's on the brink. With one final, deep suck, you feel him pulse in your mouth, and he lets out a strangled moan as he releases. You swallow eagerly, savoring the taste of him, feeling his body relax as the tension drains from his muscles.

You only slow for a moment, now wrapping your other hand around his cock and stroking it as you swallow the last of his cum. You sit back on your heels, smiling up at him, your mouth glistening. Yunho's chest heaves as he looks down at you, his eyes still clouded with pleasure. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice raw and needy.

You smile, leaning back down and kitten licking his tip once again, gently sucking on his tip. He literally jolts at the sensation, his body still reeling from the intense orgasm. "Holy fuck, I just came-"

You chuckle in response, pushing his cock further in your mouth, enjoying the way he squirms. "You can always come more," you murmur, your voice muffled by his flesh. You love teasing him, pushing his limits, making him feel good. It's a power dynamic you both thrive on, one that has grown over the years of your relationship. You swirl your tongue around his sensitive tip before popping it out again. "Can I get one more?"

"I…" he sighs, his body still trembling slightly. "I'm not sure I can handle another one right now." He opens his eyes and looks at you, his smile lazy and content. "But, if you want…"

"You've handled it before." You purr, stroking him gently, watching the pleasure play out on his face as you bring him back to full hardness. The challenge in your tone is clear, and it ignites a competitive spark in Yunho's eyes. He nods, a silent agreement to let you continue your sweet torment.

With renewed enthusiasm, you swirl your tongue around his shaft, feeling his cock twitch in response. Each touch, each lick is met with a soft gasp or moan, his hands tangling in your hair as he guides your movements. The studio's ambiance adds a layer of intimacy to the moment, the muffled sounds of the world outside seemingly fading away as you focus solely on bringing him pleasure.

The overstimulation of his senses is almost too much for Yunho to handle. He watches you, mesmerized by the way your eyes light up with mischief and desire, your mouth a perfect "O" around his cock, your tongue flicking and teasing with the finesse of a pro. The way you manipulate him is like an art form, a symphony of pleasure that he's all too willing to succumb to. He leans back into the chair, his legs spreading wider to give you more access, his body arching off the seat slightly as you deep-throat him again.

He opens his mouth as if he was going to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he releases a low groan as you continue to suck him off, your movements deliberate and practiced. The sound echoes faintly in the studio, sending a thrill through you. You've always loved making him feel this good, reducing him to a puddle of need and desire.

His groans even started turning into whimpers and it was the sweetest sound in the world to your ears. You could feel your own arousal building, your pussy throbbing and wet, begging for attention. But you knew you had to focus on him right now. You sucked harder, your cheeks hollowing as you took him deep, feeling the warmth of his cock in your mouth, the pulse of his blood beating against your tongue. You could tell he was close again, his body tensing and his breaths coming in short gasps.

"Fuck-" he whines, gripping the arm rests so tightly his knuckles turn white. "Oh my fucking god,"

You laugh around his cock, feeling the vibrations from his voice resonate through your mouth and into him. The sound spurs you on, your movements becoming more urgent. You can feel your own orgasm building as you watch him lose control. You've always had this effect on each other, pushing each other's boundaries, finding new ways to make the other feel alive.

"Fuckfuckfuck," his glasses even started to fall off his face. You giggle, reaching up with one hand to gently push them back up, not breaking the rhythm of your mouth. His eyes are now fully open, watching you with a mix of amazement and lust. "You're gonna make me come again," he whispers, his voice strained and desperate.

You nod, your eyes sparkling with mischief. You're enjoying this, the power you hold over him, the way he's at your mercy. You increase the pace, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth, stroking and sucking with a fervor that leaves him trembling. The studio's air feels thick with desire, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the faint aroma of music equipment.

"Fuck, Y/N," he gasps. "Fuckfuckfuck, I-I'm-" He can't even form the words as his hips thrust upward, meeting your mouth's eager suction. His orgasm crashes over him, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill your mouth once again. You swallow with a satisfied smile, feeling the muscles in your jaw relax as you release him with a final kiss to the tip.

You stand up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, watching as Yunho slumps back into the chair, his body boneless with pleasure. He opens his eyes to look at you, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Thank you," he murmurs again, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Now, how about you?"

[blushsturns]

fort ★ bf!chris x gf!reader

description: you and chris make a fort together and well, things get steamy.

warnings: this work contains explicit content, portrays rough sex, but it is all consensual! neck kissing, touching, pet names (ma, baby, etc), fingering, f!receiving, pure filth.

w/c: 2477

building a fort with the love of your life was something you always wanted to do. it reminded you of your childhood; being young, carefree, and full of life. chris was all for it and was just as excited as you were. it didn’t take both of you very long to get it set up and once you both finished setting it up, you laid down in the midst of blankets and pillows and stared up at the pretty dangling string lights above.

“thank you for doing this with me.” you spoke softly, adoration filling your tone. “you’re my favorite person, you know that?”

chris grins widely, his body moving closer to yours and immediately wraps his arms around your waist to pull you close to him. your hand moves up to cradle his face, the pad of your thumb caressing the stubble against his jawline. “and you’re mine.” he pressed a kiss against your temple, leaning into your touch, your eyes locking together in a loving gaze.

you relaxed against his embrace, your hand moving away from his cheek to his tousled brunette locks and running your fingers through it which caused a soft moan to leave his lips. you furrow your eyebrows together in a confused manner as you move your head down to stare at him, a soft giggle leaving your lips. “you really like that, huh?”

he nods his head at your words, a soft chuckle leaving his own lips. “absolutely, but you know what else i like? besides you, of course.”

your face began to feel warm, a pink tint forming against your cheeks at his words, your eyes staying solely focused on chris as your smile only widens the more you stare at him. “hm, what?”

chris moves his hand up underneath your shirt, running his fingertips across your stomach, causing a soft shudder to run down your spine. he moves his lips over to your ear, ghosting his lips against it as he whispers, “i like touching you and making you feel good.”

you felt his fingers move teasingly underneath your the curve of your breast, his eyes staying locked onto yours the entire time. your breath felt like it was caught in your throat from the feeling of his hands against your skin and his words that sent shivers down your spine. “sometimes, i can’t take my hands off you.” he whispered against your ear, his hot and heavy breath lingering against your ear before pressing soft kisses behind it. his lips traveled down to your jawline and peppering soft kisses against it before reaching the crook of your neck.

“chris..” you mumbled softly, your fingers still running through his hair.

“shh, ma.” he replied immediately, his blue eyes turning a darkened shade of blue as he looked up at you, need and desire filling his gaze. “let me make you feel good, baby.”

you let out a soft whimper, nodding your head to give him approval as you wrap one of your legs around his waist to pull him closer. chris found your breast immediately, cupping it in his hand and running his thumb along your now perked nipple causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips at the sudden contact. he massaged your breast in his hand repeatedly, his fingers kneading your flesh as you let out a soft whine at the feeling of his hands on you.

you fucking loved when chris touched you. no matter where he touched you, it was the effect he had on you that drove you crazy. he brought his hand over to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his index finger and thumb tweaking your nipple in a teasing motion causing you to let out a needy cry. “c-chris..” you cried out, pushing your hips up into him. you felt your core grow hot, your folds beginning to glisten with wetness of your own arousal through the fabric of your shorts and panties. chris liked to take his time with you to make you feel good, but sometimes it drove you crazy when you were really needy and just wanted him to hurry up and touch you.

he didn’t reply to your pleas, his tongue beginning to trace along your neck before parting his lips and sucking onto your neck harshly, causing a louder cry to emit from your lips. you pressed your hips forward into his, immediately feeling his hardened bulge press up against your thigh. he ran his tongue along the now pretty bruise, smirking proudly against your skin at the artwork he created. he peppered kisses up from your neck, to your chin, and finally met your lips. his lips lingered along yours for a moment, his breath ghosting against yours. “you’re so damn beautiful.” he murmured against your lips, his hand still caressing your breast in his hand, rolling the hardened bud around with his finger.

his own cock was twitching with anticipation and need in the fabric of his sweatpants as it pressed up against your thigh, your leg still wrapped securely around his waist. he moved his hand away from your breast and down your stomach to the hem of your underwear inside of your shorts. before you began to beg, he already slid his hand inside and immediately found your glistening wet folds causing you to let out a soft, surprised gasp from how wet you actually were.

“fuck, mama.” he whispered out huskily, the pad of his thumb pressing against your wet clit in slow circles. “you’re fuckin’ soaked f’me.”

your cheeks were burnt red at this point. it wasn’t like this was your first time, but it always amazed you how easily turned on you got from chris. it didn’t take much at all to get you all worked up. his index finger dipped into your folds as he lazily ran his finger along your glistening wet folds causing your hips to needily press forward into his finger. you let out a soft moan, biting gently onto your bottom lip as your head tilted over to the side.

he shook his head as he realized you had bit your lip to try and contain your moans, his motions stopping abruptly as he spoke, “don’t try and hold your sounds in, baby girl. wanna hear you. don’t be shy.”

a disappointed whine left your lips with the loss of contact on your dripping pussy, but you knew it was only temporary. you nodded your head at his words, although this wasn’t the first time he has said these things. he loved when you were vocal when you guys were intimate. in all honesty, you loved hearing him too. he wasn’t afraid to be loud and let you know how good he felt and it was such a turn on for you. “i won’t hold them in. i promise.”

he smirked at you, flashing you a wink. “that’s my girl.” before immediately changing the position and pushing you over to get you on your back with him hovering over you on his knees, causing a soft surprised gasp to emit from your lips. you looked up at the stringed lights hanging above you before back down at chris as he hovered over you, a smirk still plastered on his face. “can’t get enough of you.”

chris scanned you up and down, licking over his lips in a hungry motion. he immediately tugged your shorts and underwear off you in one swift movement, throwing them in the midst of blankets around you. a shudder ran down your spine from your bottom half being exposed. all that you had left on was chris’ t-shirt, but chris kept it on for now. he fucking loved seeing you in his clothes. he spread your legs open, your glistening wet pussy on full display for him to see.

he let out a soft groan as he stared at you, his mouth practically watering at the sight. “fuck, ma. look at that sweet pussy. all f’me?” he looked up at you with hunger filling his gaze, his middle finger running up and down your folds before dipping into your tight heat causing a soft gasp to emit from your lips.

you nod your head at his words, throwing your head back onto the pile of pillows behind you. “all f-for you.” you stuttered out, a soft cry falling from your lips shortly after. you let out another gasp as his finger was now buried deep inside of your tight heat and clenched around you perfectly.

he brought his ring finger inside of you as well as he tilted his wrist to slide both fingers inside of you even deeper, causing you to moan out loudly in ecstasy. his fingers began to coat immediately with your arousal as he stared down at his own fingers pumping inside of you, groaning at the sight. squelching sounds of your arousal and your moans echoed inside fort you were in, your heart rate was rapidly increasing by the second.

his fingers felt so fucking good inside of your tight heat as you continued to clench around them. he slid both of his fingers out of you before thrusting back into you at a harder pace causing you to moan even louder, sweat glistening across your forehead as you rock your hips back against his fingers. “fuck, ma. you’re so fuckin’ tight aren’t you?” he spoke out huskily, licking over his own lips as he continued the same pace of his fingers.

suddenly, he leaned down and covered his mouth over your swollen nub causing you to let out a whiny scream. “f-fuck!” you yelped out, immediately moving your hand over to grip onto chris’ head and grabbed a fistful of his hair. “fuck, just like that!”

he moaned against your clit, which sent shockwaves against your body, causing you to shiver from head to toe. fire coursed throughout your veins, breathy moans leaving your lips. his tongue began to run over your clit quickly, rolling his tongue along and immediately tasting your arousal as you coat his tongue. he continued to moan against you as you rock your hips back against his face, throwing your head back against the pillows behind you. “taste so good.” his words were muffled against you, his tongue moving up and down your wet slick and moaning against you from how good you tasted. his own cock was throbbing immensely in the fabric of his sweatpants, but his sole focus was on you right now.

chris was really fucking good at this. he knew exactly what he was doing and he always left you breathless and unable to move or walk for hours, even days. you loved every single second of it and you weren’t complaining. your arousal mixed with his salvia coated his tongue as he continued to suck onto your clit, lapping his tongue along the swollen nub as his fingers pumped in and out of your tight heat repeatedly. your g-spot was being hit dead on which caused you to practically scream his name, your back aching off the blankets below you.

he looked up at you while his head was between your thighs, his tongue still repeatedly tracing against your soaking wet folds as he moaned against your center. you gripped his head with more force, your fingers were tied in his hair as you pushed back on his fingers and tongue. he pulled away just for a moment, licking over his lips with your arousal coating them as he spoke, “you gonna cum f’me, ma? come on. wanna feel you ‘round my fingers and taste you on my tongue. be a good girl and cum f’me.”

you nodded your head at his words, your eyes locking together as he immediately went back to your pussy and used his lips to suck onto your clit, his tongue repeatedly darting out against it, his fingers pumping in and out and curling inside of you against your sweet spot just right causing you to let out a string of breathy moans and pants.

the combination of both his tongue and fingers and his words is what sent you over the edge. “i’m..g-gonna..f-fuck!” you cried out, throwing your head back onto the pillows behind you. fire coursed throughout your veins, your stomach tightening and your pussy clenching around his fingers as you thrust your hips up into his face and fingers as your orgasm floods through you. your tight walls clench around his fingers as you cum around them and on his tongue, moaning throughout the high with heavy pants falling from your lips.

your arousal coats his tongue as he laps it up with a moan leaving his lips, his tongue flicking the swollen bud and making your legs shake from being overly sensitive due to the intense orgasm that just rippled through you. you try to push his head away from how sensitive you are, a soft groan leaving your lips as you open up your eyes to stare down at him through half lidded eyes. “too much.” you complained, pushing his head back from your center.

he let out a soft chuckle, allowing you to push him away from your sensitive clit, your arousal glistening against his lips and mouth. he used his free hand to wipe his mouth, his lips curving up into a slight smirk as he stared down at you. “fuckin’ delicious, ma.” he then slowly pulls his fingers out of your tight heat, your pussy immediately clenching onto emptiness from the loss of his fingers. his fingers were covered with your slick arousal and he moaned at the sight. “want a taste?” he furrowed his eyebrow up at you as he brought his hand over to you.

you happily obliged and grabbed his wrist and immediately took his two fingers into your mouth, sucking off your own arousal and moaning against them at your own taste. chris watched you the entire time, a slight hiss leaving his lips as he moved his free hand down to his own hardened bulge through the material of his sweatpants. he was twitching immensely with need and want from you just by tasting you and watching you come undone for him and now watching you taste yourself? he was in fucking heaven. “mm.” you moaned against his fingers as your lips continued to latch onto his fingers, sucking onto them nice and slow with a slight movement of your head, your tongue coming up to the top to get every last drop of your own arousal.

you felt your center twitching and your legs shaking from the intense orgasm you just received, but you knew the night was far from over now.

who would’ve thought building a fort together would lead to this? you weren’t complaining though. not at all.

taglist:

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @giveheavensomehell @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @sturns-mermaid @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @xclusivedesires @mattsplaything @katiebug3851 @fetusjikook @poppingmypussy4chris @mattsbunnyxx @pair-of-pantaloons @chrissweetheart @slutformatt17 @sturnl0ve @pasteldreams @h3arts4harry @marrykisskilled @wh0remikasas @sturnzslut @camzeecorner @alesturniolos @emely9274 @2muchofaslvt @y3sterdaysproblem @sturnslux3 @bowsandsturniolos @moustacherryismyhusband @rafesapprentice @ivysturnss @headzgonewest @strawberryghost3 @il0vey0um0st

if you have any requests for me, send them to my inbox!

love you guys!

-nessa ღ

[shirakow]

❝ 𝓗.OME SWEET HOME ! ”

caleb x fem!reader / love and deepspace .

warning(s) include: SPOILER WARNING, nsfw content, hair pulling, porn with no plot, refers to readers vagina as ‘her’, and kinda sad? idk i randomly put sad parts bc i remembered his painful signal card

note: it’s been so long since I posted and I gotta say i rlly love caleb so ofc i had to post abt him. originally i played the game bc i wanted to make my mc cute but then i saw caleb and i kinda forgot abt my mc. she looks bomb tho

“It’s like she’s welcoming me home…” Caleb grunted into your ear, his hand pressing down on the light protrusion on the pit of your tummy—evidence of how deep he is in your heat. Snug and tight around his fat cock, just the way he loved it.

Tears brimmed the corner of your eyes as your tiny hands clawed at his back, your nails often bumping against the metal plates of his bionic arm.

“C-Caleb…”

A groan from him, “Yes, pip-squeak? That you or your pussy talking to me?” He grinned from ear to ear.

You’ve never once heard him talk such vulgarities towards you, especially not to your core of all things. Though you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it the least bit attractive.

The moment you—well, he adjusted to being inside you, he ground his pelvis against the curve of your ass. Each roll of his hips causing his eyes to flutter shut as he tried his best not to cum prematurely.

He was a man, through and through, and he wasn’t just gonna let his woman go high and dry. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint you and your pretty cunt.

One, two, three teasing thrusts came from him, the next ones more subtle and shallower than the last.

It was absolute torture, he was so deep inside you yet he barely even moved an inch? Shouldn’t he be more lenient? Nicer? Has the Fleet completely changed his generosity? These questions swirled around your head like cartoon birds, eating away your brain and turning it into mush.

Even your pussy cried out for more—leaking excess juices down his cock to taint his balls. The wetness was enough to resemble the tears that flowed freely from your eyes, and it almost broke Caleb’s walls down.

Almost, but not quite.

Caleb smiled, one of mischievous intent as he cupped your cheek and cooed at your pitiful expression. “You know I hate it when you cry…” Another shallow thrust.

“What does my girl want?” He was teasing you now. He pressed his forehead against yours, merely a breaths away from your quivering lips that which he thumbed and toyed with.

“Just say the word,” he whispered under his breath, the old Caleb you knew slipping past the Colonel front he put up ever since he joined the Fleet and it brought a sense of reprieve in you even for a moment. “Fast? Hard? Slow?” With each word he uttered, he gave a brief example before stopping completely.

You arched your back, pressing your chest against his as the need inside you began to grow like the plague, begging to be cured.

Caleb gave a sharp thrust before stilling his movements once more and kept his pelvis flushed against your rear, patiently waiting for your words of encouragement.

“Come on, pip-squeak…” Caleb pressed feather light kisses on your neck, “Talk to me.” A whimper escaped your lips at his words. “I…” You started while he hummed in response, non verbally telling you to go on as his bionic arm trailed down your sweaty body to cup your breasts.

Tweaking and flicking your pert nipple in between his cold, metallic fingers while closely watching your expressions, hyperaware of every detail on your face. Your pores, your lashes, your glossy eyes, your flushed cheeks—Christ, he wanted to move, now.

If you don’t beg soon enough, he’s gonna take matters into his own hands and make love—no, fuck you just the way he wanted.

“Please, move… I can’t—I can’t take anymore—“ a squeal erupted from your throat the moment he pulled his hips back and thrust back inside harshly immediately after those pleas left your mouth. The wet squelch of your pussy were music to his ears as he finally took what he and most especially you wanted.

His movements never faltered, it grew more fervent if anything, as if wanting to imprint his length along your gummy walls—to get you addicted to it. Caleb doesn’t know how long he’s fantasized of being inside you, claiming your cunny and fucking it into the shape of his cock so that it would fit him and only him.

Years of fisting his own hand, imagining it was you finally coming true. He could almost cry because of it. Caleb used his free hand to wrap your legs around his hips to pull him in deeper, closer to you. He felt like he was gonna die if he doesn’t merge with you; he needed to occupy the space between the both of you. He needed to feel you.

“Hold onto me,” he rasped, sweat dripping from his forehead and onto your face: your fucked out face that he loves so much. “Don’t you dare let go until I tell you to.” His words left no room for argument, and so you did. You held onto him like it was your life’s mission.

Your hands clawed at his toned back, leaving faint crescent marks and thin red lines on his scarred skin. “Caleb, Caleb—“ you sobbed uncontrollably, the tip of his length hitting every sensitive spot in your pussy.

As if he was born to be inside of you, born to be your partner, born to be your soulmate. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue. Soulmate.

Sensing your sudden shift in mood, Caleb furrowed his brows and buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and cradled your head, his hips never faltering in its speed even if he sensed the doubt in your eyes.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it.” He grunted, moving faster and harder—the head of his cock finally hitting that spongy spot deep inside of you. Your eyes flew open and instinctively scratched him harder, his name falling from your lips like a desperate prayer. “That’s it, focus on me, only me, Caleb.” He wanted to relieve you of this internal pain so only the thought of his cock was left in your pretty little head. Thoughts of how much he can make you feel good, not the latter.

He closed his eyes shut the moment your gummy walls squeezed around his shaft, as if to say he should never leave your heat, and he will gladly oblige if you told him not to.

A bubble formed at the pit of your stomach, one that was just about ready to pop. Moans reverberated around the room, paired with the sounds of your coupling and the headboard hitting the wall with every violent thrust Caleb gave you—knocking the wind out of your lungs.

Your nails continued to dig into his skin almost desperately, causing a groan to sound from Caleb. “Harder, scratch me harder…” He urged as his bionic arm left your thigh to rub at your erect pearl in fast and tight circles.

The cold metal hit your clit and you immediately choked on your moans, the feel of it sending shivers and electricity down your spine. Complying, you did as he asked of you, and scratched his skin harder. Caleb groaned and accidentally fisted your hair which he still cradled.

It was the only way he could feel you—the pain you gave him, emotionally and physically. A side effect that came with the experiments at the Fleet, and he wishes he could turn back time to the moment where everything went wrong and give you all the love you deserved. Even if it hurt, he’ll go through hell and back just to feel you on his skin once more.

“Cum for me, pip-squeak…” He huffed into your ear, “Show me just how much you missed me.” With a few more thrusts, you eventually came—squirt dripping and spraying all over your sweaty bodies.

It didn’t take long from Caleb to follow, giving a particularly harsh grind of his hips and he came deep inside of your womb, effectively filling up the void of your tummy as he collapsed on top of you. The two of you heaved for breath but you seemed the most out of it.

Caleb panted and began to pepper kisses along the skin of your neck and rubbed the back of your head as a way to apologize for pulling on your hair. “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?” He asked breathlessly and used his arms to push himself up so he wasn’t crushing you with his weight.

Caleb rested his body on his elbows as he cupped your flushed cheeks to check up on you. You gave him a faint nod and smiled, “Mhm…” You nuzzled into his palm and turned your head to gently kiss it. “I’m okay…”

He sighed in relief and nuzzled his nose against yours, “That’s good… I didn’t want to hurt you.” His lips found yours, moving it in tandem with the beating of your hearts as he remained snug in your tight heat. “That’s the last thing I wanted…” He eventually separated from the kiss and stared at you, love and affection lay bare in his eyes.

He never wanted to pull out. Was he even talking about your core anymore? Probably not. Either way, it didn’t matter. Caleb laid on his side and pulled you in close gently, not wanting to put more pressure on your sensitive pussy. His arms caged you in his embrace as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo and let his eyes flutter shut.

“I won’t ever leave you again…” He whispered, “I promise.”

[the-offside-rule]

Lando Norris (McLaren) - Sports Car

The sequel to Two Hands

Two Hands Part I, Part II

Y/n sat in the dimly lit studio, headphones snug over her ears, as the beat played for what felt like the hundredth time. She leaned back in her chair, mouthing along to the lyrics she'd scribbled down a few hours earlier, occasionally tweaking a word or two in her notebook. The explicit undertones of the song didn’t faze her; it was raw, honest, and unapologetic, just like she wanted it to be. She hit replay again and again, trying to perfect every detail.

The door to the studio creaked open, and Y/n barely looked up as her best friend, Tate, strolled in holding two iced coffees. "Still working on that song, huh?" Tate teased, plopping down on the couch and pulling her phone out. "Yup." Y/n replied without missing a beat, scribbling something down and playing the demo back for the umpteenth time.

Tate listened in silence for a moment, her thumbs flying across her phone screen. But the more she absorbed the lyrics, the more her jaw slowly dropped. By the time Y/n got to the second chorus, Tate was staring at her like she’d grown another head.

"Are we gonna just ignore the elephant in the room right now?" Tate finally said, setting her phone down. Y/n arched a brow, leaning back in her chair. "What?" Y/n asked. "What?" Tate echoed in the same tone, letting out a disbelieving laugh. "This song! Who is this about, and why are you suddenly… so worked up?" Y/n rolled her eyes, spinning her chair lazily to face her friend. "It’s nothing. Just… a song."

Tate snorted, crossing her arms. "Right. A song that happens to be very… explicit about what you want to do to someone. Come on, Y/n. We both know it's about Papaya." Y/n rolled her eyes at the code name they gave Lando. It wasn't practical or secretive in any way possible. It was so dumb. And yet, the mention of his code name, Y/n’s cheeks warmed, but she shrugged it off. "It’s not about anyone in particular. It's...I don't know. It's just setting the tone for the album, I guess." She said, avoiding Tate’s knowing gaze. "Besides, it’s not like I’m going to see him anytime soon. We only ever run into each other at races."

Tate narrowed her eyes, sliding the iced coffee across the table to her. "Uh-huh. Sure. But, girl, you need to stop lying to yourself. If this song is even half as honest as your feelings, you’re clearly still thinking about him. Just tell him what you want, he’s not a mind reader." Y/n sighed, taking a long sip of her drink. "I’m not telling him anything, Tate. It’s never going to go anywhere. We’re both too busy, and I’m not about to complicate things."

Tate groaned, throwing her head back. "Fine, fine. But let me see what you’ve got so far." She grabbed the notebook from the desk before Y/n could protest. Her eyes widened as she read the first line aloud. "Hey, cute jeans, take mine off me?" She burst out laughing, nearly dropping the notebook. "Are you kidding me?" Y/n shrugged, smirking. "You told me to be honest, so… that’s the energy I’m bringing to this song."

Tate kept flipping through the pages, her laughter growing louder. "Pretty blue streetlights and my hazel eyes, and if it feels right, we could go again like 3 or 4 more times? Y/n, who are you?" Y/n winked, leaning back in her chair. "My favourite part is the next bit. "On the corner of my bed, or maybe on the beach, you could do it on your own, while you're looking at- oh my god!" Tate squealed, chuking the notebook onto the table. "Think he’ll pick up on the hints?" Tate stared at her, utterly dumbfounded, before bursting into another fit of laughter. "This is not a hint, this is an open invitation. But honestly? If this doesn’t get his attention, nothing will."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Max Fewtrell’s stream was buzzing with activity. Thousands of viewers flooded the chat, firing off questions for him and his guest, none other than Lando Norris. The two were sitting in Max’s gaming setup, laughing about something dumb when a specific question caught Max’s eye. "Oi, Lando." Max said, grinning mischievously as he leaned closer to his monitor. "Chat wants to know what you think about Tate and Y/n’s new song."

Lando blinked, tilting his head in confusion. "They has a new song?" Max turned to him, his brows shooting up. "Mate, where have you been? It’s everywhere. There’s a music video too." Lando leaned back in his chair, his interest piqued. "Oh, I didn’t know. I mean, I like their stuff so… yeah, put it on I guess." He said ruffling his curls. "Alright, chat." Max said, smirking as he pulled up the song. "Let’s see what all the hype is about."

The track began, the sultry beat filling the room. On the screen, the music video played, showing Y/n moving effortlessly to the rhythm. Lando’s eyes were glued to the screen, his focus narrowing in on every word she sang and every move she made. "Hey, cute jeans, take mine off me." Y/n’s voice purred, her tone teasing yet commanding. Max burst out laughing, glancing at Lando. "This is… uh, quite forward, huh?" Lando, however, was silent, his gaze locked on the screen.

In the alley in the back

In the centre of this room,

With the windows rolled down,

Boy, don't make me choose

As the video continued, the lyrics grew bolder, the visuals more suggestive, and Lando couldn’t help the slight flush that crept up his neck.

Pretty blue streetlights and my hazel eyes,

And if it feels right, we could go again like 3 or 4 times.

Max snorted, trying to hold back his laughter. "Well, I mean, they know what they want." Lando let's out a soft chuckle at his remark.

On the corner of my bed,

Oh and maybe on the beach,

You can do it on your own,

While you're looking at me

Lando finally tore his gaze from the screen, a small, almost shy smile on his face. "Its a good song, actually." He smiles as the music seems to fade away for the time being. "You’ve met that one, right?" Max asked casually, still watching the video. Lando nodded. "Yeah, briefly. In Vegas."

"Vegas, huh? Sounds like a story there." Max wiggled his eyebrows knowing exactly what happened, but Lando just laughed it off, shaking his head. "Nah, nothing like that. She’s cool, though."

Unbeknownst to the two of them, Y/n and Tate were watching the stream from her apartment, Tate’s laptop propped up on the coffee table. At first, they’d been laughing at Max’s antics, but as Lando’s voice filled the room, the mood shifted. Tate frowned, glancing at Y/n. "Briefly? That’s all he’s going to say? What about everything else? The flirting, the sneaking ro his hotel room, the…" Y/n waved her off, her expression unreadable. "Doesn’t matter."

"It does, though." Tate pressed. "You’ve got to say something. You can’t just let this keep happening." Y/n sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You’re right. It’s time I did something about this." Tate’s eyes widened, a mix of excitement and disbelief on her face. "Wait, are you saying you’re finally going to tell him how you feel?" Y/n scoffed, looking almost repulsed by the idea. "God, no." Tate frowned. "Then what are you going to do?"

Y/n’s lips curled into a sly smile, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. "I have a better idea."

[spread-the-influence]

So to check that I'm understanding this right: Ragatha was infected by the virus, which turned her into T.I., who is just regular Ragatha but with her mindset tweaked to think "literally anything is okay if it means making my friends infected happy" (except that one time the virus just flat-out modified her memories when she got Jax). T.I. has been giving the others the "gift" (read: violently infecting them with the virus) to make them "happy." However, the infected need to in some way want what they're being offered in exchange for their free will, so Pomni is still unaffected and is trying to exorcise the virus. Or does "wanting" the virus not matter and Pomni is just Built Different?

yeah pomni is just built different narrative tension what's thatOkay i'm going to stop pulling your leg , yep you're understanding everything correctly ! i get happy when i get these kind of asks , i like people picking apart my works

the only thing that's off is that the virus didn't modify her memories nor is it capable of doing so — t.i just generally has brain fog which makes it hard for her to remember things , especially if it's something serious as Murdering Somebody . but i'll blame that on me not really making that detail clear

[dinogoofymutated]

Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

[coraniaid]

Anyway, I do think you can preserve almost all of the core of Faith's arc in Season 3 and still present Giles in a much more favorable light than canon with only a very few minor tweaks.

At some point, in one of the early season episodes that Faith doesn't otherwise appear in -- Band Candy, say -- in a scene featuring just Buffy and Giles together, have Buffy comment on Faith's absence, wonder out loud if being alone in her motel room is good for her, and have Giles say something to the effect of "Perhaps you're right to be concerned, but we must respect Faith's wishes. In fact I offered to arrange for more salubrious lodgings when it became clear she would be staying with us for a while, but she assured me she was quite all right where she is." Because, look, of course if an older man she didn't really know offered to set Faith up with a nicer place to stay for free she was going to say no. Of course that doesn't mean she's actually happy living in a motel in the bad part of town, and of course she's still impressed when the Mayor gets her an apartment and clearly doesn't want anything from her in return (or, at least, he's only looking for wholesome family-friendly murder and torture and treason, not what she'd expect him to want). But at least this way we can point to evidence Giles actually tried to do the right thing. The thing that he explicitly volunteered to do.

In Helpless, when Buffy complains about Faith being "off on one of her unannounced walkabouts", don't have Giles -- who at this very moment is not interested in training Buffy but instead setting her up for the events of Cruciamentum -- remark snidely that "Faith is not interested in proper training", but instead explicitly link back to the events of Revelations. Have him remind Buffy that Faith took Mrs Post's betrayal very badly and say that he's deliberately letting her take a break from training for a bit because he thinks it will give her some time to recover emotionally. And, again, Giles wouldn't be right to think this -- Faith would be better off if she was spending time with other people -- but at least we'd get less of an impression that, after Post arrived, Giles decided he was done being Faith's temporary replacement Watcher and that he didn't really care what happened to her afterwards (even after Post was exposed as a fraud).

The key things you need to have happen in Consequences are (a) Faith lies to Giles and says Buffy killed Finch; (b) Giles talks to Buffy privately and they both acknowledge that actually Faith killed Finch; (c) Wesley overhears this conversation and calls in the Council to take Faith back to England. You don't actually need Giles to suggest he was only pretending to be on Faith's side to humor her; you don't need him to be so skeptical when Buffy talks about helping Faith. You could instead have Giles remind Buffy that he himself killed somebody by accident when he was not much older than Faith, and have him say that he pretended to believe her simply because -- knowing what she had to be going through -- he thought it would be better to humor her than provoke a confrontation. Rather than just have him dismiss her as "unstable" and "unwilling to accept responsibility", make the parallels with Giles's own backstory explicit. "In Faith's shoes, I would be -- I was -- unstable. Unpredictable. I needed time to accept responsibility." When Buffy suggests she could talk to her, rather than just sigh and look skeptical, Giles could apolgetically reference his own role in the Cruciamentum a few episodes earlier, and use that as a reason why Faith might not be willing to trust him yet. Instead of just ... nobody suggesting Giles talk to her, even when agreeing that perhaps somebody other than Buffy should.

And really, none of what Buffy and Giles plan at this point really even matters, because all we need to happen next is for Xander to admit that he slept with Faith and that he assumes this means they have "a connection", Buffy and Willow to react to that, and then for Xander to decide to go talk to her alone to prove his point. And then we proceed as before to Faith attacking him, Angel coming to the rescue, and then the rest of the episode as normal (including with Faith going off to tell the Mayor she heard he had a job opening).

In fact arguably I think this version of events actually works better, because after Consequences (and before the reveal in Enemies) the show actually does proceed on the basis that Giles is willing to help Faith and supervize her post-manslaughter evaluation and recovery. It has to, because if he insists she's a lost cause and can't be trusted from the beginning there's no Enemies and no chance for her to betray Buffy and the gang. So there wasn't really any actual story-driven need for Giles to seem so reluctant about trying to help Faith in the first place, was there?

I mean, in the actual show I think nobody knew at the time what Faith's arc was going to be, and that era of the show wasn't quite as dedicated to continuity as it would be later and didn't like throwing in so many references to past episodes. And the show never actually does take Giles's role in the Cruciamentum seriously after Helpless, or have Giles mention Randall's death after season 2 (Ted is the last time he's mentioned, right?). But in hindsight I think something like this -- even if it couldn't have happened -- would better balance the actual story that you want to tell about Faith with the goal of having Giles seem rather more admirable and sympathetic than his treatment of Faith ends up making him look.

[wisteriasymphony]

"Yes, Claire left in a huff this morning. Apparently she can dish it out but can't take it," Gabriel grumbled, the telephone tucked between his collarbone and his ear. "You work as a model and yet the reality that broads like you are a dime a dozen is some sort of shock? ..No, Audrey, not you, them. They're- Fucking forget it. I need a cigar. Talk to you later." Gabriel slapped the phone back into its receiver, standing up from his office chair. Claire leaving was for the best—The minute she'd started to run her mouth, her worth as a muse had all but flown the coop. And he meant that literally: His desk was a mess of unfinished, malformed designs, nothing he could even sell as that avant-garde social critique couture crap. Not even working with her sat on his lap did anything after a while.

But the good thing about fashion was that women were plentiful. If he was a stock broker or movie executive he'd need to be choosy about he treated the next tight-bloused intern. But he wasn't any of those chumps, he was Gabriel fucking Agreste. And if Audrey was right, he was only going to keep rising to the top, become a god among men. The broads would flock to him.

There was a knock on the door to his office.

"What is it?"

Gabriel was in the middle of lighting his cigar, letting it stick out of the side of his mouth and practically hang off his lip. He had been expecting either his secretary or one of the other men to be at the door—perhaps Alphonse had another client for Gabriel to see or Charles was in the middle of holding off another press hound—but what walked through the door was instead a young girl with perfectly curled blonde hair, all swept in a ponytail over her right side.

“Mr. Agreste?”

Emilie Graham de Vanily, if he had remembered correctly, had been traded through a few hands as a model over the past few months. She’d been working through that Elite Model Management that had just started up maybe 7 or so years prior, and she easily had that sort of ‘Model of The Year’ image about her: Bright green eyes, good jaw, and a body that filled out her clothes just enough without it being too egregious. Gabriel would’ve been a sucker to let her slip past his fingers with the 1979 Spring/Summer Paris Fashion Week steadily approaching, and if he wanted to keep her he’d have to pull all the stops.

Gabriel’s shoulders softened, and he took the cigar out of his mouth. “Emilie, just Gabi is fine,” he smiled. “Come on, we’re friends, aren’t we? Sit down, sit down.”

The girl practically beamed from his words, skipping over to take a seat on one of Gabriel’s large leather armchairs and practically being swallowed whole by it. She crossed her legs, both hands together and placed in her lap.

“You wanted to see me, right? About your next designs?”

“Yes, yes. I was hoping to have you look over them with me,” he said almost flippantly, watching as her eyes lit up. “But– But but but. I just got the unfortunate news that Claire Freeman won’t be working with us for Fashion Week.” Emilie tilted her head, a furrow in her blond brows. “She wasn’t very nice to you anyways, Mr. Agreste. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“An astute observation—One I entirely agree with.” Gabriel twirled his cigar in his fingers, adding “But that leaves me without a crown jewel to show off my collection. I was hoping you’d fill that role for me.” It was almost comical how easy it was to make Emilie smile, a sort of sparkle emanating off of her every time Gabriel said the littlest thing. It was a refreshing change of pace from Claire, a woman with a permanent scowl and a face that he could tell was beginning to wrinkle. Nobody would’ve wanted to watch her up on the catwalks anyway, not when a hot young dish like Emilie Graham de Vanily could take her place. He’d change some things over, tweak the proportions, take a few overnights to fix things to fit the new girl, and it would pay him handsomely. In hindsight, it might’ve been worth it to throw Claire out himself if she hadn’t done the dirty work for him. “I’d love to!” “Good. Now that includes filling in for the dinner reservations I had for La Scène. I always take my main girls out the first night." He tapped the end of his cigar on his desk's ashtray as he spoke. "How old are you again?" "Seventeen." Gabriel laughed so hard tears pricked his eyes. "No, you're not," he smiled. "Not if anyone asks, that is."

[just-dreaming-marvel]

A Terrible Accident ~ Part 3

A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT MASTERLIST

< previous part

Summary: The Team works on a plan to help you and Bucky.

Word Count: 1,875ish

Warnings: talk of rape, abuse, trauma

Notes: Been awhile for this update... sorry about that... read with caution...

Bucky wouldn’t allow any of the Wakandans inside his cell, including Shuri. Luckily, Shuri had the technology to be able to still run the needed tests. It took her a few hours to finish running what she needed to before gathering the team into one of the conference rooms. Shuri didn’t put any of the information she gathered on the screens yet. Not wanting any of the team members to read ahead.

“What have you found, Shuri?” Steve asked, unable to wait any longer. He was worried for his best friend.

“As I feared, something has happened to the rewiring that we had done to Barnes and the Winter Soldier was able to return,” she admitted. Steve’s face dropped while the other team members tried to keep their composure. “My team and I are coming up with a plan. We think that we can do the same protocol—“

“The protocol that didn’t work?” Tony questioned with a scoff.

“There are tweaks that can be made. I was hoping to have your help, Stark, as well as Dr. Banner’s.”

“How will you do the protocol when Barnes won’t allow anyone in the cell with him?” Asked Sam.

“With the previous protocol, we put him in cryo until I could—“

“No. No,” Steve interrupted. “Bucky cannot go under again.”

“Let Shuri finish, Steve,” Nat said.

“As I was saying,” Shuri continued, “we put Barnes in cryo and then woke him up to do the protocol. With his resistance to even having people in the same room as him, I believe we need to have him under the whole time and wake him only to test it.”

“He won’t agree to this,” said Sam. “Not at all.”

“He’ll do it for Y/N,” Steve defended. “He’ll do anything for Y/N.”

“He believes that shutting himself away is for Y/N’s sake,” Wanda said. “I don’t know if he will believe that this will actually work after this.”

“Y/N can convince him.”

“Y/N’s not allowed to go anywhere near Barnes,” Tony said. “As per his orders and mine. It’s for the best.”

“She may be the only one able to help Bucky.”

“She’s also seriously injured in the med bay thanks to your friend.”

“He wasn’t—“

“It’s Barnes’ prints and sperm that were found all over her! It was him! I don’t care that you believe him to have two separate personalities, it was still him! He is not going near her and vice versa. End of discussion.”

~~~

You knew that the Team had been pulled into a meeting. This was your chance to sneak away and see Bucky. You knew that Tony would be incredibly pissed at you, but you needed to see Bucky. It was harder to get down to the detention cells than you had originally thought, all due to your injuries. 

Walking as quickly as you could, which wasn’t very fast at all, you searched for the cell that Bucky was in. It broke your heart when you found him in the farthest cell away from the elevator and stairwell. Holding your breathe, you took the final step needed to stand in front of the one-way glass. 

Bucky looked awful. He was in the corner on the floor. His hair was hanging over his face, but failing to hide the dark circles under his sad eyes. Clearly, he hadn’t changed and your blood was still splattered over him. The only thing missing was his metal arm. You ran your eyes over the room to see that his arm had been tossed across the room. It broke your heart to see him like this, yet… there was a tiny voice inside your head telling you to run away. You hate that the Winter Soldier had made you scared of the man you loved. You knew that they were different, but ran now your head was beginning to trick you into thinking otherwise.

With a shaky hand, you went to press the button that would allow you to speak to him. Before you could press the button, you were stopped.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tony’s harsh voice made your head snap in his direction. He was bounding down the hall, with Steve, Natasha, and Sam behind him.

“I need to speak with him,” you responded, getting emotional. You backed up against the console, unknowingly pressing the button that would allow Bucky to hear what was going on. “He has to know that it’s not his fault. I have to tell him that it’s not his fault… I have to…” Tears were streaming down your face and you had begun trembling. “I have to make this right… I have to help him… I—“

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Natasha cooed, stepping past Tony to get to you. 

“No! It’s not okay!” You tried to lean away from Natasha’s caring hands. “It’s never going to be okay! I—I have to tell him that it’s not his fault! I have to convince him of that to help me believe it!”

Stunned silence echoed through the hall. The realization of what you had said—what you had admitted—hit you like a freight train.

“Oh my…” You suddenly broke down in tears and collapsed on the floor. “I didn’t mean that!” You cried. “I didn’t mean that!” Natasha followed you and pulled you into her. “I love him! I do!”

“We know, sweetie,” Natasha said as she tried her best to calm you.

“I know it was the Soldier,” you sobbed. “I know it wasn’t Bucky… He would never hurt me like this. But… But…”

Natasha glanced up at the men who were staring at the scene with sad, desperate looks. She turned her focus back to you. “Let’s go back to bed, Y/N. You need more rest.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue with Natasha. You let her help you to your feet and guide you out of there. Tony, Steve, and Sam were frozen in their spots for a moment trying to process what you had said. 

“Shit,” Sam muttered. He quickly went over and pressed the button that turned off the sound for Bucky.

Steve’s eyes widened and he rushed over to the window to check on his friend. Bucky was standing in the center of the room, head down. The men could see the tears trailing down his face and falling onto the floor.

“How do we fix this?” Steve whispered, eyes never leaving his friend.

“I don’t know if there’s a way, Cap,” Sam admitted. 

~~~

Staring at the ceiling became your new thing to do. Members of the Team kept coming up to talk to you, but everything they were saying was fuzzy. You kept replaying the last few days in your head. Every action. Every word. The shift between Bucky and The Winter Soldier. The fact that you had admitted that you were scared. 

“She needs help,” Sam whispered, watching you from outside your room. “Professional help.”

“They both do,” Natasha replied. “Hell, all of us do.”

“Shuri’s planning on forcing Bucky into cryo. I absolutely hate it, but there’s no other way.”

“We have to trust that she knows what she’s doing. She’s the only one who has a chance of ridding him of the Winter Soldier programing permanently.”

“Maybe we take them both to Wakanda. They have technology there that could help both of them in a way none of us are able. Shuri’s probably alright thinking about taking Bucky there anyway.”

“It’s not a terrible idea, though I don’t know how Tony would feel about taking Y/N away from here. You know she’s basically his sister.”

“He needs help, too. He hasn’t fully healed from the fact that The Winter Soldier killed his parents and then this happens… Tony may never let Bucky in the compound again, let alone near Y/N.”

“This is an impossible situation.”

~~~

The team had been called by Shuri into a meeting. Everyone was sitting around the room, the tension thick.

“I’ve placed Sargent Barnes in cryo,” Shuri informed. “I will be moving him to Wakanda for further treatment.”

Steve stood next to Shuri. “I’m going with them and will be supervising everything,” he explained. “I will still be on duty and will do what is necessary from Wakanda, but I need to be there for Bucky.”

“Natasha and I were talking,” Sam spoke up, “and we think that maybe Y/N should go to Wakanda as well.”

“Absolutely not!” Tony immediately argued. “She will never go near Barnes again. Understood? You heard her, she openly admitted to being scared of him.”

“They wouldn’t need to talk. Wakanda just has better resources—“

“That we can bring here if needs be! I’ve already contacted the best therapists that money can buy and are moving them to the compound for the time being. She needs to be home to heal and away from that monster.”

“It’s not a monster, Tony!” Steve shouted. “He’s my friend! He is all of ours friend!”

“Not anymore he’s not. Who ever wants to go with them can go, but Y/N will remain at the compound. End of discussion.”

~~~

Steve sighed as sat on your bed. You were still awake, but staring at the ceiling like you had been since you came back into this room. It was dark outside and the only light coming into the room was from the hallway.

“Bucky and I are leaving in the morning,” Steve whispered, unsure if you could even comprehend his words. “Sam’s going to join us in a few days. He wants to make sure you’re alright. Wanda and Vision said they’ll come, too. We might be able to use their powers to help Bucky finally be free of the programing, so that’s hopeful.” He stared at you for a silent moment. “I’m so sorry about everything, Y/N/N…” Tears collected in his eyes. “I wish that I could fix this more… I know that the two of you love each other. And I have to hope everything will work out. It will.” He stood up and leaned over you. He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “I’ll keep you in the loop, no matter what Tony does, I promise.”

Steve turned away and almost missed your quiet, “don’t.”

He spun back around and hurried back to your side. “What?”

“Don’t keep me updated… please,” you rasped, growing emotional. Steve thought his heart couldn’t break any further. “I… I need time… and I… I don’t want the pressure… I’m sorry, Steve.”

“No, no, no, no,” he shook his head. “Please don’t apologize to me. If that’s what you want, then I will respect that.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tears slipped down your cheeks.

“Don’t be. I will be calling to check on you though, okay? Can’t let you think I forgot about you.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll get through this, Y/N, no matter what. And don’t let Tony force you into doing anything you don’t agree with. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Please let the know if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Steve gave your forehead a kiss before he got up and left. You went back to staring at the ceiling, letting yourself drown in the weight of it all.

next part >

[impossiblepluto]

Jack strolls into the house, heading immediately for the kitchen, and continuing the animated conversation that occupied the entire drive over. That he was alone in the car and upon entrance has gained an audience doesn't break his stride-- pace or verbal deluge. Mac's a smart guy, he'll pick up the topic and register his opinions-

Within the depths of the fridge, Jack stops short, bumping the back of his head as he quickly backs up, straightening, and staring intently into the living room.

Sitting on the sofa, Mac stares back. 

Jack crosses his arms as the refrigerator door swings closed. "What's wrong?"

Mac's gaze darts around the room as though searching for whatever raised Jack's hackles, before returning to Jack. "What do you mean?"

"Something's wrong." Jack takes a step toward the living room. He too scans the room, though his stare is slower, piercing and precise before lingering on Mac. 

"Something's wrong?" Mac repeats with an air of skepticism.

"Yeah. Why are you repeating me?"

Mac scoffs. "I'm not repeating you." Before Jack can retort, Mac shakes his head and continues. "I'm trying to figure out how you can walk in here, distracted by an argument you were waging against yourself, yet still apparently losing, barely look around and declare that something is wrong.” 

"Oh ho,” Jack leans a shoulder against the wall. “You are good."

"I'm good? Wait. No. I'm still not repeating." Mac squeezes the bridge of his nose. "I am just sitting here."

"Yeah,” Jack’s brow furrows. He straightens, feeling the pieces of the puzzle beginning to come together like he’s that one French detective from the movies Bozer makes them watch, and steps into the living room. “You’re sitting. On the couch."

"That is why I brought it. It's not just for you to sleep on."

"Sitting on the couch like a normal person sits on the couch. Not sprawled across it like a teenager with limbs askew in all directions just begging for back pain and bad posture.” 

Mac snorts but it lacks amusement. He doesn’t rise to the usual ‘tease Jack about getting old’ bait like he normally would. 

“So, you want to tell me what’s up?” Jack sits on the old trunk which doubles as a coffee table. 

"I... " Mac sighs and splices together three or four words under his breath.

Jack squints, tipping one ear closer to Mac, trying to decipher the mangled phrase. “Say again?” 

Looking up, Mac enunciates, "I tweaked my knee."

Jack winces. "Trail running? I told you you need some better shoes if you're gonna be out there jumping over logs and scaling mountains."

"I wasn't trail running." Mac pauses between his words as though each one is painfully eking out.

Jack cants his head.

"I stood up wrong."

Jack's face twitches. He's a government agent, damn it. He's got a better poker face than this.

"Shut up," Mac glowers.

"I'm sorry." Jack swallows his emotions. It’s not amusement. He’s not sure what emotion he would call it, but it’s sure not amusement. He’d never find anything funny about Mac getting injured. If anything, this emotion is concern. “You stood up... wrong?"

“It’s not funny.”

“No. It’s not funny. I’ve been sitting here thinking it’s not funny,” Jack defends himself. 

“You’re smirking.”

“I’m not smirking. I wouldn’t smirk if I heard you got hurt.”

“Even if I hurt myself by standing up weird?” 

“No.” 

“Oh. Thought maybe you’d see this as some sort of payback.”

“You mean for the fifteen years I’ve spent sharing my wisdom with you and you ignore it because you’re young and your joints still work like they’re supposed to and you couldn’t imagine waking up one day and suddenly something as simple as standing up can leave you limping and hobbling around for the rest of the day?” 

“Yeah.”

“Nah.” 

“Oh okay. Thought maybe it would be something like that.” 

“And I could see how you might think that. A less sensitive, empathetic man might.” 

Mac hums. 

“You need an ice pack?” 

“I’ve been thinking about getting one.” Mac sighs, looking toward the kitchen. “Don’t want to try getting up yet though.”

“Do you need a doctor?”

“No.”

Jack eyes him carefully.

“I did think about it-” Mac hurries to continue as Jack stares harder. “I want to wait it out. If I’m wrong you can gloat.” 

“I wouldn’t gloat either.” 

“Right. No smirking. No gloating. Got it. I’ll remind you.” 

Jack stands, knees creaking. “No smirking from over there either.” 

“No smirking.” Mac winces in sympathy at the sound. 

Jack pats Mac’s shoulder as he passes. 

“You were like my age when we met.” 

“Huh, I guess so. About a year older.” Jack grabs an ice pack from the freezer and returns to the living room. 

“I remember thinking you were ancient.” Mac reaches out to accept the proffered ice pack.

“Hey!” Jack withdraws his hand before the exchange is made.  

“At twenty-one you seemed old. Listening to the way you groaned when you got out of the humvee, that seemed a whole lot older than I feel now. Or at least older than I felt this morning.”

Jack nods in concession as he settles on the couch next to Mac and passes over the ice pack. Mac claps it on his knee. With a groan he raises his leg and positions it on a pillow.

“One day you’re able to sit all curled up like a pretzel, and the next you sneeze and can’t turn your neck for three weeks.” 

“I am almost sorry I teased you all these years.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I mean, compared to me you’re still like ancient. I have a few good years of teasing before it comes back to bite me.”

Jack opens his mouth to protest, then purses his lip. “You know, I’d grab that ice pack and run but honestly, watching you try to move that leg makes me hesitant to try it.” 

“It wasn’t fun.”

“Didn’t look like it was. Last thing we need is to explain to Matty how the both of us got taken out getting up from the couch.” 

Mac flops back on the sofa, blond hair splaying against the cushions. He drops his arm across his eyes. “That’s going to be almost as much fun as moving my leg.”

“I don’t envy that.” Jack leans forward with a grunt and scoops up the remote control. “Die Hard?”

Mac shrugs, eyes still covered by his arm. “Might as well. Don’t think I’m moving for a bit.” 

“Yippee-ki-yay.”

[mechanical-sunchild]

I want to start by saying that this is just my own opinion, I am not an authority in any way. I also do not say what I'm about to say to tell you off or 'hate on you' in any capacity. I can only say how this came off to me, and go from there. There is an tl;dr at the end if you only want to see the advice and not the whole breakdown of why I give it. Context: I may have multiple 'types, but when it comes to my involuntary fictomere, I am extremely serious and have been awakened this way for almost ten years now. I am very serious about every aspect of myself, especially this one and identify as physically nonhuman/holothere. I continuously take steps to live as myself physically including having changed my name to the 'right' one - as you describe - so I believe I am possibly the target for your term and thus I decided to comment.

I love the time and effort you have put into this, much more than I have done with any of the soft terms I have coined (though only theriform ever took off I think) and I can tell that finding a word for those in your situation is very important to you.

I'm not sure jumping away to a new term instead of addressing community issues is exactly the right way to go about handling dissatisfaction with your communities. Especially when it is impossible to make sure that the behaviour won't simply start again in the new community.

I do think a term like thespiad could exist though, if only in the hopes of creating a smaller nicher community under the 'fictionfolk/fictionkin' umbrella with more singular experiences and wants/needs for their identity. I'm just not sure if this is the term as it stands now, of if perhaps it needs some tweaks first.

My main issue therefore has nothing to do with the word itself but with your motivation, or at least the way you have phrased your motivation.

I know a fair few that use the fictionkin label (whether they like it or not) who are as serious as you about who they are, and about living in as much as possible, the life of their true self.

"[...] it is often now associated with fandom culture and the 'voluntary' exploration of new identities."

I also know many who seem to me to take on new fictional identities rapidly and without thought and though it's easy for me to wonder if they're actually constelic, or otherlinking, or jumping onto fictionflickers and calling it fictionkin which they should not be - I only see the online side. I don't see the internal side, and I can't tell how deeply they feel their identity, or how long they've been considering it. I don't know how long they spend offline thinking about their fictotype.

We can't judge whether this is voluntary or involuntary from a snapshot of this persons journey as they decide to show it to us.

"The community no longer fully captures the complex experiences of those of us who view our fictional identities as intrinsic rather than chosen."

Are you talking about 'Kin For Fun' here? This is one of the issues which needs to be addressed and our words reclaimed instead of throwing baby out with the bathwater. If you are referring to those who don't seem to be 'as serious' as you and therefore can make the identity and concept feel 'watered down' to you, see my above paragraph about you/us not really knowing what's going on for them including whether it is voluntary. Most fictionkin I talk to and see do not think their identity is chosen - which is within definition of the term - so I'm really not sure which circles you are in but perhaps you should get out of them.

"The current community primarily emphasizes exploration and acquisition of new fictional identities, much more than the further development and understanding of existing ones."

Again, you have no idea how much these people are pouring into each and every new 'type they present. You are unfortunately coming off as judgemental towards those with multiple 'types too, simply because you dislike the way they talk about their newly awakened 'types. I have multiple 'types, not all fictional, but I am also very serious about my fictotype as mentioned above. Where do I fall?

I get the need to find people to have deeper talks with. I would like to do the same. You are not wrong for being keenly interested in not just figuring out 'who' but 'why' and 'how' and 'what does this mean?'. I want to express that clearly. I just think you have quickly chosen to judge the behaviours of other fictionfolk for experiencing themselves differently to you, or supposedly different, and therefore have assumed the whole lot who use the term 'fictionkin' are hopelessly unserious and have corrupted the community somehow. I frame it this way because you present your opinions as 'fact' about the community by the plain way you state it.

The way to encourage the development and understanding of existing fictotypes in the community is to talk about yours in ways that encourage others to talk about theirs in similar ways and create spaces where this is not see as 'spamming' or 'boring'. Online interactions generally favour quick, witty, funny, relatable comments over deeper talks so many fictionkin will prioritise these interactions which get them attention over other things they might genuinely want to do but fear nobody will care about or judge for. That bothers me too, but it's not a fictionkin issue, and needs to be addressed not avoided.

"My fictotype expands beyond just online expression and would exist regardless as to my involvement in the community."

This is true of the vast majority of those who use the term fictionkin whilst genuinely understanding what experiences it is meant to convey (i.e. are not KFF).

"For those who involuntarily identify as fictional characters and have a desire to live them out physically, I believe we deserve our own distinct community. The fictionkin community faces challenges in being taken seriously, both internally and externally, and it is crucial that we begin to assert our identities with the seriousness it deserves."

Yes, we do struggle to be taken seriously, and we do need to assert our identities as crucially serious - by dispelling misinformation about what fictionkin means and how it presents as an identity. I really don't think that simply adding a new term to the vast amount out there is going to result in us being taken more seriously, it just gives up the fight for the word fictionkin in a sense. But also from your above comments I once again fear that what you mean by this is that you're casting a darkened eye towards those you are simply assuming are not as serious as you because they express themselves differently to you.

If this is intended for a term used by physical fictionfolk, then perhaps just say that (as you later do) without all of this part about fictionkin. That at least is an identifiable distinction from the broader fictionkin which does not require physical identification and needs, just an internal sense of identity. It feels though like we're having two talks here, one about wanting a identity for more physically identifying fictionfolk and another where we just take little bashes at the fictionkin community for seeming to behave in a way we dislike.

I'm also not sure if the prefix is the best chosen, although I actually adore how the whole word sounds if I'm honest - simply because of it's association with acting. You probably don't want people being pedantic about it like some are with 'kin means family!!' and say that well since it's related to acting, that means you are acting/roleplaying. Same with the symbol which although cool, is associated with simply playing a role.

tl;dr If you are to coin this term officially, consider the association with acting as a word origin and symbol might give the impression that this is a term for those who are acting/roleplaying an identity. Also, regardless of your internal reasoning, remove all mentions of fictionkin from the definition/information related to the term as it comes off as more you expressing a personal negative opinion of the community rather than relevant to the term at hand. The only part you might need to keep in, for context, is

"In contrast to the broader Fictionkin label, “Thespiad” emphasizes the desire for active transformation and alignment with one’s fictional self physically."

As this one does clarify why and how it is different from fictionkin without looking down on the term in fictionkin or those who have a community around it in any way.

“Thespiad”: Proposing a New Term for Fictionkin Who Involuntarily Identify as Fictional Characters (Under Discussion...)

This proposal contains extensive research and thoughts that I have spent considerable time processing and organizing. It is still in the early stages despite hours poured in, and I am finally opening it up for public feedback. I value your perspectives, as they will help me identify areas I may have overlooked while developing this terminology. If you have suggestions for a more fitting term or wish to share your own experiences, please feel free to contact me.

Purpose

While the term “Fictionkin” is predominately used, it is often now associated with fandom culture and the 'voluntary' exploration of new identities. The community no longer fully captures the complex experiences of those of us who view our fictional identities as intrinsic rather than chosen.

The current community primarily emphasizes exploration and acquisition of new fictional identities, much more than the further development and understanding of existing ones. As a result, I have struggled to find a sense of belonging within community spaces in recent years as I actively seek to express my fictotype in my daily life as that is who I am. My fictotype expands beyond just online expression and would exist regardless as to my involvement in the community.

For those who involuntarily identify as fictional characters and have a desire to live them out physically, I believe we deserve our own distinct community. The fictionkin community faces challenges in being taken seriously, both internally and externally, and it is crucial that we begin to assert our identities with the seriousness it deserves.

The “New Term”: Thespiad (Θεσπιάδης)

Pronunciation: /THES·PI·AD/ Etymology: The prefix "Thes-" is derived from Thespis, the ancient Greek actor who is often credited as the first person to perform as an actor in the context of Greek theater. The suffix "-iad" is a classical suffix used to denote a group of people with shared characteristics or traits.

Usage:

Thespiad: A person who involuntarily identifies as a fictional character and actively desires to express it.

Thespic: An adjective to describe traits or actions related to being a Thespiad.

Thesp/Thespiotype: A specific fictional character that an individual identifies with (e.g., Pikachu from Pokémon).

Thespiades: Plural form of Thespiad.

This term, though rooted in the Greek language, is not synonymous with the modern term “Thespian” (actor), which has become more generalized.

Who This Term Is For?

The term “Thespiad” is intended for those who experience an involuntary identification as a fictional character; When you are a Thespiad you identify 'as' that character. This distinction is critical: it is not merely an identification or connection with a character, but a deeply felt, intrinsic sense of self. In contrast to the broader Fictionkin label, “Thespiad” emphasizes the desire for active transformation and alignment with one’s fictional self physically.

This can involve actions such as changing one's name, relocating to a place reminiscent of your source's setting/location, or altering one's appearance to match that of the fictional character. These practices reflect an attempt to embody the fictional identity in real life.

The Process of Development

In developing a new term, I explored various linguistic roots from Latin, Greek, and Old English. However, many of the terms I curated with this method were too vague or didn't come across as practical. These terms didn't feel inclusive and seemed shaky in definition.

So, I turned to researching about historical people who showcased a similar nature to that of fictionkin (though maybe not exactly) or significantly influenced the storytelling we create and consume today.

Historical Origins

Thespis (Θέσπις) could provide a meaningful historical precedent for this term. Often considered the first actor in the context of Greek theater, Thespis revolutionized storytelling by stepping out of the chorus to portray individual roles, thus creating the idea of the actor as someone who "becomes" the character they portray. His contributions laid the groundwork for modern theater, in which performers transform themselves into characters, not merely to portray them but to bring life to them.

This historical figure could serve as a metaphor for our experiences as Thespiades—individuals who identify with fictional characters not as an act of fan admiration, but as a form of personal and transformative expression.

Metafiction and Fictional Identity

Fictionkin identities often intersect with the concept of metafiction, which explores the boundary between fiction and reality. For Thespiades, the experience of identifying with a fictional character is not purely imaginative but is an essential part of our reality. By acknowledging the gap between the real and the fictional, we can better understand the nuances of this identity. This intersection underscores the need for a term that encompasses the lived reality of these individuals—one that acknowledges both the fictional nature of the identity and its deep roots in personal experience.

Our Symbol: The Drama Masks 🎭

As part of this proposal, I suggest adopting the drama masks—symbols of comedy and tragedy—as a unifying emblem for the Thespiad identity. These masks have long been associated with theater, transformation, and self-expression, making them an apt symbol for those who seek to align their real-world selves with their fictional counterparts. Just as these masks convey the performative nature of theater, they also reflect the process of self-discovery and transformation that many Thespiades undergo.

If you find that this new terminology resonates with your experience, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. Similarly, if it does not fully align with your perspective, I welcome your input as well. Please note that this post is still a work in progress, and I will continue to refine and update it over time. Thank you for taking the time to read and engage with this content.

[bagog]

Japanese Brandenburg Concertos

Hiroto slumped against the wall, let his back slide all the way down the bricks till he sat with his knees to his chest on the floor. The music conservatory was frigid: out the massive windows, the world was a frozen white-out. Flakes were still coming down.

Hiroto cracked his knuckles and blew on them to warm them up. His first round performance had gone well—almost as well as he had hoped it would—and once the hundreds of other competing pianists had their turn, he would find out if he had qualified for the second round. Passing through the second round would earn him a master-class with C.K. Higgins. That was the kind of thing you put in your portfolio. Watching the flakes cling to the window, Hiroto shivered, then laid down on the floor. He pulled his jacket over his face like a blanket and tried not to think about how stiff the competition was going to be in the next round.

“I think it’s ridiculous,” a few voices were coming down the hallway. Hiroto almost peeked out to get a look, before hearing the same voice utter an exasperated slur. “You just know he’s going to get the master-class, the sneaky little robot.”

“You did great, what are you worried about?” Came another voice. The group was now at the lockers across from where Hiroto lay pretending to sleep, head covered.

“If only doing great were good enough! Unfortunately, I’m white, so doesn’t matter if I’m channeling Glenn fucking Gould. They’re still going to pick the Mitsubishi to win the master-class.”

The other voice laughed at the ‘Mitsubishi’ line. Hiroto barely revealed one eye to the hall to get a look at who was talking. Another university student, about Hiroto’s height. Dark, curly hair and a corduroy jacket over a band t-shirt. Hiroto recognized him from some of the competition rooms this morning. He’d been in the audience for Hiroto’s performance, and Hiroto had noticed the other student giving him strange looks when they passed in the halls.

“You kicked ass in there, Adam, you’re definitely going to get to the next round. He’s not worth your time, dude.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Adam rejoined. “You get all these foreign exchange students with their tiger moms and shit, pushing them to be perfect little musicians. But they’ve got no soul, it’s like a computer playing Bach. In fact, I would rather hear an AI perform than listen to another stale Japanese Brandenburg Concerto.” Adam closed the locker and leaned against it. He was fidgeting with a small American flag lapel pin on his jacket, trying to get it to sit right. Below it was a pink breast-cancer awareness ribbon.

“I mean, you’re not wrong!” His other companion chuckled.

“You think he even practices, or just downloads the sheet music directly to his CPU?” Adam responded, keeping his friend laughing. “It just pisses me off, is all. It’s not fair. Like… it was my ancestors wrote this music, it’s my inheritance, practically! Then in comes a Toyota or a Mitsubishi or whatever and plays it perfect, easy, but soulless. It’s not fair to me as a Western man, and it’s not fair to the music to let it be played with no soul.”

“Yeah, to me the problem is the judges are listening for accuracy, not soul.”

“You’re right about that. It still pisses me off.” Adam stretched his arms. He had the longest fingers Hiroto had ever seen, a natural pianist. He had that hunch in his back that said he’d spent more time practicing his scales than his posture. His eyes were a flashing blue, narrowed as they were, and his lip curled into a smile. “It’s like when you meet a trans and he’s hotter than you are, and it’s like ‘not fair, I’m supposed to look like a man.’”

Adam’s companion continued to laugh as the two walked away down the hall. Hiroto continued to lie there on the floor, face and ears heated. He sat up, leaned against the wall. He could still hear the two white students cackling on their way to watch someone else’s performance. Out the window, the snow fell exactly where it meant to fall, and frosted the whole world over.

[dykedvonte]

I think depictions of Anya being cruel to Curly or drawing out his suffering are artful and chilling but completely miss the point of the story and her character.

I'm not saying she doesn't deserve to have that "I told you so" moment with him but not in something callous or cold. Even if that is how it happened, she'd immediately feel guilty cause at that point she's not tormenting her tormenter or even the person truly at fault. She's doing something cathartic, similar to how Jimmy likely hits Curly to release rage he can't against the rest of the crew. She'd see herself as no different when she'd come back from the moment and see Curly cowering at her. She wants someone to take responsibility but how does being cruel to the defenseless help? Why would she want the power Jimmy has over her over Curly?

The idea of her extending someone else's pain is just so against the struggles she already faces and how she can't even bring herself to cause someone pain even to help them. Her very desire is to release herself from her own suffering and I doubt she'd even fine some sort of guilty release in being cruel to another.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

The pishacha are manifestations of evil itself, locked within a cursed amulet. The wearer of the amulet is at the mercy of the demon, known for possessing humans and feeding off their host's chakra energy. However, if symbiosis is achieved, the pishacha can grant its host a myriad of powerful abilities.

I just needed to draw something cool okay. I needed to draw some cool goop and some cool looks okay. okay. if I didn't post this I would have exploded okay

[skunkes]

reposting some old doodles i still enjoy a bit

[personallysunny]