#this shit sucks so bad but at least I only have three more years

[12-million-bees]

Personally I think you should cartwheel out of finals

I just might

[arolesbianism]

Sier? I haven’t even met her! Laugh.

[timeisacephalopod]

On one hand my one sister is Big Stupid and pregnant again, which I wouldn't care as much about if this wasn't the fourth kid with the fourth shitty fucking father who will do nothing but cause even MORE pain and suffering to my sister's life, and on the other hand my other sister keeps sending me apartment ads which is very sweet because she ALSO just had a baby (in August and also her situation is stable, I'm very proud she managed to pull off what she did considering where she's come from. Her boys, especially Older Nephew were SO excited for the baby and I love listening to Older Nephew talk about his sister, it's so heartening to see him so happy and excited. Something tells me my other sisters 3 girls won't be nearly as impressed, especially not Oldest Niece and it's gotten to a point where I feel somewhat compelled to try and mentor this poor kid but I don't know SHIT about kids and don't want to let this poor kid down like everyone else has, she deserves better than that).

Granted my whole life I've preferred Apartment Sister to Making Poor Life Choices sister but also recently Making Dumb Choices has made some serious improvements to her life, very impressive ones too, so it's just disappointing to watch her backslide especially into the same bullshit she's been doing since she was 18 and is now 32. But at least I'm not the only one apartment hunting 😂😂 her efforts are super appreciated given that she just moved herself as well, plus having a fresh baby (very cute baby too). Now with any luck my OTHER sibling will get her shit together hopefully before we're on child number six with father number six with all the same fucking personality flaws and mental health problems not one of these men take even remotely seriously because that's exhausting to me let alone my damn sister.

[heliophaestus]

.

[meazalykov]

yapper

barca femeni x reader

part one - part two here

summary: you always had something to say

warnings: angst, online hate

you've always been the one to fill the quiet. 

if the locker room was silent, you’d throw out a joke. sometimes so bad it would have everyone laughing just because of how ridiculous it was. your teammates loved you for it—or at least you thought they did. 

you didn’t want anyone to sit in nervous energy before a big game. you wanted everyone to feel at ease, to smile, to believe they could take on anything since this was literally barcelona– of course the best club in the world could handle anything. 

“why are you so loud?” mapi teased one day after you cracked a pun about her tattoos during a media day. 

you grinned at her. 

“because someone has to keep this team awake. what would you do without me? shit, i don’t know how you survived without me for long.”

“probably enjoy the peace and quiet,” she shot back, but the grin on her face told you otherwise. 

you knew mapi got all the credit for being the talker of the group, but you easily topped her in that department. kika often joked that you had a built-in microphone, always on and ready to broadcast. 

yet, despite all the jokes, you never felt like it was too much. not until recently. 

training sessions at barça were something you relished, even on your worst days. being surrounded by alexia, kika, and esmee—your closest friends on the team—always made it feel less like work. 

alexia was like a big sister, always ready to listen. kika was your partner-in-crime, teasing you relentlessly, but never crossing the line. esmee? she was your rock, her quiet presence balanced your constant energy, grounding you in ways you didn’t think anyone could. 

after a long training session one evening, you found yourself alone on the practice pitch. penalties were your weak spot, and you wanted to fix that. you lined up the ball, took a deep breath, and sent it toward the net. it hit the post.

“what are you doing here so late?” alexia’s voice startled you.

you jumped, clutching your chest dramatically. 

“you scared me! i could’ve died.”

she smirked, arms crossed as she walked closer. 

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“what are you doing here?” you tried to deflect.

“i asked first.”

rolling your eyes, you motioned to the ball. 

“penalties. i suck at them.”

alexia raised a brow. 

“you’re not even one of the main takers.”

“exactly! that’s why i suck! i need to be better in case i ever have to take one, you know what if you frido or ewa are not available?” you rambled, launching into an explanation of all the ways penalties terrified you. 

alexia didn’t interrupt, just watched you with that calm, almost maternal expression she always had. 

“you’re overthinking it,” she finally said, cutting through your spiral. 

“just keep practicing. you’ll be fine.”

her reassurance helped more than you wanted to admit. alexia had that effect on people, like she could carry all your worries on her shoulders and not even flinch. 

a few days later, you stopped by esmee’s apartment, where she was curled up on the couch with her girlfriend, dani. the sight of them together tugged at something in your chest, a reminder of what you used to have with emily. 

“finally over her,” you announced as you plopped down beside them, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on esmee’s lap. 

“who?” danielle asked, clearly out of the loop. 

“emily,” esmee filled in. “her ex.”

“oh, good for you,” danielle said with a smile through her dutch accent. 

“it’s about time, right?”

you laughed, nodding. 

“yeah, it only took me almost a year.”

however, later that week, you saw something that made your chest tighten all over again. scrolling through instagram, you stumbled upon a photo of emily with another girl, their smiles wide and carefree in north london. 

it shouldn’t have mattered. you were over the woman three years your senior. however, it stung in a way you didn’t expect. 

then came the champions league quarterfinal against bayern munich. the mistake was small—a misplaced pass, a missed mark—but pernille made you pay for it with a screamer that tied the game. 

1-1. 

after the game, you did your best to shake it off, smiling for the cameras, joking with alexia and frido. you thought you’d done well hiding your disappointment. 

the internet didn’t let it slide. 

“y/n talks too much. maybe she should focus on her game instead.”

“doesn’t she get tired of hearing her own voice?”

“the team probably wishes she’d shut up for once.”

the comments were harsh, cruel, and loud in your mind. you tried to brush them off, but the words stuck, clinging to you like thorns. 

the next day at training, you were different. quieter. focused. when kika asked if you were okay, you only nodded, too afraid that anything you said might annoy someone. 

“you sure?” she pressed.

you nodded again, forcing a small smile. 

“weird,” she muttered under her breath, walking away. 

alexia and aitana exchanged glances, both noticing the shift. esmee tried to pull you into a conversation during a water break, but you only offered short replies, your usual energy gone. 

that night in the locker room, after everyone else had left, you stayed behind, the weight of it all finally crashing down on you. in the showers, the tears came hard and fast, your shoulders shaking as you tried to keep quiet. 

though the locker room echoed, and when you emerged, changed and ready to leave, alexia, kika, esmee, and ellie were waiting for you. 

“we heard you crying,” kika said softly, her eyes full of concern. 

“what’s going on?”

you hesitated, swallowing hard. 

“nothing.”

“don’t lie,” alexia said, her voice gentle but firm. 

“i don’t…” you trailed off, taking a deep breath. 

“i don’t want to annoy you guys.”

they all looked at you like you’d grown a second head. 

“annoy us?” esmee asked, incredulous. 

“i talk too much. i saw what people were saying online, and… maybe they’re right.”

“y/n,” alexia started, stepping closer. 

“we love you. all of us. you make this team better, not worse.”

“you think we don’t look forward to hearing your ridiculous jokes every day?” kika added, her tone light but sincere. 

“you’re the reason we laugh half the time.”

“is that mistake against bayern bothering you?” ellie chimed in. “it happens to everyone. it doesn’t define you.”

their words broke through the wall you’d built, and before you knew it, they were pulling you into a group hug. 

“promise us you won’t let those comments get to you again,” alexia said, her hand on your shoulder. 

you nodded, sniffling. 

“i promise.”

“good,” kika said, grinning. 

“now, what were you going to say about the athletic club match?”

and just like that, you found yourself rambling again. they listened, laughing and teasing you like always, reminding you that this was where you belonged. 

part two here

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

I got this idea from another Tumblr post and I'm pretty new so, ion know how to tag and stuff, pls tell me

______________

"So... My mom just disappeared?" A little 6 year old (Name) asks Alfred about her mom

Alfred turned back like he was reminiscing "The Gala was for three nights, the first night she mesmerized all, the second night she befriended everyone, the third night she slept with your father"

.....

"then she disappeared, then you were dropped on our little doorstep! We were skeptical at first then we DNA tested you, you're Bruce's kid so you are the Wayne Manor's baby! And you and your Daddy are one big happy family"

That was lie. That a big lie

You know Alfred was just trying to make you feel better

It wasn't working.

________________________

You feel like shit, they look so fucking happy, for years and years have passed, your 12 now for God sake

Every year a new family photo was taken and as the years pass more and more people are added to the photos

And the phrase "the more the merrier was always said to you" like they were trying to drill it into your head, but it seemed like every year, you were being pushed farther and farther back into the photos till you're barely noticeable

It sucks at home and it sucks at school, at home at least you only had Damian to worry about, he would torture and bully you, remind you of how unloved and unwanted you were here, but at school?

It was everyone.

It doesn't help how you're unable to focus that much either, always getting called by teachers when you're not paying attention, and then them ridiculing you

Also, with the fact that your entire family are vigilantes except you.

Except you, you tried, and you were good at it, the problem was, why did it seem like a lot of villains were after you

So you were stuck at the manor

"hello" a woman inside the Manor spoke

This shocked you, she looked too old to be another kid adopted by that... But you can't be too sure

"new kid?" You asked

She seemed taken aback, but then it was like a veil was lifted and she transformed into this ew

Wtf did she just turn into?

Suddenly she had this donkey leg and snake tongue and fire for hair, her eyes slit and she hissed at you

Then she attacked

"OH WHAT THE FUCK"

With no weapon and no Alfred in hand, you ran

She ran after you and lit the hallways on fire in the process

You ran fast and far, to the outskirts of the mansion and straight into the garden, now when you thought your day could not get ANYMORE weirder, a voice calls out in the bushes

"I knew it! I knew you were a half-blood!I wasn't sure, but now I am!" You turn around and see a full ass tree transform into a beautiful lady

You're sure that Gotham Prep once talked about the side effects of drugs, and even if you haven't taken any drugs, you feel the side effects

"don't be scared, I'm a nymph! Me and my friends will help you run away from the empousa!" She grabbed me and threw me in the lake

A hand grabs you and pulls you further underwater, as much as you struggled, the hand kept pulling you and pulling you till your deep and then changed direction

Like you guys were heading somewhere, it felt like days, the hands alternating, first hands were blue and the lady whom the hands belonged too sounded worried, second hands were green, the lady was surprised

Third hand was light bluish purple, she expressed concern and kept pulling

The last hand was of human skin tone, pulling you up to shore

"Sir Chiron! There's a camper! The Naiads bought her here! Sir Chiron!"

He turns to look at you a bit worried, he looked from 13-14

He said "My name is Percy Jackson, and yours?"

_________________

Empousa: haha an unsuspecting demigod!

(Name) thinking that Bruce adopted another one: new kid?

Empousa: :o

_______________

Who do y'all think (Name)'s mom is?

Also the lack of Batfam dialogue is meant to represent their neglectful behavior, too bad their not gonna have a kid to return to

[nonotnolan]

Bodily Betrayal

A collaboration with @vincentintheflesh -- He did amazing work with the photos for this piece!

"C'mon, Toby. You really aren't coming out to the bars with us?"  Matt was trying to guilt trip me for not going out on a Tuesday, and I was really starting to get sick of his shit.  Sharing an apartment with another gay guy had seemed like a really good idea at the start of the semester, but we weren't even halfway through the year and I was already regretting it.  It was fun to hang out with a party animal like Matt, but dealing with his antics 24/7 was exhausting.

"Look, I have, like... three different projects due by Friday, and if I want to keep my gym schedule I can't waste time partying or recovering from the hangover.  Maybe this weekend I can... the hell are you doing?"  Matt was patting my shoulder like he was showing me sympathy.

"You poor thing," he said, staring directly at my chest.  "He spends all that time at the gym pumping you up, and then he never does anything to show you off!  Who buys a sports car and keeps it stashed in a garage?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes.  "You're seriously having a conversation with my body.  Stop being weird and... wait, what the fuck is happening?"  I couldn't feel my body anymore. My hands lifted themselves up to my ears, only I wasn't the one controlling my hands.  All I could do was watch as my hands planted themselves firmly onto the sides of my head, and pulled.  My head had somehow completely detached from my body!  "Matt, what the fuck did you do!?"

He just grinned at my body. "Hell yeah!  Let's ditch Toby, and I'll take you out for a great time."  My body tossed me-- my head-- onto the couch, where I landed sideways onto the cushions.  All I could do was watch in horror as Matt lifted off his own head off of his slender, tattooed body and placed it on my neck.  "Thanks for the ride, Toby! Why you don't take more advantage of this body, I'll never know."  He started groping my chest as he moaned softly to himself, and I could see my body's growing erection strain against the fabric of my shorts.

"I mean, I gotta check out what I'm packing prior to using it tonight, right?"  I tried to protest, but I was helpless to stop him from fondling my manhood.  "Damn, Toby, this is gotta be at least seven inches!" he said, stroking my own cock in front of me.  "I can't wait to pick up some twink at the bars tonight so I can test this bad boy out! I'm gonna hit up your closet and borrow one of your nice silk shirts.  Don't wait up!"

Unbelievable.  The thought of that asshole taking my body out for a joyride and getting my dick wet had me seeing red, but what could I do about it?  I was just a fucking head.  He didn't even have the decency to tilt me upright before he left.  Although... Matt did leave his body behind...  If Matt could talk to my body like it was a separate thing, maybe the reverse was also true? 

"Hey, buddy," I said, trying to get the attention of his body.  "What say we help each other out?  How about you put me on you neck and-- hey, don't walk away, asshat!"  God, even Matt's body was insufferable.  "C'mon, man, I can... what if I let you use my mouth?"  It felt gross, like I was trying to negotiate with a drunken asshole, but at least his body had turned around. I would do anything to avoid being stuck as just a head on the couch all night.  "Yeah, man. Use my mouth.  You want me to suck your nips?  Maybe give you a blowjob?  I'll even make sure to throw in a good wank session later tonight.  Just don't leave me on the couch!"

Matt's body dropped his pants to the ground and started thrusting his junk into my face.  I wanted to be mad, but I realized that he couldn't actually see what he was doing. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and eventually his body figured out where to position me so that I could give him the best blowjob. Without my shoulders getting in the way, he was able to position me a lot closer to the base of his cock. I didn't have much of a gag reflex as a detached head, which was good because I don't think Matt's body would have stopped. At least he wiped my chin off on his sweatpants after he came.

"Okay, you had some fun, so now can you-- oh thank God!" Matt's body lowered me down onto his neck, and suddenly I had control over his entire body. Honestly, my first reaction was just relief that I had arms again, but the longer I stood there, the weirder it got. Looking down and seeing Matt's tattoo sleeves was trippy as shit, and his body barely had any muscle definition. Credit where credit was due, his skin was much softer than mine. The man was lanky as hell, but I couldn't deny that he took care of himself in his own way.

I looked at my temporary body in the living room mirror, testing the firmness of my new ass with a few squeezes. I had a sudden impulse to try and protect what remained of Matt's modesty, but fuck that. For one, I'd already had his dick in my mouth thanks to how horny his body had been. But mostly it came down the fact that Matt clearly had no qualms about getting my body naked as soon as he could, so I might as well repay the favor. I pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants to see an average five inches of uncut cock. Perfectly serviceable, but it explained why he was so enamored with mine.

Was Matt's body going to get bored with me and pull off my head the same way my own body had? I didn't want to risk it. I decided to talk out loud as I looked at my new body in the mirror. "Don't worry, you tattooed fuck, we'll definitely spend some time messing around. I can't exactly wear someone else's body and not test it out! Especially when I know that fucker's doing the same to mine. I bet he-- oh, fuck!" My fingers brushed over my nipples and I could feel that shiver travel down through the root of my cock. "Is it ready for round two already?" I gave my stiffening cock a few tugs. God damn that felt good!

Was his body that much more sensitive than mine, or were the new sensations just more intense for me? I brushed the head of my new cock and damn near collapsed to the floor when my knees buckled. "I don't care why it feels good, it's enough that it does!" I started stroking it with one hand while my other hand pinched my nipples. Did I know where Matt kept his lube? Honestly, his dick was leaking enough precum that I didn't need it. 

Normally I would have found the thought of jacking off in front of a mirror to be a total boner kill, but seeing my head on Matt's slender body was actually kind of hot. I started picking up speed, jerking it faster and harder until suddenly my hand shot off and slammed into the mirror.  "Ow, fuck," I yelled, cursing Matt's boney wrists.  "How the hell did I lose grip on his... oh."  I hadn't lost my grip-- his cock had completely detached from his body.  I couldn't help but laugh as I considered all of the possibilities.  Obviously I was going to be giving myself a blowjob, but I had a few other ideas in mind.

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

"Hey Toby, sorry for leaving your head on the couch all night," Matt said, finally coming up at 8:50 in the morning. He hadn't even bothered to get fully dressed after spending the night doing God knows what in my body. I assumed he left my good shirt in the car-- If he lost it to some random guy's apartment, I was going to be so pissed. If I was starting to feel a bit guilty about my plan, this just confirmed my resolve to go through with it.

I didn't want Matt to get suspicious, so I had his body put me back on the couch after I'd had my fun last night.  "You missed a good time last night," he said, rubbing his hands across my abs. "I met this absolute power bottom of a twink, and we... well, you and I both know exactly what the two of us did all night. I made sure to use a condom, don't worry.  Anyway, it's time to switch back."  He grabbed the top of his head firmly by the hair and yanked hard, pulling it off of my neck. Seeing him walk across the room like a headless horseman was unsettling, to say the least.

"I'm surprised you're giving my body back to me so soon," I said, glaring at him as he passed his head over to his body's outstretched hands.  Once his head was back in place, he reached down to deal with me.  I wanted so badly to slap the smug grin off his face, but I just needed to be patient.

He laughed at me, giving my nose a few honks before giving me my body back.  "Sadly, I think people would notice if my shoulders were suddenly twice the size as my old ones.  Besides, I know exactly how much time you spend in the gym to have a body this nice.  Nuts to that-- I'll just let you do the work for me!" I couldn't help but growl at that comment, and he responded by flicking my ear. "Easy, now. You can yell at me later-- I don't want to be late for class."

Once my head was back in place, I couldn't help but grab my pecs with both hands. I had missed this.  Feeling the massive slabs of meat under my fingers was so comforting.  I gave my pits a few quick sniffs.  I probably needed a shower after everything Matt had done in my body, but a quick spritz of cologne would have to do.  He was right-- we didn't have much time before class.

I looked over at him to see if he had noticed my revenge yet.  Based on the way he was palming his crotch, I think he had.  "Toby, where the fuck is my cock!?"  I had hidden his manhood in my sock drawer, not that I was gonna be telling him that anytime soon.  The fucker owed me.  Twelve hours of being dickless seemed like a good start.

I smiled back at him.  "You can yell at me later-- I don't want to be late for class."

[bonedo-enthusiast]

bnd's kinks 𐂐◯𓇋

A/N: i haven't written smut in years but i like how this turned out! :D i am canonically a sapphic, so idk what possessed me to write this but here we are. 😔 lowercase is intended as always, enjoy. :)

genre: smut

tws: kinks!, explicit sexual content, bdsm themes

pairing: legal!bnd x afab!reader (but i tried to make it gn!reader mostly)

wc: 2,188

MDNI!! (i have three other pg imagines on my blog, read those instead :p)

Sungho

praise, service top/bottom, foreplay, teasing (sort of), begging

i think he just really wants to make you feel good, by any means necessary, although he prefers to be gentle. 

he kind of strikes me as more vanilla than anything else, but he would love telling you how much he’s enjoying things. 

you’re on the bed, legs spread, with sungho slowly running his fingers across your skin. 

he looks down at you lovingly. “you’re so beautiful.” and you know he means it, with the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only other person in the world. 

he’s very slow, very deliberate because why would he rush things when he has all the time in the world? 

if he could, he would spend hours with you underneath him like this, your little whimpers like music to his ears. 

but sungho would feel bad making you wait oh so patiently for him, so he’d do exactly what you want. 

first, he’d trail soft kisses down your skin, making sure to suck and nip as he went. 

he’d attach himself to your nipple, swirling his tongue around it slowly while bringing his hand down to your inner thighs. 

your gasps and moans would only fuel his hard-on, its presence evident underneath his boxers. 

he liked it when you were completely naked and when he still had an article or two of clothing on because sungho knew you would often beg so sweetly, something he found so endearing. 

you begging for him… the love of his life needing him in a way that only he could satisfy. 

sungho was always good at drawing orgasms out of you, making you have at least two before he’d even consider orgasming himself. 

but when it comes to that point, he’d become a bit feverish. his grip on your hips would be almost tight enough to bruise as he pounded into you with vigor. 

he’d continue kissing you sloppily, praises leaving his mouth one after the other. 

“you feel so good… so pretty. shit, you’re so fucking hot…” 

Riwoo

mommy kink, praise, humiliation, dick slapping, hints of dacryphilia

i think riwoo’s usually pretty innocent-minded, and too shy to initiate anything even if he is having impure thoughts. 

so riwoo would just be minding his business, maybe playing league of legends on his pc. then you’d hug his neck from behind, resting your chin on his head. “how’s my baby doing?” 

he would blush at the use of ownership, but not take his eyes off of the screen. “good. my team’s winning.” 

“oh, that’s great! i’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” you run your fingers through his hair, causing a chill to go down riwoo’s spine. “can i join you? i’d like to watch.” 

he nods and you pull up a chair next to his, resting your head against his shoulder but not in a way that would hinder his gaming. 

he’d feel more nervous now, having an audience. he wants to make you proud, wants to hear you praise him again, so he locks in all of his attention to the screen in front of him. 

which is why he doesn’t at first notice your hand on his thigh, until your fingers crest against the edge of his waistband. 

he lets out a gasp and breaks his eye contact with the screen to glance at you. “wh…what are you doing?”

“what do you mean? i’m not doing anything, sweetheart. just keep playing your game.” your voice comes out innocent, but riwoo’s been dating you long enough to know that you in fact know exactly what you’re doing. 

but he also knows better than to protest, especially since he’s already a bit turned on from you just complimenting him. 

you notice that fact with the way his dick is already semi-hard. you let out a laugh and lightly slap his dick, making him let out a whine. “you’re already turned on and i haven’t even done anything. how pathetic…” 

riwoo inhales a shaky breath and blinks several times, trying his best to focus. 

when you undo his pants and pull down his boxers, he tries not to squirm even as the cool air in the room hits his fully erect dick.

you wrap a hand around it, gently running your thumb up and down the shaft.

he starts bucking his hips, so you remove your hand and slap his dick again.

riwoo whines and tears start to rim his eyes. “p-please…” 

“hmm? please what, baby?”

“please touch me… more… i need more.”

“you need more, huh? so the slut isn’t appreciating what i’m giving him? it’s not enough?”

he gulps. “n-no, it’s good. i-i just–” he’s cut off when you lick the tip of his dick, a strangled moan escaping his lips. 

“oh? did you like that? does that make my slut’s pretty dick feel good?” 

“yes… more please…” 

“please what?”

“mommy. please, mommy…” 

and how could you say no to that?

Jaehyun

praise, humiliation, choking, masochism, bondage

i think jaehyun just gives me major “i need to be punished” vibes ??

he’s a very hyper man, and i imagine he’d probably get on your nerves fairly easily.

“jaehyun, can you stop running around like that? i’m trying to watch this lecture.”

“i’m not running around.” he pouts. “i’m just having fun.”

“can you have fun more quietly?”

“it’s not my fault my partner cares more about their grades than their sweet, loving boyfriend.” 

“is that what this is about? you just want attention?” you scoff.

“maybe… i just miss you.” jaehyun frowns.

“so your plan is to piss me off? you never learn, do you? how many times do i have to punish you before you actually start to learn? you’re just a dumb slut, aren’t you?” 

jaehyun’s jaw would go slack, both surprised and turned on all in one.

“i asked you a question.”

“uh. y-yes…” 

“you’re gonna have to beg for it. convince me that you’re worth my time.”

“please…” he got down on his knees in front of you, resting his head on your thighs. “i want you so bad…” 

“do you now? well, why don’t you make yourself useful and go get the box?”

jaehyun bites his lip and nods before racing into your shared bedroom to grab the box full of sex toys that you own. when he gets back, your laptop is no longer on your lap and your eyes are fully on him. just what he wanted. 

he instinctively reaches down and palms himself through his shorts, until your voice breaks him out of his haze. “and what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“s-sorry, i really didn’t mean to.” jaehyun says quickly, placing the box in front of you. “really… it was an accident.” 

“accident or not, you’re testing my patience. looks like what i originally had in mind won’t be enough. i’m going to have to fuck some sense into you.” 

he doesn’t even protest, the arousal swirling within him. it’s almost too much, with the way that his dick strains against the only barrier between you and him. 

“lay down on the couch.” you say, opening the box and pulling out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs.

jaehyun’s eyes widen. “w-wait! i wanna touch you!”

“too bad. if you’re going to act like a slut, i’m going to treat you like one.” you put the handcuffs on him before attacking his lips with your own. you press his hands down over his head and straddle his legs, your clothed heat brushing against his erection.

“f-fuck…” jaehyun groans in between your kisses. 

you pull away only to wrap a hand around his soft neck, squeezing gently as you rub yourself against him. “do you like that, slut?” 

“yes, i like it so m-much…” 

“mm, good boy.”

Taesan

dom/sub, humiliation, edging, sadism, teasing

i love taesan as much as the next onedoor, but this man can be mean 😭 like he’s a sweetheart don’t get me wrong but he really has his moments where i’m like damn dude. 

so i think that this could easily be applied to his sexual preferences. 

being a songwriter of boynextdoor does not come without its challenges, so he’s often stressed and worn out from the sheer amount of responsibilities he has placed on him. so of course he needs an outlet for all that stress… cue you, his wonderful loving partner.

you’d hear the front door to the apartment close all the way from your shared bedroom, a huge smile on your face knowing that it was taesan coming home after a long day. 

you race into the living room to greet him, finding him standing there oddly still with a dark look in his eyes. 

you immediately freeze, mouth slightly agape as he slowly trails his eyes up your body. when they meet your own, you can see the desire within them. “go back to the bedroom. when i come back there, i expect you to be fully naked.” 

you stand there for a few more seconds, taking in his words before nodding and hurriedly rushing back to the bedroom. 

you’ve barely taken off your underwear, which was your last article of clothing, when taesan bursts into the room. 

you could practically feel the heat of his eyes as he approaches you, not bothering to close the door. “fuck, i’ve been waiting all day for this…” 

he immediately wraps you up in his arms and kisses you passionately before (gently) throwing you on the bed and crawling on top of you.

he makes haste with discarding his own clothing before attaching his lips to your neck, you writhing below him with soft whimpers. 

if you’d squirm too much, he’d hold your hips as a warning. 

but if you squirmed again regardless, he would slap your inner thigh and grab your jaw, making eye contact with you. “don’t fucking move.” 

which is easier said than done, and he knows that but doesn’t care because he loves being mean. <3

so he just watches as you helplessly try to stay still, even as he brings his fingers dangerously close to your sensitive areas. 

“aww, poor baby… you want to move so bad, don’t you?”

“taesan, please just fuck me.”

“tsk… you should know better than to ask for that so early on. what would be the fun in that? i think i’d much rather watch you come undone with just my fingers alone. wouldn’t you like that too, baby?” 

you nod feverishly, choking out a moan when his finger circles your hole.

and when he’s fingering you with intensity, you know you’re about to come undone exactly as he wanted. 

your moans increase and get higher in pitch, your orgasm right there.

you feel it building up, just about to come when taesan suddenly pulls his fingers away, leaving you clenching around nothing.

“n-no! taesan, please! please, please…”

“shhh…” he places a finger against your lips. “just relax. you’ll get what you want, baby… just let me have some fun first, yeah?” and then he’s back to attacking your neck. 

Leehan

switch, role play, power dynamics 

idk why but i just think leehan would find the idea of role play funny, something he’d want to try out as a joke… but seeing you in that sexy nurse outfit has his head spinning in a way he didn’t plan on. 

the way the tight uniform shows off every one of your curves has leehan immediately wanting to pounce on you like he’s some animal. 

but he’d restrain himself, because he’s curious where this will go. 

and you being the fantastic nurse that you are means that you have to give him a well-rounded checkup. 

so of course you have to test every nerve to make sure that his motor functions are working properly. 

you start with the usual, gently tapping your rubber mallet against his knee before working your way up. 

he responds well to your touch, his breath hitching when you brush against his dick, it already being hard. 

which is convenient because you need to make sure that was in working order, too. 

“do you regularly engage in sexual intercourse, mr. kim?”

leehan is taken aback by your question, blushing a little. “yes…”

“and do you use protection, sir?”

he gulps, liking the way you were referring to him. it became physically evident in the way that his dick twitched ever so slightly, begging for friction. “yes.” 

“good. very, very good.” you make a show of writing on a blank notepad. “i’m going to need to further examine you, especially because it’s been a while since you’ve been to get a checkup.” 

you scoot closer to him on the stool and gesture at his pants. “would you mind taking these off, mr. kim?” 

leehan nods and quickly unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulling them down to around his ankles. the tent in his boxers stand proud, a small patch of wetness on the cotton fabric. 

you reach out and palm him through the fabric, achingly slow, earning a hiss from leehan. 

“just relax, alright? this examination might take a while…”

[theemporium]

The Monaco Grand Prix had been a fucking trainwreck.

It was meant to be their weekend. They had been doing so well all weekend. They had been topping the practice sessions. They had been putting in fast laps every session. They had managed to secure the front row after qualifying.

 They had done everything right, and yet it still wasn’t enough because Ferrari fucked everything up in the way they always did. 

Between unnecessarily long and unprepared pit stops to bad strategy calls that left them fighting other cars in old, used tires, it was a fucking shit show and the boys just wanted the race to be over so they could forget about it. They wanted to cross the line and get unnecessarily drunk until the race was nothing but a blip in their memory. 

And that was the plan for the night when they arrived at the club, until they saw you. 

Your relationship with the Ferrari drivers wasn’t exactly conventional nor easy to explain. You don’t even know how you could explain it to someone, because to an outsider looking in, it seemed anything but equal and fair.

It started long before either boy really joined Ferrari.

When Carlos Sainz drove for Torro Rosso and you were joining your father around the world, it was easy to cross paths with the Spaniard. Nothing ever happened, but you were on Carlos’ radar and that was more than enough. Then Charles entered the picture. And years passed without a single thought in your head about ever acting on the attraction for either driver because they became the enemy. 

To the world, you were the Red Bull princess. You were Christian Horner’s pride and joy. You were the face of one of the only pure and innocent things at Red Bull, and nothing could tarnish that image. 

Nothing except the Ferrari boys. 

The two men that were your father’s biggest rivals. The two men that seemed to have you wrapped around their finger long before you could even realise it. The two men that seemed to awaken a fire inside you that you didn’t think existed, and now you never wanted to extinguish it. 

The two men that had trained the perfect, little Red Bull princess into their perfect, little whore. 

And now, in a small and exclusive club in the heart of Monaco, you were just in reach. You were standing beside Max, his arm thrown over your shoulder, as you both laughed and celebrated and drank happily at the expense of both Ferrari boys. 

And something in them snapped. 

You were at least three drinks in, lost in the crowd as you aimlessly danced to whatever song was being pumped through the speakers when you felt their presence. You barely had a chance to open your eyes before you felt a warm and familiar chest settle behind you, hands on your waist that were gripping the fabric of your short dress. 

“You seem happy, cherie,” Charles grumbled, lips brushing against your ear as he pulled you back into him. “Far too fucking happy.”

“Charles,” you murmured breathlessly, leaning into his embrace like it was instinctive. 

“Maybe you like laughing at our expense,” a second voice spoke, and you didn’t even have time to turn your head on your own before you felt fingers digging into your cheeks, turning you to face Carlos who stood in front of you.

You shook your head. “I wasn’t—”

“You didn’t even come to see us, amor,” Carlos grumbled, his voice so clear to you despite the noisy environment of the club around you. “Too busy celebrating with Daddy’s favourite?” 

“I just didn’t know—” you started, only to let out a small whimper when Carlos’ fingers slipped past your lips, two digits laying heavy on your tongue as you gently sucked.

“You’re ours, amor,” he murmured, his hooded eyes focused on the way your pretty painted lips wrapped around his fingers. “Ours to do whatever we want with, right?”

You whined, nodding.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Carlos continued, shaking his head like he was scolding you. “You should have been waiting for us. You should have been on your fucking knees and instead you were running around with Max.” He paused for a moment, his gaze moving to Charles behind you. “Maybe you just need a fucking reminder who you belong to.”

You barely gasped around his fingers when you felt Charles’ hands wander lower until his fingers brushed against the hem of your dress. Carlos watched you, delighted in the way your eyes widened when Charles pushed the fabric of your dress up to expose your scantily clad ass in a thong.

“This just for us, cherie?” Charles whispered in your ear, his voice low and his accent thick and it made you clench your legs together.

“Maybe she does remember she’s our whore after all,” Carlos commented as if you weren’t there.

Charles fingers wandered, his palm moving to cup your pussy and he let out a dark laugh. “And she’s fucking wet already. Barely even touched her.”

“Because she’s such a good toy,” Carlos cooed as he pushed his fingers further into your mouth until you let out a choked garble. “Even when she’s not trying, she wants to be our good girl.” 

“Shit,” Charles groaned, his nose brushing against your neck as his fingers teased your soaking cunt. “She’s fucking dripping, Carlos. Making such a mess.”

“Guess we need to take care of our toy, Charles,” the Spaniard murmured in response. 

And it should have terrified you. All of it should have made some sort of warning bell ring in your head. You were in public. You were in a club. Anyone could see the three of you. Anyone could see the way the Ferrari boys were touching you. 

It was dark and it was loud and most of the people around you were far too drunk to comprehend their surroundings, but all it would take was for one picture to be taken and for the world to see the Red Bull princess at the mercy of the Ferrari boys.

But it didn’t scare you, or maybe you just really didn’t care. Maybe because you didn’t care what the world thought because Charles was sliding his cock into you and Carlos was slowly pumping his fingers in your mouth in a way that made you wish it was his cock, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything else at that moment. 

“Look at our pretty girl,” Carlos cooed as your eyes fluttered shut with Charles’ thrusts, his hands on your waist as he fucked you without a single care. “Taking it so well, amor. Like a good toy.” 

“Fuck,” Charles groaned in your ear, panting in your ear as he pulled you back onto his cock. “So fucking tight, cherie. Gonna fill you up and let people see me dripping down your leg all night.” 

You whined around Carlos’ fingers, a sound so pathetic and desperate that both boys almost wished the whole club could hear you. 

“We are gonna fucking ruin you, amor,” Carlos murmured as his other hand softly caressed your cheek as if a small dribble of drool wasn’t leaking from the corner of your lips and ruining your makeup. “Not Red Bull’s princess, but our fucking whore.”

You moaned pathetically. 

“Who knows,” his grin was a little vindictive and sinister. “Maybe we’ll send a little picture to your father. Show him which team his daughter really belongs to.”

.

[maxknightley]

on the one hand I do understand where people are coming from when they respond to The White American Desire For Authentic Culture by going "you already have a culture" and pointing out that this desire often has reactionary undertones

that being said, I think it's largely sidestepping the actual issue, which is that American culture fucking blows chunks. American culture is strip malls and military worship and the elevation of mass-market pablum to Bold Artistic Statements.

and subculture is only partially an escape from this, because most subcultures exist within the same constraints of American culture as a whole; they are captured and redefined by capital on such a frequent basis that it often feels impossible to hold onto them in any meaningful way.

moreover, even the parts of American culture that aren't complete garbage are more or less inextricable from the colonial, imperialist, and racially-stratified history of the country. like, I think of that post that went around a while ago talking about "America sucks but has some good parts," and one of the things it listed was national parks, and people (rightfully!) pointed out that the national park system is fundamentally flawed and tends to shit on indigenous nations by design.

the only thing I can think of that's even sort of an exception is pop culture - jazz and rock music, superhero comics, Hollywood. and all of those are, again, captured and defined by capital, and in one way or another have historically been built on screwing over the artist.

so we come to a position, one way or another, where a lot of people say something like: "I'm alienated. I'm surrounded by traditions and institutions I think are shit; I have no way to meaningfully undermine them, and I can't escape them without effectively destroying my life. the culture I was born into is a gravestone on top of another gravestone, lifeless and miserable, and people are constantly shouting that I should be grateful because it's The Greatest Country In The World."

at that point, one seeks an escape, and I think there are three major routes here.

one is to become a weird lib obsessed with the Real Soul Of America. America is really about the good parts, not the bad parts which outnumber them and which they are built upon.

another is to fixate on the Exotic, for lack of a better word. cultures which you do not have an obvious "connection" to, but which fascinate you or appeal to you. obviously this can be pretty fucking fraught, though I would argue that taking an interest in other cultures is a good thing if you aren't shitty about it. (That's its own conversation.)

the third is to fixate on the culture(s) you feel you "ought to have" had, that which was sacrificed on the altar of whiteness by grandparents or great-grandparents who, frankly, had different concerns. to look at a culture that may still be defined in many ways by cruelty and stratification - the way I would argue most human civilization has been - but that seems to have had something else going on, at least. a culture that may not have been recognizable 500 years ago, but at least it existed.

again, none of these impulses is beyond criticism, and I think it would be naive to say that the last one can't have reactionary undertones. I also doubt these impulses are unique to the USA! alienation is extremely common in today's world, and it's not as though the USA is the only settler state in existence.

what I am saying is more that I think the conditions that lead to these fixations are worth paying attention to, and that dismissing them with "you already have a culture" kind of misses the point in favor of getting in a zinger. people wouldn't want a different culture if they were happy with the one they had. like so many other things, people want one that Doesn't Completely Suck. failing that, they'd probably like to not be defined by any culture at all - but that, tragically, is just as impossible.

[scary-grace]

#61 for man door hand hook car door

Hi Scarlett! Thank you so much for the prompt from this list (I'm still taking these!). This one took me a bit but I hope you like it! No quirks AU, fluff, sickfic, totally not inspired by anything happening in real life. 2.3k words.

61) “I’ll pick it up after work.”

Your phone rings while you’re on your lunch break, and you pick it up without looking. “Hey, this is –”

“Kill me.”

It’s your boyfriend. Your boyfriend never calls – only texts, because he needs to edit himself before he sends anything. “Hey, Tomura. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Tomura’s usually raspy voice sounds distinctly nasal. “I was mouth-breathing on you all night. How did you not smother me?”

“Would you have smothered me?”

“No,” Tomura groans. “It wouldn’t be any different than your snoring.”

“I don’t snore!”

“Yes, you do. I like it. It’s cheaper than buying a white-noise machine.” Tomura coughs. It sounds like he’s making an effort not to cough into the phone, but it’s not much of one. “This sucks.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m really sorry. You wouldn’t have gotten it if I hadn’t made us go to that party.”

“Yeah, maybe not.” Tomura coughs again. “But we agreed. Rules are rules.”

You knew when you and Tomura started dating that he wasn’t much for parties, but he was also able to admit that the occasional party is necessary, and you used one of the three parties you’re allowed to drag him to per year on bringing him to your friend’s engagement party. Said engagement party got a little messy. A little rowdy. A little drink-sharey, which you’re pretty sure is what got Tomura – during some horrible round of mystery cocktail hot potato, he somehow got stuck finishing almost every drink. You helped him out with most of them, but your immune system is bombproof. If one of you was going to get sick, it was always going to be him.

He went to work yesterday, but stayed home today. He was worse this morning than he was last night. “Rules are rules, but I still feel bad,” you say. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Come home and kill me.”

“Other than that,” you say, and Tomura grumbles. “Seriously. Is there something?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Yeah,” Tomura admits. “If you’re not going to kill me –”

“I’m not.”

“Can you grab my stupid prescription? I went to the urgent care and they sent it to the wrong pharmacy.” Tomura’s coughing gets louder, then softer, while you try to avoid saying something dumb out of sheer shock that he’d go to the doctor at all. “It’s far away and I’m tired. Can you grab it?”

“Which pharmacy?” You put your phone on speaker and look up the address. “That’s on the other side of the city. How did they mess it up that bad?”

“Maybe I said it wrong. I forgot my address for a second when I was checking in,” Tomura mumbles. “It sucked in there. It took forever to get seen because there were a bunch of kids ahead of me with marbles stuck up their noses.”

“With – what?”

“Marbles. Up their noses. At a sleepover. It was a dare,” Tomura says. You can hear just how pissed he is about it – or how pissed he would be, if he wasn’t too fatigued to be pissed. “I don’t know why they got to be seen first. My breathing was more obstructed than theirs.”

You try to imagine this – your sick, crabby boyfriend sharing a waiting room with a birthday party’s worth of kids with marbles jammed up their nostrils. It’s hard to picture. “Did you have to wait a while?”

“It felt like a while,” Tomura says. “Wish you’d been there. It would have sucked less.”

If he’d told you he was going, you’d probably have taken off work to go with him. “I wish I’d been there, too,” you say. You lean back against the wall. “I’ll pick it up after work. Is there anything else you need?”

“A cyanide capsule.”

“I don’t think they sell those at the convenience store,” you say. Tomura grumbles again, and you pause for a moment. “Promise me something. Before you kill yourself, at least let me go on a quest to far distant lands to retrieve the cure.”

“I asked you to get the antibiotics, didn’t I?” Tomura’s voice is muffled. “Problem solved.”

“Not just this time. Any time, Tomura,” you say. You and he have had this conversation before, and you’ve gotten better at talking about it. You know his jokes about killing himself are jokes, but you also know they’re a habit, and it’s not a good habit to be in. “Always give me a shot at the quest first.”

“Yeah.” Tomura’s voice is quieter. “You’re busy, right? Go do something or they’ll make you stay later.”

You don’t want to get off the phone, but you do need to eat. And then you need to race through the rest of your work for the day – or do you? Either way, you need to get off the phone. You check the address for the pharmacy one more time. “Okay. I have to go. Just try to rest.”

“I should have gotten you sick, too.” Tomura sounds incredibly mopey, which is what you’d be, if you had the symptoms he’s having. “Then you’d have to stay home with me.”

“Okay, but if I was sick, who would take care of you?”

“Me.”

“You’re also sick.”

“Shit.” Tomura’s hitting his head against the pillow. You can tell by the rustling. “I’m hanging up before I say anything else stupid. Love you.”

“I love you, too,” you say. You hang up the phone. Then you go back inside to talk to your boss.

_________________________________________________________

Tomura shouldn’t have gone to the stupid urgent care. He got the prescription, sure, but it came at the cost of an hour in a packed waiting room, three separate lectures about getting a primary care provider, a cotton swab down the back of his throat to check for strep even though he doesn’t have a sore throat, and a bunch of questions that weren’t even sort of relevant to why he was there. It sapped all his energy and probably exposed him to twenty more diseases than he already has, and he didn’t even get the antibiotics. He had to ask you to get them, and that means it’ll be even longer before you get home.

Tomura’s not an idiot. He knows you don’t have some kind of magical healing powers that can make his headache and cough and congestion go away just by touching him, but he feels better when you’re here, no matter what you’re doing, no matter what’s wrong with him. Tomura’s not an idiot, but he’s also not naïve. He knows he was shooting for the moon when he slid into your DMs. He never expected it to work.

And part of him is still convinced it hasn’t worked, even though you’ve been together for two years and living together for one. It’s not his low self-esteem telling him you’re too good for him – it’s observable fact. You’re smart and hardworking but sneaky about it, so you never have to do more work than you have to, and you’re pretty and cute but you’re also hot, which are things that should go together but don’t go together in real life, and Tomura knows that whenever people look at the two of you together they’re asking themselves the same question. What are you doing? What are you doing with him?

Tomura asks himself that same question every week or so. He still hasn’t worked it out. But he has a feeling it has to do with the fact that he’s able to pull his weight, which he hasn’t been doing since Sunday morning, when he woke up the morning after your stupid friend’s engagement party with an itch in the back of his throat. And then he piled on by making you pick up his prescription. You must be pissed. So what if you didn’t sound pissed on the phone? You must be. Tomura would – no, Tomura wouldn’t. He likes when he can do stuff for you, because it makes you happy, and he wants you to be happy, because he loves you. What is he thinking?

Nothing that makes any sense, so he should probably stop. Tomura brushes the piles of wadded-up tissues into the wastebasket by the bed, then curls up under the blankets on your side. He should get some sleep. It’s just past noon. You’re not going to be home until six. Maybe he’ll feel a little better on the other side of a six-hour nap.

Tomura falls asleep facing your digital alarm clock, so when he hears the apartment door unlock itself and opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the time. It’s not six. It’s two. Why are you home so early? He can tell that you’re trying to be quiet as you take off your shoes. Maybe you’re trying not to wake him, but he’s already awake. He should let you know

“You –” Tomura starts, then coughs. His voice still sounds like shit, so he coughs again, which turns into a coughing fit, and by then you’re in the doorway. He peers at you through eyes that feel blurrier than they should. “You came back early.”

“I really shouldn’t have gone in at all today,” you say. “When I told my boss your symptoms, she sent me home. Apparently I could be contagious.”

You’re smirking a little bit. Tomura has a feeling you did more than just tell your boss his symptoms, but he doesn’t give a shit. You’re home. “I got your prescription,” you continue, shaking a paper bag, “and I got frozen yogurt instead of a probiotic so you don’t have to take an extra pill. I also got fancy tissues – and ingredients for real ramen if you want that and instant ramen if you don’t – and –”

All of that was one bag. Tomura recognizes the other one instantly – it’s from his favorite game store. “What did you do?”

“New headset,” you say. “You keep saying the one you have hurts your head. If it hurts your head on a regular basis, it probably hurts it even more now – and I know the one you want, so I figured I’d get it. In case you felt like gaming at all.”

Tomura should probably say something. Thank you would probably be a good start, but all he can do is stare at you and cough a little bit. You don’t seem worried about it. You duck out of the bedroom, then come back with a glass of water, a cup of frozen yogurt, and a spoon. You set the antibiotics down next to it and head over to the closet to change out of your work clothes.

Tomura tries to pay attention to the frozen yogurt – using a spoon feels like it requires all of his concentration right now – but he can’t stop glancing over at you. You look good in your work clothes, but Tomura likes it best when you’re comfortable, because you always look good to him and when you’re comfortable you don’t waste time worrying about it. It doesn’t hurt that most of your comfortable clothes were Tomura’s clothes at some point. The pajamas you settle on are half-yours, half-his. Your shorts, which Tomura likes because the elastic waistband is easier to get through than a drawstring is, and his shirt, which he likes because you stole it from him within the first month the two of you were dating and never gave it back.

It takes a spoonful of yogurt nearly sliding off the spoon and into his lap for Tomura to remember what he’s supposed to be doing. He shovels in a few more bites of yogurt, then downs the pill and flops back on the bed, just as you get into bed on what’s usually his side. “You stole my spot,” you say. “What’s that about?”

“Your side is better.”

“That’s not what you said when we moved in,” you point out. “You talked a lot of shit about my side being the worst one.”

“It is. Usually.” Tomura doesn’t want to admit this. He feels like a dumbass. “It smells like you.”

You look surprised. “You can smell stuff right now?”

“Only on one side,” Tomura says, and you laugh. You come closer, too, settling down in bed next to him, and wrapping your arms carefully around him. “You sure you want to do this? What if you get sick?”

“You’ll be done being sick by the time I get it, if I get it,” you say. You kiss Tomura’s cheek, then test his forehead with the back of your hand before brushing his hair out of his face. “I don’t think I will. But if I do get it, then you can take care of me.”

Tomura thinks he could do that. He wouldn’t be as good at it as you are, but you’re giving him a really good tutorial right now. He’s paying attention. Sort of. “I’d say I’m looking forward to it, but you’d have to get sick, so I’m not. Because I don’t want you to be sick. But I would take care of you. I want to, but I don’t want to have to, if that makes sense. It doesn’t make sense. I just – fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you say. You’re smiling at him. “Just get some rest. I could use a nap, too.”

“Yeah.” Tomura wants to talk to you more, wants to hear how your day was going before he ruined it, but now that you’re here, all he wants is to sleep. He sleeps better when you’re here. “Okay.”

The coughing’s not as bad when he isn’t trying to talk. Tomura closes his eyes and slumps against you. “Love you,” he mumbles, and he stays awake just long enough to hear you say it back.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König Rarely Gets Sick, But When He Does...

Inspired by this ask that I was given earlier.

Okay so let's be clear, König grew up in a great home, as mentioned before in this post. He also hated school. So König grew up to absolutely master the art of pretending to be sick. He did the whole 'making fake vomit with oatmeal and orange juice' trick at 5am just to place it around his bed for his mother to find when she woke him up the next morning. I just want to point this out, as one kid with anxiety to another, if you could get out of school as a kid you did (or at least I did because I was a wuss). So, if König just didn't feel up to school on that particular day, he'd pretend to be sick and spend the day being doted upon by his sweet, oblivious and ever-loving mother. He was such a little shit as a kid.

But when König is actually sick, it's a mess. Oh my lord is it ever a mess. He's disgusting. He's a snot and/or vomit factory (almost always both). He refuses to shower or bathe so he gets sweaty and gross and he'll lay in one spot all day, and when you peel him out of it, he leaves a damp patch behind as an unpleasant reminder of his sickness. He's genuinely terrible.

But he's your terrible mess and you need to care for him.

Read below the cut for a more detailed explanation of what König is like when sick.

The worst part of dealing with König is that he can't pretend he's not sick. He used to pretend to be sick, now he tries to pretend he's not and it fails miserably. When König actually gets sick there's no hiding it.

See, König doesn't get the common cold. What he gets are fevers. Bad fevers. There's been a few times that he's had to go to hospital to get his temperatures in check. He's gotten dangerously close to getting seizures because he was so determined to not take care of himself. Thankfully, this only happens at most once a year (two or three if you have kids in preschool) but other than that, he's healthy as a horse.

The thing is, while he's being gross and smelly and awful, he's a big suck for you. He's no longer a man when he gets a fever, he becomes little more than a big wet cat. Absolutely, genuinely terrible. He will flop all over the place like a wet fish and moan terribly. He gets grumpy and angry over nothing, but instead of being in his right mind and having the sense to properly communicate himself, he'll just make bitter comments and curse under his breath as though he never left the barracks. Not at you, mostly at himself. He gets incredibly upset about falling ill and needing the support of others. You'll have to work to keep up his self esteem when he gets sick.

He's a belligerent little bug all the way through. He'll avoid moving like the plague because he knows if he tries to stand that the room will start spinning. He also knows that he can't ask you for everything, so he'll sulk miserably for hours before asking for your help to get up. He is absolutely horrible about asking for your help. At this rate, you'll need to frequently check in on him or else he'll be writhing under the covers when you next check on him. He really doesn't want to overwhelm you, but he takes this to an extreme. He just wants to make things easier for you. He hates being a burden, or at the very least, he hates being weak.

He appreciates the frequent check-ins because he always has something he wants. Maybe a glass of water, maybe a new bucket, maybe even a new book to read. He's a needy man sometimes. Out in the field he has to do everything himself, so having someone there to look after him means the world to him. He'll never be able to thank you enough for what you do for him.

He's a big fan of Vick's Vaporub and slathers himself in Tiger Balm like he's trying to slide through a straw (and yes it's that disgustingly awful). He will often ask for you to apply these balms to him if you can. He also will often put a bit of vaporub under his nose to help keep his nose from chaffing. He absolutely hates how he needs so many tissues. You'll find him sniveling in the middle of the night, covered by a mountain of crumpled tissues piled over empty boxes.

König often ends up making a nest wherever he plops down. If he needs to go somewhere, he's draped in a blanket, carrying his sick bucket, hauling a box of tissues under one arm along with a book, his phone, and anything else he thinks he might possibly need. He leaves a bit of a snail trail of discarded tissues and dropped items wherever he goes. He is a little bit of a pig, really. But you can't be mad at him. If he bends over, the vertigo might make him fall over. He does try to stay neat, but when he's this sick it's hard to be clean.

In the end, the main thing that helps König is you being there. If you're there to keep him clean, change his sheets, feed him broth soups and light meals, he'll be happy. Dote on him with kisses on his forehead and tuck him in when he sleeps. If he's really sick, maybe you can read that history book he's reading for him. If you can do his chores for a few days, he'll pay you back when he can. He cannot possibly express how much he appreciates all you do for him.

He'll give you space if you want it. If you get disgusted by being around sick people, he won't force you to care for him or do something you can't manage, but if you're willing to hold him he'll be elated. He loves being close to you. He loves being pampered by you, and he'll remember these moments fondly. The last time someone treated him so well was when he was sick as a little boy. Having you here and caring for him makes him feel safe in a way he hasn't felt in decades.

[meyerlansky]

i'm very 👀 about what bucky's family situation looks like, actually. historically, his dad died in nov '42, so he's only six months out from it at the start of the show, but it never really comes up—he doesn't flinch or offer anything back when gale talks about his dad, which... maybe he had a good relationship with his dad, so he doesn't have anything to offer. but he doesn't look at gale like he's surprised at cleven sr being a bad dad the way i'd expect a character with a fairly happy, uneventful home life to react to "my dad left me sleeping on benches"-level bad parenting. and if he DID have a shitty relationship with his dad, that's the perfect moment to empathize and bond over it. but he doesn't take it.

and then we get the revelation that he doesn't get any letters in the stalag. obviously he's not getting romantic letters, but one of the other guys mentions a letter he got is from his mom, with equivalent relief and comfort to gale's reaction to marge's letters. in so doing the show establishes that letters from family presumably count for the conversation the bucks have wrt having someone to get letters from. bucky's mom is still around. why doesn't he at least get letters from her? he's got two sisters, historically—one's three years older and the other's six years younger. both ages that wouldn't exactly hinder sending letters to your POW brother. but nothing.

initially i was gonna say i have trouble believing that bucky—who wears every emotion he has plain on his face, who's so stupidly easy to read that everyone thinks they know exactly what's going on with him in every scene, and who has a hugely visible downward spiral when his preferred options for coping with STUPENDOUS AND COMPOUNDING traumas are taken away from him—either:

has so solidly processed his dad's recent death inside six months that he doesn't need to externalize any reaction to it, or

is somehow better at keeping the details of how he feels about his family close to his chest than he is about basically every other feeling he's ever had

and it's still possible that his relationship with his family is simply unremarkable and there's nothing deeper to it. or that he had a bad relationship with his dad, but not any worse than your average "my dad and i didn't get along great" kind of deal, not cleven-level bad. but... i dunno, man, i have trouble buying THAT, more than i have trouble buying that the situation is deeper than bucky lets show.

his MOTHER doesn't even write to him. and we don't find this out until he's been stalag'd for over a year. so he... does actually keep it pretty close to his chest. more importantly, he keeps it close to his chest when it's something he could use to strengthen his relationship with gale. that doesn't really fit with the read of bucky as an open book looking for anything he can get from gale. like... it doesn't fit with that read of him at all.

it feels way more likely to me that there's Bad Shit there, and that that Bad Shit extends beyond bucky's relationship with his dad, into his relationship with his mom and even into coloring his relationship with his now-adult sisters. something like being kicked out, or disowned, or bucky deliberately going no-contact. and that's interesting on its own—what could he possibly have done to lose his entire family like that? my personal guess is he got caught with a boy and got kicked out over it, but it could be hetero slutting around too; it could be the drinking or the gambling or not going to school or his parents just fucking suck absolute ass, or any number of things that aren't Picturesque Rural Wisconsin Family appropriate

but also. i'm really fascinated by the sense of... isolation, i guess? that this confers on him as a character. he's such a loud, eye-catching presence In The Moment, and i wonder how long it takes the people around him to realize that he only seems to exist In The Moment, and doesn't have a past he's anchored in enough to discuss it even with the people he's closest to.

like how long does it take gale to realize he's spilled his guts about his dad to bucky, in a way that very clearly carries some level of "i'm letting you see something no one else has seen" feeling with it... and he got nothing back of equivalent weight wrt bucky's family, not just in that conversation but at any point that we see on screen? months? years? does gale EVER realize bucky's hidden/neglected to share his past even after gale's given bucky his?

[zones-spinterest-corner]

Happy NYE! Have a comic thing :3

Uh

This spawned from the urge to draw Pentellow actually being competent (she’s the only competent caretaker the dudes suck at it)

Idrk if I wanna elaborate on what the scene is part of lmao

Lamenting about 2024 under the cut lol

This year has been. Weird

Started with a bang /neg (the bullshit that went down with a certain pentagon), became decently okay, became a legal adult, then the last three months of it my body decided to completely fuck me over in every way possible

Not like shit’s all bad, though!

I celebrated five years of Zone, made some awesome friends (you know who you are >:3), and have sincerely found a really lovely and surprisingly welcoming community in the TPC fandom! Aside from a couple bad apples that are sent to the blocked realm, y’all are really cool!! /vpos /gen

As much as I hope 2025 is better, sadly there’s no guarantee, but at least I’m going into it with people by my side, and that’s what matter imo

Anyways, tagging some people who made the year better for me, thank you all so much, and here’s to getting through whatever chaos 2025 throws at us together!

@pageofthemicocee , @dzarthedemon , @phantoms-domain , @mugzymiik , @astronic-fr , @lavthequad , @trash-jsab , @kitcatttt , @packitupkittycat (can’t mention fsr)

Also mention to my friend Bracken who doesn’t have a tumblr (or at least I’m not aware of it if he does) :3

Btw let’s hope more billionaires get fucked

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 2.3k | tags: rockstar!eddie, addiction, rehab, journaling, only Eddie's entries turn into letters to Steve | Part 2 to Carry You | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is about a hand reaching out to you so you don't get lost by @yournowheregirl | AO3)

Edited for a big shout out to @steves-strapcollection whose lovely OC has a little cameo here. If you want to know who Tig is, you can find out here. Spoiler: he's amazing and we love him.

Day 0

Dear Steve,

Hi Stevie,

Apparently, it's not good to "bottle up" your feelings. They say it makes drinking or drugs or any other addiction so tempting. It makes it easier to keep all that stuff inside you and let it fester until you need more and more of whatever it is that helps you cope. So the first rule of rehab: Talk, don't take.

That's a long way of saying I need to keep a journal like a 13-year-old girl with her first crush. It's either that or a daily crying session with the other "inmates" here, and I'd rather not have to tell Terry the old gossip my own tragic sob story. She already told me the life stories of two other patients here at dinner.

Instead, I decided to write to you. You're the one person I regret the most pushing away, and even though you'll probably never see this, it feels good to tell you these things now. Like a dry run. Because, baby, when I get out of here, I swear I will let you in. I won't make the same mistakes.

You will never go another day without knowing how much you mean to me.

How much I love you.

You only left an hour ago and I already miss you. I can't believe I've survived six months without you. Well, I barely did. I wish I could call you, but phone privileges are only for those who make it through their first week here.

I know we chose this center together knowing that they don't allow visitors for at least three weeks. Maybe longer if my therapist says I'm not ready. Fuck, three weeks didn't sound so bad when we talked about it, but now? In this ugly, impersonal room that smells clean but is totally clinical. You know, that mix of disinfectant and sterile air with a hint of medication lingering in the background. It sounds like an eternity and then some.

Nothing here feels comfortable or warm, and I miss your face so much it physically hurts.

But I promised myself I'd do whatever it took. For you and Wayne, for the boys and the kids.

So, day 0, the journey begins.

Fuck, I almost forgot: I'm supposed to answer three questions every day.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

See above. I miss you, that's how I am. I want this to be over. I hate that I'm here and even more that I'm the one who got me here. I feel like a fuckup. It's hard not to when I see how I've ruined everything good in my life. But then I remember the way you kissed me goodbye. The smile on your face when you told me how proud you were of me. The way you kissed my hand because you couldn't let go and whispered, "I'll see you soon," and I want to have hope.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Get through the day without doing anything I'll regret.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

You. That you didn't give up on me. (And the Gummi Bears you hid at the bottom of the bag, you minx. Thank you.)

Day 4

Sweetheart,

I'm not doing so well. It's hard. Who am I kidding? It sucks. My body hurts from how much I want to use. My brain is so very loud, Stevie. So, so loud. I try to remember how you managed to calm me down when my brain got like this. What helped the most was to wear me out by fucking me senseless, but that's not an option. But maybe I will try to go for a walk or even do some of those exercises you always tried to get me to do. The ones that usually led to fucking because I could never behave.

My therapist is nice. Her name is Laura, and so far she's taking everything I throw at her in stride. Talking to her feels like pulling my own teeth and I feel like shit afterwards, but I sleep better. Who would have thought, huh?

I miss you.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Not good. I wonder if I can really do this. It doesn't feel like it right now. I'm afraid I won't make it. That I will screw up again. That if I do, it'll kill me and I'll be grateful because I couldn't live with myself if I did.

I don't want to die, Stevie.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Talk to the weird kid who always sits by himself during meals. He looks lost. Maybe he knows DnD.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Still you. Every day. Wayne, for taking me in when I felt like a failure too. Unlovable. Worthless. He never stopped believing in me. Even when I gave him every reason not to. I don't know how I deserve him or you, but I am so fucking grateful.

Day 7

Fuck, I missed your voice. God. I'm sorry I lost it like that. I didn't want the first thing you heard from me after a week apart to be me ugly sobbing into the phone.

I wanted to tell you so many things. I had a plan, you know? But hearing your voice when you said, "Hi, baby," it just broke me. You sounded like you missed me too, like you were relieved to hear my voice too, and you didn't even realize how scared I was that you wouldn't.

We just hung up, but I want to call you again. Just to hear you breathing on the other side so I know you're still there. Waiting for me. Your hand still gripping mine so I wouldn't get lost.

You said, "I'll hear you tomorrow," like it was set in stone, no doubt about it. It made me feel, fuck, I don't even know. Like this is real. I didn't die on that bathroom floor, and you giving me another chance isn't some kind of hallucination or afterlife dream.

I'm rambling, sorry. Even in writing I can't help it.

One day I'll write it all down in a way that makes sense, I promise.

I love how patient you are with me. No one has ever been. I was always too loud, too distracted, too weird, too complicated, too much. But not to you.

I wish you were here to take me in your arms, it's hard not to fall apart without you holding me together.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Better. Fucking determined to get through this and get back to you. Still scared.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Have a real conversation with you without breaking down on the phone. Here's to hoping. Detoxing and being sober has given me a hair trigger on my emotions, it seems.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Your patience. Your grace. Your voice in my ear. That you still haven't given up on me. DnD, for giving me a purpose when I needed one, a tool to give others the help I so desperately wanted. The weird kid's name is Alex, and he does know DnD. We'll try to find more people for a campaign.

Day 16

Steve, baby,

I am so fucking sorry. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. I'm such an asshole. Please pick up the phone. I need to tell you how sorry I am. I didn't mean it, I was just scared. When you said that maybe Laura was right and you shouldn't come to see me next week if I wasn't ready, I thought you didn't want me anymore. That you finally got tired of holding my hand and watching me do those damn baby steps. It's been over two weeks, why am I not better? Why am I not done with this shit?

I want to be done, I swear.

Please don't leave me.

Please pick up the phone.

Please, please, please.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Fuck this shit, what good is it if I keep hurting you?

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Stop being a fucking asshole.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

I want it to be you, but I'm not sure I even have you in my life anymore.

Day 23

Stevie,

I'm scared. Isn't this the stupidest thing you've ever heard? A few days ago I begged to see you. Fuck, I was so desperate to see you that I almost ruined everything. I'm still sorry, I hope you know that. I know, I know, you said that it's okay and that it can't be all smooth sailing, that you forgive me. That you'll keep forgiving me as long as I keep coming back to talk to you, to explain, to show you that I mean it.

And now I've got the all clear for you to come and see me, and I'm too scared to tell you.

I'm still not the man I want to be. The man who deserves someone like you.

Laura told me that love isn't something you deserve, it's something freely given. We don't decide if someone can love us, only they do. And that I have to stop pushing people away because I'm convinced they can't love me. It's their choice and I shouldn't try to take it away from them.

I think about this a lot.

I want to let you love me, I do. It's just hard for me to understand why you would want to do that at all. It's something Laura wants to work on with me as well.

There is so much work to do. I hate to bother you with it. To make it your problem. I wanted to come in here and two weeks later walk out a new man. A better one. One you can love easily and who can love you back in a way you can understand. A man Wayne can be proud to call his son. A man Gareth and Jeff and Grant want to have as a friend, as a bandmate. A man the kids can look up to as much as they look up to you.

Laura said I should take the hand you are holding out to me. It's a decision I make every day. I took it in the hospital. I took it when you drove me here.

I should take it by letting you in, letting you see the work in progress that I am right now.

I think I will call you after dinner to tell you.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

Fuck if I know. It's a lot to feel when you've numbed your feelings for so long. I remember why I did it, but I won't do it again, I'll learn to deal with it.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

Take you in my arms and hold you. Let myself be held by you.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

Your hand in mine. The thought of you that keeps me going. Your bravery. Dustin and Mike and Will and Lucas. They call me all the time, you know. Asking me about my first campaign here, telling me about their lives. Keeping in touch, even though I failed them almost as much as my old man did me.

Day 31

Steve, my love,

You're on your way to pick me up and I can't believe we made it here. It's not done, it probably never will be. I know that now. I have to keep working on myself and being well. But it's so fucking worth it, Stevie.

I'm glad that Laura agreed to stay my therapist even if I leave the center. I trust her. She gets me, she knows when to push me and tell me the ugly truth, and when I need time to process things.

I haven't told you yet, but I'm not going back to Corroded Coffin. At least not right now. I talked to the guys and they all agreed that it's best if I take some time for myself. And for you. For my family and friends. They actually have a guy named Tig who auditioned while I was here and they like him. He's good, they sent me a demo. They asked me if it would be okay and I said it would be. It's true, even though it hurts. I have to do this for myself.

Because I am going to give this to you later, I want to tell you something here before I lose my courage.

Steve. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I know I haven't always shown you the way you deserve. Hell, some days I certainly didn't act like it. My worst days. But I never stopped loving you. I don't think I ever will.

But I also learned to like myself a little better here. I no longer want to punish myself for things that were out of my control, like my mom dying or my dad not caring enough for me to stay. I want to be loved. I want you to love me. I want to let you.

I want to finally leave the past behind and allow myself to think about the future. And whenever I do, you're in it. You're the anchor, the epicenter of all my plans.

Stevie, sweetheart, I want to marry you.

Don't worry, I'm not proposing. This is just something I needed to tell you. Someday I want to be your husband, if you want me.

You are my past, my present and my future.

This is me taking your hand every day until I die or you stop reaching for me.

How are you doing right now? Don't hold back.

So fucking excited to have you all to myself again. Seriously, I'm going a little crazy. I'm also hopeful about the future. And in love. I'm so fucking in love with you.

What do you want to accomplish tomorrow?

To start our life together without forgetting what came before.

What are you grateful for in your own life today?

My second chance.

[nights-at-crystarium]

As a twitter/tumblr user since 2010-2011, I believe I have sufficient grounds to say that currently we as a community are living through the scariest, shittiest time yet. This post isn’t trying to fearmonger, no I’m not leaving tumblr until it literally keels over, but I suggest that we don’t put all our eggs in one basket.

If twitter/tumblr stay usable, great! In the worse scenario, you’d have kept posting on a new platform and stayed ahead of the curve.

This post shares my personal experience with three potential “new”* fandom places, and is aimed to help fellow content creators. I’m an artist fully depending on internet to survive, my reasoning may not apply to you if you’re a hobbyist. Do your own research, it’s always healthy. * Pillowfort and mastodon have been around for 5+ years, bluesky is ~2 years old.

Discovering new people to follow kinda sucks on all three platforms, twitter and tumblr are eons ahead, but, given the recent chaos and uncertainty, I’m willing to be patient, keep posting on those, and feel safer than I would’ve otherwise been. More baskets good, one basket bad.

All three have poor visual customization, don’t expect custom tumblr themes.

This list starts with the least popular, but most human and easy to join, and what I personally trust the most. All three allow nsfw if labeled properly.

✦ Pillowfort is a barebones tumblr. Intuitive, cozy, but currently very, very small. Be patient with its clunkiness or lack of some features, it’s made by an AO3-like team. I’d personally love if the fandom crowd managed to redirect its attention to it instead of the sus bluesky.

Joining: is free, invite-only, but the waitlist is nearly instant.

Lurk around on their official tumblr: @/pillowfort-social

✦ Mastodon, for me personally, is impossible to explain directly. I’ll use several comparisons.

- Discord but all servers can interact. You’re still on a server curated by some human(s) that might tell you what you can and can’t post, BUT, if you don’t like that server’s policy, you can move to a new one while keeping your followers. - Email, users A and B may be registered on different domains, still they can talk. It’s a weird comparison, but fediverse (please I’m not explaining THAT but it’s a good thing) in general looks like another email story: unlike big sites that come and go, it might stand the test of time. - Someone compared mastodon’s structure to xiv’s dc and servers, if you look at its domain names that way, it might be easier to understand.

Depending on user, mastodon may feel gatekeepy/snowflakey. I haven’t spent enough time on there to form a proper opinion yet, but a warning’s due.

An actually good and hopeful thing about mastodon AND tumblr: the two might start interacting in future. Ever lamented that your fav asian artists don’t use tumblr? If they use misskey, or any other place on the fediverse, it might be possible to follow them directly from tumblr in future, and vice versa.

Joining: is free, however some servers close for new members sometimes, and have human moderators reviewing your request.

✦ Bluesky is a twitter without Musk: today’s average internet user reads this, drops everything and already looks to register there. It’s still sus, but people flock to it like crazy. Most likely to become the next big fandom place in my eyes, even if I’m not happy about that.

I personally have no good feelings about bluesky. Same as twitter, which I hated even before the 2018 tumblr exodus, yet the crowd decided to make it The New Fandom Place, and, grudgingly, I had to give up and also join them in 2022. During the year I haven’t stopped despising twitter, yet, I can’t deny that it helped me survive. I estimate half of my patrons, and, hell, even tumblr audience, comes from twitter. So, if bluesky ends up being the next hot shit, I’ll have to keep up because internet pays for my living.

Joining: is free but hell, invite-only, the waitlist is a lie, your best chance to join is a direct invite.

This’s all I’ve got to say for now. If you have a correction or an addition, replies/reblogs are welcome!

Screenshots of the current interfaces under the cut, you may spy on my profiles o/

Pillowfort

Mastodon.art

Bluesky