#this was supposed to be an “experiment“

[sparky-is-spiders]

Yeah ok I'll bite:

Feat. my wispy little mustache that started growing while I was 2 months on t and then stalled. Not feat. my neckbeard because I forgor. Also irl I'm wearing noise-canceling headphones basically 24/7 lmao.

Figuring out a Jon design when I don't. Have One. Was Very Difficult. As was resisting the urge to put him in that little collar with the heart on it (if it didn't cover up the scar too much I probably would have...).

Tagging whoever. Idc. I need Food.

New tag game! Use this picrew to make yourself, and your current blorbo

(Mine is Maude Flanders, surprise surprise)

No reassure tags @krispyy-lotol @ablatheringblatherskite @justarandombrit @or-not-2b---i-dont-know @spaghettiwithnachos13 @excusemewotdidyousaytome @literary-lesbian @ginevralinton @nocturnal-cryptid @spineless-lobster @sitdownfeargalyounerd @ticcywhaleshark @ineffablelunatic @blue-eyed-giant and anyone else who would like to :)

[renthony]

I really have no patience for posts talking about "adults who only watch kids' cartoons," because, like...people accuse me of "only watching kids' cartoons," despite all evidence to the contrary. It doesn't matter how much I talk about other adult media I like, if I post too many things in a row about Steven Universe or The Dragon Prince or The Owl House, people come out of the goddamn woodwork to accuse me of "only watching kids' shows."

So I really can't take people seriously when they start talking about the supposed "problem" of "adults who only watch kids' shows." Are the "adults who only watch kids' cartoons" in the room with us right now, or are you basing your entire opinion of people solely on their fandom blog? Like, come on.

It makes me think of the couple years I spent volunteering in a school library. The librarian talked a lot about how it's hurtful to enforce "reading at grade-level" on every student with no nuance. Teachers would try to force their students to check out books "at proper grade-level," instead of letting students pick out whatever they wanted (even if it was "too easy"), and it resulted in a lot of students deciding books were boring, too hard, and only good for making them feel stupid. They started to hate reading entirely, because people constantly shut them down and told them they were stupid for not reading the right things. This was especially brutal on disabled students.

I personally apply the same philosophy to adults. You don't know what someone might struggle with, you don't know what someone's history is. You might think a piece of media is "too simple," but that's your experience and your opinion. People learn and grow and experience the world at different paces, and what seems to you like a "simplistic" piece of media may be the most complex, illuminating piece of media someone else has ever had the opportunity to experience. It doesn't make them "stupid" or "childish," and believing that it does is cruel and counterproductive. You cannot wield shame as a fucking cudgel if your goal is education, support, and helping people expand their horizons.

I don't think a culture of shame is helpful. I don't think a culture of "if you like 'childish' things, it means you're too stupid for anything else" is helpful. I don't think constantly making fun of children's media does anything other than demean people--and not just the people who enjoy it, but the people who make it, too.

[fangdokja]

🔞You’re his project, and he’s determined to get you right.

❤︎ Synopsis. A quiet genius watches from the shadows, studying every detail of your life with obsessive precision—until one night, his fixation turns darker, and you become the subject of his twisted, unrelenting experiment. In his world, nothing is left to chance, and you’re the only variable he can’t control.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Nerd x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. Beyond the Data - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 5,132

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, rape, BDSM, somnophilia, drugging, stalking, forced oral, invasion of privacy, non-con photography and filming, intoxication kink, dumbification, slapping, degradation, humiliation, forced penetration, forced anal, name calling, slut shaming

♡ His Story. No one else noticed the quiet boy in the corner, but he’s all you’ll notice now.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who is the last person you’d expect to command fear—or obsession. The invisible boy in the corner of the lecture hall, whose name you can never seem to remember. Just another cog in the academic machine, unnoticed and unremarkable.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who didn’t always hate you. At first, he didn’t even notice you. Why would he? You were a speck in his meticulously ordered world of formulas and research papers. He’d glance over you like a book’s preface—skimming, dismissive, uninterested. You weren’t worth his attention, and he wasn’t one for distractions.

Until you were.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose hatred began with quiet disdain. He couldn’t stand the way you disrupted the sanctity of his intellectual space. Your kindness was a flaw, a weak and irritating crack in the facade of academia. The way you lent your notes to struggling classmates, stayed late to tutor those who would never return the favor.

“Naïve,” he muttered once under his breath, watching you push a stack of papers toward a crying peer. “They’re just using you.”

But you didn’t care. You never did.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose resentment festered in the shadows. Watching your muted empathy, your small, unnoticed acts of kindness, twisted his stomach in ways he couldn’t understand. You were supposed to fail. You were supposed to get crushed beneath the weight of your own optimism, yet you didn’t.

And that infuriated him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who told himself he hated you because you were soft, too forgiving, too simple. But the truth was far darker. You represented something he’d never had—a warmth that lingered in the spaces between your quiet gestures. A kindness that was not weakness, but strength. You had no armor, and yet you thrived.

It fascinated him. It enraged him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who lived a life of quiet detachment. He wasn’t bullied in school��no, he was too invisible for that. Teachers praised his brilliance, but no one remembered his name. His height, his looming presence, the stretch of taut muscle beneath oversized sweaters—they didn’t matter when he kept to himself, a ghost haunting the edges of the classroom.

Invisibility was his refuge, and he sharpened his mind in its silence.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose physical strength was a quiet secret. Long hours spent weightlifting in the dim light of the university gym weren’t for vanity—they were an escape, a distraction, a way to channel the dark energy gnawing at him. But he never cared about the results.

The thick-framed glasses, the slouching posture, the ill-fitting cardigans—these were his camouflage. No one saw him. No one looked past the surface.

Except you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins his descent like any good scientist—methodically. It starts as observation, the kind you’d expect from someone who’s spent his life reducing the world into formulas and equations. You are a variable, an anomaly, something he must decode to restore order to his meticulously organized life.

But the more he observes, the less he understands. And the more it drives him mad.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who tells himself it’s harmless at first. Watching you from across the library, tracking the soft scratch of your pen as it glides over your notebook. He doesn’t even realize he’s memorized the way your eyebrows knit together in concentration, or how you chew the corner of your lip when you’re stuck on a problem.

It’s data. Just data.

But the data begins to haunt him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins cataloging you like a research subject. He keeps a notebook tucked into the bottom drawer of his desk, hidden beneath a pile of unfinished assignments. Every detail about you goes into it: the time you arrive at class (always ten minutes early), the number of steps you take to reach your favorite seat, the precise way the sunlight catches your hair at 3:17 p.m. on the third floor of the library.

He calls it fieldwork to justify the growing obsession.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who found himself lingering at the edges of your world, desperate for scraps. The smell of your shampoo as you walked past. The faint imprint of your handwriting left on discarded papers.

You didn’t notice the way his hands flexed when you leaned too close to another classmate, or the way his jaw clenched when someone touched your arm.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who is painfully aware of how wrong it is. He’s not stupid. He knows that following you home, counting the number of locks on your door, isn’t something a sane person does. But logic isn’t enough to stop him.

You’re a virus in his brain, disrupting his calculations, infecting his thoughts with something he doesn’t know how to purge. You grate on him in all the wrong ways, the way a scratch disrupts a perfect vinyl record. He hates you for it. He hates you because he can’t stop.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who turns his obsession into an experiment. He programs an algorithm to track your social media activity, compiling your posts, photos, and even deleted comments into a neat timeline. He bookmarks the articles you share, cataloging your interests, your values, your humor.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who upgrades his methods when simple observation no longer satisfies. He rigs a tiny camera outside the lecture hall, angled perfectly to catch the way you sit, the absent way you tap your foot when you’re bored. He sets up a recording app on his phone to capture the sound of your voice in class discussions, replaying it later as though decoding a foreign language.

He tells himself it’s for research. He just needs to understand you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who learns your patterns better than you know them yourself. He can predict where you’ll be at any given time—your favorite coffee shop at 8:43 a.m., the library desk in the northeast corner by 6:12 p.m., your solitary walks through the park on Sunday mornings.

He times his own movements to yours, ensuring you never notice his presence, never feel the weight of his gaze. It’s a game to him now—a test of his own skill.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who hacks into your student profile. It’s easy, really, a puzzle too simple to satisfy his intellect. But he doesn’t do it for the challenge; he does it to see your schedule, your grades, the tiny notes professors leave about you.

“Exceptional work ethic,” one professor writes, and he feels a strange swell of pride, as though your achievements are his own.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins collecting physical traces of you. A pen you leave behind in class, its cap chewed and frayed. A receipt from the coffee shop, crumpled and discarded. A strand of hair caught in the strap of your backpack.

Each item is cataloged and stored in a small box beneath his bed, a grotesque shrine to the person you’ll never realize he’s built.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who upgrades his “research” to something darker. He creates a fake identity to join your online study group, posing as a fellow student struggling with the material. It gives him access to your unfiltered thoughts, your casual messages and inside jokes.

The first time you reply to his fake account with a laughing emoji, his heart races. He hates himself for it, for the pathetic thrill it gives him, but he keeps going.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who hated you because you didn’t need him. You were brilliant in your own quiet way, a top student who never flaunted your achievements. You had what he lacked: empathy. Warmth. The ability to be seen without being scrutinized.

But the more he learns, the more he realizes something crucial:

He doesn’t want to study you anymore. He wants to control you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who justifies it all as self-preservation. You’re the one invading his mind, disrupting his focus, ruining his carefully constructed life. If he could just fix you—if he could break you down into something manageable, something his mind could dominate—then he’d finally have peace.

But until then, he’ll keep collecting his data, keep tightening the web around you. Because in his world, nothing is left unresolved.

And you, his most maddening equation, will not be the exception.

———

♡ Yandere! Nerd who loathes admitting weakness—especially emotions as primal and irrational as jealousy. To him, emotions are nothing but noise, disrupting the signal of his perfectly calibrated mind. But when he sees you with the student council president, laughing, leaning close, sharing those little stolen moments, that noise becomes deafening.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who bristles at the mere sight of him. The president, all polished charm and perfect manners, standing too close to you, lingering too long in your orbit. It’s infuriating how you light up around him, your shy, carefully guarded smiles breaking into easy laughter. It’s infuriating how he can’t simply classify this feeling as irrational anger.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who watches the subtle chemistry between you and the president unfold like a slow-motion car crash. The president’s hand brushing yours as he passes you a folder. The way he leans in slightly when you speak, as though hanging on your every word. And worst of all, the way you don’t pull away.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whose jealousy turns into something darker when he overhears the president call you “special.”

It’s a simple word, tossed casually into a conversation, but it ignites a fire in his chest that he can’t put out. Special? You’re special to him? No, that’s wrong. That’s his word for you, even if he’s never dared to say it out loud.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who recognizes his jealousy with clinical detachment. He hates you for making him feel this way—off-kilter, vulnerable, human. He hates the president even more for daring to tread on what’s his, for invading the carefully cultivated space he’s built around you.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who tells himself it’s not jealousy—it’s concern. He’s only protecting you from someone who might not have your best interests at heart. After all, the president isn’t as perfect as he seems. He’s seen the cracks in that polished facade, the weaknesses he could exploit if necessary.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins to sabotage the president in small, insidious ways. A corrupted file here, a misplaced document there. Minor inconveniences that disrupt the president’s perfect image, planting seeds of doubt in those around him.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who knows this isn’t sustainable. The jealousy, the hatred, the dark fantasies that creep into his mind every time he sees you with the president—it’s all spiraling out of control. He needs to act, to take back the control that’s slipping through his fingers.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who tells himself he doesn’t need you to love him back. He just needs to remove the variables—the distractions, the threats.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who begins plotting his next move with the cold, calculating precision of a scientist. Because if he can’t have you, no one else will.

———

♡ Yandere! Nerd finally went through with his main plan, a way to make you see him, to make you need him. He pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, his heart racing as he approached you. "Tonight," he murmured to himself, "I'll finally get what I deserve."

With meticulous care, he mixed the potent sleeping agent into the cup of drink you'd left on your nightstand. It was your favorite. He knew it was your go-to drink for winding down after a long day.

As your eyelids grew heavy and your breathing deepened, he approached you, his steps silent on the plush carpet. He set the drugged tea aside and gently lifted your limp body, placing you in the center of the bed. He couldn't help but admire you, the way you looked so innocent, so vulnerable.

It was intoxicating, and he felt a perverse sense of satisfaction knowing he was about to shatter that purity.

♡ Yandere! Nerd undressed you with trembling hands, his eyes greedily taking in every curve and line of your body. You stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent under your breath, but the drugs held firm. He took his time, savoring each moment as he stripped away your layers of clothing. When you were bare, he stepped back to appreciate his handiwork, his erection straining against his pants. He felt like a sculptor revealing a masterpiece hidden beneath a layer of marble.

With a predatory smile, he unbuckled his belt and stepped closer to the bed. He leaned over you, his breath hot against your neck. "Do you know how much I've wanted this?" he whispered, his voice thick with lust. You murmured something indistinct, lost in the fog of the drugs. "No," he chuckled, "you don't. But you will."

♡ Yandere! Nerd grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. His teeth grazed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that you couldn't control. You whimpered, a sound that only served to excite him further. He didn't need your consent—not really. You were his to use, to break, to shape into the perfect specimen. His hands roamed over your body, leaving bruises in their wake as he explored every inch of your skin. Each touch was a declaration of ownership, a promise of what was to come.

He positioned himself between your legs, his eyes glittering with a dark excitement as he took in your unconscious form. His hands, rough and calloused from countless hours in the gym and lab, caressed your inner thighs, spreading them apart with a gentle cruelty.

You were his now, a blank canvas for his twisted desires. He didn't bother with foreplay; your pleasure was inconsequential. It was all about the thrill of taking what he wanted.

With a grunt, he plunged into you, his thick cock stretching your sleep-loosened pussy. You gasped, a sound that was half-moan, half-whimper, as he filled you completely.

♡ Yandere! Nerd didn't bother to hold back, his hips slamming into yours with the precision of a machine. You were just a receptacle for his lust, a means to an end. Each thrust was a declaration of dominance, a silent claim that you belonged to him and him alone.

As he fucked you, he whispered sweet nothings into your ear—degrading names that made your skin crawl.

"Dumb fucking slut," he murmured, his voice a dark symphony that seemed to echo in the quiet room. "You're mine now. No one else will ever touch you like this." His words were a blend of anger and adoration, a twisted love letter to the girl who'd unwittingly captured his attention.

Your body responded despite the haze of the drugs. You arched your back, the sensation of him inside you overwhelming even through the fog. Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear, but your body was his plaything, reacting on instinct alone.

♡ Yandere! Nerd noticed your involuntary movements and smirked, his strokes becoming more deliberate, more punishing.

"That's it," he cooed, his breath hot against your skin. "You love it, don't you? Being used like a cheap slut."

As he pounded into you, he reached for his phone, the screen casting a harsh blue light across the room.

♡ Yandere! Nerd began to record, capturing every moan and whimper, every tear that slipped from your closed eyes. He'd study this footage later, memorize your reactions, learn what made you squirm and beg.

It was all for science, for understanding. But deep down, he knew it was more than that—it was about power.

Your legs trembled around him, a silent plea for mercy that went unheard. You were lost in the haze of the drugs, unable to form coherent thoughts. The only reality was the relentless pressure building inside you, the way his cock filled and emptied you with a rhythm that seemed to echo through your soul. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, a nightmare wrapped in the guise of pleasure.

♡ Yandere! Nerd reached down and pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers as he watched your face contort with pain.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. You tried to focus on him through the fog, your glazed eyes fluttering open to meet his. He was so close, his face a twisted mask of desire and something else—something darker.

"You're mine," he said again, his voice a hiss in the quiet room. "You're mine to fuck, to use, to break."

♡ Yandere! Nerd grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his as he continued to fuck you with a ferocity that seemed to come from a place beyond obsession. His hand was slick with the sweat that coated your body, his grip tight as he held you in place.

The camera's cold eye recorded everything, the unblinking gaze of his twisted love. He leaned in closer, his breath hot on your face as he whispered, "Look at how much I own you, bitch."

Your eyes rolled back in your head, a silent protest to the waves of pain and pleasure that crashed over you. His other hand reached down to rub at your clit, his movements rough and unyielding.

♡ Yandere! Nerd watched with clinical interest as your body responded, his own pleasure mounting with each twitch and jerk of your hips.

"You're going to cum for me," he said, his voice a dark promise. "You're going to cum and show me how much you love being used."

You feel his hand leave your chin, instead wrapping around your throat, squeezing just tight enough to cut off your air, but not enough to cause you to pass out. His eyes bore into yours, demanding your full attention. your vision swims, and your breath hitches as he continues to thrust into you.

His other hand is still on your clit, the harsh strokes matching the rhythm of his hips. Each time you're about to slip away into unconsciousness, he loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to gasp for breath. The mix of oxygen deprivation and intense pleasure is a heady cocktail, making your body respond in ways you never knew it could.

The drugs he'd administered had reached their peak effectiveness, plunging you into a state of absolute vulnerability.

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your body went slack as he continued his brutal assault, his cock hammering into your swollen, abused pussy with a merciless rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of agony crashing through you, but your mind was too far gone to process it as anything other than a distant sensation.

You were nothing more than a ragdoll in his grip, a toy for his sadistic pleasure.

♡ Yandere! Nerd whispers lowly, "You're so fucking beautiful like this," his voice thick with lust as he watched your body spasm beneath him.

"So dumb and helpless. It's like you're begging for it." He leaned in, his teeth grazing your ear as he spoke, his breath hot and moist.

"You love this, don't you, bitch? Being fucked by someone who sees through all your bullshit?" His hand tightened around your throat, cutting off your air once again.

Your body succumbs to the overwhelming stimulation, a series of intense orgasms rip through you, one after the other. You're too high and too intoxicated to fully understand what's happening, but the raw pleasure is undeniable.

You feel like a marionette with cut strings, your body responding to his touch without thought or resistance.

Each time you climax, a strangled gasp escapes your throat, your eyes rolling back in your head as your back arches off the bed.

♡ Yandere! Nerd watches with a mix of triumph and fascination, his own pleasure building as he takes in your complete and utter surrender.

"Good girl," he murmurs, the praise sticking in your throat like a knife. "Take it all for me." His strokes become more erratic as his own orgasm approaches, his breath hitching in his chest.

The hand around your throat tightens, the pressure increasing until your vision starts to fade. Just when you think you can't handle anymore, he slams into you one last time, his body stiffening as he cums deep inside you. He holds you there, his cock pulsing, his grip on your throat unyielding until he's drained himself completely.

With a sick sense of satisfaction, he watches the last twitches of your body as the drugs overtake you fully.

♡ Yandere! Nerd withdraws his cock, already planning the next round of his twisted experiment. His eyes rake over your limp form, noticing the way your breasts rise and fall with each shallow breath, the way your pussy glistens with his cum and your own juices.

He can't resist the urge to touch you, to play with his new toy, so he starts snapping pictures and recording videos, capturing every inch of your exposed flesh from various angles.

♡ Yandere! Nerd positions your unresponsive body into various degrading poses, each one more obscene than the last.

The camera clicks away, capturing every angle as he spreads your legs wide and fills your pussy with his cum. His eyes never leave the viewfinder as he watches the white fluid ooze out of you, painting your thighs and stomach with his ownership.

He's methodical in his approach, treating you like a living, breathing doll. With each picture and video taken, his arousal builds, his cock swelling and pulsing with the need to claim you again.

"Wake up," he whispers, his voice a dark promise.

♡ Yandere! Nerd slaps your cheek harshly, leaving a vivid red handprint, before he waits for any sign of consciousness. When you don't respond, he sighs and shakes his head.

"Too much, huh?" He reaches down and slaps you again, this time harder. "You're going to learn to wake up for me." His hand travels down to your clit, giving it a cruel pinch that makes your body jerk despite your unconscious state.

With your unconscious body still splayed out before him, the his hunger is far from satisfied. He takes a moment to appreciate the scene, his cock standing erect and gleaming with lust.

♡ Yandere! Nerd shifts you onto your stomach, the soft curves of your ass begging for his attention. He lines himself up with your wet, puckered hole and slams into you without warning, the sound of his hips slapping against your flesh echoing through the room.

He groans in pleasure as he feels the tightness of your ass clench around him, the drugs in your system making you even more pliable and responsive than usual.

"You're going to love this," he murmurs, his voice low and menacing as he starts to fuck you roughly. Each thrust is punctuated by a smack to your ass, the sound of his hand connecting with your flesh filling the room.

You whimper in your sleep, the pain and pleasure mixing together in your hazy mind. He reaches around to play with your clit, his rough fingers bringing you closer to the edge of consciousness with each pass. "You're so tight," he grunts, his teeth gritted with effort. "So fucking tight."

♡ Yandere! Nerd flips you over again, your limp body now lying on your back, your legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He takes a moment to capture the perfect shot of your exposed pussy, the way your swollen lips are parted and dripping with cum and your own arousal. He's in no rush; he's got all night.

For hours, he treats your body like a fuck-toy, his cock sliding in and out of you in a series of depraved positions that he's been dreaming about for so long.

The camera captures everything—the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, the arch of your back as he takes you from behind, the way your eyes roll back in your head even in your drug-induced slumber.

♡ Yandere! Nerd continues to whisper degrading names in your ear, calling you his little fuckdoll, his rape toy, his property. His hand tightens around your neck, his other hand playing with your clit, your body responding to his touch despite your lack of consciousness.

♡ Yandere! Nerd takes you in every conceivable way, his cock a blur as he snaps photos and records videos for his twisted collection. He loves the way your body reacts to him, the way your pussy clenches around him when you're on the brink of an involuntary orgasm.

It's like watching a science experiment unfold before his very eyes, a symphony of pain and pleasure that he's orchestrated to perfection.

And the best part? You'll never remember a thing.

"Mm, you're so obedient when you're like this," he says, his voice thick with lust as he pulls out of your ass and flips you onto your stomach again.

♡ Yandere! Nerd spreads your cheeks wide, his cock sliding through your folds as his hand grips your mouth. "Open up, bitch. Time to swallow your medicine."

With a sadistic smirk, he positions his cock at your open, drooling mouth. He's already painted your cheeks and chin with his cum, a grotesque mask of his dominance. Your eyes remain closed, lashes fluttering with the fading aftermath of your forced orgasms. He pushes the tip of his cock past your lips, watching them stretch around his girth.

♡ Yandere! Nerd films as he slams his cock down your throat, watching the way your cheeks bulge with each thrust. Your tongue is limp and unresponsive, but it doesn't matter—the sight of your mouth filled with his cum is all he needs.

He holds your head steady, pushing deeper and deeper until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag around his length. He loves the sound, the way your body fights against his intrusion even as you lie there, helpless and drugged.

"That's it," he croons, his eyes glinting with malicious pleasure. "Swallow it all for me. Show me how much of a good rape toy you can be." He keeps fucking your mouth, his hips snapping against your face with increasing ferocity. You're just a vessel for his pleasure, a receptacle for his anger and frustration.

♡ Yandere! Nerd pulls out with a wet pop, leaving your mouth gaping and coated in his seed. He takes a moment to admire the view before sliding his cock back into your pussy, groaning as he feels your wet warmth envelop him once more. He's lost in his own depraved world, the camera capturing every sickening detail of his violation.

"Look at you," he says, his voice a mix of disgust and admiration.

"You're just a mindless fuck-doll when you're like this." He fists your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of bites that you'll feel tomorrow, a constant reminder of his power over you.

"But tomorrow, you'll go back to being the perfect little student, won't you?" He bites down harder, making you whimper in your sleep. "You'll sit in class with no idea that you're mine."

His camera clicks away as he captures every depraved moment of his violation. Your unconscious moans and whimpers fill the room, a testament to his cruel touch.

♡ Yandere! Nerd records from various angles, making sure to get close-ups of your gaping mouth and the way your eyes water around his cock. His hands are rough, holding you in place as he uses your body for his own sick pleasure. The camera zooms in on your throat as he fucks your face, the veins bulging as he forces himself deeper and deeper.

He pulls out of your mouth with a wet, gagging sound, your saliva and cum dripping down your chin. He smirks at the pathetic mess you've become under his control.

Grabbing a back-up phone, he takes several more pictures of your face—your swollen, bitten lips, your tear-stained cheeks, the drool pooling around your chin. Then he moves lower, taking shots of your bruised pussy and asshole, both gaping open and leaking his cum. He zooms in on the mess he's made of you, capturing every detail with a disturbing sense of pride.

♡ Yandere! Nerd continues his sadistic play, his hand moving to your throat once more as he whispers his degrading comments into your ear. "You're nothing but a damn pornstar, aren't you?"

He leans in closer, his hot breath tickling your ear. "Look at you, trying to wake up. Don't worry, I'll make sure you won't remember a thing, prostitute."

With a chuckle, he slaps you across the face—hard enough to leave a red handprint, but not hard enough to rouse you fully. The sound echoes through the room, a stark contrast to the muffled squelches of your forced union.

———

♡ Yandere! Nerd who finally admitted it to himself in the aftermath of this night, in the suffocating silence of his apartment. It wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t admiration. It was possession. You didn’t belong in a world that appreciated you.

You belonged to him, as a dumb fuckdoll for him to use and discard as he pleases.

♡ Yandere! Nerd who never intended for it to go this far. But as he crouched over your crumpled form, his hand brushing the soft curve of your cheek, he realized there was no going back.

“Do you see me now, fuckdoll?” he murmured, his voice growling with a strange mix of triumph and obsession.

And, he was still far from done. He has all night, and more.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth

[the-original-skipps]

|| Dinner? A Bath? Or Me? || Honkai Star Rail Reactions ||

the thing I did for windbreaker imma do it for hsr too mehehehe just experimenting if this is well received I’ll do more

: aventurine. dr.ratio. sunday. dan heng. phainon. mydei.

cw: hints of sexual content. suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness (first time writing for some of these characters). art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

"Welcome home! Would you like dinner? A bath? Or perhaps me...?"

❥ Aventurine stills for a moment before his signature smile graces his face. You can already feel his mischievousness radiating off of him in waves as he steps closer to you, to stand directly in front of you. He acts as if he's in deep contemplation at your words. "Dinner does sound nice, I'm absolutely famished! Though, a nice hot bath does sound equally as enticing." He says with a playful mirth, trying to gauge your reaction. He's quick to notice the slight down pull of your lips - as expected of you, his smile grows wider. "Ah, the third option?" He asks like an afterthought but you know it's intentional. His face inching closer to yours while his gloved hand teasingly trails up your arm. His eyes lock you into a hypnotic trance that you can't possibly look away from. 

"Hmm and what might you be able to offer me...?"

❥ Dr. Ratio's face is serious as he digests your question. "Dinner followed by a bath would sound like the most logical option." He tells you as if he's stating a basic fact which causes you to deflate. "However..." You perk up at his words. "Exercising before eating has been known to lead to improved insulin responses and a higher fat burning rate." He speaks to you as he walks past you towards the hallway of your shared home. You feel your face grow how at his implication and use of the word 'exercising'. Then he suddenly stops to look back at you, his reddish eyes locking onto you. "Why don't we do a little exercising before dinner?" The atmosphere in the room shifting with the implication of his words. His face remains serious as he motions you to follow him.

"I simply chose the option with the most merits, that would be beneficial for the both of us."

❥ Sunday blanks out as he tries to process your words and the possible meaning behind them. As he eliminates all possible answers and lands on the one you’re most likely insinuating. His face starts to flush - his wings twitching from the urge to hide his face. "By ‘me’, are you possibly implying...?" Sunday manages to stutter out as he shyly looks towards you - awaiting your confirmation. You can't help but laugh softly at his question before nodding. Sunday matches your nod with his own letting the words sink in. The halovian hesitantly steps closer to you, taking your hands in his. "Then, may I h-have you...?" He asks you a slight nervousness laced within his voice as he brings your hands for his lips brush against your knuckles. A smile blossoms on his face as you accept. 

"T-Thank you, I promise to take good care of you..."

❥ Dan Heng freezes as you ask him this question. Keeping his face as neutral as possible. Your words immediately reminding him of a certain grey haired friend. He wonders if it was their idea to make you pose this kind of question to him. His eyes nervously shift around the room to make sure they’re really not hiding, watching his reaction. Once Dan Heng confirms the coast is clear, he clears his throat awkwardly looking away from you in embarrassment. The full weight of your words and intentions hitting him at once. “Sorry, I-I must have heard you wrong. Did you say ‘me’..?” You eagerly confirm, a smile beaming on your face. He pauses as he considers his next words, trying to come up with possible answers to your question. Your prolonged silence as you await his answer makes his cheeks grow redder by the second.

“I s-suppose one of those options does sound appealing to me…”

❥ Phainon couldn't contain the excited smile that breaks out on his face at your words. He immediately walks up to you, but before you could react to his sudden closeness. His hands hook underneath your thighs, lifting you to his press against his chest. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. Feeling pleased, Phainon chuckles at your reaction. “Why, my dear. I believe the answer should be obvious.” He answers you with a bright smile as he walks over to the dining table, then carefully placing you upon it. He then places his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face as if you're his most prized possession. Your body tensing as the pad of his thumb brushes against your button lip - his previous smile turning into a smirk. 

“You don’t even need to ask, the answer will always be you.”

❥ Mydei smirks, a deep resounding chuckle rumbling from his chest. “How bold of you to ask me such a thing.” He proclaims as he slowly walks towards you like a lion stalking his prey. His crimson eyes rooting you to the spot, daring you to even try to move away from him. “I don’t think dinner can satisfy the hunger I have right now.” He almost growls to you, as if he's trying his best to hold himself back from pouncing on you right now. As you momentarily look away from him in embarrassment, he uses his fingers to tilt your chin up. "Eyes on me." He orders, his eyes swirling with want while his other hand holds your waist to pull you until you're pressed against him. You feel your breath stolen away with how quickly his lips descend upon yours.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

[garbagechocolate]

Sometimes I just need these affirmation posts to remind me that I'm not going to lose everything in a matter of days. It comforts me a little to be reminded what friends are supposed to do. Past experiences have been horrible but I think, for the most part, I'm surrounded by people who care, and are willing to talk things out.

Unlike a certain SOMEONE who suddenly BLOCKED me after I thought we MADE UP?! AND APPRENTLY BROKE UP WITH THE ENTIRE FRIEND GROUP. WHAT.

Anyway ermmmm how to contribute to this conversation

Have difficult talks with your friends. Set your boundaries and when crossed, discuss those boundaries. If you never tell your friends what early rough patches come up, you'll never be able to fix anything once it snowballs. Of course, you can keep things private, they aren't your closest connection, after all. But if it's something that's actively hindering their/your ability to have fun with each other, it's probably best to loosen up.

This applies to adult and minor friendships too btw- yeah a adult is supposed to be responsible but for the most part (depending on the age gap) don't patronize your minor friends. It makes them feel small and irrelevant.

the commodification of friendship is the most annoying thing to come out of the internet in ages. like actually i love to break this to you but you're supposed to help your friends move even if it's hard work. or stay up with them when they're sad even if you're gonna lose sleep. you're supposed to listen to their fears and sorrows even if it means your own mind takes on a little bit of that weight. that's how you know that you care. they will drive you to the airport and then you will make them soup when they're sick. you're supposed to make small sacrifices for them and they are supposed to do that for you. and there's actually gonna be rough patches for both of you where the balance will be uneven and you will still be friends and it will not be unhealthy and they will not be abusive. life is not meant to be an endless prioritization of our own comfort if it was we would literally never get anywhere ever. jesus.

[genderqueerdykes]

okay but i just literally don't get why people in the trans community WANT to fight. like what the fuck? we're supposed to be hanging out, sharing experiences, empowering each other, lifting each other up, providing a listening ear, providing meaningful support, swapping clothes, dating each other, taking each other to their doctors' appointments, making sure no one goes homeless or hungry, helping each other get on HRT and find surgeons, moving in together, cooking for each other, house sitting each others pets, watching sunsets and growing old together. like. THAT is what a community is.

who genuinely WANTS to fight all day long? why? that's literally not productive OR enjoyable. it just makes you miserable. why do you WANT that? if you think its because you and other people deserve to suffer, you gotta get over your catholic guilt. nobody deserves to suffer just because things in the world suck. we are supposed to be liberating each other from our suffering, not grabbing each others heads and fucking drowning one another in an ocean of goddamn despair for the rest of our lives.

we are NOT supposed to be tearing each other down! that doesn't make any sense! why is that what you want to do with your time? why is this a good idea? like that thought literally, actually blows my mind. who wakes up in the morning and goes "ah yes i think harassing a mentally ill teenager online is a great use of my time."

who the hell does that? and why are we framing that as "community." that's literally the exact opposite. communities come together, not tear each other apart. embrace trans and queer joy. get down off the soap box of suffering for a few hours and do something that enriches your soul and affirms your identity. instead of fighting with other people to try to validate your identity, try just being yourself. it's a way better life to live. you'll be so much happier actually just being yourself instead of trying to control how other people see themselves. that's none of your business, you're not them, and you never will be.

[ihfmseatsoch]

He's sick, and he's taken, but honest 🚀🌠

Grant Curly x fem!intern!reader

Summary: Stuck in an unhappy marriage, Curly's new intern brings some much needed excitement into his stagnant life.

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

warnings/content: cheating, (legal) age gap, a lot of pining, curly is #depressed, semi public sex

—

Marriage is a common life goal most people aim to achieve. Curly was one of them, believing it'd give his life purpose. He'd have someone special to come home to after a long haul, maybe even a couple children in the future. He'd have a family that'd mitigate his loneliness, and he'd feel more accomplished as a human being. Lord knows his career would ever give him that feeling.

That fantasy turned out to be nothing like he anticipated. Everyone always talks about married life like it's some cushy, idealistic dream, so it's only natural that he expected... more. Something fulfilling.

Maybe it's because he rushed into it. Slapped a ring on the first girl he thought could be "the one", because he didn't want to waste his twenties being alone and single, while his other friends were already hosting baby showers and inviting him to weddings. He didn't want to feel out of place, and honestly, he was a little too desperate for normalcy. Stability. Whatever settling down brings you.

No one tells you what you're supposed to do when "the one" isn't who you thought they were. When "the one" becomes bored of you in less than a year, and you're forced to spend the next decade attempting to relive your honeymoon phase, rekindle the initial spark you and your spouse once had.

In the end, it was all fruitless.

One sided arguments were frequent, Curly typically too worn down to shout back at his wife, who's nagging him about something he did, or didn't do. Most of the time, Curly finds himself dissociating throughout the bombardment of verbal assault, which causes her to accuse him of not caring about their relationship, due to his lack of a reaction.

And, perhaps there's some truth to her claim. He cares enough to stay, but... does he want to continue putting in the effort to make their failure of a marriage work? Was their partnership worth trying to salvage?

The answer was a resounding no. Not anymore. Curly came to realize that he stayed out of obligation, not out of genuine love.

At least when he was piloting the Tulpar for over a year, it was a reprieve from his home life. He never thought he'd consider his job to be equivalent to a vacation of sorts, but that's where he is in his pitiful existence.

It wasn't until Curly was informed that an intern would be assigned to work alongside him, that the painstaking boredom of his routine was replaced with a breath of fresh air. Initially, he fully expected the new responsibility of tutoring someone more inexperienced than him to be a hassle.

But as soon as he set his sights on you, a pretty young thing with the aura of an angel, the thought of spending every waking moment with you didn't seem so bad. Not bad at all. You captivated him completely, which caused a bit of guilt to stir deep inside his stomach. He shouldn't be thinking of another woman this way, especially not one that was just learning how to say their first word by the time he was in highschool.

But god, were you entrancing. The most beautiful girl he'd seen in a long time. Curly felt worse than terrible for finding you more physically appealing than his own wife back on Earth, but you were so much sweeter than her, listened to him so intently, hanging on his every word as he explained the how the controls in the cockpit functioned, your compliments on his knowledge and experience going straight to his ego—

Oh, he was doomed. Utterly fucked.

"I don't think I'll ever be as good of a Captain as you, Grant." You spoke humbly, referring to him by his first name, ever so polite and respectful. Even if the rest of the crew called him Curly, you insisted on formalities. He was your boss, after all. That's part of what he appreciated about you.

How mature you were for your age.

"Don't be so sure 'bout that," He shot you one of his signature smiles, charming, but not quite reaching his eyes. "You've got a lot of potential, more than most kids your age. And it's not about bein' as good as me, y'know. You've gotta pave your own path. Learn at your own pace."

You had that usual expression on your face whenever he gave you a bit of his wisdom, which was truthfully just him parroting back what his brain had absorbed from the Polle posters with bland motivational quotes scattered around the ship, simplistic and cliché. Your eyes were locked onto him, focused, and beautiful as ever. You took him so seriously, it was almost a little silly. Sure, he was an authority figure, but he wanted to be more of a friend to you, rather than your superior.

"Just 'cause I'm younger than you doesn't make me a kid." You tease him a bit, and he's glad you're finally comfortable enough with him to do so.

"Right, my mistake," he chuckled, "Forgot I'm dealin' with a grown woman here. Forgive me."

"Forgiven." You quip back with a short laugh of your own. Fuck, you were cute. Such a pretty little smile, lips soft and kissable, practically begging him to smash his own against them, to bite, taste, and lick, until they were swollen and red from the aftermath.

Blinking a couple times, he clears his throat. Not now, Curly, he chastises himself. Get a grip. This stupid crush was completely inappropriate. Unethical. So why couldn't he brush his lustful fantasies aside, if he was aware how wrong they were? Why was he treating his life partner as an afterthought, willingly allowing himself to be ensnared by you?

He thought pumping his aching cock in slow, deliberate strokes, late at night in the privacy of his quarters, thinking of that tempting mouth of yours full of him, taking every inch of his shaft down your throat, running your hot, wet tongue along the length from base to tip, would make all those feelings go away. He doesn't know how long it's been since him and his wife have been intimate, he just needed some relief. Right?

Even after he spilled a thick load of cum all over his muscular stomach, abs softened from months of inactivity, he still wanted you. In fact, it only made his desire for you worsen, blossoming by the second. You were an insatiable craving he couldn't ignore. Not until he got a taste.

Curly didn't want to creep on you, but how was he ever going to initiate anything? Were you even interested in him in that way? How could he even suggest anything so uncouth, so perverted, especially as your boss? He wasn't a man who took advantage of power dynamics. Confessing how he felt towards you could jeopardize his position if you took it the wrong way, or, at the very least, damage the relationship he's been steadily building with you.

Instead of being upfront, he maintained an air of casualness when asking about your personal life. It was all normal, at first, asking about your parents, your upbringing, social circle...

And, eventually, he felt as if it wouldn't feel awkward if he inquired about a possible romantic partner, since the question was on topic. "You got anyone waitin' on you back on Earth?" He broached the subject with feigned nonchalance, hoping you don't take the question as too invasive. He felt the need to backpedal, his confidence wavering. "You don't gotta tell me, if that's too personal. Just curious."

"No, nothing like that." You answer, looking down at the coffee in your mug, not particularly interested in drinking any more of it. The first, very disappointing sip was enough. "Huh." Curly made a mild sound of surprise at your response. He fully expected someone to have snatched you up before him.

The fact that you were available made him feel a sense of relief, but also... worse, in a way. There was nothing holding him back from shooting his shot with you, no one in the way. No one to stop him from possibly making a horrible decision. Besides his wife, but... in all honesty, he suspects she's not being all that faithful back on his home planet.

"What about you?" Your question catches him off guard for a moment. Had he really not mentioned that he was married? Not once? He has to think fast. He has the opportunity to lie, or be honest with you. On one hand, the less you know, the better. On the other, telling the truth would prevent anything from happening between you two.

Steeling himself, he quickly makes up his mind, deciding that he can't bring himself to be dishonest. You'd find out eventually. "I'm married." Curly admits plainly, unable to force any kind of joy into his tone. He doesn't even smile, or look proud, like most husbands would when speaking about their wives. When did he become such a shithead, he wonders.

"You don't seem too happy about it." You immediately notice how... depressed he looks at the very mention of his spouse. Catching yourself being a little too blunt, you follow up with, "Um– not that I'm implying anything! Sorry..."

He sighs, dejected, tiredly rubbing his face, as if he could wipe the evident dissatisfaction clean off. The crushing weight of pretending everything's fine and dandy is catching up to him. "Nah, don't apologize. You're not wrong." He confesses out loud for the first time, even to himself. "Goin' through a rough patch. Have been for a long time."

Curly can hardly look at the raw, genuine sympathy on your face. He doesn't want you to pity him. He doesn't want anyone to. That's why he's hidden his marital problems from everyone he knows. Besides Jimmy, that is, but he's not the best guy to vent to, and Curly's only told him bits and pieces, to which Jimmy responds with the oh so helpful advice to simply get a divorce, like it's that easy.

"Sorry to hear that." You place a tender hand on his broad shoulder in a comforting manner. "I know what it's like, being in a shitty relationship. You can always talk to me about it, if you need to."

He can't help but melt into the display of physical affection, no longer used to feeling a loving touch. It was refreshing to experience genuine compassion for once. With a forced, half-hearted smile, he speaks solemnly, "Nah, don't wanna bother ya' with my problems. I appreciate it though, really."

Curly doesn't mention anything else about his personal life for a while, too embarrassed by the smidgen of vulnerability he showed you. He's supposed to be the Captain. The strong one. The guy who has his shit together. He can't let anyone know he's the opposite of who he presents himself to be.

But having you around has made him feel emotions he hasn't experienced in god knows how long. Plus, you're good company. A good friend. You make him feel alive again.

You're exactly what he needs.

Maybe he idealized you a bit, but how could he not? You were perfect to him, delicately handcrafted by angels, everything about you so sugary sweet that his teeth hurt just thinking about you. It came to a point where he genuinely wanted you to stay in his life for good, because without you, he's sure the vitality you instilled in him would fade, and he'd immediately wilt like a neglected houseplant; visibly half-dead and parched in the corner of the room, but no one takes the time to tend to it, or even acknowledge it's suffering.

His yearning became palpable, affecting the very atmosphere whenever you two were left alone. Curly had asked you to demonstrate what you've learned so far, and as you listed off the proper names of each button, lever, dial, and switch, summarizing your basic aviation knowledge, he simply couldn't focus on your words. Didn't need to, actually. He already knew you were smart enough to fly the ship yourself, so he took the time to just... admire you.

You were the epitome of light, brightening his days, no matter how dreary.

What he would give to have you sat in his lap as he mentored you, his hands guiding your own as you learned how to take the controls, whispering instructions into your ear just to watch your cheeks flush with warm blood, and listen to the way your breathing hitches when he pulls your body closer–

"Grant?" Your voice brought him out of his own head. Must've spaced out again. He's gotta stop doing that... "You're looking at me weird. I don't sound dumb, do I?"

Curly realizes he's been staring at you with a dopey, lovesick expression for way too long, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, feeling like an idiot for acting this way. "No, no. You're doin' great. Ain't you, just... haven't gotten a proper night's rest in a good while." That's a half-lie. Sure, he hasn't been sleeping well, but that's every night. Not much of a difference there. The only problem here is him and his lack of self restraint.

If only you knew how hard he's struggled to not shove his tongue down your throat.

"Something keeping you up?" You lean in closer, so willing to listen to his problems and carry his woes in your two shoulders. He can't tell you the truth. Can he? You're a good person, much better than he is. You wouldn't want to be with a married man.

Then again, he doesn't want to lie to you. It's been so difficult to hold back from declaring his feelings for you, it's eating away at his insides, tearing him apart little by little.

Guilt weighs heavily upon him like an anchor tied to his neck, pulling him to the bottom of the lake. "...Yeah," He swallows, "S'pose there is." He keeps his voice low, sounding immensely ashamed, like a child confessing to eating a dozen cookies before dinner.

"Talk to me." You urge, so oblivious to the cause of his inner turmoil. It's now or never. He either screws this up so irreparably bad, or you accept him and his shame.

Curly takes a deep breath, before forcing it all out in a quick, rushed jumble of words.

"I– fuck, don't think badly of me for this. I can't stop thinkin' about you. Can't get you outta my head, no matter how hard I try. I know it's wrong, god, do I know, but you're... you're just so..." He trails off, his own humiliation cutting his sentence short, and he mentally prepares for the worst rejection of his life.

An awkwardly long silence falls between you, as you take the time to process his confession. He looks like a broken man in front of you, unable to make eye contact, his hands clasped together, sweaty with fear.

"Grant..." You start, unsure how to go about this situation. "I'm glad you told me, and– and I like you too, I really do. But... your wife..." You bite your lip, bashful, never expecting yourself to develop feelings towards a married man of all people.

His heart sinks like a stone as you bring up the woman whom he had vowed eternal loyalty to. He exhales shakily, avoiding your eyes. "I know. Just... me and her... ain't been the same as it used to. Not for a long time."

"I'm sorry." Your heart swells with empathy, wondering why anyone would dare to mistreat a man like him. He's nothing but a sweetheart in your eyes. Flawed, yes, but so is everyone. "I... I don't think I'll make you happy, though. And... being the other woman, it'd feel... wrong. Even under these circumstances."

He nods, silently agreeing with you. It would be downright horrible of him to cheat on his wife, especially with a younger woman who he has a position of authority over. A position of trust and responsibility. A position in which he can easily take advantage of you if he really wanted to. Isn't that a sickening thought.

He's supposed to be better than this. Stronger than this. But he doesn't feel much like a good man right now. Feels like he's drowning.

You sigh at his silence, taking his clammy hands into your own. Your heart hammers against your chest wall. The forbidden aspect of the entire situation is adrenaline inducing. His sad puppy eyes make you feel awful for rejecting him, but if you two started anything, it'd end up a terrible mess.

Yet, you can't stop your body from inching even closer to him.

"I don't want you to be unhappy." You tell him, speaking quietly, as if to avoid eavesdroppers.

He knows he's supposed to pull away, to do the right thing for once. But when has he ever done the right thing when it comes to you? He dares to look into your eyes and his body tenses. You're so close, near enough to where he can see himself reflected in your dilated pupils.

This is wrong.

"You're too damn sweet for your own good," he murmurs, gaze flicking down to your lips, "Ain't makin' this easier for me."

It doesn't take long for the tension between the both of you to become unbearable, your hand finding his scruffy cheek to pull him towards you, practically smashing your lips to his. His beard tickles you as you kiss, but it doesn't deter you from allowing him to ravage your mouth.

A deep, almost guttural sound of desire rumbling out from his chest. The kiss is messy and desperate, bordering on hungry, starved of the affection you're giving him in this moment. He doesn't hesitate to hoist you up by your waist, sitting you down on the console, the sudden movement eliciting a surprised squeak from you, the sound muffled inside of his mouth.

Pulling away for air and a moment to compose yourself, your lips coated with a sheer layer of own another's saliva, you stare into each other's eyes as you breathe heavily, his large hands gripping your hips to keep you balanced and supported on the surface. "Grant..." You breathe his name, unable to come up with anything else to say in your dazed state of mind.

"You have no idea," he begins, huskily, "How fucking bad I want you." His firm tone makes your thighs press together, a jolt of arousal hitting you right in the gut. It's not the first time you've heard him speak in an authoritative voice, and it's not the first time it's made you fantasize about him using it... somewhere more private.

"The... The door isn't... locked." You point out, still apprehensive despite your growing need. Dipping his head into the slope of your neck, he mumbles against your skin, "Think you can be quiet, then?"

You don't think twice before you nod, even though you're truthfully unsure if you'll be able to hold back from crying out and alerting the others. Only one way to find out. He presses his groin to yours, the friction making your clit twitch as he makes direct contact with the clothed nerve. Curly's dick is already hard, straining through his uniform, and you can feel just how massive he is, even through the fabric.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he rasps, zipping his uniform down hastily, "You want this, yeah?" It was sweet how he asked for your consent, as if you two weren't already in the foreplay stage. You nod to ease his worries, pulling your own coveralls down, revealing the pajama shirt underneath, embarrassingly old and tattered. But you didn't exactly imagine you'd be fucking your mentor today, so there was no reason you would've thought to change into something sexier. You didn't even bring anything sexy on board. It's this or nothing at all, not that he seems to mind the less than elegant garment.

A brief, shaky laugh escapes him at the sight of you, only adoring you even more. "Cute," he comments, "Hope you don't mind if I take it off, though." Hopking his fingers under the the hem, he diligently pulls the shirt over your head, exposing the plain bra underneath. Underwhelming, but witnessing your half naked body is still a heavenly sight.

You decide you should start touching him as well, just to make it fair. You slip one hand under his shirt, feeling up his torso, your fingers exploring every groove of his defined muscle, even the slight pudge of his stomach. Not to mention, his chest is huge. Bigger than yours. You're almost jealous.

Curly's a little self conscious about the excess fat around his belly, but the way you're touching him as if he's a perfectly chiseled statue, fingertips grazing his skin with an awestruck expression on your face, makes him feel a little less insecure.

His own fingers dip down, the large pad of his thumb lightly stroking your clit through your panties. You have to bite down on your lip to keep yourself from moaning. "Nnh– Grant–" You shudder, speaking as quietly as you possibly can with the way he's touching you, sending electric shocks of pleasure throughout your cunt.

"Call me Curly." He sounds like he's demanding you, rather than asking. "Don't gotta be so professional anymore. Not when you're gettin' this wet from just my fingers." There's a hint of pride laced in his voice at the end of his sentence. He's still got it.

"C– Curly..." You stammer, as if testing out the way his name rolls off your tongue. You reach up to grasp onto his shoulders as he pulls the fabric of your underwear aside. "Atta girl," he encourages, tracing the outline of your slick folds with a finger, "Always such a fast learner."

You intake a trembling breath of air, feeling him explore you, spread you open, tease your entrance, so tantalizingly close to sliding inside of you. "Need you, Curly..." You whimper, a little pathetically, "Need you so bad, please..."

He complies with your plea, reveling in how desperate you look for him. No one has desired him like this in years, his own wife has never looked at him the way you do, even before their issues. "Shh, I know, I know... don't worry. M' gonna make you feel real good, doll." He coos, slipping his index into your hole, your slick making the insertion smooth and easy. Even just one of his thick fingers make you feel full, not to mention it's long enough to immediately nudge against all the right places.

Your eyes roll back as he adds a second finger, stretching you open, the obscenely wet sound of him pumping in and out of your heat filling the cockpit. You let out a string of soft whines from your parted lips, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"Oh my g– goddd– Curly, fuck–" You cry out, spreading your legs even wider for him so he can prod your insides at even more angles.

Your cries are like sweet hymns to his ears, the sight of you coming undone before him is glorious, and he wants nothing more than to worship you, all of you, for the rest of his life. "Yeah? This pretty cunt likes that, huh? I can tell, she keeps squeezin' down on me, suckin' me in..." Curly can hardly believe the filth coming from his own mouth. He's been so deprived of any sexual contact with a woman, that he feels slightly unhinged now that he finally has it. His dick aches, watching his digits disappear, sheathed inside you, before pulling back out again, coated in your arousal, over and over again.

"Think she can handle more than my fingers?" He asks, his body practically jittering with the need to fuck you stupid. The way he's talking about your pussy, like it's a separate being from you, is strangely hot. You nod, the very idea of having his cock inside you makes your walls involuntarily clamp around him. "Uh– Uh huh..." You nod, already dumb and drunk off the pleasure he's giving you.

Curly slips his fingers out, leaving you feeling momentarily empty. You watch him pull his cock from his boxers, throbbing and rigid, tip flushed red. His size is intimidating, and you can't fathom why his wife would reject this for anything. You're openly gawking at his dick, which fuels his ego nicely. "Not polite to stare." He teases, and your face grows warm from being caught. "Sorry..." You avery your eyes, sheepishly. "You're just... um..." You're unable to tell him how fucking huge he is, feeling too embarrassed, but his mind fills in the blanks.

"Don't worry," He soothes, "I'll be gentle, okay?" With a kiss to your temple, he lines himself up with your hole, aching more intensely than it ever has for anyone else, the extent of your arousal almost overwhelming.

"You ready?" He asks, looking at you for permission to proceed, scanning your face for any sign is discomfort. You nod timidly, admittedly nervous, but more than willing to take him. "Mhm," you shakily hum, "I'm ready..."

With your consent, he presses himself into you, swallowing your moans with a kiss as your hole stretches to accommodate his girth, your nails raking down his buff forearms. He groans lowly into your mouth as he sinks into you, nearly orgasming from your tightness alone. When he bottoms out, he pulls away from your mouth just enough to whisper against your lips, "M' gonna start movin', okay? Be good n' stay quiet for me. I know you can do it."

You nod obediently, and he begins to rock his hips, pulling out, pushing in, rhythmic and gentle, allowing your body to ease into the feeling. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips, ensuring he stays as close to you as possible. "F– Feels so good, so good–" You babble, your voice raising to a higher pitch than usual.

He kisses your neck, your jaw, your collarbone, anything that's within his reach, murmuring praises against your skin, "I know, pretty girl. Takin' it so well, look at you... so good for me, always so fuckin' good..." You feel him all the way in your stomach, his fat tip almost punching your cervix as his thrusts accelerate, your thighs tensing around him at every harsh movement, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, making you fearful of the sound attracting the others towards the cockpit, but not scared enough to do anything about it.

You grow close humiliatingly fast, but you can't really blame yourself when the biggest cock you've ever had is slamming into you, rubbing against every sweet spot in your cunt. "Curly– M' gonna–" you can hardly choke the words out.

"Yeah? Gonna cum for me?" He pants, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, "Go ahead n' cum, sweetheart. Rub that pretty lil' clit and make yourself cream all over my cock." His tone is so gentle in comparison it his vulgar sentence. You obey his instructions without hesitation, ardently using two fingers to rapidly stroke the hard, swollen bud, enhancing the euphoria washing over your body. Your body spasms as your orgasm hits you, more explosive and perfervid than you've ever felt before, your cunt pulsing around his cock, your sticky and lustrous arousal coating your thighs.

"That's it, there you go..." He grunts lowly, thrusts growing erratic, his movements losing their fluidity as he quickly approaches his own release. "So beautiful when you cum on my cock like that... mmph– fuck– m' almost there, hold on a little longer for me–"

Thankfully, he doesn't continue to fuck your overstimulated pussy for too much longer, completely overwhelming your senses. Curly pulls out and gives his dick a couple pumps, before spilling onto your stomach, some of his seed shooting onto the console, mixing with your own juices. This'll be disgusting to clean up.

You rest your head on his broad chest, catching your breath, both of you coming down from the intensity of your high as he strokes your hair soothingly. "Shhh, shhh.... you did so well... you feelin' alright? Anything hurt?" His aftercare is sickeningly sweet, and it's evident he genuinely cares about your answers to his questions, and how you're feeling.

In your mind, it's too soon to call the affection you have for him anything veritably close to true love. On the other hand, to him, he's head over heels for you, after knowing you for two months at most. Or, at least, that's what he believes.

A nagging thought is stuck in the back of his mind, one that he'd rather not contemplate for too long:

How the fuck is he going to look his wife in the eyes when he returns to Earth?

—

[onirislanding]

Not to be a downer but I think this is important to note. This was not my experience during the pandemic, because I worked for an org that provided healthcare to chronically ill people. My experience in the pandemic was awful, because I was working double along with a bunch of other people trying to keep people housed and cared for and keep state and federal funding from collapsing. This post is very true -- joy and learning is what life is supposed to be about. But that requires a functioning infrastructure and/or community that prioritizes the well being of everybody.

[bunnigumi]

can you do drabbles of best friend (fwb) gumi (*´-`) (i love ur work and aesthetic btw (´ｰ｀) )

cw. megumi x reader , friends with benefits , first time , possessiveness

an. i think i got carried away... i sooooo love this trope hehe. and thank you, nonnie! ^w^ (not carefully proofread)

Hey, 'Gumi, remember how I said you owe me one?

Fwb!Megumi isn't startled when you casually ask him if he can take your virginity.

Honestly, you were partially joking, but when he agrees with that static expression like you didn't just ask your best friend to be your first time, you're taken by surprise. You really didn't think he'd entertain your idea. Anticipating a huff, him brushing it off as a joke

You were expecting a more touch-and-go experience: He fucks you, you can claim you're no longer a virgin, and that's that. But he really takes the time to get you all worked up and desperate, telling you that your first should be your most memorable. It's just the rules.

And it was supposed to be a one time thing, you swear! But after that, nothing could get you off as good as he did.

Fwb!Megumi can't help the teasing smile on his expression when you tell him that you want to have sex again, Didn't realize we were friends with benefits now.

You can't even begin to explain how degrading it feels to go back on your own word, but you've been so pent up and had no one other than him to help... He seriously ruinied your ability to orgasm.

He teaches you the reins the second time around. How to touch him, The tip is the most sensitive. And tighten your grip, it's better. How to ride him, Fuck... yeah, that's it, letting go of your waist he leans back into the pillows, keep moving your hips like that.

It's way better than highschool sex-ed, that's for sure.

Fwb!Megumi is weirdly intimate—not that it's a bad thing. He's always had a romantic streak, even if he denies the fact.

It's in how he kisses you, not with hunger or pure lust. In the way he holds your hands and leaves marks on your neck that are hard to hide. Even if you whine about it, he'll still do it.

He has your other friends wondering who'd be giving them to you since you weren't in a relationship with anyone.

When you need a little cheering up, Fwb!Megumi starts offering a little more than just emotional support.

You're on your elbows and knees, back arched, face buried into his pillow. Avoiding his face so that he wouldn't have to see the makeup running down your own. Even though hes seen you in way worse states, somehow it's more embarrassing when he's inside you.

Your date had stood you up. Megumi knew how excited you were for it. Barging into his place, carrying tons of outfits in your arms. Showing them off. Asking him for his input, what you should wear. Which dress flaunts your body off best.

He told you that you'd look great in anything, but you urged that you should look perfect, and as your best friend, it's his obligation.

Fwb!Megumi likes to be a bit rough with you when you're sad like this. Feel-better-sex, as he jokes.

Tight enough with his grab on your hips to leave bruises, He finds that you forget about the pain better when you have a greater sensation to focus on. Dopamine's your favorite drug.

And he wont admit this either, but he's real possessive over you. As your best friend, he knows that you deserve more than the world.

Frankly, he likes the idea of keeping you all to himself; its practically why he agreed to your request in the first place.

He won't make you flip over so he can see your face while he fucks you missionary, but he really wants to see the pleasure wash over your face. To see how he can only make you feel good like this.

Pounding you from the back so hard that you forget the name of the douche who stood you up is good on it's own. Theres enough proof of his worth to you in how your cries are that of satisfaction, and not the kind caused by stupid boys who don't deserve to even look at you.

No one else should get to experience how your cunt tightens around him as your about to cum. Hear the way you moan out him name wantonly. See how you push back onto him when he tries to pull out, insisting that he stay inside you for just a little longer.

There's one more thing Fwb!Megumi won't tell you either; he really, really loves this arrangement.

[thatweirdtranny]

god i’m so sick of trans people being transphobic to other kinds of trans people like seriously y’all need to just. get a fucking grip and throw away your need to treat other trans people like we’re not supposed to be on the same fucking side.

and fucking listen to other trans people when they tell you about their own lived experience. just because you’re also trans doesn’t mean you own the entire trans experience.

[umblrspectrum]

still thinking about it so heres a bunch of stuff

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; “YJ packs up and gets pupped”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You are presenting, and you have chosen to do it in the base,” Red Tornado says. “Presumably you chose to do that because Project Cadmus lacked something you require for the process.” 

“I . . .” Kon hesitates again, biting the inside of his lip. “I just–I just didn’t wanna do it there, okay? That’s–s’all.” 

Red Tornado looks at him. Kon really wishes the guy had a scent that he could read. Or like–at least a fucking expression or something. Like just–literally anything, right now. 

“You appear to be nesting,” Red Tornado observes. “Are you an omega, then?” 

“. . . I guess,” Kon mumbles, swallowing roughly. And it feels–it feels weird, saying it to someone. Even after saying it to himself and the Super-Cycle already. 

Red Tornado can tell him what he thinks about him saying that to him, is the thing. And whatever he thinks, it’s not going to be what Kon thinks himself.

Like–obviously it’s not, yeah. 

“You are in possession of sufficient nesting material, then?” Red Tornado asks, and Kon tries not to bristle. It’s–it’s just a question, maybe. Probably. Not one he knows why Red Tornado’s asking, but–just a question. 

Unless it’s a trap, anyway. 

“I just–borrowed some stuff,” he says without saying anything about–about just what he’s really “borrowing”, and he maybe sounds a little bit too defensive about it, but . . . but that’s all he did, dammit. He didn’t do anything–bad or anything. “S’all. I’ll scent-scrub all the pheromones and shit off when I’m done, alright? I’m not messin’ anything up or anything, it’s fine.” 

They wouldn’t care, he tries to say, but he doesn’t know–he doesn’t actually know that. Doesn’t actually know if . . . if they’d care. If they’d–mind.

Would they be mad, if they found out he came to the base to present and then tracked down and took all their scents? Like–without asking, or . . . 

They’re not a pack. And the others all have packs. And in all their heads he’s just, like, the stupid bruiser teammate who’s only barely a friend that none of them trust to be in charge of the team even though he’s literally the only one who actually has been in charge of a team before and who they probably all think’s an alpha anyway and–and– 

“Yes,” Red Tornado says. “But is ‘some stuff’ sufficient for your nest?” 

“I . . .” Kon–falters, kinda, and maybe sinks in on himself a little again. Does–does it look that bad? He knows he didn’t get much stuff for it, but–but if it looks that bad . . . 

“Kathy prefers to layer her nests with multiple fabrics and cushioning,” Red Tornado says. “And Traya and her friends line theirs with plush toys when engaging in playing ‘house’ together. I am otherwise unfamiliar with the necessary components of their construction.” 

“. . . oh,” Kon realizes, and feels a little less–a little less embarrassed, at least. At least if Red Tornado doesn’t really know how it’s supposed to go either . . . well, he can’t think it looks that bad, if he doesn’t really know. Right? “Uh–I don’t . . . I dunno. I never . . . did it, before.” 

Red Tornado tilts his head. Kon represses a cringe, trying not to bristle. Well–he wasn’t presented before, so . . . so why would he have? 

“I was under the impression that most omega pups experience a compulsion to nest even before their presentation,” Red Tornado says. 

“Well, I didn’t,” Kon snaps at him, digging his fingers into Cassie’s folded-up shirt and–and not-really-on-purposely pinning it against his chest. 

Hugging it against his . . . against his . . . 

He’d just–he’d just . . . thought about it, a couple times. But he . . . he hadn’t felt any stupid compulsions or . . . 

Kon thinks about how many times he’d thought about nesting, and how many times he’d thrown all his blankets in the corner and made himself sleep on a half-stripped bed and nothing else, and how many times he’d thrown every blanket he could find on his bed and slept under them all at once, and how he’d always . . . always folded his jacket into a pillow, when he was . . . when he was . . . sleeping somewhere else, like on the road or on shoots or in the field or . . . 

He thinks about how many times he’d wanted to . . . wanted to watch one of those nesting videos, but–hadn’t. 

Then he thinks about crying, maybe. 

“I thought I was gonna be an alpha,” he croaks, trying to figure out if–if this makes him a bad omega after all, or–or something. If he didn’t . . . didn’t nest before, or . . . “I thought I . . . thought I . . .”

I thought I HAD to be an alpha, Kon doesn’t say, but it’s all he can think.

[psi-spectacular]

VESSEL AU

ok, basically, the au's premise is that god as we know him existed before the rift. long before that, he kicked most other regional pantheons and placed Himself and His angels there. But when the rift opened, they all got ripped out of the sky and killed, then Mitternacht ascended. One last angel remains, deep in the depths of the drain, who's body holds up the entire structure. It feels that Mitternachts pantheon is hedonic and disgusting, and wants to reinstate its creator in His "rightful place". Around that time, a much younger patty was cave diving and managed to find its way up the angels body (the angel is HUGE, like its cells can be seen huge.) and accidentally finds her way to its heart. Shes in a really dark place at the moment, so the angel says it can help purify her soul if she repents. She doesn't know what it means but agrees. There's a flash of searing pain and light, and then she's back on the streets, a gash in her chest, no memories, and begging for help. The only thing she remembers is her name and no one recognizes her since she doesn't really have any family. The angel's creator has a new vessel to grow in, replacing pattys heart with the start of His light. it kinda functions as a normal heart if a bit funky for a while, but when its not able to grow large enough by the rift it gets pissed as hell, and it tries to grow faster and takes over more of her mind.

TL;DR Patty gets infected by christianity and needs a nonbinary butch lesbian cowboys true love to save her /j

[bloggerspam]

Fic of a Fic: Caroline meets Ellie

This is a direct homage to @clockwayswrites Caroline from their fic A Hill to Die on.

Ya'll can blame @deathlysilent13 for this.

Disclaimer: I am not super familiar with alters or systems, and in this AU Tim isn't thinking about it/stumbled into it--please do not take this an accurate experience in any way! It's just for fun :)

===

"You're pretty. Do you like boys?"

Caroline blinks. looking to her left and right, trying to find the source of the chipper voice.

It's 3am in the morning, she's just spent the last 5 hours dancing in heels—she can be forgiven for taking a little long to realize that the voice is coming from slightly below her sight line.

When she finally (blearily) looks down, a girl of maybe 7 or 8 is looking up at her with wide, bright blue eyes.

"Thank you." Caroline huffs a confused laugh, smiling as she leans down and braces on her knees to be a little closer and meet the little girls height. "You're quite the darling yourself you know."

"Thank you, I got it from my brother." The little girl blushes, apples of her cheeks truly working hard to turn the same shade as its namesake, but her wide-eyed curiosity is still not abated. "Do you like boys?"

"Yes, I do." Caroline tilts her head, biting her lip against a laugh. "But most boys don't like me."

"Well most boys are stupid." The little girl scrunches up her face in distaste, which is honestly too much cuteness for Caroline to handle right now. The Tim part of her is starting to wake up, albeit sluggishly, in the face of a possible lost child. "But my big brother isn't stupid! He's the best, actually."

"Oh?" Caroline looks around exaggeratedly, though she does scan the area the way Tim would. Nothing in particular to note. Weirdly empty for Gotham, but otherwise… "And where is this so-called best big brother? Little girl like you shouldn't be out and about so early."

The little girl looks shifty then, fiddling with her fingers and kicking up dust, mumbling. "He's still sleeping at his desk."

"His desk?" Caroline is a little worried now, truly. How far can a little kid walk? Caroline searches through her memories, but realizes that Tim's knowledge on such things would be heavily skewed and probably incorrect. Damian isn't the best example, and Tim used to stalk Batman. So.

"He fell asleep working." The little girl explains, before the beans truly spill out. "I'm supposed to be sleeping, but I wanted some milk, but Danny didn't have a blanket so I got him a blanket, and then I figured maybe he'd like some hot chocolate when he woke up, 'cause he always makes me hot chocolate when I can't sleep, or had a nightmare, but we didn't have any hot chocolate at home so I thought maybe I could get some hot chocolate, but the bodega's closed."

Caroline watches bemusedly as the little girl gesticulates her story, walking back and forth and presenting her case as if Caroline is the one who has the issue.

"And then I saw you, and you're like, really pretty, and I definitely think my brother would like you," The little girl beams up at her, as if she's done something great. "Jazzy said that Danny's been lonely, taking care of me all by himself. So I thought, if I can't give him hot chocolate, I can at least let him meet a pretty lady!"

Caroline laughs, she can't help it anymore, trying her best to stifle it in the echoes of the night. "Well now, that's very sweet of you!"

"Thank you!" The little girl wiggles in her happiness. "If you want to meet my brother, I think he'll be happy. We don't have to go if you don't want to though, Danny said consent is important."

"He's right." Caroline wipes a tear and smiles widely down at the little girl. "I'm also pretty sure he's going to be worried out of his mind when he wakes up and finds you gone, so how about we get you home, okay?"

"So you'll meet him???" The little girl jumps up and down in excitement, cheering, "He'll be soooo happy to meet a pretty lady like you!"

"That's very nice of you to say, darling." Caroline's eyes go half lidded in exhaustion, yawning as her smile quirks a little differently, Tim blinking a little more in the forefront. "But I'm afraid I'm not a lady most of the time. Most times, I'm a boy."

The little girl doesn't even hesitate. "Danny likes pretty boys too!" She reaches up a hand, as if waiting for Caroline, no, Tim? to take her hand and lead her home. "He'll be extra happy that you can be both!"

Tim doesn't know what to say to that—his skirt is starting to feel a little too tight, and his feet are killing him. Heels were a mistake, but at least his tights and sweater keeps him warm, even if it's off the shoulder and cropped. The sweater paws are appreciated at least.

"That's very equal opportunity of him." Tim decides to say, drawing it out as if unsure. It's very typical of Caroline to leaving Tim to clean up her messes. "But I'm not sure Danny wouldn't like a random stranger showing up on his doorstep with his little sister."

"Oh!" The little girl jolts, straightening up and putting her hand out for a handshake instead. "My name is Ellie Nightingale, I'm 8 years old, and I love my brothers and sister very much!"

"Hello, Ellie." Tim shakes her hand, deliberating before deciding fuck it. "My name is usually Caroline in this outfit."

Ellie eyes him up and down, scrutinizing him as she twists their clasped hands into a different hold and leading them seemingly towards her home. "But you're not Caroline now."

"I am not." Tim agrees, adjusting his gait into an awkward walk. His feet still hurt, but he's had worse as Red Robin. "Well, I am. But not. She went to…bed, I guess. So now I'm awake."

"What's your name now that you've woken up?" Ellie asks, stopping them at a crosswalk and looking both ways even though it's as empty as Gotham could ever get. Tim thinks on this for a moment, before again, deciding fuck it.

"It's Tim." He replies. "Caroline had a long night, and she thinks I'm better with children."

Ellie gives him a look for that. "I liked Caroline better."

Tim honks out a laugh, quickly covering it up with his free hand. "Sometimes I like Caroline better too."

"That's kind of sad." Ellie reaches up to pat Tim on his hip, the easiest place she can reach. "It's okay, Danny can like Tim better."

Tim feels his face hurt with how wide he's smiling. Kids are a riot. "Sometimes, when I'm a boy-boy, my name is Alvin."

Ellie shrugs. "Is he mean? If he's mean Dante might like him."

Tim, with a wobbly voice from holding in laughter, tries his best to answer. "He's sometimes a little mean."

"Dante can be mean with him. He's not as nice as Danny, but he's just as good of a brother." Ellie chirps, swinging their arms back and forth as she skips. "Do you have another name that Jazzy can like?"

"…I guess I was Todd Richards, once." Tim hums, swinging his arm with her and using his free hand to rub at his chin in thought. "Though he didn't stay long."

"Jazz doesn't like deadbeat men who leave." Ellie primly states, sticking her nose up. "Jazz deserves better."

"…Are you setting me up with all of your siblings?" Tim hesitantly asks, unsure how to explain that they're all monogamous, but like to share? He's never figured it out.

"No, just Danny." Ellie slants an offended look. "You have lotsa names but you're one person right?"

Tim feels lighter than a feather, and he's not sure how to explain that, so he settles for a nervous smile and nod. He's never actually sat down and thought through this whole identity thing in the first place—method acting gone wrong? Right?

Doesn't matter. Ellie's chill with it, so Tim's chill with it. Logic.

Take that, Dick. And Bruce. And Jason. And—

"It's okay to have a buncha names. I used to have a different name." Ellie continues over Tim's righteous thoughts, this time leading the way through a side alley. Tim is actually surprised how empty it is. "My creator was a dickbag though, and Jazzy said it's important for my i-den-ti-ty to have a proper one."

"Language." Tim bites his lip from snorting, noting the peculiar wording Ellie uses. "Creator?"

"Dante said it's okay if it's true." Ellie bites her lip, side-eyeing Tim as she pinches the fabric of her jeans. "And Danny says it's okay as long as Jazzy doesn't hear."

"Is that so?" Tim chuckles, subtly eyeing her fingers.

"It is so." Ellie sniffs, pinching the fabric of her jeans again. "Danny's the best like that." No pinching this time.

A tell. Tim hides his grin with a little cough. "Of course." Ellie seems to be pleased with Tim's agreeable actions.

They're just exiting the alley, coming around the bend, when the door to an apartment complex across the road swings forcefully open. A man, shirtless and NASA patterned pajama pants at barely cling to his hips shoots out, grabbing the before it slams against the wall, forcing it closed as gently as he can so that the security system locks engage. He's handsome even though his hair is a mess, with crease lines Tim can still see from all the way over here that indicate he was just asleep on possible pencil, maybe a screwdriver.

There are. Abs. And arms. Holy shit, those sure are arms.

Ellie perks up, zooming towards the man and dragging Tim with him. "Danny!"

"Ellie!" Danny's head whips up in their direction, the man running towards them with zero hesitation to scoop Ellie up into a hug. "Bug, you worried me, I woke up and you weren't there!"

Oh, shit, even his voice is nice, deep and raspy from sleep even through the sheer relief. Tim tries to focus on the conversation as Ellie recounts her obviously genius and completely founded (to her) reasoning on why she just had to leave the apartment, but ultimately fails.

Did he mention abs? And arms??

The man is taller than Tim by a good couple inches, and bulkier in the shoulders. He's robust, even with that shoulder to waist ratio that Tim (and Caroline) kind of want to aggressively bite at. Deliciously hunky, as Steph would say. He has a unique undercut that's all white, though the stop part of his hair is black as night.

His eyes almost glow green in the dinky streetlights, and Tim's kind of losing it at the soft helpless look the other man's giving his little sister once she's finished her explanation. He's got her sitting on one arm, holding her up so that their faces are level, with Ellie bracing her tiny hands on his shoulder and chest.

Tim kind of wants to cry.

"I know that—" Danny sighs, pinching his brow in a way only exasperated older brothers can. Tim knows, because Dick does it all the time. "I know that you're used to going out alone, but I thought we established that once you started living with me you'd tell me?"

Ellie purses her lips in what seems to be both guilt and indignation. "I did okay before. Nothing happened and I can take care of any bad guys!"

Danny's face crumples a bit for a flash of a moment, stabbing Tim in the heart like thirty million times. "Ellie, it's not that I don't trust you, it's that I care. What happened before…" Danny sighs looking a little distressed and at a loss for words.

Ellie reaches over, smooths a tiny hand over Danny's furrowed brow. "Ok. M'sorry Danny. I love you."

Danny smiles then, once more helpless, "I love you too squirt." Then, as if finally noticing Tim, Danny coughs and turns abruptly red. Like, super concernedly red, actually. Tim's worried he might feint.

"Oh, Ancients, sorry," Danny adjusts Ellie to put her down, but she clings to him, still a little upset. Danny smoothly straightens back up, patting her on the back as she nuzzles into his neck.

Seriously, Tim might die.

"Thanks for bringing her back to me." Danny reaches a hand out, "My name's Danny. Is there any way I can repay you for finding her?"

Tim almost says please date me but thankfully, Bat-training has him calm, collected, and in total control of his mouth.

"It's no problem," Tim smiles his best smile—a little awkward in Caroline's fit, but Tim's no stranger to women's clothing. "And I didn't exactly find her." Tim chuckles as he darts a glance at a now perked up Ellie.

"I found them Danny!" Ellie proudly pronounces, wiggling in place in her excitement again before scrunching her face. "Well. I found Caroline. For you!"

"For me?" Danny confusedly tilts his head, even pointing a finger at himself. "Why would you—"

"Jazzy said you're lonely." Ellie whispers loudly into his ear, Tim trying to stifle his laughter as he bites his lips. "And Dante said that you need to find a friend to have sleepovers with."

Danny's face goes alarmingly red again, slapping a hand to cover his eyes as he groans in embarrassment.

"I'm going to kill them—nosey older—" Danny grumbles, before huffing and smiling apologetically at Tim. "I'm really sorry about this Miss Caroline—"

"He's Tim right now!" Ellie interrupts, yanking at Danny's ear and causing him to yelp. "Caroline went to bed. I like Caroline more, 'cause she's so pretty, see?"

Ellie points at all of Tim, which causes him to smile shyly. He notices that Danny follows where Ellie points, gulping when he meets Tim's eyes again. "Y-yeah, I see that squirt but—"

"But Tim's been really nice, he treats me like a proper person! Most people just think I'm a dumb kid."

"You're not dumb." Tim and Danny say in unison, which makes both of them squeak embarrassingly. So much for Bat-training.

"See! So I thought Tim could be for you, and I could play with Caroline sometimes, and Dante could play with Alvin—"

"Alvin?" Danny asks quietly, to which Tim flashes three fingers, before pointing to his head. Danny nods understandingly before focusing back on Ellie. The quick understanding and no reaction makes all sorts of butterflies bloom in Tim's gut. Like a little mosh pit of bugs. Maybe he needs coffee.

"—and so I said that Jazz deserves better than that, right Danny?" Ellie smooshes Danny's cheeks, making him look all sorts of ridiculous and cute. "Maybe we can even share Caroline!"

"-at's right squirt. S-he does." Danny says through his squished face. He scrunches his nose up—which makes their relation seem so very clear, Ellie's the spitting image of him—before bopping his forehead onto hers and making her giggle as she lets go of his face.

"So, uh. this is all very nice of you, Ellie. I, uhm." Danny glances at Tim, wincing a little, "I love that you did something so nice for me, but you can't gift people, so we're gonna let uh, Tim get on their way okay?"

Ellie pouts, wriggling out of Danny's grip to hide behind Tim and grab at his skirt. "But, but you like pretty ladies! And pretty boys!"

"Where did you even get this information?" Danny's voice cracks, frantically looking back and forth between Tim and Ellie as if he's not sure whether to be embarrassed or indignant.

"Sam said you like pretty ladies that look like they can beat you up." Ellie ticks a finger up, looking up as she recalls this info, "and Tucker said you like guys who look like they need to be taked care of."

Danny groans, head in his hands and hunching his shoulders up to scrunch up as small as he can even as Ellie steamrolls over the noise, "And Jazzy and Dante said that you need somebody that can be weird with you."

Danny jolts up, straightening as if he's found some kind of salvation. "Hey, that's right, and I'm sure Tim is a perfectly awesome guy, uh, girl?" Danny looks at Tim in distress, making Tim chuckle.

"Right now I'm a guy." Tim tries to keep his voice soft and low, smiling a little shyly. Distantly, he wonders if he's smudged Caroline's lipstick.

"Right!" Danny coughs, red again, "Right, so he's a perfectly normal guy and totally not weird, Okay, Ellie? C'mon, let's not take up more of Tim's night, okay?"

"I like weird." Tim nonchalantly says, innocent as he lays a hand on Ellie's back. "I mean, I've got at least three people sharing space in my noggin. Sort of." She beams up at him and snuggles closer to his leg, a warm line of comfort and affection. "We can be weird together, I think."

Danny flaps his mouth open and closed, at a loss for words. Tim's not about to explain this whole method acting turned stress relief gender euphoria turned alternate identity thing, so he plows on.

"I'm sometimes a lady—" Ellie interrupts him with an adamant pretty! "—a pretty lady that can definitely put you in your place." Tim does a slow up and down, Caroline peeking through in body memory even if she's not fully forefront.

It makes Danny do that cute little squeak again—-That's three times now, and Tim wants to know if he can manage a fourth. It also makes Danny remember how shirtless he is, making the other man twitch as if he might cover his chest but doesn't want to bring more attention to this fact so he restrains himself.

Tim licks his lips, staring at his pecs and—there's that fourth squeak and arms crossing over that delicious chest.

"And y'know," Tim goes a little shy now, scratching at the back of his neck, "I sometimes forget to sleep and eat." He shrugs with a little moue of distaste as the words he's about to say, "My family says I'm kind of a workaholic and need taking care of."

"Oh!" Ellie bounces up and down, tugging at Tim's skirt again, flashing a little hip that makes Danny eep and slap his hands over his eyes. Big guy like him should not be this freaking cute, seriously. "Oh! Jazzy says Danny's a work-a-ho-lic too!"

"Yeah?" Tim says to Ellie, even as he keeps eye contact with Danny as he's peeking through his fingers, "Guess that means I gotta at least give it a shot, right?"

Tim's not sure where this confidence is coming from: remnants of Caroline, being so free with his other…roommates, Ellie, or Danny's reactions, but it's bolstering him up.

It makes him bold, and kinda reckless. Mr. Sarcastic would approve.

"Yeah!" Ellie agrees, tugging Tim's hand into hers. She pulls him towards Danny, who obliging gives her his hand when she asks for it wordlessly with her own. "You gotta at least try. Jazzy said you give up too much for me!" Ellie makes the saddest, most pathetic looking pout Tim's ever seen. "I don't wanna be the reason you're sad and alone Danny!"

Danny bites his lip, looking at Tim for a long moment. Tim tries to smile reassuredly, to convey that he's totally on board for at least one date. (For maybe many many dates?) His shoulders slump, but his blush is still rampant. It's crawling down his neck, up his cheeks and bleeding into his ears.

He's the cutest thing Tim's ever seen at 4am in the morning.

"O-okay, uhm." Danny fumbles with his phone, "I-I could give you my number?"

"Sounds great." Tim shyly smiles as they exchange numbers, Ellie keeping both their hands hostage as if they might run away the second she lets go. Good thing Tim's ambidextrous. "I'll call you, maybe set something up this weekend?"

"It's a date." Danny smiles, Ellie squealing in excitement and cheering as she finally lets go to jump around.

Just as they get ready to part ways, Ellie tugs at Tim's skirt again, cupping her hands in a bid for Tim to crouch down and lend an ear. He does so obligingly.

"Can Caroline wake up for a second so I can say goodbye?" She whispers loudly. Tim smirks a little, rummaging up the vestiges of Caroline and sort of—blinks.

"Goodnight darling." Caroline does a sly little smile, kissing Ellie on the cheek and winking up at Danny. "And you were right! Your brother is the best."

Ellie beams, giving her a kiss on the cheek back. "Good night, Caroline!"

[treba-neco-napise]

Thanks for the reply beloved mutual <3

I'm not really going at it from the point of who is running the platform but who is using it and how it works.

YouTube, Facebook, Twitter (the only thing I'll ever deadname)...

1. have an older age average among users - what you said about younger audiences. TikTok is huge for teenagers, or even pre-teens. Yes, a large percentage of the users are adults or at least young adults, but it's the social media platform for teenagers whose brains are still developing a lot and already vulnerable to mental health struggles due to how much is expected of them from our overcomplicated society. Like I said, people aren't taught critical thinking skills in general, we all know the american education system is a joke, and social media platforms are attractive. If you're a teenager and you're going to learn, it will be a lot more from TikTok - made for entertainment and with low expectations of truthfulness - than from the people who are supposed to be qualified to provide you with education.

2. are more based on written word. I've never been on Twitter so I don't know how the character limit impacts your attention span but I know there's been a lot of discussion around what scrolling videos under 1 minute in length with the insane algorithm does to you. I mean even binging TV shows falls under that type of consumption. Videos keep going until you manually stop them, it's endless entertainment even if you're not really entertained. Platforms that don't rely on sharing videos as the only content format make you slow down a little bit if you want to take the information in. Even reading a propaganda-filled tweet instead of watching someone read it with music in the background and captions on the screen makes a difference in how you habitually interact with media.

Listen, I'm a central European. We have the same problem (insufficient education), just on like half the scale if not less, but at least we're surrounded by other countries that enrich the education with real-life experience of different cultures and we don't have nearly as much of a glorified view of our own country. (I mean Czechs in general don't really have a lot of national pride but even Britain, the former leader in colonizing, can't compare to US's inflated ego right now.) When you add how american-centric the internet has become, it could make some difference in the mindset for Americans to have to "emigrate" to other platforms and adapt to how things go there.

Reminder for when he “saves” it. He was the one who wanted this, and now he gets to be the hero and win favour with young constituents. Don’t give him the credit for fixing his own problem.

[creatingblackcharacters]

I finished watching a YouTube video about representation and if it really matters. And I have to ask, why don't people ever throw this question at white men? They understand the ethics of showing 'your kind' on screen even if they pretend not to.

Also just because it is 'badly written' or you personally don't like it doesn’t mean it's 'forced diversity'. Not everything is going to have good writing or be mainstream popular. Even the 'mid' stuff just can't be considered good representation for some reason.

Just to cover my bases before someone dishonest shows up. Yes, I do understand that bad writing can disort discussions on topics but let's not pretend that's the real issue.

Sorry for ranting, I figured this was a good blog to ask about this phenomenon. Hopefully I'm not the only one seeing this play out. I look forward to yours and everyone's thoughts.

I might send some more asks about this topic later after I have collected my thoughts some more.

Thank you and I hope you have a wonderful day~♡

White Fragility- Robin diAngelo

I will say, this was more of a rant than a question 😅 As for the question that was in there, you answered it yourself.

"They understand the ethics of showing 'your kind' on screen even if they pretend not to".

I've addressed this numerous times amongst my lessons, but one of the core issues of media AND society is that we don't address whiteness as Whiteness, we address it as "normal". "Default". We treat the white experience as though it is the Way life is, and everything else is a difference. Because they know when they're not on screen lmao, they make it a racist point every single damn time 😅. They just don't call it like it is!

It's why many white people (TRUST, it's the women too) are insulted when you point out that they are just as attached to their whiteness as I am to my Blackness. It plays just as much of a role!! We just don't use those words because they're "uncomfortable"; they reference an existing power structure that we're not supposed to talk about. "Race doesn't matter"- meanwhile their unacknowledged whiteness runs every aspect of their life- including their perception of media!

So when there is a "loss" 🙄 of white characters, it goes off as an alarm bell. They don't see it as "representation matters", because for them, that's what's supposed to be on screen! That's what makes the most sense to begin with! You don't have to ask about what's normal! Representation is for those who are "different", but that difference gets rid of "normal". And if you're going to change what's "normal", then it HAS to be good! Because we can accept mediocre white men being mediocre, but when you mess up the normal and introduce people of color, well... Them being mediocre is bad because it "wasn't" bad when it was the mediocre white men!