#underlying understanding between them that I DIG

[anantaru]

Hello Yoru!!<3 I wanted to ask you about your opinion about which Genshin men could eat the reader out the best 👀

~ dresvi.🚀 (Too shy to ask this off anon kdbdskkana)

including. neuvillette, alhaitham

cw. oral (fem! receiving), fem! reader

— ꒰ NEUVILLETTE ꒱

neuvillette was far too close to make this easy for you, reaching right in between your folds so he could nudge and play with the sensitive bolts of your pussy, leaning in to lick roughly at a searing spot that made you wince out in ecstasy, trembling underneath him.

your breathes and moans are much heavier than before, signalizing to neuvillette that he's doing everything right, however, the man believes that he had to do more, add something, before leaving a glimmering tumble of spit on your pussy as he spits on your cunt, a shimmering thread connecting you both from his lips to your folds.

you were moving together like water, your bodies complimenting each other as he gasps and grunts when trapping a bundle of flesh in between his lips before hollowing his cheeks, driving his whole body into making you cum as hard as possible and somehow managing to get better each time, his fingers clutching around your thighs at once so you'd never close them for him.

the friction of his wet muscle was near unbearable but then neuvillette flicks his tongue and digs it past your folds, your hands instantly taking a hold of his hair and messily grinding your cunt all over his lower face.

fuck, oh fuck, you moan and lose control of your body, twitch underneath his bigger one— too far gone to worry about any pathetic sounds keening from the back of your throat.

like a rasping, bottomless gasp, he answers your anticipation to do it again, neuvillette wants to feel you become so addictive to him until you simply cannot go a day without him closed off in between your legs, like neuvillette was damn near dying as he lays into you harder— tongue stroking faster, attacking your gaping hole again and again and again with his mouth, hoping that your smooth skin burned because it feels so good as you spasm against his face with a rough cry of his name, your hand clutching at his hair hard enough to damage the strands.

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱

by alhaitham's sixth movement, you notice how cold and ruthless it feels whenever he gets down on you, how rough and almost detached he shoves his head in between your thighs and how unmerciful— cruel, in order to have you experience something no one else was able to inflict on you.

it's like he knew your body better than you did, and was aware what spots he had to target to make you cum on his face.

and oh, quite certainly did he know that you're a total mess by now, his hands sweeping across your chest as they're preoccupied by your tits being sensitive underneath his palms.

you moan his name when he flicks his tongue over the hidden pearl and suckles on the flesh as his precise licks shoot a vibration buzzing on your cunt, the faintest trace of his wet muscle touching the edge of your body until you're like putty because of him.

now, you shove yourself up with one arm in order to get a better view on the mess happening in between your legs— tugging on his disheveled hair to roughly press him in your cunt, your ministration strong enough to make the scribe shamelessly groan into your pussy, the underlying burn of your fingers scratching at his scalp making him moan once more.

alhaitham's way of pleasuring you was so indifferent that you're wondering if he's the same boyfriend who'd read to you if you're having trouble sleeping or engages in deep talks in order to understand you better. alas currently, alhaitham has no need for this, because with his fat and heavy cock leaking through the fabric of his pants, he aches to be inside of you.

his hips stuttering into the mattress as he craves for more, more of your scent and more of your arousal slicking up his cheeks and chin— he looks beyond ruined and dirty, capturing your taunting pussy in a filthy-wet kiss as you arch your body off the bed and ride his face, bucking hard beneath two hands keeping you still, inviting anything and everything he did to you with an excited smirk on your mouth.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[frost-queen]

Bodyguarded // part 3 (Reader!Grimes x Daryl Dixon)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly @denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, Tag: @strangerthingslover69, @ankhmutes, @yoowhatthefuck, @sseleniaa, @deansapplepie, @abbiesxox

Summary: After your little fall-out with Shane, you start to distance yourself. Daryl gives zero f*cks about you distancing yourself as he keeps himself aroud. During a heart to heart with Daryl, you might discover more of the underlying tone of Shane's attitude towards you. [series]

Crickets cricked in the bushes around the fire. Rick sat by the fire with Lori and Carl. Carl was leaning against him staring at the mesmerizing flames. Lori was in deep thought. Some had joined them but mostly everyone had an agenda of their own. Daryl stood a bit further away, leaning against a tree. His gaze turned away from the fire, but rather turned towards you. You weren’t engaging with the crowd, but keeping your distance from them.

You felt humiliated. Like a spying glass had been cast upon you. Everywhere you went, a set of curious eyes followed. Trying to figure out what was going on between Shane and you. Frankly you hardly had a clue to his behaviour towards you. Perhaps you needed to dig deep. Go way back to old memories from before the fall. Before the world went to hell.

Looking over at your brother made you smile faintly. He looked so happy yet somehow you felt like an outsider. Adverting your gaze from him, you turned your posture to take your leave. Going further away from the others to find solitude. The moment you got in motion, went Daryl after you. Leaving the others for what they were to go with you.

Hearing a second pair of feet trail behind you, you exhaled deep. – “Daryl I want to be alone.” – you told him keeping your pace up. – “Fine. I’ll just keep my distance.” – he answered slowing a bit down. Looking up with a heavy sigh, you stopped. – “Daryl you don’t understand. I don’t want you here!” – you made clear having turned around to him. – “Too bad for I’m not going anywhere.” – he made clear. – “Daryl!” – you groaned out. – “What!” – he called back going in defence.

You groaned loud pressing your palms against your eyes, feeling yourself get worked up. – “Daryl please give me some space.” – you begged. – “I’ll give you space but at least let me be around.” – he asked in return. It made you furrow your brows. – “I don’t want to lose… I mean… if a walker appears…” – he spoke swallowing a lot of his words back in. – “Then what? I can shoot Daryl, remember!” – you made clear.

“I know but you…” – he exhaled loud walking up to you. – “You are not in the right headspace right now.” – he told you, touching your elbow. You turned your head bothered away. You hated how right he was. – “Just… just let me keep you save.” – he lowered his head a bit to catch your attention.

Untensing your muscles with a deep sigh, you surrendered to him. Daryl took you by the other elbow as well, pulling you closer to his body. Sensing just how much you needed it. He wrapped his arms one by one around you. Your arms remained at your side, not feeling it yet. – “Give it a few moments.” – Daryl teased half chuckling. You scrunched your nose, hating how right he was. Not a moment later you gave in, wrapping your arms around him too.

“Good girl.” – he said chuckling. You slapped him hard on the back. – “Don’t patronize me.” – you responded grumpy. Daryl removed his arms from around you, cupping your cheek as he tilted your head a bit back. – “Never.” – he whispered staring down at you. He left a quick kiss on your forehead as it didn’t feel satisfying to you.

He let go of you, spinning you around by your shoulders. He started pushing you through the woody parts of the camp. – “Where are we going?” – you questioned. – “To be alone, like you wanted.” – he simply said, continue to push you forwards. Using you like a compass, navigating his way through.

You came to a clearing in the woods. All the cars were parked over there. Daryl guided you towards the truck opening the door for you at the drivers seat. You got inside, watching him jog around to get in on the other side. He shut the door firm behind him. – “Solitude and silence.” – he joked. – “You are still here.” – you reminded him with a tease. Daryl leaned down in the seat, getting all comfy. – “No I’m not.” – he adjusted the seating lower, leaning back.

“Go ahead and mope or cry or shout, just wake me up when you see a walker.” – he said casually flopping his arm over his head. – “Daryl!” – you said laughingly nudging him hard. – “What?” – he responded unable to hide a smile. – “You’re an idiot.” – you nudged him again with a silly smile on your face. – “I know.” – he answered all smug. He shut his eyes, pretending to take a nap.

You exhaled soft looking out of the dusty window. – “It’s a bit too quiet.” – you said out loud. – “I’m not singing any songs.” – Daryl mumbled in response without moving a muscle. It made you laugh. Daryl set himself back up with a deep exhale. – “Alright fighter, let’s talk.” – he tapped his hand on your knee.

You grabbed the steering wheel staring in front of you. – “How are you feeling with your brother being back, Y/n?” – he asked. You breathed out a laugh, looking at him. – “What I can be serious.” – he let out making you laugh even more. You then calmed letting your hands rejoice at the top of the steering wheel. – “It still feels a bit weird seeing him alive. Don’t get me wrong I am overjoyed he is alive… it is just…” – you started. – “You thought he was dead for so long.” – Daryl finished as you hummed.

“Before… before it all went down my brother was shot.” – You told Daryl. – “They were armed and shot at my brother. Shane… my brother’s partner brought him to the hospital. He wasn’t waking up so they left him in a coma. It was already then a risk if he would make it out alive.” – taking a deep breath you let your forehead rest against your hands on the steering wheel. Suddenly you were pulled back in the memories of the first strike.

Shane drove his car aggressively onto the front lawn. He stepped out all worked up when Lori appeared in the door. – “Shane?” – she said. – “Lori get your bags!” – Shane ordered pointing firm at her. Carl squeezed himself between the opening and his mom, coming in front of her. – “Lori your bags!” – Shane shouted having opened the trunk. – “What for? What is going on Shane?” – She asked feeling herself go in a panic because of his behaviour.

A few houses away broke the window with a clashing sound. Screams filled the streets when a woman tripped. A person going up to her and dropped himself to the ground. A moment later his head lifted a bit of flesh between his teeth. Blood staining his chin as he munched on the flesh. Lori covered up Carl’s eyes, shakingly holding a hand before her mouth. – “Lori!” – Shane yelled startling her. – “The bags!” – Lori nodded shockingly letting go of Carl.

Shane rushed over to Carl, grabbing him roughly by the arm. – “What about dad?” – Carl asked when Shane opened the car door. Shane pushed Carl on the backseat, closing the door on him. Shane ran into the house to help out Lori. Carl looked out of the window, crying silently at what he saw. Flesh being ripped off and blood splattering all around.

You were running horrified by what was occurring. Utter panic in the streets. People eating people. Biting bits and pieces for their own hunger. You didn’t lived far so your first reaction was running over to Rick’s house. There you saw Shane’s car parked poorly on the grass. Upon seeing Carl in the car, you started running faster. – “Carl!” – you shouted loud. Carl heard some muffled sounds before his eyes fell upon you. – “Auntie Y/n!” – he called out, pushing the car door open.

He ran up to you, bumping hard against you. He was crying loud against your body as you shielded him from the horrors. Lori and Shane came out of the house with bags. – “Y/n!” – Lori said surprised. – “Get in the car!” – Shane ordered to Lori. Lori nodded going to the car, tossing the bags in the trunk. Shane walked up to Carl, pulling him off you. – “In the car!” – he shouted at Carl, tossing him towards the car. Lori took Carl, putting him in the car.

“Where is Rick?” – you asked confused. Shane remained silent. – “You were with him! You were at the hospital so where is he?” – you wanted to know. – “Where is he?” – you shouted punching Shane on the shoulder.  Shane grabbed you by the wrist. – “He’s gone!” – he shouted at you. – “No!” – you cried out.

“You are lying!” – you told him. Shane grabbed you by the arms. – “You want to go and see for yourself? Fine! It will be your dead. He is gone Y/n!” – Shane’s hands moved further around you towards your back as it made you step back before they could fully close around you. Shane’s expression hardened. – “Go chase a dead man than!” – he said rudely pushing you away.

You stumbled to the ground in shock. Shane stormed off towards his car. – “If you would just…” – he began, looking over his shoulder to you. Without another word he got in the car. Your eyes widened knowing what he was about to do. You got up to your feet running towards the car. The car got in motion as you missed it. It took a turn, driving off. – “Shane!” – you shouted running after the car.

“Shane!” – you screamed as the distance increased. You couldn’t keep up, you never could. Stopping you dropped to your knees crying and screaming. Carl on the backseat knocking against the glass and shouting was the last thing you saw.

Your head shot up making Daryl blink confused. – “Is…is everything alright?” – he asked after your long silence. – “He told me Rick was dead.” – you mumbled staring hard in front of you. Your hands tightening around the steering wheel. Knuckles turning white. – “He lied…” – you said a bit louder. – “Who?” – Daryl asked getting a bit cautious of how terrifying cold you were being. – “He lied!” – you called out.

Out of anger you started to slap your hand against the steering wheel. Hitting it repeatedly even when your hand felt sore. – “Y/n, Y/n.” – Daryl said trying to get you to stop. He grabbed your hands as you continued to slap, hitting Daryl in the process. He pulled them off the steering wheel pulling at your hands to turn your posture more towards him. He wrapped his arms around you tight as you cried your heart out against his chest.

Pressing his lips hard on top of your head. Daryl turned his head spotting a trailed off walker appear from between the trees. – “Y/n.” – he whispered. – “I’ll be right back… you stay here…” – he said as you felt his grip around you loosen. You lifted your head up as well, seeing the walker. Daryl moved his finger to his mouth, letting you know to remain silent. He then gestured for you to stay put. He was going to take care of it. Your gaze darted down to the crossbow on the floor. His arrows sticking up.

You grabbed an arrow, getting out of the car. – “Y/n!” – Daryl called out, hurrying out of the car. Clenching your grip around the arrow, you went up to the walker. – “Y/n!” – Daryl shouted as it caught the attention of the walker. The walker gaged making it’s way over to you. Daryl ran up to you trying to keep you out of harms way. You raised the arrow, jamming it into the walker’s eye. Pushing it further in, the walker fell backwards with you on top of it.

Pulling the arrow out of it, you jammed it again in it’s eye. Then again and again. Gory blood splashing up. You kept trusting it in the eye, creating a massive hole. – “Y/n! Y/n!” – Daryl called out grabbing your arm to stop you from hitting it once more. – “It’s dead.” – Daryl made clear. You gasped for air with a loud sob, lowering your arm. Daryl took the arrow from you.

You wiped some gore off your face with your arm. Getting up with a loud huff. You wanted to walk off as Daryl grabbed your wrist, keeping you in place. – “What the hell was that about?” – he wanted to know. You didn’t have to speak as he understood. Daryl searched his back pockets taking out a key with the most ridiculous keychains on them. He opened your hand slapping them in your hand.

It made you frown. – “You can drive if you like.” – he said. – “Daryl what… what do you…” – you began as he interrupted. – “I don’t need all of them! I don’t! Hell I can survive better on my own!” – he made clear with a loud tone. – “So f*ck them all and drive off!” – he continued finally making himself clear to you. He grabbed you by the shoulders with a deep exhale.

“All I care about is you Y/n. Let’s get in the car and go. Just go. Leave this pile of shit behind.” – he pulled you closer letting his forehead rest against yours. – “All I want is for you to be save Y/n. So say the word and we’ll leave.” – he finished. You closed your hand with the keys in it, smiling up to him. You kissed him tender on the lips.

Daryl held himself back knowing it was a bittersweet kiss. He knew you couldn’t leave Carl… or Rick. – “I’ll hold you to it.” – you told him not saying entirely no to his offering. Daryl cupped your cheeks, kissing you once more. Deepening his kiss. Lips brushing against one another. A promise made underneath the moonlight.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[theresoneicouldcallking]

ok this entire first episode back felt so much more like 9-1-1 than the past few seasons.

athena's dig at the oscars was phenomenal

buck and natalia breaking up off-screen for the exact reasons we all hated them together

eddie's very not-heterosexual reaction to this news

"except in only one case is there underlying sexual tension." i see what you did there tim

christopher being a casanova and eddie deciding that's his other dad's problem to solve

the conversation between buck and christopher. so well done, love how serious it was. heartbreaking to see buck understand chris so well, and to watch eddie hear this from the hallway

shannon's letter, and devin actually being there to read it to him! that was so beautiful, and i love how afterwards, chris put the picture faced up again.

athena looking for reasons everywhere to avoid being alone with bobby is actually really sad, so i really hope the show doesn't drop this.

"oooorrrrr he murderded his wife."

the show immediately bringing back eddie's past with panic attacks, only now he's able to use this experience to help someone else.

chminey and hen being teasing roasting best friends as always

[thechaoticplayer]

Can I request hex haywire with a stressed s/o and going down on them?

author's note:

TEEHEHEHEHEHEHE (I wrote this around 3 am i apologize if it's super wack)

Summary: You're super stressed! Hex wonderful bf he is) by offering some sort of relief!

Contains: established relationship, nsfw content, Hex going down on ya, ugh this man makes me go nuts, gn! Reader with female attributes NONE OF MY WORKS ARE PROOFREAD

"What's wrong darling? you seemed stressed," HEX HAYWIRE asks as you snuggle against him with a pathetic groan. He immediately goes to massaging your thighs, eyes intent on you.

"Kind of," you admit, rubbing your eyes. "I just have so much on my plate right now, it's ridiculous. My boss thinks I'm some sort of superhuman doing all the work while my colleagues do shit, my clothes aren't done from the cleaners, I'm in charge of my cousin's birthday party- it's just so much."

You melt into his chest, closing your eyes as Hex massages your legs. He hums in understanding, giving your forehead a peck. "That does sound like a lot of work. An unreasonable amount of work. Overworking yourself isn't ideal, you know."

"I know, I've been trying but..." you trail off, your mouth slanting into your cheek. "Life said 'fuck you' and I'm just taking it at this point."

Hex goes silent for a moment, watching you over the brim of his glasses. He could feel the tension in your body, and the stress was really eating at you.

"My love, I just wanted to tell you how much I'm proud of you. Look at you, taking it like a champ," Hex says with a chuckle, and you open your eyes to give him a mean glare at the underlying meaning. "How about I relax you for a bit?"

"And how would you do that?"

Your boyfriend pulls away from you entirely, and you almost protested. You realize, as he sits himself down in front of you, in between your legs as you sit still on the couch, that he wasn't leaving. A light kiss against the side of your knee already sends butterflies up into your stomach.

"By pleasuring you. How does that sound?" Hex asks, voice velvety and seductive. The effects this man had on you was insane. Just him looking up at you with such a filthy look in his eyes with a mixture of love and need to help you, made you nearly run your thighs together for friction.

"That..." you inhale. "Doesn't sound too bad at all."

"Good good..." Taking each thigh with his large hands (his palms and fingers practically wrapped arond your whole thigh, and still touched! Insanity!), he gently pulls your legs apart to deliver kisses all across your thighs. You smile a bit.

But once you felt his hot breaths pan your clothed core, need suddenly made itself known to you. Your breath hitches as Hex pauses, tilting his head to the side as he gazes up at you.

"What do you want, baby?"

"I want you," you breathe, biting your lip just a tad. You squirm in your seat, the heat between your legs almost too much.

"Where do you want me, baby? I know you're a smart one and know how to use your words," Hex cooes, breaths ghosting over you but moving away to plant another kiss on your inner thigh.

"I want you t-there," you reply with sudden shyness, pointing to your sex.

He grins, a mischievous little smile, and he begins to tug off your pants and underwear. Throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, spreading you apart for him. It was getting really hard to keep your breaths normal, especially when he was so close to where you needed him most.

He licks a long stripe up your sex, making you give out a breathy moan. You angle your head back, eyelids fluttering as Hex continued his slow laps at your core. His tongue teases at your entrance, gliding over it and never sliding fully in. His teeth graze your clit, making you jolt and whimper.

Finally, he just takes you all in his mouth, opening wide and lapping at your sensitiveness. You instantly tug at his hair, pressing him further into you. A groan causes electricity to shoot up your spine and you moan, one hand digging into the mattress.

Your boyfriend sucks on the sensitive spot, assaulting it with all he has. Licking and sucking quickly, the orgasm speedily approaching at such a high speed, your vision turned white for a time. Slurping up your juices into his mouth, he was eating like a man starved, panting and growling low in his throat like a animal.

"H-Hex! Imma-" you choke on your words as your boyfriend sucks on that spot again.

"Cum, come on baby, cum for me, you're doing so well," he pants against you, never stopping his assault. "Doing such a good time, 'm so proud of you."

The muscles in your stomach clench as your orgasm begins to take over. You let out a high moan, releasing all over his face hard. Hex just laps it all up, licking you clean with such gentleness. You heave for breath, vision hazy as you watch Hex lick his lips.

"How do you feel now?" Another kiss to your thigh as he helps you set down from your high.

"...good. really good. Thank you Hexy," you whisper, beckoning him close to give him a loving kiss. "You're the best boyfriend ever."

He blushes slightly at this, and you fix his lop sided glasses. "Anything for you, my love."

[saewin]

On Waves of Dæmonism and Dænominations

Every now and again I'll stumble across a conversation about daemonism and I'm left anywhere from bemused to uncomfortable, thinking "that's really not how daemonism works". Yet, I'll dig deeper and see communities of people very happily practising.

So what gives?

I've come to understand there are multiple waves of daemonism. These have developed into "daenominations" that can have mutually exclusive underlying principles. Recently I've mostly seen people advertising and discussing the third wave as though it's an evolution of previous principles, or as an umbrella to previous ideas, which set off my alarm bells.

So I want to talk about these waves and daenominations and roughly what I see defines them, with emphasis on my "own" - the second.

First wave: Canonical - "The books define it"

In the early days, the definition of a daemon was very much like that in the "His Dark Material" books. The books were referenced often and the form your daemon took in projection was often considered significant. So daemon and form, like in the books, were intrinsically linked. There was a strong spiritual element or significance for many, as in the books daemons were thought of as your soul, and to stop projecting completely was considered a significant event. Analyses were more literal in nature rather than interpreted.

Second wave: Prescriptivist - "We define it"

Around 2007-09, as more people joined the community began to move towards a more stripped down understanding of daemonism. This was a push back against the canonical "daemon as a soul" basis of the first wave. Around the same time, the philosophy of New Atheism was born as a reaction to the perceived dominance of the Christian understanding of reality. Given the strength of the parallel, it's likely this wider cultural shift influenced the second wave.

The stripped back view was thus: a daemon was an imaginary friend/mental construct and it was termed a “daemon” because it followed a particular, community-agreed set of rules, originally derived from the HDM books. The entity used part of the daemian's internal monologue, there was one entity with the title of daemon, and the daemon was a positive or at least neutral addition for the daemian in some way. This time the form the daemon took during projection officially had zero significance in deciding a settled form. Instead, the daemian could project the daemon in the settled form or however they pleased (comfort form(s), etc). The spiritual element was downplayed as an optional extra, although many daemians kept that personal significance. Crucially, the rules around the daemon's construct and how analyses were conducted were built through community consensus. As scientific observation of animal behaviour was required to build an analysis, mythics and long extinct animals were not considered viable.

At the beginning of the second wave, the books informed the acknowledged arbitrary ruleset to define an imaginary friend/mental construct as a daemon, which could be considered an orthodox stance. As the community grew and changed, so did the framework through community consensus. Ideas diverging from the books came in, e.g. multiple daemons, because daemians found a use case, and the community took a more modernist approach by challenging the book-derived framework, whilst still relying on consensus.

When the English-speaking daemian community became diffuse across social media, practitioners for whom the second wave structured approach and its specific definitions were not a perfect fit formed their own communities or practiced alone. This signals the start of the third wave.

Third wave: Post-modernist - "I define it"

Given that a daemon is derived from the mind, what is to say that any rules around the construction of a daemon were required, other than the daemian's say-so? At this point overlaps between different kinds of entities became more frequent - headmates, soulbonds and spirits of all kinds may at times have been referred to as daemons by the daemian as they "took on the role" of a daemon. Daemians may have had more than one daemon fulfilling the role, and systems became more prevalent in the community, who might have had one daemon for the system, or daemons for specific system members.

The more restrictive community definition of a daemon, which could be considered gatekeeping, fuzzed out to be replaced by a collection of ideas that daemians can pick and choose from depending on their needs. Generally however a daemon is considered a helpful voice to the daemian.

Multiple form finding systems now exist together, including the addition of Pullman and Symbolic, the latter in particular allowing space for any form with only a cultural presence (mythics and the long extinct) unlike Analytic. Further, some daemians opt to only declare a form of personal significance with no community consensus on meaning. While daemonism had been linked to pluralism before, often as a median concept, this is where the idea of "plural by default" starts.

This is all very rough, and I'm talking about a changing landscape with a heavy sense of irony. The second wave kicked off around the time I joined and I'm sure wound people up just the same, yet I know people who follow the first wave view still practice. For full transparency, I'm not active in the community these days but keep up with the main beats through friends. Even so, I do still consider myself a daemian and have great affection for the practice.

From this I'd consider myself an orthodox prescriptivist. I'd love to see expansions on these waves or other thoughts.

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hello everyone,

I found an interesting about neurodiversity and queerness. According to this article:

Research doesn’t yet offer a clear reason to explain the overlap between the communities. One theory suggests that the greater gender-and-sexual diversity within the neurodivergent population results from challenges in navigating sociocultural norms around mainstream notions of gender and sexuality — like gender roles and expressions, and sexual orientation and attraction. That is, due to the differences in the way a neurodivergent person experiences life, they may struggle to conform to these norms, inspiring them to explore beyond traditions and express themselves in newer ways that resonate with them.

“You could then understand the co-occurrence as perhaps a more honest expression of underlying experiences,” John Strang, director of the Gender and Autism Program at the Children’s National Hospital in Washington, D.C., told Spectrum News.

Further, the struggle to fit within a society that idealizes neurotypical brains can also lead neurodivergent individuals to question a multitude of social norms — including those around gender and sexuality. In other words, the alienation they experience — be it due to autism, a learning disability, a personality disorder, or even bipolar disorder — can cause them to feel like an “outsider” at all times, inducing a greater openness to alternate ideas of gender and sexuality. Upon digging further, they may end up with the conclusion that they are indeed cis-gendered and heterosexual. But in the event that they aren’t, the exploration prompted by the neurological differences that denied one the sense of belonging can inadvertently become the key to discovering their gender and sexuality.

Many neurodivergent people can also feel both sensory and emotional stimuli — including attraction and arousal — more deeply, which can also drive them to explore their sexuality more. While that doesn’t automatically mean they’d turn out to be queer, it does point to them being more open to embracing a queer identity, if their exploration does lead them to that conclusion.

The link to the full article will be below if anyone wants to read more.

Neurodiversity

[cal-writes]

some fun stuff from the drafts. thought it would interesting to see the evolution of scenes! this was how a scene from chapter 3 of law's eleven started (literally couldn't find it in my docs but thankfully i send most of my excerpts to @blithe-bee on discord so i found it there)

“I can't tell him.” Law whispers into the dark and he hears a wet snort.

“The fucking don't.” Zoro says, gurling ugly before he spits onto the ground. Law doesn't need to look between the bars of their cells to know it's blood.

His hands ball into fists until he feels his nails dig into his skin. They’ll both die here then. The thought washes over him like ice. He couldn't even get halfway through his plan before it was ruined. Corazon would be spinning in his grave if he had been granted the luxury of one.

“What happened to your eye?” He asks and it rings in the quiet. The scrape of chains, Zoro’s labored breathing and out of the corner of his eye Law sees the other man press against the bars to glare at him.

“Are you really asking me that right now?” Zoro’s remaining eye is clear and blazing with rage. It’s almost comforting. Law focuses on the heavy weight of his gaze instead of the blood mattered in his hair.

“It was stupid to come here alone.” He says because it's true, staring at the wall. Law made a miscalculation that ruined his plan and Zoro’s misplaced chivalry ensured that neither of them would survive it.

Zoro’s cuffs hit the jail bars loud enough that Law flinches. “Who says I came alone, asshole?” Law’s mouth opens in retort just before a distant explosion makes the ground shake. “Unlike you, I trust my crew.” Zoro says and Law knows him well enough that he can't hide the underlying hurt.

then while writing some of the logistics and emotions changed with context so the finished result is this

“Then don't,” Zoro replies. He seems to have given up on trying to mutilate himself with the handcuffs, sitting there a little hunched, but at least he’s swaying less. He says it so easily that Law has to wonder if he understands the implication. They’ll both die here. Law, getting someone else killed for the crime of trying to help him. (Corazon would be spinning in his grave if he had been granted the luxury of one.) This is what Law had tried to avoid. It was only supposed to be himself . Law has been on borrowed time his entire life and it was time to give it back.

(Zoro has always clung onto life so fiercely, since the moment Law had met him, to every day after. He had almost turned Ms. All Sundays down when he’d seen the injury Mihawk had left because what was the point in stitching up a soon-to-be corpse? And then Zoro had survived and thrived and lived. No matter the odds. Maybe it was fitting that Law would be his undoing in the end.)

They sit there, the silence only broken occasionally by Zoro’s heavy breathing. Long enough that Law eventually thinks, eh, what the hell?

“What happened to your eye?” He asks. The question rings in the space between them. Zoro stills.

“Are you really asking that now?” Zoro makes a sound between a laugh and a growl. It sounds like it hurts his throat. He shakes his head. “You’re a fucking piece of work.” Law blinks. It must be the concussion but Zoro had sounded fond. He’s not sure how to respond. If he even should.

Before Law can make his decision, they get company.

Click-clack on the marble tiles. Law closes his eyes and tries to get his mind to escape his body so he doesn’t have to be here for what’s to come. Then he remembers that Zoro is still here and it feels cowardly to abandon him (again).

[moonlightsapphic]

Y'all, I find the reception of XO, Kitty so dissapointing.

TL; DR: The underlying homophobia/biphobia/lesbophobia/misoginy towards Yuri as potential and viable endgame which I don't think would have happened if she were yet another hot guy.

The straight-baiting marketing of this show was absolutely genius and I loved that Jenny Han, who writes the straightest central romances to ever romance (To All the Boys I've Loved Before, The Summer I Turned Pretty), actually initiated a series with such visibly queer storylines and then literally jumped into this sort-of-interracial, sapphic romance centered around a bi+ character. I could see Han trying to be more inclusive in her past on-screen works, but this was incredible.

No you don't understand. There was this point midway through the show where I thought I was in a fever dream and watching wishful fanmade content because I couldn't believe an IRL Netflix show could actually give us this. My mind was blown.

So you'll understand that I was fully bamboozled to see that social media is swamped with Min-ho fangirls pretending like Yuri doesn't even exist. I love Min-ho too, but am I the only one who also saw so many signs that point to a future Yuri x Kitty?

First, for the narrative satisfaction of their moms being best friends in the past!

... and to complete Kitty's coming of age! Kitty, growing up in the cisheteronormative Song-Covey household, made the oversight of initially operating under the assumption that she exclusively likes boys and that she has mastered the art of relationships. That's already been debunked partway by her breakup with her first boyfriend who was supposed to be endgame, and is only going to be sealed further if she ends up with a girl in a long-term relationship. (And no, of course she doesn't have to "end up" with a girl for her queer identity to be valid, but I think it just makes the most narrative sense to have that unfold in the story as her worldview alters.)

Here I present to you: my pet peeves in the XO, Kitty fandom

hyping up parallels between Peter x LJ and Minho x Kitty scenes claiming that this means Minho x Kitty may be endgame. They literally have to reach and dig for those because the most parallels are between Peter x LJ and Yuri x Kitty, right from the scene that they bumped into each other! Kitty has also shown zero romantic interest in Minho so far, as opposed to her very keen interest in Yuri.

People finally addressing the elephant in the room like "Ugh, Yuri is probably going to be endgame. 🙄 I want Minho instead!!" like it's such a disappointing or borderline gross outcome. Yuri is a much more intense enemies-to-lovers character than Minho. She is beautiful, kind, and fun with a little bit of bite, everything that Minho is plus Kitty is falling for her hard.

Being real here—If you think Yuri is a boring love interest or kind of a b*tch while Minho is simply a fun old enemies-to-lovers character, I am begging you to check your biases. You, a straight woman, may only see hostile fictional women as competitiion and hostile fictional men as ... well, kinda hot. However, Kitty is bi+ and she could see them both as viable romantic interests, equally. Yes, Yuri has done more malicious things than Minho, but then again she has had a harder time this academic year than Minho. You are obviously still allowed to like Minho better, as long as you're not dismissing the struggles of and flattening a strong female character. Misoginy and homophobia make an ugly combo, y'all. Trust me, you don't want any part in that.

(Additional unpopular opinion: I'm going to get crucified for this but I genuinely think Kitty is too boring for Minho in the same way that Dae was too boring for Kitty. He seems to be into her only from the Halo Effect. Minho is my child and I squeal whenever he's on screen and I hope to see him finding someone actually fun!)

Saying that Kitty’s crush on Yuri was just a token plot point with no real basis or depth. While there is some unrealistic family drama in the show, it's all still credible. Fiction is supposed to bring in imaginative elements and try to keep things grounded. Regardless, I'm never going to be the person who says that a wild and shocking bi- or gay-awakening is unrealistic. As a queer person, let me tell you that it is just as wild and confusinh for us IRL.

Besides, many cishet people actually do not care if (or is hateful when) the MC is bi, that I doubt how much it “helps” with marketing. (That's why queerbaiting exists, folks.) Also, have you seen Kitty in TATBILB? That's a bi preteen right there if I've ever seen one.

"Stop trying to invalidate other people's ships!" I will say this once: I don't care if you ship Kitty with Min-ho, or Dae, or anyone else that's not Yuri. I DON'T CARE! Frankly, good for you because straight ships have better luck out there anyway, ya know? I am simply begging you to not reduce a queer person's nuanced concerns about dismissal of sapphic fictional characters to petty fandom arguments. Read the room, guys. Please.

This is such a crucial show to many of us. I just want y'all to understand that this is just a little bigger than your celebrity crush on a hot guy whose character you're rooting for. We never, ever get contemporary slice-of-life romcom sapphic rep (and Netflix is notorious for cancelling sapphic shows, too). Please don't be dismissive of a perfectly good possible ending! We want to give Netflix every reason to renew this show, and give Han every reason to allow Kitty to flourish just the way she plans to! (This is me begging y'all to not influence the writers into swerving last-minute towards a sloppy Minho endgame, though I do trust her better than that.)

I hope that Netflix renews the show, even if it's through the excitement of straight people in denial LMAO. And then I hope it treats us with a glorious sapphic ending.*

*(Aaaand I can already imagine the cishet women in the audience complaining online about what a terrible person Kitty is for leading Min-ho on and then dumping him, and how she and Yuri are both awful and totally deserve each other. Music to my ears.)

[delopsia]

hi del! happy early birthday!! here’s my submission for your birthday bouquet 🩷

pigeon post- rhett & bob, title: NFWMB, flower: carnation (my favourite flower!)

I don't know where I wound up going with this one 😭 Edit: I entirely forgot to include Bob in this?? 😅 he's here now It also took me...so long to realize that NFWMB stands for 'Nothing Fucks With My Baby' Join my Birthday Bouquet Event! 💐

It's a funny thing, really.

The way that the ghosts from one's past can emerge from the stadium shadows. Unintentionally crossing paths with others who bear similar stories, hopelessly seeking to reclaim their places in your lives, regardless of whether you remember each other's names. The kind of oversized nuisance that digs beneath your skin like a rusty nail, with their spotless boots and perfect, glittering smiles, dissolving into a sea of giggles at the sight of your husbands.

It's an irritant hammered home by heavy gazes and jingling spurs, so lost in the idea of undressing you that you can almost feel the clothes being pulled from your body. The only thing that keeps them at bay is the arms that have long since circled around your waist, built of steel and grit, still trembling from another winning ride.

Rhett's warm nose bumps into the juncture of your neck, unshaven jaw tickling your exposed collar. "Y' alright?"

At your side, your limp hand twitches. Drops of crimson trickle from the split in your knuckles. Raining from your fingertips, splattering on the concrete and the side of Rhett's boot.

"You should be asking the other guy that," you mutter after a moment. Your eyes are still fixated on the ambulance medic, fussing over the shattered nose of a motherfucker who should have known better.

His chuckle rumbles through the length of your spine. "I don't give a fuck about 'em." 

A hand appears on your back, gliding up and down in dizzyingly slow strokes as if you're a wild horse that can bolt at any time. In some senses, perhaps you are. 

"Let me see," Bobby's speaking quietly, already beginning to glide his way down your shaking arm. But as Rhett steps back, the mere inches of distance between your bodies has you wondering if another face from the past is going to try their luck. 

But it's only Bobby who reaches for your swollen hand, quickly followed by Rhett. Their palms practically wrap around you entirely; Rhett's touch is rough and calloused from a lifetime of manual labor, whereas Bobby's is a little softer. Not quite silky smooth, but not as rugged as your cowboy is. 

"'s not broken," Rhett observes aloud, twisting it back and forth as if to root out any underlying issue. Nothing new arises. "Jus' gonna hurt like a bitch in the mornin'."

Bobby doesn't seem all that convinced, carefully tracing over the bones in search of any abnormality that wasn't there before. But, like Rhett, he doesn't find anything. 

A giggle erupts behind you. Shrill. Dancing across your last remaining nerve, hanging on by a thread.

Bob's eyes snap up. Ice gold gaze blistering into someone standing behind you. But when you turn to get a look, you find nothing; not a soul is looking your way. 

"C'mon," Rhett's motioning with his head toward the parking lot, already beginning to move. "I know a place where no one's gonna bother us." 

Nobody in this damn town understands that being a trio does not equate to an invitation for someone new to join, but you'll be happy to remind them.

...if Bobby doesn't get to them first.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation {Sal Fisher}: Emo Buff Daddy [15]

TW::: smut, mention of self harm

And quick A/N: i know a couple people were upset with me for not using the keep reading option-- i'm very sorry but i'm still new to tumblr so i didn't quite understand how it worked! i've added this feature to all of my chapters so anyone can skip past it if they want. i hope it's better now-- happy reading!! <33

++++++++++++++++++

"I don't see why you're still standing."

Sal's dark tone and breathless voice catches me off guard. What's that supposed to mean? My gaze snaps up to his and our eyes meet. His are slightly narrowed as though his brows are furrowed behind his prosthetic.

His hand suddenly wraps around me and presses into the small of my back, his nails digging into my too-warm flesh. The stinging sensation pushes me over the edge and I suck in a breath, still looking up at him inquisitively. What does he want me to do if not stand?

His free, gloved hand reaches up and aggressively latches onto my jaw, setting my face right before his. The rough surface of his prosthetic nose scratches against my mask as his eyes glare into mine. I feel exposed to him, all my thoughts, feelings, as well as my entire body completely bare to him.

The edges of his fingerless gloves brush over my chin, making me gulp down any visceral reaction I may have because of the light touch. It's teasing, almost. A soft, barely noticeable touch makes me feel more than a complete, full enveloping touch does. Because no matter how ridiculous it may seem to someone else, a fleeting touch has so much withheld intention. There's a difference between wanting to do something and actually doing it-- the prospect of someone holding back makes every nerve-ending in my body light up. I could power an entire city right now.

Sal's head tilts slightly to the left. His fingertips dig into the hollows of my cheeks, his breaths are a bit ragged and muffled, his knee is propped between both of legs with reason. His combat pants rub against the inside of my bare thighs, creating a friction so delicious that it's nearly painful. He moved us into a compromising position before I could even really notice.

"I said," he starts, voice low. So low that it carries off into the air around us to the point that I almost miss it. "I don't see why you're still standing."

I blink up at him and he squeezes my face. So I suck in a breath that's been deprived of me for the past couple minutes and lick my dry lips. He makes me nervous in an exhilarating way. "What do you--" my voice cracks and I quietly clear my throat, casting my gaze off to the side. "What do you want me.. to do?"

As if my head began to lean away from him, he readjusts his grip on my jaw, gripping it so tightly that I'm forced to look into his eyes yet again. His ocean eyes that seem more like the depths of a dark sea rather than clear water once you're near the surface, just about to breach.

"If your knees aren't bruised by the end of the night, then there's a problem," he rasps out, dark eyes capturing the image of my parted lips before our gazes clash again. "So bruise them."

I swallow thickly over the sudden shiver that passes through my body. Sal notices my light tremor, his fingers loosening around my face.

We stare at each other for a moment or two longer as I replay his words in my head. He obviously wants his dick in my mouth, and honoring up on our bickering that I thought was merely some harsh jokes a few weeks ago feels a bit horrifying now that the opportunity is being presented to me. Obviously I want to do it, but if it's anything like what I felt last night, I'm not sure I'll be able to do such a great job at taking all of him into my mouth. There's no way.

"Hey." Sal regains my attention again, his eyes blazing as he stares at me. His voice is just as serious as it's been since we ran into each other, but the underlying lust is filtered out for a moment. "Are you uncomfortable?"

I gulp, shaking my head vigorously to let him know that I'm fine. I guess my silence made him feel the need to make sure that I'm cool to do this. That's... uncommonly kind of him.

Sal relaxes a bit, his shoulders dropping as the tenseness falls away and he moves his fingers from my jaw. To replace that bit of control, he slaps my cheek gently and holds my chin up with two fingers, tilting my face toward him. "Good," he breathes. "Then don't fucking make me say it again."

My lips are uncomfortably dry, so I lick them again and nod once at him. I swallow down all of the surface level fears I've developed in the past second and grab onto the waistband of his cargo pants. I'm so glad the photographers put him in this getup because I've never seen him look more drool-worthy in all my life.

"You--" I say quietly, looking down the empty hallway that we're occupying. I slowly pull my fingers from the fabric of his pants and crack my knuckles. "Here?" I ask.

"C'mon," he taunts suddenly, taking a little step closer to me. His combat boots scuff the cement ground at our feet and his eyes squint. "You always have so much to say. Where's that dirty mouth of yours now? You nervous over the possibility of getting caught?"

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out as a rush of heat filters through my veins. He's not wrong. I'd hate to get caught sucking him off in a fucking hallway. I can't be vulnerable like that.

But Sal's on a warpath today and he isn't showing me any mercy. But then again, when does he ever show me any mercy?

His eyes drop to my mouth again and he snickers beneath his breath. "That doesn't turn you on? The prospect of someone finding us while I'm buried in your throat? You're such a little slut, I'm shocked you're not into that."

There he goes again with the degrading. His voice alone is enough to sway me, but his words are manipulative too and suddenly his desires are my own. Maybe the looming threat of someone walking in on such an obscene act is pretty invigorating...

Sal's calloused thumb rubs along my wet bottom lip, pulling it forward. "So soft," he mumbles, eyes never straying from where his fingers touch. His hand wraps further around my back just as he dips his thumb between the seam of my lips, the digit barely brushing over the surface of my teeth. "They'd look so pretty wrapped around my cock."

My breath catches in my throat and I effectively pause everything-- my thoughts, my breathing, my movements, even my fucking heartbeat. Sal seems to notice the moment I've reconsidered his offer. Just as he releases my lip, I drop the tactical gear in my hands, grab his biceps, and reverse our positions. I back him up with shaky breaths until he's pressed against the wall, then I drop to my knees right in front of him.

"Good girl," he purrs, praising me prettily as he drags his fingers over the underside of my jaw. I waste no time after his words shoot through me. I trail my hands up the sides of his legs and keep eye contact with him the entire time before finding my way into the top of his pants again.

I hook my fingers into the fabric and give a light yank, watching as Sal's pale hips come into view. His boxers are just barely visible, hardly hanging onto him at all. I brush my thumb over his warm skin and swipe my tongue over my bottom lip when Sal sucks in a sharp breath. He's sensitive.

I pull his pants down the rest of the way, which didn't take much effort on my part since they're pretty loose. They pool around his ankles and then the only thing in my way is the thin fabric of his underwear. Even with that covering him, his member is incredibly apparent and there isn't a single thing that could hide him right now.

And then there's that tattoo on his hip. Earlier today, mere hours ago, I still couldn't make out what it was. I have so many opportunities now, I can rip his underwear off him and finally answer the question I've had since Larry sent me that damned picture of him over Discord.

His shirt is covering the very top of the tattoo from me, so I'm only able to see a set of vertical curves and lines along his skin that never connect at the top that's hidden from my view.

My fingers carefully trail along his bare leg until I reach his boxers, crossing over to the front to palm his thick cock through the fabric all while looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

Sal's breath stutters as I rub my hand along his length, teasing him until he cracks-- hopefully. He was rough with me last night, deliciously so, and that's the type of attitude I'm looking for again.

I squeeze his dick lightly, not enough to set this scene in motion, but it's enough for him to shut his eyes in ecstasy. "Vi," he says darkly, a grating edge to his voice. "If you don't start choking on my dick in the next second, I'm going to do it for you."

My hand tightens around his member again and I tilt my head up at him. His eyes are still closed. "I don't think you'd be able to choke on your own dick, Sal," I say softly, sensually.

His head snaps down to look at me, eyes blazing with lustful rage. Within the next second, as promised, he's shoved his boxers down with one hand and buried his hand into my hair. His fingers wrap around the strands and he yanks my head back roughly so I'm looking up at him. He doesn't give me a single chance to finally find out what kind of tattoo he has on his hip. "It's about damn time I shut that dirty mouth of yours, you fucking brat," he barks out, nearly sneering down at me with that impressive fire in his eyes and the tantalizing grip he has on my hair. Then he pulls me back a bit more, tilts my head down just a tad, and taps my chin. "Open the fuck up. Now."

My mouth willingly falls open and before I can fully prepare myself, Sal drags my face forward and bucks his hips up at the same exact time. His dick slams into the back of my throat and my immediate reaction is to choke.

Thankfully, he doesn't move. He sits there for a second while I gather my wits and adjust to something so large intruding my airways. But I quickly close my lips around his length and blink over the tears that brim my eyes.

"You're going to cry?" He says through pants, letting out a single laugh. "Pathetic. You can do better than that."

With his cock filling up every inch of my open mouth, I can't make a sound no matter how badly I want to. I simply blink up at him quickly, relishing in the way he gazes down at me with glazed eyes that drink me in so devilishly.

So instead, I moan around his length and shut my eyes again, hollowing my cheeks as I suck on the part of him that's in my mouth. I lift a hand and wrap it around the rest of his cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. My other hand moves to his bare thigh. As soon as my fingers brush his skin though, Sal uses his free hand to slap mine away. "No touching unless it's my dick. Got it?" he breathes, fingers tight around my wrist.

Fuck it, whatever. If that's what he's into then fine. It's not going to stop me.

Sal drags his fingers through the strands of my hair until he reaches the end, then he wraps it around his hand, holding on close to my scalp. He pulls my head back then pushes his dick further into my mouth.

And then he's thrusting into my throat, pushing my head forward to meet him halfway. I'm just the added pleasure-- he has no patience, doesn't want me to help him at all.

I do everything I can to use my tongue, licking under his shaft and using my leftover saliva to pump the rest of him with my hand. But Sal fucks my mouth rough and quick-- so much so that this is simply so he can cum as fast as possible. It's not about a slow build up, it's about using me to chase his high.

Too bad he chose the wrong bitch for the job.

Tears threaten to stream down my cheeks as his head repeatedly slams into the back of my throat. I choke on his cock multiple times and it has to be music to his ears. Sal's a whimpering, groaning mess above me, bucking his hips into my face and tilting his head to the ceiling.

Sal's hand is still clutching my wrist, but I want to drag this out for as long as I can, especially if he orgasms quickly like he did last night.

I tug on my wrist a bit and Sal pauses his rough thrusts, taking a breath. "What?" he asks, shockingly a tad concerned. "Are you okay? We can stop?"

He's let go of my arm and that's what I wanted. Instead of answering, I glance up at him and pull back so just the tip of his dick is between my lips. Then I suck gently, swirling my tongue around him to lick up all the pre-cum that had leaked. Sal shivers, a deep groan following the action. The sound forces my thighs together either to hide the evidence of my own arousal or to provide some relief for myself-- I'm not sure which one.

I wrap my hand around his velvety cock to give him a tight, slow pump, all while looking into his eyes. I want to watch him squirm.

He lets out a quivering breath when I separate my mouth from him with a reverberating pop that makes him flinch. He moans quietly and my eyes catch the way his hand squeezes into a fist then slowly stretches out beside him. That's hot. Mr. Darcy who?

I use my hand as leverage, placing my tongue at the base of his cock to slowly lick a stripe all the way back to his tip. Then I suck the head of his dick into my mouth again, my tongue wrapping around his throbbing member and eliciting a pretty little whimper from him.

Finally, I start bobbing my head along his length, sucking and licking up as much of him as I can. The salty taste of him coats my tongue deliciously, making me eager for the moment he finally climaxes.

Sal lets out a deep, trembling breath as I repeatedly take him in and out of my mouth, going as deep as I possibly can to force him into making some kind of sound again. He pushes a hand through my hair, gently massaging my scalp with his long fingers. It's almost intimate, but I know better. This is praise for doing well.

"You can take more than that, Vi," he says, voice audibly shaking. "Keep going, pretty girl. Don't make me take the reins again."

I know he'd love to take control and shove his dick down my throat again, but hopefully I can get him to cum on my own. I just know he'd cry for me. I want that bad.

I pull him out of my mouth and use my hand to pump the entirety of his pretty, soaked cock that I'm finally able to lay my eyes. He's definitely a good size. Gorgeous, pink, and so incredibly sensitive.

And there's the tattoo. My eyes were pinned to it as soon as I had a moment to admire his cock. It's faded, something he must have gotten years ago compared to the newer, darker marks on his arm and neck.

A crescent moon and stars around it. Fitting for him, actually. I find myself admiring it while I take my time to pleasure him. It's detailed, pretty. If there were any perfect words to describe him, this perfect little tattoo says it all. Dark, night, a little bright, definitely a dreamer. A hoper. It's him, more personal to him than any of his other tattoos.

I'm brought back to reality, heart thumping affectionately in my chest when Sal twitches in my hand. I look up at him, panting heavily since I'm finally able to get a good breath of air in. Saliva and pre-cum is smeared across my face and Sal seems drunk off of the image when he glances down at me again.

His fingers stop their gentle caress and tighten around my hair again, quickly using that grip to keep my head still as he shoves his throbbing dick back into the depths of my throat.

He doesn't say a word as he repeatedly thrusts in and out of mouth, making more tears flow down my cheeks. He doesn't have to say anything-- I took my mouth off of his cock for too long and right after he warned me. This is his nonverbal way of telling me that karma's taking control.

No matter how many attempts I make to bring him closer to climax with my tongue, by sucking every inch of him I can, it means nothing. All he cares about is making me crumble beneath him. All he craves is the sound of me gagging on him. All he wants to see is his cock filling up my mouth and the tears that have begun to paint my cheeks.

"Just like that," he moans out pathetically, beautifully. "You're doing so good." I'm hardly doing anything other than acting as his fucktoy, but if that's what he wants then I'm more than happy to oblige. Watching him fall apart, pleasure himself, and show this vulnerable side is enough to satisfy me. I don't even need to cum if it means he'll do it for both of us.

"I'm about to cum," he rasps out, still pounding into my throat roughly. I might not be able to speak after this, not with the way he's fucking my throat raw. "Swallow every drop or you'll fucking regret it--" his voice falls into a sinful whimper and he shudders, his fingers tightening impossibly around the strands of my hair.

I moan against him, squeezing my eyes shut as he picks up the pace, his dick roughly pumping into my mouth. It's brutal and I love every second. He feels good, he tastes good, he sounds good. I'm obsessed with the way he falls apart so viscerally. It's intoxicating.

For just a second, I'm thinking I might actually orgasm over the sound of his salacious moans alone. He's so vocal and so dirty about it-- how could I not? But he bursts into my mouth before I can think harder about it. The salty flavor and warmth of his cum envelops my tongue so quickly and I try to keep it all contained, but he continues thrusting into my throat. A bit of the liquid seeps from the corners of my lips, dripping onto the floor.

I don't care and Sal doesn't either for the moment. He simply whimpers between breaths above me, sucking in as much air as he can before he looks down at me and begins to pull his cock from my mouth.

I suck on him to lick up whatever cum I can. He jolts at the feeling of my tongue on him, hissing as his head tilts down to look at me.

I run my free hands up his thighs, absolutely reveling in his post-orgasm bliss with him. He's so pretty-- takes his hand out of my hair to run it through his, pulling strands away from his sweaty forehead. And now that the moment is over, he's not stopping me from touching him.

But as I'm feeling his skin, I notice something. A row of thin, raised lines. Not just one, multiple.

I try to rationalize it in my mind. There's no way-- but what if there was a way?

My heart thumps wildly in my chest and I flatten my palm on his thigh, rubbing my thumb gently over the protrusions. I swallow the remnants of Sal's orgasm and watch him with a renewed mind. He looks down at me and wipes his cum off of my chin, sticking his thumb into my mouth to slather the liquid onto my tongue.

He's still glowing right now-- he must not realize what I've discovered and I can't even fully wrap my head around it myself. I know what this is. How do I bring this up? I don't know if these are from two months ago or from years ago and if he's not happy... I can't just act like I haven't noticed anything.

I gulp down my nerves. It's going to be uncomfortable for both of us but I'd rather help him. I know I would have appreciated it when I was going through a tough time. Whether I hate him or not, I don't hate him enough to let him suffer alone.

"Sally," I say hoarsely, clearing my throat. "Are these..." my voice is barely audible from the way he abused the inside of my throat, but I rub my fingertips along the lines on his thighs again and Sal suddenly returns to the land of the living.

He roughly shoves my hands off of him, nearly pushing me onto my haunches. His boxers are back on before I can even regain my balance. "What?" he asks, taking a breath to recover from the marathon-like orgasm he just had. My heart thumps in my chest, an overwhelming mix of anxiety and shock taking hold of me. "I have a lot of scars, Vi. If that's going to gross you out then let's just stop this now."

My head rears back at his sneer and accusation. He's deeply offended and I can't help but feel like he's acting this way because someone's turned him away because of the scars before. That's not my intention-- I'd never do that.

"No, they don't--" I gape up at him, brows furrowing. "I'm the last person who's going to be grossed out by scars, Sal. I'm just..." I pinch my lips together as a wave of fear washes over me. He's going to think I'm insane for actually worrying over him. "Fuck, this sounds crazy," I warn. "But I'm just worried."

I watch him with wary eyes, but Sal scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Don't be worried about scars from my delinquent past with Larry. If anything, I deserved these," he grumbles, looking down and grabbing his pants. He shimmies them up his legs just before I can get a look at the scars that I felt. And I don't believe him. Those are too meticulously placed.

"Deserved? Delinquent?" I ask softly. "These are--"

"Yea. Delinquent. Larry and I hopped a barbed wire fence and my unlucky ass got caught on it. That's what those scars are. I broke laws, karma broke me. That's the circle of life." He says this all so nonchalantly, all the while swiping another drop of cum from my lips.

No one would be able to lie so efficiently. Not even I could. Something's still sketchy about this and I want to question him more. But that's invading his privacy and I can already tell that he's on edge. One wrong move-- which is the direction I'm heading in-- and he'll never open up about this regardless.

But what if he's telling the truth? Maybe I'm just bringing up past trauma. I didn't get to look at the scars on his thighs anyway.

I should keep asking anyway though. If he needs help...

I'm driving myself insane. I want to pester him, beg him to be honest with me just because I know how desperate I was at one point for help with my mental. I couldn't leave anyone to stay silent when I suspect that there's something wrong, even my enemy. It's just not--

"Now, I remember saying something about you having to regret not swallowing everything," his voice suddenly turns sinister in a very pleasurable way. He pulls me back to reality quickly, and I find my heart racing for a different reason. The truth always comes out. Obviously he wouldn't trust me enough now, but maybe he will in the future. I will find out.

For now, there's nothing more I can do. I tried.

Sal tilts his head down to the floor between us, so I follow his gaze to notice the various drops of milky white on the floor.

I gulp, swallowing the remnants of what was left in my mouth. The salty taste begins to die away-- I can hardly taste anything, in fact, as anticipation takes hold of my entire body. My mind goes blank in an instant, my worries replaced with expectations.

My eyes instinctually look back up at Sal who's already gazing at me. I'm guessing he's waiting on some kind of reaction from me.

Half of me wants to let him do whatever it is he's undoubtedly planning, but the other half of me is hyper-focused on the clothes I'm supposed to be changing into. And what I discovered just seconds ago. This doesn't feel right, not when there's so much else to focus on. But memories of last night have plagued me all day. What to do, what to do...

I really should just get dressed and start heading back to the other room. If Sal and I are away for too long, it's going to look really suspicious. And I mean, if anything, we can find another time to continue this. If he's adamant on punishing me, so to speak, he'll make time to do it. That'll give me time to figure out a plan on how to get the truth out of him too.

With that thought in mind, I grab the pile of clothes and push myself off my knees, standing to my full height. I take a breath and then a step back, all while Sal watches me closely. His eyes are so bright right now-- they look like they're glowing. The hardly contained desire swimming around in his cerulean irises does nothing to help.

I open my mouth with the intention of telling him that we'll figure something out later, but I don't even get a chance to say a syllable-- I only squeak out in surprise when Sal lunges toward me, sweeping me off my feet with no effort.

My hands automatically latch onto his shoulders once he wraps my legs around his waist with a little grunt. My eyes widen significantly when Sal turns on his heel and starts heading for the room that he just came out of. The clothes that were previously in my grasp are pressed between him and I-- they miraculously stuck around during whatever just happened.

Sal's hands grip my ass tightly, his fingertips digging into my flesh as he quickly walks us closer to the changing room. "You're lucky I don't make you lick that off the floor like a fucking dog," he bites out, a short chuckle following.

I have too many responsibilities for him to be talking like this.

My legs tighten around his waist and I squeeze my eyes shut. My lips pinch together as I try to remind myself why I can't just let him tear me apart in the room that he's carrying me into. My thoughts are clouded-- rational mind is completely missing because Sal is in tactical gear, I just sucked his dick, and he has his hands on me. How could anyone think?

Sal moves one hand to grab the heavy metal door leading to the changing room. He rips it open like it weighs nothing, but the way it scrapes across the cement floor says different. Maybe it only makes a scary sound, but it's actually pretty light? Who knows.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into the room, the door slams shut behind us. Then, Sal's unwrapping my legs from around him and dropping me to my feet. The sound of my shoes hitting the ground echoes in the room-- cement floors again.

I swallow thickly as my clothes drop to the ground. They're going to be so dirty. My hands slide from Sal's shoulders to the top of his chest due to the sudden height difference. The same goes for him; his hands move from my ass to my waist, my shirt riding up from the contact. His cool fingertips press into the skin of my hips, and he uses that as leverage to yank me even closer to him.

"You have to be quieter than you were last night, Vi," Sal breathes, leaning his head down to rest on my shoulder. His prosthetic nose runs along the length of my neck, causing shivers to erupt along my spine. As those words roll off his tongue, one of his hands crosses over to my stomach.

I have two options: get pleasure and get caught or wait it out and play it safe. Either way, I'll see to it that he makes up for this later. I have no doubt that he'll make extra sure to handle me later too.

"Wait," I say, wincing over the fact that I'm not going to go through with this. Truly, it hurts to push him away for now.

I can always count on Sal to listen to me when it comes to our situationship. He doesn't listen regarding absolutely anything else, but he at least takes this seriously.

His hands pause instantly and he pulls his head away from my neck, looking into my eyes. He's wary, concerned, alert. "What?" he asks. "We don't have to."

I lick my lips and take a deep breath. "Don't get me wrong," I tell him. "I want to, but everyone's expecting both of us to come back any minute now."

Sal looks off to the side, his hands slowly dropping from my waist. The loss of contact makes me want to whimper. There's a far-away look in his eyes as he seems to think. "Oh," he murmurs. "That's true," he whispers to himself.

I gape at him. How could he forget? He's literally clueless. I've said it once and apparently I have to fucking say it again. I place my hands on my hips and roll my eyes. "Really?" I scoff. "You forgot that you're supposed to be modeling right now? You're working for Treyarch but you let pussy blind you?"

Sal's eyes meet mine again and his eyebrows furrow, a glare taking over what little features I can see on him. "You don't have room to talk. You're not even supposed to be modeling with us so why do you have clothes?" There's that snarky, aggressive tone again.

"You never fail to prove how self-centered you are," I sigh, taking a step back and leaning down to grab my clothes from the floor. "Larry mentioned me and the photographers heard. They asked me-- well, more like told me to go change." Just thinking back on what happened a few minutes ago brings a smile to my lips and a fluttering to my heart.

Sal snorts, "Tasteless," he says in regard to the photographers choosing me. He turns away from me and moves to a corner of the room. The corner has a fancy chair with a pile of clothes on it-- if I had to guess, those clothes are for Sal. And then a vanity with a mirror and table with makeup and other essentials. Those probably all belong to Ash.

They're tasteless for choosing me when he chooses to hang around gothic beauties like the one from the bar the other night?

"Says the man with a preference for emo barbies," I murmur halfheartedly. I'm too focused on ingesting the room. My words were a mistake though-- I'd gone back to the night that woman sat with him at the bar and I let the argument get to me. I really shouldn't have said that because it shows that it bothers me. But, it doesn't actually bother me.

A wave of anxiety slams into me like twenty puppies running to a newcomer at a daycare. Fuck, he's going to attack me for that one. It's so obvious that the woman bothered me.

Sal tilts his head at my words. "Is that what you're calling yourself now?" he says and I perk up a bit. I don't know how I should react to that. He didn't realize I was talking about his lady friend, but he also just admitted that I'm part of his preference in women. "I think bratty little bitch sounds better."

I lick my lips and try to contain the smug smirk that so desperately wants to take over my face. He's so preoccupied, I doubt he even realizes what just came out of his mouth.

I glance around the room. There's not much in here-- some ugly orange rug on the floor, a black leather couch with Todd and Larry's clothes on it. Todd's clothes are neatly folded whereas Larry's are just thrown into a pile-- that's how I was able to distinguish who's were for who.

Then there's a little folding screen. Ash's clothes are hanging over the edges. Besides that, there's a mini fridge in the corner adjacent to Sal. That's pretty much it.

"I wouldn't have to be a bitch so often if you weren't such a dick," I finally respond to his words after letting them percolate in the air for a short while. "Fix your attitude and then I'll fix mine."

Sal glances over his shoulder, black-lined eyes meeting mine. "Fix yours first and then we can talk," he says disinterestedly.

I shake my head. "Guess we'll never agree then."

I walk over to the folding screen and step behind it, laying my clothes on a little stool that the photographers were gracious enough to place back here. I start pulling my shoes off with a little grunt, moving onto my socks afterward.

Arguing with Sal comes so naturally now. It's mildly aggravating, but it isn't making me want to retrieve heads on pikes like it usually does. Maybe it's because we're both distracted right now.

"You're only well-behaved when you're being a whore," Sal says, and I look up because his voice is a lot closer to me now than it was before. And now, his slightly monotone voice is replaced with a nagging, agitated tone.

My head snaps up as I'm shimmying my skirt down my thighs and I make unexpected eye contact with Sal who's standing right in front of the folding screen.

I pause my movements, heat enveloping my cheeks at the same moment that Sal realizes I'm almost half naked. His eyes latch onto my thighs and then he takes a step back, then another until he can't peek over the top of the screen anymore.

I release a sigh of relief. "Do you watch all your women change or something?" I grunt out, watching him with a raised eyebrow-- not like he can see it. I know it doesn't really matter-- he's seen a lot of me so far. This is innocent compared to what he saw last night, but it still feels awkward and it seems he feels the same way.

"I didn't mean to," he snaps, crossing his arms over the armor plate on his chest. "I actually had pure intentions for fucking once. Don't make me out to be the bad guy."

"Funny," I respond, pulling my shirt over my head. "You always play the villain so I never expect anything else from you."

"Wow," he sarcastically says. "High praise. Considering me a villain is the nicest thing you've done for me."

I glance up at him while pulling on black cargo pants. He looks so proud and smug. What an ass. "It wasn't a compliment," I grit out.

"And that's exactly why I took it as a compliment. It pissed you off."

I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to changing. The entire reason his fingers aren't in me right now is because we have somewhere to be, so I don't understand why the hell he's sticking around and pestering me.

Then something slaps me in the face. Well, my mask.

I blink, shocked at the audacity of Sal to throw something at me, but when I look down to where the unknown object dropped, I see a little rectangular piece of foil. I tilt my head, wondering if I'm seeing right.

I lean down and grab it. Yea, this is gum.

I stand up again and eye Sal curiously, warily. Did he poison this?

Sal must see the contemplative look in my eyes because he scoffs in disbelief. "It's just fucking gum, dick breath. I'm doing you a favor."

I cringe at what he just said. "Oh my fucking--" I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Get out of here, Fisher. There is absolutely no reason for you to be hanging around with me. I literally cannot stand you." The more I think about what just happened, the words that came out of my mouth, the more I want to jump over this folding screen and choke him out.

Sal cackles evilly, backing over to the metal door with his hands in his pockets. "You're just upset because I'm right, like I always am."

"Fuck off, asshat," I fire back. It's a weak comeback but it's all I've got. Of course this would happen after I thought about how mild our argument was earlier.

Sal's laughs die off when he opens the door, but then he calls me. "Vi," he says and I hesitate to look up. But when I meet his bright, cerulean eyes, I see determination. "We'll continue where we left off later. Okay?"

I watch him. Those are good words. Those are expectations. So I nod gently. "Okay."

And then he's gone. Completely disappeared from my view in the blink of an eye.

Every inch of malice and aggravation I felt just seconds ago melts away like candle wax. It'll reform all over again later, but for now, it's just replaced by butterflies making my stomach turn excitedly. So there's something for me to look forward to later. Absolutely wonderful.

I pull off my shirt and replace it with the long sleeved grey one that I was given. It's a little big on me, but no one has my body proportions either so I expect as much. My chest plate is adjustable, which helps tremendously. It makes the loose shirt stick to me like glue and because of that, it's hardly noticeable that the clothing isn't even my size. Said chest plate is much like Larry's-- camo and cargo. If anything, it's more like an armored vest with gun magazines and extra storage.

I secure it over my arms and to my chest then move on to the belt that holds a couple holsters for what I presume will be prop guns that I get later.

All that's left is for me to tug on the tan combat boots, which I lace up fairly quickly, and from there I'm home free. The issue now is walking up to my friends like I didn't just have their friend's dick I'm my mouth. I have to face Larry and pretend that I didn't suck the soul out of his step-brother's cock.

Simple. Easy job.

I take a breath and watch the door, begrudgingly unwrapping the spearmint gum that Sal was oh, so generous enough to give me. I want to be mad at him— I am mad— but he did help me out, even if it was only because he didn't want everyone else to smell the clear evidence of whatever happened in the hallway.

My feet trudge toward the big metal door while I chew on the stupid fucking gum. This couldn't be any worse... but no regrets.

My hand fits around the handle easily, but when I push it down to open the door, a little tug does absolutely nothing. I pause and stare at the door, bewildered. Sal threw this thing open earlier? One-handed? No way.

I give another tug, this one a bit more forceful. The door squeaks on its hinges, slowly moving to follow my weight. It's not extremely heavy, but I have to put some weight behind it and physically walk with the door. Am I tripping or am I just pitifully weak? Both?

I'm finally able to get the door open enough to squeeze my body through. Even then, the door gives me a little shove in the right direction, hitting me as it slams shut before I can move out of the threshold. My glare pierces through the inanimate metal while I rub my abused back. I did not ask to be the target of everyone's hostility today.

The hallway isn't nearly as eerie to me now as it was a few minutes ago. I walk through it quickly, the buzzing lights on my mental back-burner once I reach the door that separates me from reality.

I purse my lips, blowing out a sigh. Ash, Larry, Todd, and Sally Face Fisher are on the other side of this door. I am not going to fuck up. I am going to be brave. And I'm not sure why I'm so nervous— maybe it's because any one of them could have very easily walked in on Sal filling up my throat like it was a common occurrence. Yea, probably that. But, we didn't get caught, so there's really nothing for me to worry about.

I guess my fantastic, trauma-induced ability to lie is a plus here. Not like it's fed me all too well in the past. Seriously, I'm playing three different people right now and all it's doing is tangling me up in a sick mess that I created. There's Vi, who no one knows, there's y/n who everyone loves— except Sally-- and then there's Lexi who just so happens to be the object of Sal's affection.

Things literally couldn't my be any worse. But damn if I do, damn if I don't. I'll lie my ass off when I leave this hallway if I have to.

With my little pep talk finished, I pull this much lighter door at the opposite end of the hallway open and cast my gaze upon the darkened room. The Faces are perched in front of a large, stretched out tapestry being used as a background. It's this dusty looking city scene from what I can tell. And my friends are just milling about, talking with each other. Well, most of them. Todd is in the corner stuffing his fishing hat under a pile of prop rubble. I guess the photographers tried to make him keep it.

I amble toward them, a little unsure of how to address anyone after what I just did. I actually got to sleep on the knowledge of Sal and I last night, but now I have no time to recover.

Relax, y/n. Everything's fine. No one's going to suspect a thing.

Upon finally reaching my friends, Larry's the first to acknowledge me. His eyes glance over me appreciatively and he nods his head, furrowing his brows as a little smirk pulls at his full lips. "You look delicious. But you always do," he chuckles. Then he walks over and claps a hand onto my back. "So what took you so long, Vivi? Found some good dick to munch on?"

There's no way to describe the way my stomach suddenly drops out of my ass. I've seen this scene so many times. It's like when Jim gets caught flirting with Pam in The Office— that initial reaction of fucking book-it or use the worst excuse known to man while awkwardly looking around.

So I intellectually hit my friend with, "Yea. Why else would I be chewing gum?"

I make a face akin to the expression that anyone would pull after sucking a lemon or taking a shot of tequila. I genuinely want to disappear. This is going terribly.

Even Todd turns his head toward Larry and I, raising an eyebrow in my direction. Ash and Sal are just out of my direct line of sight and they can fucking stay there. If I meet any more judgemental gazes, I'll probably vomit.

But Larry's a giggly mess, something I didn't take note of because I'd panicked. His hand is squeezing my shoulder while he bends over and wipes a fake tear from his eyes. "See?" He says, giving me a wide, gap-toothed grin. Cutie. "You get it. That's humor, baby!"

I giggle nervously, slowly letting go of the nauseating bout of anxiety that just swam through me. "Mhm," I hum. "Don't worry, Lar. I'll always take good care of your jokes." I cannot form good, coherent responses for the life of me right now.

Larry can't answer me in time because there's suddenly a huge prop gun shoved into his arms. I step away from him, baffled when the weapon clatters loudly in his unprepared hands. It's a shock to my system and the same goes for Larry who juggles the hunk of— metal? plastic?— with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

"This shit is heavy," he gasps out, finally getting a good hold of it. "These— these aren't real, right?" He asks, looking up at the photographer who's currently holding out a big Resident Evil-esque gun toward me. Assault rifle, maybe? I know nothing other than Leon Kennedy when it comes to those games.

I take the weapon carefully after Larry's nervous remark. He's not kidding— it's heavy as hell, definitely metal. They wouldn't give us actual weapons right? There's a serious issue going on in the world with these things and the last thing I want to do is hold a real one.

I look up to the photographer, my gaze questioning, hoping to get an explanation for Larry's question.

"No," the photographer says, snickering. "Well, they were once." I cock my head to the side. Were?

I watch the photographer drop a hand gun into Ash's awaiting arms, then a shot gun goes to Sal. They both look pretty shocked by the weight too.

"Hold on," Ash says. "We didn't come here to fuck around with real guns. Fake ones, fine. No one can get hurt. This is different—"

"I said they were real at one point," the photographer cuts her off, heading toward Todd. "They aren't real anymore." Todd trades in his fishing hat for a gun similar to mine and the photographer rolls his eyes. "Our crew found these on eBay. They're refurbished military-grade guns, basically. They were either damaged or deemed as duds. But someone bought all of them and got creative, took them all apart and put them back together as paint-ball guns. So no, they can't hurt anyone. Plus, since they're remade and no longer used for horrendous shit, they come pretty cheap."

My lips form into a little "o" at the explanation. See, this is more acceptable. Perfectly explains why they seem so real.

"That's actually pretty interesting," Todd murmurs, turning his weapon over in his hands. "Sounds like something I'd be into."

"Leave the Super Gear Boy in seventh grade, Todd," Sal pipes up, sighing at his scientific friend.

I roll my eyes. He always has to kill the mood, and for what? I think this is a good way to kill off guns instead of letting someone fix them up to resell as actual weapons. Todd would thrive in the paint-ball industry.

"What's paint-ball even like?" Larry asks, completely mystified if when putting the sound of his voice into account. I glance to him, noting the way he looks into the barrel of the gun. Even if it's not real, that shit still makes me nervous.

I close an eye, recalling my limited paint-ball experience. If I wasn't doing something band related or reading in bed, I was playing paint-ball, truth be told. I grew up in two of California's— no, America's— major city's. If you weren't old enough to hit the bars or clubs in town, there was virtually nothing for you to do, period. That left me with dad's favorite little hobby and a run down storage building for me and my two or three friends to go rip open the gates of complete chaos. It was fun.

"I don't quite know how to explain it," I tell Larry, shrugging. I hold my gun at my side, gripping it by the handle. "Think Call of Duty. You load it, then you shoot it basically."

"And how do you know?" Ash asks, scrunching her nose up at me when I turn to acknowledge her. I love her little nose scrunch. It has to be the cutest thing I've ever seen.

"I had a lot of free time as a kid. So I used some of that time to play paint-ball," I tell her with a smile.

"You'll definitely have to teach me one day," she grins, viridian eyes twinkling in the bright white lights.

The photographers move us into place mere moments after Ash's request. I'm not used to photoshoots— so I do my best to follow the directions aimed at me. Move here, step there, pose like so.

There's a lot of straight faces and eye work. "Look angry," "look determined," "look scared but in a way that doesn't show it." None of it makes much sense to me, but I do my best, aiming my gun in random places and trying to keep the awkward grin off my face.

It's tedious work if anything. I'm stuck changing positions second after second or having to hold a pose with this heavy ass gun for ten minutes at a time. I agree with The Faces now— it isn't half as fun as models make it seem.

"My arm is killing me," Sal grumbles to himself, but I catch his words and Larry seems to as well. Sal is positioned behind me, one of his elbows on my shoulder and the other aiming his gun forward. If it's not already obvious, he fought like hell to convince the photographers to put him with someone else for this shot.

I've been trying to smoosh down all of the excitement I feel because his knee is positioned between both of my legs. His chest is pressed into my back. I can feel every breath he takes, I can smell his shampoo, I can hear every word he speaks before he even says it. Every single syllable that leaves his throat. It consumes me, leaves me a drunken mess below him.

But I try to hold onto my sanity and I do that through negativity.

"Yea," I grunt, discreetly rotating my arm. "Well, you're killing my shoulder with that bony ass elbow of yours."

Sal doesn't respond immediately, only presses his elbow even harder into my shoulder. I bite down a gasp, sneering at the photographer in front of us.

"Hold that expression, VioletViolence— perfect, beautiful!"

I want to roll my eyes. Maybe they put Sal and I together for a reason. Somehow they know we bring the worst out of each other, and thus, the angry facial expressions.

"Stay strong, broski," Larry calls out from beside me. Yea, right. He's one to talk. He's laying on his stomach with his gun propped on the ground, all he has to do is put his hands on it. "Free style match!" He suddenly yells. I furrow my eyebrows, confusion swallowing me whole. "I'll go first," Larry continues in a sing-song voice.

"Okay, so... actually, someone give me a topic." I shake my head at Larry's request. He went back on his word immediately.

But Ash is quick to jump in. She's positioned to mine and Sal's left. "Ooo!" She says. I can't look up at her or I'll get scolded for moving. "How about cake?" I almost snort and break character. Cake, of all things. It had to be Ash.

A sudden flash blinds me for a second, but I blink through it, trying to hold my angry gaze.

"Cake?" Todd mutters, huffing out a quick laugh. "That's all you could come up with?"

"Hey," Ash snaps, disappointment evident in her sweet voice. "I think it's a good topic. It's definitely going to be hard for Larry to—"

"Got something," Larry says, an evil chuckle following his statement. My eyes widen— that's a concerning laugh and he actually managed to come up with something in, what, half a second?

I need to fear this man. This buff daddy, tactical gear-wearing, snarky, humorous, emo man.

"Alright," Sal sighs from above me, finally pulling some of the weight off of my shoulder. I groan at the instant relief. I'm definitely going to get back at him for this later. "Please, do go on," Sal continues sarcastically. My guess is that he doesn't believe Larry could come up with something like that on the fly. I hate to say it, but I'm with him.

"Okay, alright," Larry whispers. "Prepare for absolutely malarkey."

I guilty grin quirks my lips and I truly struggle to hold back a couple giggles. Larry is ridiculous.

"Do you like watching people eat cake too?" Larry asks and I glance down at him, noting the shit-eating smile taking up his entire expression. He's going to get in trouble for that. And why is he asking about cake? I thought he was going to bust a few free style rhymes.

And bust some rhymes he does, taking me by complete surprise.

"Nah, I prefer watching them eat my dick. When she sucks my soul like a motherfuckin' tick. Love it when she goes in lick for lick— errrrrrr. Resident Evil, baby, I know those zombies would pick herrrrr. Got her lips around me, getting stifferrrrrr Getting kinda goofy like Stiflerrrrr."

I snap my head down to Larry, eyes wide and a cackle working it's way up my throat. Did I hear all of that right? Is this motherfucker kidding me right now?

Every single one of us breaks character— Sal snorts as soon as Larry ends his verse, Todd actual smiles and pats a giggling Larry on the back, and Ash is in tears. Her gun has clattered to the floor and she's fighting to regain control of her emotions.

I join them, giggling with Ash who's borderline moaning in humorous pain on the ground beside me, on her hands and knees. The photographers have given up on us for now— all four of them moving away to chat about the pictures, no doubt.

"Honestly, should I say that?" Larry asks, taking a deep breath and swiping a hand over his face as he calms down from his insane laughter. "That was a little much."

Sal hums next to him, so I look up. The man looks like he's holding onto his sanity by the thinnest piece of string known to humanity. All of that just to drop his own free style continuation of Larry's monstrosity.

"It's never too much, she can never get enough. She's always barking at me like a dog, ruff ruff. She's a fucking baddie, you know she likes it rough. My girl's all pretty like Hilary Duff. She begs and she pleads, she likes that kinda stuff. Transformers Megan Fox vibes, I feel like Shia LeBeouf."

"You have to be fucking kidding me," Todd bites out, voice wavering with barely held back amusement.

Ash grabs onto me for moral support and I look toward her, tears building in my eyes while I try to contain the laughter that so desperately wants to be released. How on earth could both boys come up with something like this?

When I finally see Ash, she's got a permanent gaping mouth with her eyes squeezed shut in that awesome silent laugh that tells everyone something really funny just happened.

It's a wonderful, core memory moment where everyone's keeled over, giggling or crying their guts out. Sal and I aren't angry with each other, Larry isn't flirting with anything that has a pulse, Todd isn't stoney-faced, Ash isn't plagued by constant worry. We're all just friends being goofy and enjoying our time together. I hate to say it, but this is something we don't get very often.

I look around at my friends as they recover. Larry finally takes his hands off the floor, kneeling on the ground with tears streaming down his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face as Sal walks toward him. They do a quick fist bump, praising each other for the perfect lyric session. Sal is still bent over, his eyes scrunched together with glee to accompany his horrible attempts to contain giggles that tumble out from behind his prosthetic.

I wish he looked this happy all the time. I wish he was this happy all the time. No matter what, I can't help but imagine what it would be like if we were different people in different universes. Maybe we would have met sooner. Maybe I wouldn't feel so guilty for wanting him like I do. We could have been friends. We could have been lovers. We could have been more-- more than whatever this is. Fucking around when we feel like it because we both clearly have issues, both personal and regarding each other.

But I guess it doesn't really matter now because none of those universes are achievable. I can't unlock upgrades in life-- I just have to hope and assume that things will get better between us. To do that, I have to stop being so angry with him all the time too though. And that might be hard to do.

"She can't hear you bro," I hear Sal say. My kidney twitches at the sound of his voice. I'm being overdramatic, but that's how keen I am when it comes to his voice. I instantly tune in and feel frustration build up in me. I just know he's talking about me. "Vi's just mad she isn't Hilary Duff." I turn away from Ash, narrowing my eyes at Sal who then turns to me with malice veiled by amusement in his pretty gaze. "She isn't Megan Fox either. Must suck."

"What point are you trying to make? That I'm not successful? That I'm not pretty?" I sneer, tilting my head in question. Anyone would find that offensive. I don't know what he'll say to that, but I'm prepared for anything. If he wants a verbal battle, I'm absolutely down.

Sal shrugs, hands readjusting their grip on his gun. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying that you're not as successful or pretty as them."

I can't believe I put my everything into a blowjob for this absolute, complete, stuck up, and disrespectful cunt.

Tongue in cheek, I spin on my heel and look down at the ground. I can't tell if the flame of rage is growing in me, or if the embarrassed, insecure pin is about to officially pop my ego balloon.

Ash looks up at me, finally getting to her feet again, but she isn't laughing anymore. She isn't smiling either.

"Ash," I say shakily with failed attempts to hide my shaking hands. "I'm going to fucking strangle him," I bite out.

It seems like every time I try to look at him in a positive light, Sal's able to tell. Like he's a mind reader. And he jumps in every single time to completely obliterate any chance I was willing to give him. Even just a sliver of hope gets thrown back three miles the very moment he detects it. And now, we're ten steps back compared to the half step we had taken forward.

I can put up with most things he shoots my way, but shots to my insecurities really tear me down.

"Sweetheart, no one's going to strangle anyone, okay?" Ash says, bringing her small, cool hands to my cheeks. She lifts my face, forcing me to look into her eyes. When I do meet her gaze, those viridian irises are filled with the big R's-- regret and revenge. "Not until I do it first," she continues sweetly, her voice sugary like melted chocolate. To anyone else, it would seem like a joke, but that look in her eyes is real.

I feel a little better now.

"Ash," Sally spits out quickly, voice panicked. "I was kidding. Don't strangle me." How very pathetic of him to be scared now.

"Yea," Larry cuts in, chuckling. "He'll moan if you do."

Larry's barely able to finish his statement when a loud thwack echoes in the big room, followed by a resounding "Fuck! I'm sorry!" from emo buff daddy himself.

Ash looks off to the side, fuming with grace-- something only she can achieve. "You're lucky, Sal," she says coldly. "Larry handled you well enough, I think." She lets go of my face, so I finally chew down my anxiety and embarrassment and turn to the two boys again. Sal's looking like he's caught between contrition and anger, like he can't tell which emotion he should feel. "You need to cut this shit out, Sal. Vi didn't provoke you, there was no reason for you to say that. There's never a good, viable reason for you to target someone's looks. That was low, even for you."

I watch him with a glare, staying silent. Ash handled him better than I could. She said everything I wanted to and more.

Sal scoffs, "I wasn't serious. I'll even give Vi a compliment if that fucking helps. A real one." I don't believe him. There's nothing he could say or do that would make up for the damage he just did. Hearing his attempt at appeasement makes infuriation boil in me again, and his stupid blue eyes glancing my way only make that worse. It doesn't matter if he looks good in all that tactical gear.

"Actually," Ash chirps, "I think that's a great idea. Both of you give each other one compliment. And be serious. Don't be generic either, say something that sticks out about the other person."

Is Ash on fucking drugs? Did she smoke too much again because there's no way she dragged me into this.

"Okay, cool, fine," Sal grunts, looking to me again with a gaze that spell out the most genuine form of nonchalance. He couldn't care less about me. "I'll go first. Vi," he starts, tilting his head down. The light illuminates his azure irises, trapping me in that gilded cage I repeatedly find myself in upon simply looking at him. I hate this. "I think you have gorgeous eyes. They go with almost any color I've seen you in."

I gulp. Not only did he steal my compliment for him, he also hit me with the same compliment he gave Lexi. Does he know that we're the same person? Was that him trying to discreetly tell me that he knows my secret? But, then again, why would he go out of his way to fight me about Lexi and even text her?

Well, I've done that too, actually. But he's not like that-- so did he really mean that then? That's the only thing I can really think of.

I gape at him like a fish for a couple moments, blinking quickly while I try to come up with something to say. Blush on my cheek, fingers dipping into the pockets on my vest, boots toeing at the cement beneath me all while my heart races and my insides tremble. I shouldn't react like this after he said I wasn't as successful or pretty as famous women. I'm being ridiculous.

"I--" I say, voice barely a whisper. "You--" I try to speak a bit louder, but my voice cracks so I clear my throat, tilting my head down. What kind of compliment can I give him? "You..."

"What? Nothing you can think of?" He snaps, crossing his arms, gun still in hand. His tone blazes with fury. "You're such a hypocrite. You can get mad at my joke, but then you can't find a compliment for me even after I gave you an honest one."

I pinch my lips together. He's so fucking aggravating. "Shut up," I seethe, "I'm trying to pick one." The truth falls from my lips before I can think better of it. Please don't say anything-- please don't say the obvious. Please don't point out that there's actually things I can't help but admire about you, Sal. There's a lot that I hate, but there's a few attributes that I respect too. "You have pretty and talented hands," I finally say, lifting my left hand to gesture toward him. But that sounds like I'm referring to his expert ability to make me cum. "You're really, um, a talented guitarist," I tack on, wincing. I'm trying so hard to keep the heat off of me that I may very well be attracting it instead.

I take a quick, quivering breath as true terror grips my mind and body. Anyone would be able to tell how hard that was for me, how shameful it was. This is awful, this entire day has turned into a mess.

I pull a mag from my vest, inspecting it to pass the time and ignore my surroundings. But when I look into the cartridge, expecting it to be empty, I'm pleasantly surprised to see it completely filled with neon blue and green paint-balls.

Surely these photographers aren't that dumb. They can't be, right?

A satisfying shiver runs through my body, making goosebumps rise along my skin. This is just the distraction I was looking for. Everyone's had more than enough time to think over the compliment I gave Sal, but I won't let them get a chance to say anything about it.

"Hey, Ángel," I call loudly, glancing up to survey the room and find the photographer who told us about these guns in the first place. I finally catch his confused gaze and nudge my chin in his direction. "Do you guys have extra tactical gear?" Come up with something, y/n. No one can suspect anything. "I'd love to bring this home if I can," I lie smoothly, offering up a shy smile. "You know, for... memories."

Ángel shrugs, giving me a look that screams that he thinks I'm a little crazy. "I mean, we always have extras but you can't take it home. Activision spent money on all of this."

"Ah," I hum, returning to examining the weapon of mental destruction in my hands-- a fully loaded magazine of paint-balls. "Bummer," I mumble.

With an energetic grin on my face, I shove the mag into the holder right in front of the trigger. This is unlike any paint-ball gun I've ever seen, so I'm taking a guess-- but it clicks into place easily, so I assume I'm doing something right.

"Well," Ash says softly, awkwardly. "That was a... nice compliment, Vi." I can tell she's trying to make me feel better, but she's struggling too. I don't blame her. What I said was so sad, really.

But I have this paint-ball gun to make me feel better.

"Yea," I murmur distractedly. "Hey," I ask her, looking up for a moment. "Does this thing have a safety? Does it work?" Using what very little knowledge I know of weapons here. I'm a fan of knives for a reason.

"Um," Ash purses her lips, leaning over my shoulder. She turns my gun over and flips a little switch, showing a red dot. "Yea, look," she continues. "When red shows, safety's off." Then she switches it again.

I nod my head, letting that information go in through one ear and out the other as soon as I flip the switch again, taking the gun off of safety. I'll never need that knowledge anyway.

"Thanks, Ashy," I chirp, grabbing onto the barrel of the gun with one hand and the handle with the other, lifting it up so I can look through the scope. It's one little red line line at the end of the glass so I move the weapon, glancing around the room until Sal is in my sight.

"Nothing's better than revenge, my dear friend," I mumble to Ash as I close my left eye to get better focus on my target. I lick my lips, waiting for Sal to acknowledge me, finger hovering over the trigger. Energy reverberates through my body, hitting the top of my skull and bouncing back down to my toes, only to repeat the process over and over again.

Ash gasps and I really wish I could see her expression right now. "Vi," she hisses excitedly," Are you really--"

Before she can even finish her sentence, Sal turns his head, blue eyes flashing when he notices me. I see panic fill him for a brief second, right before I turn my aim to the armor plate on his chest and press down on the trigger before I can give myself time to change my mind-- or give Sal time to talk me out of this.

There's a loud thunk that comes from the gun as soon as the paint-ball flies out of the barrel. Then the splat heard around the fucking world the exact second that Sal's armor plate gets hit with neon green.

Paint gets everywhere. It's on the bottom half of his prosthetic, all over his chest and black shirt, spilling down his pale arms.

Sal staggers on his feet, taking a step back to catch himself from the velocity and force of the paint-ball. It didn't hurt him-- he didn't make a painful sound, plus the armor plate protected him. But he's a mess now which makes this evil plan of mine so worth it.

I lower the gun, opening my left eye to get a good look at the damage. Todd's jaw is dropped, his eyes wide. He caught a bit of the paint too, a couple green dots littering his freckled face. Larry starts laughing as soon as he gets a good look at Sal too, tears streaming down his cheeks for the second time today as he drops to his knees again.

Ash giggles beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This is why I love you," she tells me confidently. My smile widens. "Great minds think alike."

Sal looks down at himself, lifting his arms up to examine his now neon green chemical spill. All that black polish on his nails is covered in green. His shirt sleeves: green. Veiny, guitar playing hands-- you guessed it, green. It's a beautiful catastrophe in my opinion.

And then he looks up, absolutely murderous blue eyes locking onto mine. Now he feels just like I felt earlier-- ready to attack at any second.

I grin at him, putting my arms in a comfier position over my body so I can hold onto my gun. "What a shame," I say, feigning disappointment. "I ruined those pretty, guitar playing hands of yours." I stick out my bottom lip in a fake pout. "I guess my compliment to you is obsolete now."

__________________

A/N:::::: HI SWEET BABIES!!! i'm back with another ryver original. the lyrics that larry and sal spit out during this chapter was the outcome of an idea bestowed upon me by my friends. i mentioned that i liked watching people eat cake, and they said, "that sounds like either the intro to a porno or a lyric in a rap song." so... i wrote a a couple verses for it LMAO i can't control myself, i am very much an embarrassing disappointment.

ANYWAY i really wanted to post this sooner, but i had my first day back at college yesterday and i was utterly exhausted. i literally fell asleep at 8pm and all of you know that i'm an unapologetic night owl so going to bed early was WEIRD-- but needed apparently. I didn't wake up til 9:30 this morning and that was only 'cause i had a class at 11am :3

huge thanks to MadamMilky on Wattpad for coming up with Sal's tattoo-- i think it's such a cute, unique idea for him and it just fits so incredibly well <333

so here you go, dropping a 12k word load on you guys again. thank you for the continued support, for the love, for the friendship. thank you for everything. i love you all eternally, more than the sun loves the day and the moon loves the night <;33

[tiefighter]

Dark Urge Time Baybee --

There's a small part of him that wants it. Wants to reach a hand into the prettiest eyes he's ever seen and dig and dig until there's nothing but blood and ichor.

He wants to feel the warmth between his fingers, under his nails, sliding over his palm as he scoops handfuls of brainmatter to the ground. The fire crackles behind him as Dante turns away from it, angling his face away from Shadowheart's. She's asleep, half sprawled and guileless. She sleeps like a child, open and warm. He wants to reach across and take her hand but can't, because if he touches her he's going to ruin her, and there's nothing, /nothing/ that would stop him from continuing on that path. Nothing that would stop him from becoming the monster he so desperately avoids. "I can hear you thinking from here," Astarion says, sitting up and wiping at his eyes theatrically. He doesn't really sleep, they both know he doesn't need to, but he makes a show of it anyway. "Penny for your bloody, awful little thoughts?" With a deep sigh, Dante pushes himself into sitting, brushing the long mess of his hair back out of his face as he does so. His face hurts, his /eyes/ hurt but he slouches himself into a proper sitting position before he turns to look at the fire, squinting. "I don't think you want to see them," he replies, voice raw with honesty and lack of sleep. when he closes his eyes, he can feel the stone underneath his right eye, smooth and unnatural. A gift for a sacrifice. A stupid bet. "I barely want to see them." That's also a lie. He relishes in them. He lets them wash over him like a wave, pulling and pushing his mind until all he sees is blood, all he feels is torn, rotting flesh. Shadowheart breathes beside him, soft and warm. Astarion snorts, stretching his legs out as he looks between the two of them. He's still muddling at being a friend, wading through the mud of social interaction and trying to form it into something akin to a memory. He had friends as children. Of course he did. Personable little shit. It's difficult for him to figure out the social distance without physical interaction as a buffer. "They're just thoughts, my dear little baal-ling. You're not beholden to them. Or to whatever passes for your father." "Maybe." With a soft sigh, Dante reaches one scarred hand across to pull the blanket over their cleric's shoulders, tucking her in and brushing the hair back and out of her face. "Sometimes, I can't sleep for all the noise." Astarion looks like he understands that, the lines around his mouth deepening as he frowns. "There's nothing in the world that says you have to listen." No, there isn't. It's the want, the underlying desire to just let loose that makes him clamp down on himself harder. It makes him try. It makes him- He stretches his fingers out, flexing above Shadowheart's sleeping face before he pulls his arm back, tucking his fingers between his ribs and his upper arm. Some paladin, if he can't find something to hold onto. "You're right." He says instead, turning to look at the pale elf sitting across from him, the fire covering the distance with a flickering, ghostly light. He tries for a smile. It probably doesn't land. "Of course I am." They wait for dawn together, their companions sleeping beside them, unknowing. Unwitting, perhaps. Definitely safe.

[toushindai]

Do you think something happened between Ganondorf and Rauru before the events of Zelda's memories? I've always viewed them as something like exes cause their dynamic is pretty tense in the flashbacks that Zelda gave us. ┐⁠(⁠´⁠ー⁠｀⁠)⁠┌

Exes is such a widespread thought about Ganondorf/Rauru and I absolutely see why—very obviously there is something between them that makes their interactions resentful and deeply personal, and it goes a long ways towards explaining the malice in Ganondorf’s accusation that Rauru has shacked up with a Hyrulean woman. That particular dig is the only one Rauru responds to visibly, not even the “hey do you ever think about how all your people are dead and it would be super easy for me to finish you off?” one, which to my ears is a much weightier and more pointed threat. So I think exes is a delicious dynamic between the two of them—having been close once, having thought themselves in sync once, their philosophical conflicts were too great to resolve and they fell apart, each resenting the other enough that their aftershocks played out on the land of Hyrule.

Unfortunately by the time I saw that this was a pattern in Ganondorf/Rauru thought I was already neck-deep in my own thoughts, which did not involve them being exes and were broadly incompatible with the thought, and it was too late for me. Everyone else, please carry that torch proudly ✊😔

And it’s not just a backstory thing that makes it incompatible with my thoughts… I said above, if they are exes, their breakup becomes much larger than something between two people, effectively underlying if not causing the Imprisoning War. Absolutely a fascinating dynamic, but in some ways the opposite of what I found myself interested in writing, in which the affairs of state—these larger-than-life considerations with their own, slightly off-from-human sense of ethics and responsibility—are jammed into two tiny bodies and performed on a scale far too small for them. Does that make sense? Rauru is Rauru and he is Hyrule and he is the last of the Zonai. Ganondorf is Ganondorf and he is the first Gerudo male in a century and he is the Gerudo. Everything they do two each other is at least three things and there’s no room left for the people involved even as the people involved hate each other and want each other so much.

So, when I say “here’s what I think,” I’m not making any claim to canonicity; this is just what I’ve built to serve as the background odor the story I’m telling with them.

What I think is, Ganondorf and Rauru met seven years before the time of the flashbacks when Rauru got himself an invitation to visit Gerudo Town. This comes up in UAWTATR. Ganondorf loathed Rauru before they even met—understandably, as he and Sonia had already been around the region setting up shrines without permission from the Gerudo—but Rauru was hopeful for some kind of friendship with the Gerudo’s prince. His hopes were dashed to pieces when he met Ganondorf in the Northern Temple (what is now the Northern Ruins—where we find Riju training in TOTK). Ganondorf was curt and antagonistic with him, exuding with every exchange an air of we don’t want you here. This stung Rauru quite badly and he did not very much reflect on how his attitude might have led to Ganondorf’s—especially after, at a banquet that evening, Ganondorf orchestrated an opportunity to demonstrate his own strength (and thus the superfluity of Hyrule to the Gerudo) by having a molduga sicced on the party and taking it down single-handedly. This did not really have the effect he hoped on the royal couple and they left with the impression that Ganondorf’s vibes were rancid.

Then they didn’t really hear from each other again until Ganondorf’s predecessor stepped down and Ganondorf came to power, and at that point “hear from each other” is a very generous phrasing because what happened is Rauru started sending his Repeated Invitations and Ganondorf decided that Gerudo’s new foreign policy, at least when it came to Hyrule, was simply to Ignore.

So all in all, the way I’m writing them, Ganondorf’s time at the court of Hyrule is the first time they’ve dealt with each other extensively, but they already have this enormous history of antagonism built up between them. How refreshing it is to get to hate each other in person! While fucking.

[batsplat]

waaait I'm not the smallville anon but i AM a separate buffy anon and i would LOVE to hear what you'd like to read in the buffy/faith tag as somebody who is also largely disappointed by the fic under that pairing!!

*cracks knuckles* right first of all massive disclaimer, I HAVE enjoyed fic in that tag!! generally the stuff that's like,, long fic several years after the end of the show when they're in cleveland or whatever and can figure out their interpersonal gremlins. also, I am always aware the buffy is just... hard to write good fic for, like the writing for the show has a very distinctive tone but one that also really relies on the actors to sell you on it. it's always going to be tough to nail that! I don't mind it THAT much even though btvs fic does give me the 'they wouldn't say that' wince. but nvm all that, the rest of this post won't be complaints about what IS out there and more what I WISH there were out there

okay to me the essence of the buffy/faith dynamic is that they shouldn't exist alongside each other. buffy had to die for... well first for kendra to rock up and then when SHE is killed for faith to replace her. there's an inherent wrongness there!! she's buffy's shadow self who keeps flirting with dying/vanishing into the sunset but never quite goes away. in s3 she's constantly threatening to displace buffy in her life, buffy sees her in her house as.... kinda borderline a threat, and there's that discomfort even when buffy tries to reach out to her because she's a good person. in s4, faith literally tries to steal buffy's body. in s7, it's immediately clear how uncomfortable their coexistence is in buffy's house in a way it isn't with any of the potentials - and her arrival is soon followed by buffy leaving. and I Think you should fuck about with this kinda like... underlying current of malevolence and wrongness and creep factor. I want there to be this feeling that unionising slayerdom aside these two should never have been allowed to exist alongside each other. stuff where faith gradually/suddenly becomes incorporeal!! where she becomes invisible/lacks a material essence and feels herself fading, because she's not Enough Of A Character to not be erased out of existence by the sheer power of buffy's presence! she is pushed out of existence because she's tried to get close to buffy! or buffy suddenly getting weird and paranoid about her presence, because something about it just feels off! or the universe tries to remove the separation between them entirely and bleeds their emotions and thoughts with each other until they can't figure out where one starts and the other ends! or faith kinda... subliminally gets used by some malevolent entity, specifically in a way where she comes to inhabit a physical place of residence that increasingly becomes hostile to buffy! or some kind of sleeping beauty curse, where they can't both be awake at once! just stuff where y'know, for some supernatural reasons they're not allowed to naturally coexist and obviously that allows them to explore a bunch of their interpersonal issues. faith's belief she'll always be abandoned and won't ever have a home. all of buffy's trauma and Divorced Parents rejection fears and all of that. one of them literally Becomes the other's shadow. I think you could mess with these girlies so badly

I kinda want to play with how... so on the one hand they're similar for all these obvious reasons, but what I'm always interested in with characters in when people should be able to empathise with each other but can't? and the thing about buffy is that she DOES to a certain extent and certainly tries to, but at certain times it's also... actually she can't provide that kind of support to faith, she reaches a point of empathy failure at a certain point, she sees this human teenage girl as worth sacrificing to save her boyfriend. I just want stuff that digs into how little they truly Know about each other, how little they understand... maybe something that's a little more sad where they've acted on their initial attraction to each other but they're constantly struck down by a fundamental inability to communicate with each other. again, the joy of buffy is you use a bunch of supernatural shit to make the metaphors literal, so you can absolutely play with this too. "understand we'll go hand in hand but we'll walk alone in fear" y'know!! I think there's something sad and fun about how they kinda should be right for each other but maybe really can't be

speaking of buffy stabbing faith, y'know how that's basically... by the morality established in this universe, it's one of the worst things she ever did? the 'don't kill an actual human' line is pretty important!! idk I'm not even massively about the idea buffy really has to feel THAT guilty for it, I just find the idea that this has Implications down the line fun. and that you kinda have faith feeling very... weird about it because it SHOULD be satisfying but she ends up in this terrible place where she feels guilty that buffy 'had' to stab her? idk just stuff that gnaws away at btvs' understanding of morality and justice and punishment and all that and puts buffy and all her complexes through the wringer

kinda linked to the first point, but a big important bit of imagery for these two and the show more broadly is that of stalking. s4 is the most obvious example, where faith's literally looking in on buffy and her friends as they talk about her. and then buffy hunts her down to LA. basically, I want stuff that plays around with these stalker-y vibes, again that slightly weird sense of like... observation from a distance. possessiveness!! desire, temptation. either way around, maybe buffy thinks faith is up to something nefarious and uses it as a slightly sketch reason to follow faith around

picking up on a bunch of these, I kinda like the idea that after buffy comes back from the death there's the fear that faith might actually be More Whole than buffy is. like buffy is now kinda been fucked up more!! such a potential source of anxiety and insecurity, that faith might now be MORE than her, and faith on the other hand who's continually defined herself against buffy and kinda needing her as this reference point to orientate herself around being a bit?? horrified by that idea??

fuffy + vigilantism. buffy in s7 saying "there's only me. I am the law" I want more fic that explores exactly what lines they're willing to cross and not cross like I want to put them in so so many moral nightmare situations

just... more straight up genre pastiches, idk. they are out there, wish I knew of more. basically put them into every horror film plot, contrive an excuse to give us a film noir take on their relationship, gothic them up, do some scifi shit on them. buffy is obviously an extremely genre aware show and heavily borrows from all kinds of things, and it's just fun to mash those things together with their relationship!! supernatural-inflicted horror romcoms!! this doesn't all have to be super dark or angsty, like you can and should have fun with this

basically I want more weird supernatural plot devices in my buffy fic!!! that was supernatural plot devices The Show... stick with the spirit. I generally kinda just want to brute force their various personal and interpersonal issues? really drill down into what makes these characters so fun and so neat and so compelling. anyway that's all I've got for now

[briskunt]

honestly? yeah I would believe you

oh hell ya bc i am surprisingly passionate about this

i’m going to be real i understand vtubing is mostly based on idols, right? but i feel like the designs of models and how hard people lean into them is very reminiscent of drag artistry because of how impossible they are irl. i regularly see fuufuuchan in different appearances or presentations—legatus, archivist, alan, all forms of ovidia just to start—and like, the experimentation of gender and presentation through different characters itches something in my head that screams character comedy king a la jarvis hammer

and it goes on too. it’s very easy to see gavis bettel as a drag king. ironmouse as a fashion queen due to her many models. i see vtubers regularly drop music, do dances once they’re 3d/on games, y’all’re two lip syncs away from a pageant sometimes i swear

of course there’s intersections as well like ike and aia being drag race fans. i love seeing those two and their interpretation of gender! because vtuber models allow fashion that wouldn’t be possible in real life as WELL as the divide between the real world (flesh) and digital (vtuber) it allows a lot of room for people to be glamorous and interpret or critique gender (and other subjects) through that. for example ike’s crossdressing in flesh and in his vrchat model isn’t with an agenda in mind but makes his audience reconsider what their own definition of masculinity is. aia’s latest outfit is very inspired by magical girls and more specifically the military (style!!!) influence of their outfits and that goes hand in hand with how the lore associated can very easily be considered a statement on mental and physical disability. and so performing her own gender in an outfit that is influenced by the magical girl genre (which gets pretty sapphic pretty fast), military style (which alludes to strength, obedience, vigilance, etc), and invisible disability is So drag dude

hm. maybe i should make a post on aia’s lore and disability idk

anyways one of those two does his own thing regardless of heteronormative rules of gender because he wants to, not because there’s any underlying message about it, and that is a valid and real performance of gender. the other has a story associated with a look that bends heteronormative gender and advocates for a cause, and that is a valid and real performance of gender. and considering how drag is ultimately a critique of gender as well as society, people, etc through gender presentation, ya. they’re doing drag

i’m a believer that lip syncs are the foundation of drag but not a requirement. drag is fundamentally entertainment in general. so that’s how you get drag artists like divine who was mostly an actress but also did music. i’d also argue chappell roan, orville peck, lady gaga, lil nas x and dolly parton also fall under the umbrella of drag bc of how they incorporate their appearance into performance, and ofc bc they were also inspired by drag

so like, when i see unnämed’s 3d debut, what is fundamentally different from adore delano singing and playing music in drag. at some point we have to recognize things like changing colors, flame effects, etc are all extremes that contribute to an overall Look

and i won’t lie, i don’t have a lot of accessible drag near me so boulet brothers’ dragula is my favorite show. so we see artists in all sorts of entertainment fields: music, stand-up, stunts, fashion, acting, dance, merchandising, modeling, comedy, art, hell even ttrpgs. i can think of more than a few vtubers that have done or regularly do these things. if you dig biqtch puddin’s digital drag show streams then boy do i have news for you, as well as the many other drag artists that do youtube or streams

and if you REALLY want to get into the gender theory of it all then porcelainmaid is RIGHT THERE.

if you see drag artistry as putting on a character then doppio dropscythe, vox akuma, twisty amanozako, fulgur ovid, and pretty much every holo vtuber would count (and to a lesser degree every corporate vtuber)

if you see drag artistry as an element of an entertainer’s performance then mori calliope, finana ryugu, ren zotto, aster arcadia and uki violeta would count

if you see drag artistry as aesthetic/style of the person behind the screen then k9kuro, quinn benet’s vtuber model, cyyu, randon neuring, and porcelainmaid would count

but the point i’m trying to get at here is that drag blends appearance and entertainment together by satirizing or emphasizing gender, right? and that can be entertaining through all sorts of mediums which includes standard vtuber activities like streams. of course it’s up to the vtuber themself to declare themself a drag artist or not but if i woke up tomorrow and saw gawr gura added “bio queen” to her twitter bio i… really would not be surprised

so if someone could edit the “after a long night of hooking” audio on top of zali’s debut lore i’d appreciate it

[seventeenlovesthree]

Digi Dynamic Shipping Game

Send me two names among the following 12 and I’ll write a short analysis post about them:

Taichi Yagami | Yamato Ishida | Sora Takenouchi | Koushirou Izumi | Mimi Tachikawa | Jyou Kidou | Takeru Takaishi | Hikari Yagami | Daisuke Motomiya | Miyako Inoue | Iori Hida | Ken Ichijouji

Whether canon provides input on them or not:

It’s been a while since I’ve written a whole relationship analysis, so before getting completely out of shape, I thought about digging up my old poll again to focus a little bit on Daisuke’s and Miyako’s relationship.

Even though my memories on 02 overall are very rusty, I do remember very vividly that these two share a very physical - if not one of THE most physical - relationship with each other from the very beginning. Which may actually be best described as: “Bickering siblings”.

As far as their “origins” go, they’re not as clearly stated as it is with Iori and Miyako being neighbors and Daisuke being classmates with Hikari, having known her through Taichi before the series; there's no indication that Daisuke and Miyako have even met face to face beforehand, let alone interacted properly, but they DO seem very comfortable talking to each other from the first moment on, mainly indicated by the fact that neither of them uses honorifics for each other. Along the lines of the series, it is strongly implied that their older siblings (Jun and Momoe) are actually good friends. And this may or may not have had an impact on whether they’ve actually met/spent time with each other before - and whether or not the impression they got about each other through their siblings’ (supposed) descriptions was a positive one. 

Either way, in the way they do not idealize their own siblings and instead have to fight for their privileges and for getting respected, they already have a lot in common with each other - and can be seen as a mirror towards Takeru and Hikari, who clearly idealize their older siblings. And it makes sense to think that their upbringing is mirrored in their behaviour towards each other - they’re constantly teasing and taking jabs at each other, there are several occasions where they describe each other’s behaviour as “weird”, comparing them to others, basically putting each other down/disagreeing with each other. As if to prove their own superiority. They’re loud, they’re opinionated - and also ridden by underlying insecurities about it.

Speaking of which; another thing they have in common is how easily they are infatuated by others: Daisuke’s crush on Hikari and Miyako’s crush on Ken (at the beginning of the series) respectively are somewhat based on them putting them on a pedestal. (In Daisuke’s case, aside from Hikari being one of his earlier friends, I do believe that he's also idealizing her because she's Taichi's sister, whom he greatly looks up to after all.) And it basically takes until - ironically enough - Ken (for Daisuke) and Hikari (for Miyako) become active parts in their respective developments that they’re both starting to become “less shallow” and, more importantly, less aggressive and territorial about their “fights”. 

Unfortunately, that also means that there is less of a (visible) development between them, aside from a few comic relief moments and so, a lot of this analysis is based on interpretation of subtext after all... However, despite the bickering - which continues to be a thing between them until Kizuna and even the few bits we saw about the 02 movie -, they’re also seen fighting for and being protective of each other when it matters, being happy when the other is safe. So if we get back to the insecurity part - since they clearly do have a lot of things in common, it should not be a surprise that they’d still be there for each other. And even if screentime may not prove it directly - they probably understand each other better than one might assume (even if it’s questionable whether or not they’re aware of it themselves). And to put it like Taichi and Yamato - sometimes, a good fight may be the best sign of a “good relationship”. (Sometimes, it may also take a slap...)

Whether I think why and how they’d work:

Since I’ve put so much emphasis on the “sibling angle”, I think there have to be very specific circumstances to happen for these two to see each other in a romantic light. It’s absolutely not impossible, but first of all - one would have to make sure that neither Ken nor Hikari are available for EITHER of them. Ken is not only the person Miyako canonically ends up marrying, but also basically Daisuke’s soulmate, whereas Hikari is basically Miyako’s and also Daisuke’s previous love interest... Thus, one scenario could involve Daisuke and Miyako consoling each other over not “getting the one” they initially desired. Because they’re actually familiar and close enough that it would actually work in my opinion.

This may sound sad and tragic at first glance, but the way I see it, them not focusing on Hikari and Ken is the only way for them to notice each other in a different light; actually looking at the things they share and have in common, realizing how much they may have idealized other people in their lives, how great they actually are - basically allowing themselves to be vulnerable around each other instead of getting defensive. Their walls have been built way too high and while Hikari and Ken were able to tear them down and they tore down theirs (with a slap respectively)... I do believe they could actually tear each other’s walls too IF they took the time to look at each other. They need to acknowledge that the other has soft and caring sides, but once they do, it may become a very (mutually) supportive and more open-minded bond than ever before. They’re both fun-loving, they’re competitive, so they could be challenging each other in more casual, more loving ways too!

Whether I’d prefer them as platonic or romantic ship:

I know people who are very fond of this ship in a romantic sense. And, as lined up above, there is a lot of unexplored potential in their relationship, based on their character dynamics and patterns alone - so I understand where y’all come from! On the other hand, it is also hard for me personally to not see them with the sibling angle, so for now, I’ll just enjoy them as such!

[deuterosapiens]

I've started reading through Ted Chiang's collection, Stories of Your Life and Others, as a bit of a palatal reset. I'm familiar with this author's work for exactly one reason, but I thought skipping directly to that one would be a bit disrespectful. I'm of the opinion that the order in which an author chooses to present their work in a collection such as this is an important, and not made lightly. It might be thematic, or cleansing, or their might be an underlying structure that's made more clear if taken as a whole.

Or completely random, as Stephen King admits in the Foreward to (if I remember correctly) Everything's Eventual.

Here are my impressions of the first three stories:

"Tower of Babylon"- A retelling of the Tower of Babel with an odd little twist. The Tower has not be struck down and the tongues of men have not been muddled. A team of miners and quarry-men have been brought to the top to dig into the Vault of Heaven from below. I'm reminded a bit of The Last Battle by CS Lewis, in particular the bit about Narnia being like an onion which is larger and more perfect the more you peel its layers. I found the ending bittersweet, but it's an interesting perspective about the relationship between Heaven and earth as physical, geographical places.

"Understand"- You remember that movie Lucy? The film with the "Ten Percent of Your Brain"-conceit? This is basically that, but assume the Lucy-analog has Bene Gesserit-levels of personal, physiological awareness. The ending brings to mind Jeff VanderMeer's Annihilation, at least in the sense that it's very much what The Psychologist was trying to pull on The Linguist, had Area X not warped her physiology. This one felt a bit longer than it needed to be, though it pleasantly reminds me of a Philip K Dick story.

"Divide by Zero"- A mathematician discovers a proof that proves any two random integers are equal, and is driven to suicide at the greater implications this has to the rationality of Mathematics as a whole. Her husband is trying to be supportive and understanding, but their marriage's failure is inevitable. I'll admit, of the three, this was easily my favorite. I've heard stories of mathematicians and physicists becoming psychologically unstable as they delve deeper into understanding their fields, and the implications of them and this story feels quite plausible as a result. The fact that the husband feels an obligation to see his wife through to her recovery, but admits to no longer loving her and intends to leave is also something I've personally seen (though luckily never first-hand): sometimes the weight of seeing a loved-one suffer is too great, and you simply can't bear to be around it anymore.

Seeing as I admittedly do already know what "The Story of Your Life" is about, I find it humorous which threads from these stories tie into it. The inevitability of divorce after revelation, the unsuitability of existing language to properly describe the universe.

I'm going to be deeply upset, but in my defense, mostly because Arrival upsets me deeply.