#why the fuck do you think it's happening in the first place

[prlssprfctn]

AU, where Bruce accidentally gets de-aged (physically and mentally), and the first person he bumps in is... Red Hood.

To Jason's defence, he didn't connect the dots at first. He was just patrolling around his usual turf, thinking of nothing in particular, when he saw a small child in a ridiculously serious suit, sulking around Crime Alley. He looks distraught, and considering that he looks rich, it is no surprise - that is not a place for him. So, he is either lost or something happened, right?

He takes the helmet off, as he usually does when he is dealing with kids (they got scared easily) and carefully approaches a brooding baby.

'Hey, shrimp. Where are your parents at?'

That said shrimp turns around, his big blue eyes looking confused and lost, and Jason thinks he looks awfully familiar.

'I am not shrimp,' he protests instantly, pouting at him. 'And they are somewhere... here. We just left the movie theatre together!'

Jason glances at the abandoned movie theatre, back at the little rich boy with a familiar frown, and it clicks. This is his fucking dad. Suddenly, a kid - but it is fucking Bruce Wayne, for sure.

'Was watching Zorro by any chance?' Jason still asks, just to be sure that he is not going insane.

Bruce - and it must be him - beams at him.

'Yes! This is a great movie, by the way.'

Oh, hell. At least, he didn't witness his parents' death just yet. Jason wasn't sure he would be able to deal with his father being so small, and mourning his mom and dad. He would probably cry himself at some point.

'Hey,' Jason calls out for him slowly, squatting down; God, who would've thought that this little shrimp would become so tall and big in the future. 'Aren't you... You must be Thomas's kid, right?'

Okay, yeah, Jason is going to lie to this kid. Because there is no way he manages just to steal Bruce as a stranger to bring him back home; it is still a kid, even if it is his father. Right?

'You know my dad?' Bruce tilts his head, little fingers tugging on the hem of his jacket; suspicious.

'You could say that,' Jason nods. 'Alfie... I mean, Alfred called me. Asked me to pick up a kid, since Thomas and Martha got an urgent call.'

Fuck his life and stupid life choices. What the hell he was even doing? He looked like a mugger; or like a psycho. But Alfred was his best bet - he could call him, after all; ask, well, support his idiotic made-up story.

'No one calls Alfred Alfie but my dad,' Bruce pouts in a very, very spoiled manner.

'Well... I do. We served together in the army,' he blurts out.

His armour, apparently, is enough a proof for the kid to nod slowly.

'Okay. But you gotta take off your strange mask first,' Bruce folds arms on his chest.

...???

Did this kid just agree for an unknown man to take him home? Like this? Who could've thought that this pouty child would become the most paranoid man alive in the future?

'Uh, why?'

'So I can remember your face and do an identikit, if you turn out to be a bad guy,' Bruce smirks stupidly. 'Duh.'

Jason is going to cry. This kid is so cute.

'Yeah, duh,' Jason huffs, but despite his better judgment takes the domino mask off as well. 'Go on, take your time. My identikit should be the prettiest, shrimp.'

Bruce... gawks at him. His eyes are comically wide now, mouth open, and then, he jumps a little closer to him - oh, God, he is jumping when excited? - putting his hellishly cold hands on Jason's cheeks.

'Woah. You look like dad.'

'Uh,' Jason nods awkwardly, and because he is an idiot, adds a joke: 'We are brothers, actually. Just don't talk much.'

...Apparently, little Bruce can't take jokes. Because he lets out an adorable gasp, and throws himself on Jason as if they knew each other for ages now.

'Uncle? That's so cool. You look like Zorro!'

Damn this little kid, and this stupid family. Damn Joe Chill and the night he killed this kid's parents. Damn it all. Bruce might be an asshole sometimes, but he was so... cute and innocent.

'Thanks, shrimp,' Jason slides a domino mask back on, picks up little Bruce with one arm, and grips a helmet with another. 'Come on, let's go home. Alfred will make your favourite tiramisu.'

'You know my favourites?!'

Jason sniffles.

'Yeah. Yeah, I do, kid.'

If he gets so emotional over this kid, he has no idea how worse Dick is going to be once he finds out.

Oh, this is going to be one hell of a night.

[halomancer]

I was originally gonna talk about this on my sideblog because a very relevant thing happened to me today, but I realized it’s incredibly important (and blog-relevant) information that I want as many people as possible to see:

There are certain mental disorders where difficulty staying on medications is an actual (sometimes very common) symptom, and by telling people they don’t need them/Big Pharma is poisoning them/etc. you may be actively endangering them.

When I’m manic, my brain is convincing me 24/7 that I do not need my medication. At best, I believe I’ll never feel this happy again if I start taking them (which is true, I guess, but that level of happiness isn’t exactly good for me in the first place). At worst, I’m actively delusional thinking I’m being poisoned by my psychiatrist. If someone said that to me when I was trying to avoid an episode*, things could spiral very badly, very quickly.

If you’re reading this post you’re probably already in the mindset of “why would you tell people to go off their meds that’s fucking ghoulish” but I think it’s important to know exactly why you don’t pull that shit. Not everyone is able to easily brush off anti-med bullshit.

*My original bitchy post was about how I took my meds too late today and my brain started screaming at me when I looked at my pills, so I said “would we take the lithium if we had it with sparkling apple cider :3 with some yummy yummy beverage :3 in a gay little wine glass :3” and it somehow worked and now my shed is filled with a small stockpile of Martinelli’s because apparently I’m a dog who needs high-value treats to take its pills

Some rando: You should think about stopping your prescription

Me: My pills make me not want to die tho

They: You shouldn’t want to die, that’s not normal

Me: Yeah that’s why I’m taking my pills

[novacorpsrecruit]

It’s lonely at the top

Part 1 | part 2 | here / final part

Read on Ao3

wc 1,698 | Steddie | angst with a happy ending!

“You need to give him some space,” Robin said over the phone. Eddie frowned. It’s been three days. He missed Steve. He nearly leaped over the couch to answer the phone, assuming it was him. Robin was the next best, he guessed. “You really hurt him.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “And I’m sorry. I really am. Will you tell him I’m done with the parties? Done with Trick? He means more to me than being liked.”

“Yeah,” Robin huffed. “You sure showed him that.”

“I mean it,” Eddie said honestly. “I do. I’m done with it all.”

“I think you need to tell him that yourself,” Robin said.

“How can I?” Eddie asked. “You won’t let me talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” Robin corrected. “You need to let him be ready to accept you.”

Eddie sighed, pressing his forehead against the cabinet where the phone hung. He wished there was a way to tell Steve how sorry he was. As much as Eddie wanted to take the Green line to Robin’s dorm and talk to Steve, he can’t cross that boundary. But he needed a way to pour out his emotions, to let Steve know that he’s loved. That Eddie’s sorry. “Can I — Can I send him a letter? That way when he’s ready, he knows I’m there for him?”

There was silence on the other line as Robin thought it over. “Yeah, okay,” she said. “Just address it to me. He’s not …”

“Supposed to be there,” Eddie nodded. “Yeah. I figured. Thank you, for being there for him.”

“Yeah. Look,” Robin huffed. “If he does let you back in again, and you fuck up again. It’s your balls, Munson.”

“Understood,” Eddie said. “I promise. Never again.”

Robin hung up with a click. Eddie sighed, running his hands over his face. He fucked up. Bad.

He guessed there was no time to start writing like the present.

💌💌💌💌

“Steve, someone at table 13 requested you personally,” Jenny, the hostess said. “He’s — uh — a little scary. So if you have issues, get Rod.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” Steve said, pulling his order book from his apron. He wasn’t sure who would request him at 3 pm. Most of his early birds on Saturdays stop by the diner for brunch and he barely saw a soul until 5.

When they first moved out to Chicago, Steve had no clue what he was going to do for work. He was attending Harold Washington College to get his associates in early education, and then potentially apply to UIC. Then one day, he got off a stop too early and saw the help wanted sign. It was easy for him to pick up, he made decent tips, and it worked with his schedule well. Plus, he was able to take home food at the end of his shift.

Robin’s been enjoying the pancakes lately.

Plus, Steve loved when it was slow and Eddie would —

He closed his eyes, letting the thought disappear. He missed Eddie. His heart ached any time he thought about him. But he was afraid that Eddie didn’t miss him in the same way.

He took a deep breath and plastered on a fake smile as he greeted his table.

“Hi, welcome in. I’m Steve. I’ll be taking care —“ Steve stopped as he looked at the patron. He felt his lips turn into a frown. “Trick?”

“Patrick’s fine,” Trick winked. “I mean, we’re in your court, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve nodded. He pressed his lips together, feeling like he couldn’t stop staring at the black and blue circles under his eyes. “What happened to your — uh —“ he gestured to his own face. He winced. Trick didn’t like him in the first place. He wouldn’t give Steve the time of day. Why would he bother to tell him about an injury like that. “Sorry — shouldn’t have asked that. What can I get started for you?”

“Your boyfriend, actually,” Trick smirked. It was like ice water was dumped over Steve as the words washed over him. Trick’s smirk dropped. He leaned over the table. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Hey — hey, sorry. I didn’t mean — It’s cool. It’s — Eddie and you — are cool, I mean.”

Steve wasn’t sure if he felt any better or worse. All he could say was, “Oh.”

“Yeah, uh —“ Trick ran his fingers over his buzzed hair and exhaled. “Half of our friends are gay or lesbian or queer. It’s — that’s fine. Promise.”

“Oh,” Steve repeated. He sat on the other side of the booth, across from Trick. “Okay.”

“I just —“ Trick looked up to the ceiling before turning his attention back to Steve. “We shouldn’t have judged you. We saw you and immediate thought you were gonna be some straight jackass like we’ve dealt with our whole lives. We built this community of accepting outcasts, and outcasted you while doing so.”

Oh.

Steve wasn’t sure what to think.

When Eddie and him started to date, the Corroded Coffin boys treated him similarly. But Eddie called them out on that before it got bad.

Before it got like this.

“I guess what I wanted to say was sorry,” Trick said. “For pushing you out. And name calling.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I don’t recall any name calling?”

“Yeah, you weren’t around for that,” Trick winced, gesturing to his nose. “Eddie made sure I knew that was wrong.”

“Eddie,” Steve breathed. “My Eddie?”

“Yep,” Trick said. “I hope he gave you a big apology for everything. So, tell me. What do you got that’s good to eat here?”

Steve took Trick’s order — one strawberry milkshake and an order of fruit loaded French toast — sent it to the kitchen, then went into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and pulled out Eddie’s letter from his apron pocket. The first letter arrived last Monday. And he received a letter every day that he’s stayed with Robin.

With a shaky breath, Steve opened the letter.

💌💌💌💌

Dear Steve, there’s nothing in the world that I can do to make this up to you. But I will try every day to make sure that you don’t ever forgotten again. You are the stars that light my way home, the sun that brings warmth into my light, and the moon that shines love over me. To experience your love is something truly unreal. And to think I put you on the back burner for a taste of popularity? It was like the Ring of Power overtook my mind. I got lost in the feeling of being admired by many, I forgot what it’s like to be loved by one. I’d travel to Mordor and back for you. Through the Gap of Rohan and through the Mines of Mora.

In a world where everyone could know my name, I’d only want to know yours.

My apologies will never be enough. Love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I hope you are well. I hope your classes are going good and that you’re excelling. I know you are. You’re so fucking smart, you blow me away with every new piece of knowledge you brought home. I hope that basketball at the YMCA is going good. I’m sorry I missed your last couple of games. There is no excuse. I hope one day you’d allow me to be by your side again, cheering you on.

You deserve the world, baby. Nothing will stop me from showing you that. Everything from the water in the rivers to the trees in the forest. From the canyons in Arizona to the mountains in Colorado. It’s yours. It’s all yours. You deserve everything. You deserve the best. And I promise that I will prove that.

Forever in love, Eddie

💌💌💌💌

I’d move heaven and hell

Just to see you smile again

Or remember how it felt

To have you in my arms

When I begged God for mercy

In the depth of hells

It was nothing compared

To begging for the mercy of you

To hear you laugh, to see you smile

To counting the stars across your skin

To pick up where we left off

To start all over again

I’d move heaven and hell for you

💌💌💌💌

Steve folded the letters, slipping them back into the envelope and set them on his nightstand.

He laid back down, turning to his side. Eddie’s side of the bed was empty. Like it has been for four days.

After Steve read the first letter, he found his way back to their apartment. Eddie was hope and nearly wrapped his arms around Steve, stopping as if there was an invisible barrier in between them. Eddie stopped, respecting that boundary at the threshold.

It was Steve to crack.

Steve who took that step over the threshold and fell into Eddie’s arms, burying his face into Eddie’s neck. Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve, holding him tight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” was all Eddie could say.

They agreed they needed to slowly integrate back into each others’ lives. Communicate when they’re feeling alone and listen when one’s feeling distressed. Nightmares seemed easier to deal with, but they were going to work it through.

Eddie said he would sleep on the couch until Steve was ready for him. “No matter how long it takes, sweetheart,” Eddie said, pressing a kiss against Steve’s knuckles. “When you’re ready for me, I’m here.”

And Eddie truly meant that. They could go back to just friends and Eddie would accept it. He would be heartbroken, but to have Steve in his life again?

That’s worth everything to Eddie.

Eddie was jostled awake, feeling the couch cushion shift underneath him. The blanket on his body lifted up and a familiar weight settle on his chest. He felt at home again. Eddie tugged the blanket back over the both of them, one hand around Steve’s waist and the other tangled in his hair as Steve laid his head on Eddie’s chest. Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, taking a silent vow to never lose him again.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

[noisyghost]

(I started sketching this design nearly immediately after season 2 ended but just now had some time to clean it up so. Excuse me rambling out loud here)

TLDR; I actually really liked the initial design + direction for Warwick-Vander (I <3 human faced werewolves)! But the show design kinda felt like a transitory state between Vander and Warwick to me, so I wanted to try my hand at blending his Arcane design with his in game design. Like a "what would he look like if the transformation kept going" kinda thing. There's a few things I'm not fully settled on, but Im mostly satisfied :)

(rambling under the readmore, its 3 am as i type this lol)

When season 2 first started, I sort of had it in my head that the narrative would have Vander "die" for Warwick to finish the transformation into his final form, forcing Vi and Jinx to finally say goodbye together. Well! That didn't happen lol. I mean. Vander did "die", but whatever was left behind isn't really Warwick. I'm not quite sure what they were going for, either with him or with how Jinx "dies", its all just a little messy when i feel like there was a more obvious narrative conclusion.

Visually i think the final design in the show is cool removed from context, but it doesn't really make sense to me in regards to the story. Like. Warwicks whole thing is that he curbs his violent impulses by killing "bad guys" in the undercity. League lore is a hot fucking mess and I don't even go there so I get that they (the writers) were playing fast and loose but I can see why so many Warwick fans were less than pleased with where the show leaves him, because it doesn't really feel like the same character outside of his initial experimentation.

In my own idea palace, Jinx fakes her death and leaves Warwick to be Zaun's new mascot. Having this literal monster that eats bad guys and saves innocent people in the process become a new symbol for Zaun feels like a no brainer to me. Imagine the iconography they'd make for this thing! And it brings Vanders whole schtick back around; he still "dies" but the Literal Memory of him lives on in Zaun, still protecting the people he cared about most. You get the bittersweet ending of Vi and Jinx having to move on because hes not really their dad anymore, but their memory is what keeps Warwick "human", still with Zaun even if Vi is doing Piltover shit and Jinx is off exploring the world.

Idk! I know the implication that Jinx faked her death is there, but whatever happens to Warwick seems to be like they didnt really have the time to fully explore the ideas they were going for, so a couple characters just got kinda left floating at the end there. If Ekko and Jinx werent going to run away together, I wanted to see Ekko befriending Warwick so they could fight to make Zaun a better place.

I have more coherent ideas than this but it's 3 am when im typing this so sorry if im not eloquent enough to properly explain what im thinking. Ekko and his weird dog that used to be his uncle. Imagine.

[imsofreakingtired]

omg hiiii!! i’ve been reading your blog or on the sevika tag and always end up back at your page so it’s time to make a request 😈

could i request for a hurt n comfort with reader who struggles with self worth and often results in isolating themselves with sevika comforting them? 🤗

hello hi :D ty for readingg! ...and oomph this one hits hard for me lmao

i always want you when i'm finally fine

content warning(s): blood, injury, heavy (ish?) angst, hurt/comfort

"will you let me, baby, lose on losing dogs? i know they're losing and i'll pay for my place by the ring, where i'll be looking in their eyes when they're down, i'll be there by their side"

~~~

You’re spiraling again. The sentence flickers like a dumb warning across your brain. Of course you are. You didn’t need the fucking news flash. 

You angrily rip off a piece of the tattered cloth with your teeth and press it against the wound in your side. It’s still seeping blood, but not as much as before. You bite down on the pain and let it take over, hold the reins, hoping it’ll distract you from the other things. The worst things. 

What was that, the third mission you messed up on? 

Nice going. Yeah, very nice going. You’re a great fucking help to Sevika. 

You press hard against the wound and involuntarily let out a yelp of pain. “Shut up,” you mutter to yourself. “Shut up.” 

You’re so fucking worthless. What if the crew got caught? 

“No one got caught,” you whisper aloud. “It was just a slip-up. Just a slip-up.” 

A slip up. How many more will there be before you learn your fucking lesson? 

You let go of the cloth, reach for the bottle of alcohol on the floor beside you.

What if things had gone worse?

You bite the cork out of the bottleneck and spit it across the room.

What if something happened to Sevika because of your SLIP-UP?

“FUCK!” 

Your head knocks back against the wall, eyes shut tight in agony. An explosion of hellfire spreads, bomblike, through your midsection. The alcohol dribbles down your side and into your waistband. 

Worthless. Worthless idiot. 

“Shut up!”

“Who are you telling to shut up?” 

You look up quickly. Sevika stands at the top of the stairs leading into the basement. You hadn’t heard her open the door. A cigarette dangles from her lips and the smoke curls in the dusty air as she walks down the steps and toward you. She crouches down in front of you and sees, for the first time, your bloodstained shirt. Her eyes widen slightly. 

“Shit. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were tagged?”  

You’re embarrassed that she caught you in this state, you’re furious at yourself that you let her catch you. So you knock her hand away when she reaches for you. “I’m fine,” you snap.

She scoffs. “Right.” When you don’t move your hands from your body, she stubs out her cigarette and grabs your hand, pulling it away from the wound. She frowns. “The hell did you do, throw liquor on it?” 

“I can handle it. Leave me alone.” 

“Can’t see well in this light,” she grunts. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

“Fuck off,” you hiss, and your voice is all the more fierce, because you can feel the tears rising in your throat when you see her concern—a concern, you think, that you don't deserve. And you’re panicking because if she sees you cry, she’ll know for sure that you are weak. She’ll see that you’re not worth her time. 

You expect her to get angry, storm off with a huffy “fine.” But she doesn’t. She assesses you calmly, one eyebrow raised, as if your emotions amuse her. 

“I’m fine,” you say again, blinking hard and avoiding her gaze. “Just—leave me alone.” 

At last, she stands, and you think bitterly that you’ve won. You wait until you hear the door shut behind her before you let out a deep, shuddering breath, a breath that was collecting like poison in the pit of your stomach since you let Sevika into your life, a breath that begged for someone to return it to your body. You wanted her to take care of you. You wanted it so badly. 

But you felt like you didn’t deserve it. 

The worst of the moment is over, and the tears do not come. You sit there with your back to the wall, listening to the throb of your heart, feeling the steady burn of pain in your abdomen droning through your body. 

Then the door opens again. 

Sevika comes back down the stairs, business-like, with a roll of bandages and a small bottle tucked under her human arm. Her mech arm carries a chemtech oil lamp. She kneels down again on the floor in front of you, setting down the objects.

“What are you—”

“Shut up.” She pushes the bottle to your lips. “Drink this.” 

You open your mouth and drink, because it saves you at least for a moment from talking. The whiskey is strong and hot going down. It tastes like Sevika. 

She cleans your wound and wraps it with a dexterity that came from having done it on herself countless times before. “Leave you alone?” she echoes back to you. “The hell I will.” 

When she’s done, she takes her cloak off and wraps it around your shoulders. Her sharp grey eyes, like the beam of a lighthouse that never misses the lonely boats drifting out in the dark sea, seek yours. 

“You’re my girl,” she tells you in a softer voice. “And I look after what’s mine.”

~~~

thank you @lez-zuha for the req :)

[kaiserposting]

My Worries Come in Phallic, Freudian Shapes

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2k TYPE: Established Relationship, It's basically just Kaiser tweaking for no reason 🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️🤦‍♂️ (I find it funny but interpretations may vary) WARNING(S): Kaiser's overactive imagination?

Kaiser would like to say he’s quite numb to being separated from you. Sometimes you come along with him at away games, if possible, but in other instances you have to be apart sometimes even for months, and Kaiser likes to think he manages it well.

You’re not on his mind much when he’s training or during a game. Mostly his times of weakness happen outside of that, though Kaiser doesn’t let it get to him. For example, he does this fun exercise where if his mind strays towards you too often or when he can sense the void in his chest is beginning to take on a suspicious shape, he holds out on texting or calling you for as long as possible. To test his will — which is something normal people do like all the time, of course — and because wanting to distract himself gives him extra neurotic energy to burn when he’s doing his exercises.

Not that Kaiser becomes neurotic over you or anything. It’s not even a big deal to him.

He’s sure you miss him more than he misses you. He’s confident you do. After all, to him, it’s no big deal, as previously stated. It’s true.

He doesn’t worry about small and nonsensical things like how you’d probably prefer a more present and available boyfriend, and how you’re free to do whatever you want with remarkable ease when you’re seas and oceans away from him.

Kaiser’s eye twitches while he continues shoving the last of his belongings back into his luggage, since he needs to pack for his flight back home. This train of thought isn’t going anywhere good — he needs to abandon it. Besides, a second with Michael Kaiser is worth way more than a month with some stupid, worthless commoner. Your shitty replacement for him will never rival the real deal.

No, this is stupid. You love him, you don’t have a replacement for him. Right? You wouldn’t betray him while he’s away. You’re his first and only love, you can’t do that to him, can you? You know he’d kill you if you did it and he found out, don’t you?

This is stupid. He wouldn’t kill you! Kaiser doesn’t want to kill you. He should stop thinking about this… You wouldn’t do it to him either anyway, you love him back. Kaiser knows you do, so why does it not feel real most of the time?

What if you’ve fallen out of love with him, though? Maybe you look forward to when he has to go away for long. Forget all about him the moment he’s out of your sight, don’t spare him a single thought, have fun with your little friends while he’s gone, all that.

You probably get together and you start shit-talking him with them the way people do about their good for nothing boyfriends sometimes. They call his haircut stupid and you cackle along with them, then you tell them how insecure and unlovable he really is, and actually his dad beat him as a child so now he’s barely human, how it makes him an arrogant and pretentious piece of trash pretender, and then you’re like ‘I wish I had a normal boyfriend instead of Michael’, and they’re all like ‘you deserve a normal boyfriend, this is fucked up’, and you’re empowered to free yourself of your burden. So he comes back home and you pick him up from the flight and you break the news to him that you’re leaving him and he has to move his belongings back to his place.

Maybe you have a new fling already, but it’s nothing serious because you still need to dump Kaiser and all. And he’s like in finances or something, an accountant maybe, who works normal hours (not the overachieving workaholic type who stays behind to do extra), and he probably doesn’t have footage of him having meltdowns on live TV for everyone to see. There are no interviews where he’s acting bitchy, no compilations of him acting cruel or ‘crashing out’ or whatever else. And he probably grew up in an average household — they weren’t rich or anything, but his parents made time for him. They were loving and nurtured him to be a rightful member of society, raising him to be someone worth your affection…

Holy shit does Kaiser feel unhinged. Literally why is he making up this entire story in his head? It never happened.

It didn’t, right? You wouldn’t do it to him, would you? You love him. You really, really, really love him, like from the bottom of your heart, somehow you love him and you don’t want to hurt him, even if you’re probably sick of him being away and of his problems and his attitude and his everything. If you had a magic wand, he wagers you’d wave it and change him on a neurochemical level, keep his looks and his successes, but get rid of the unnecessary baggage.

Or would you keep him as he is and love that ugly thing? Can you? Do you have it in you? Are you just tolerating him for some monetary benefits or out of pity with your knowledge of his past? Do you still love him? Will you love him a few hours from now or are you going to get bored? Are you bored and antsy waiting for him and is it affecting your feelings, suffocating your love to zero each moment he’s not by your side, each reunion only serving to put off the inevitable? Is the novelty wearing off? Do you need novelty?

Kaiser fights off the impulse to write you a text message threatening suicide and then turning off his phone until the end of the flight to keep you on your toes. A flashy move in attention seeking for sure, but for one you don’t even know he’s in a mind war with you, so you’re more likely to be confused than begging for him not to do it and for his forgiveness, though maybe it could earn him a reassurance of love and care. Regardless, Kaiser is not taking the chance because if you ignore him or don’t see the message it’ll just devastate him.

And also he kind of doesn’t want to act like that. Well, he does, but the rational part of him is also still awake and holding him back. You won’t appreciate that. Right now the strife he’s going through is completely imaginary, but if he goes and acts crazy outside the confines of his mind, he really might fuck everything up.

If he makes too many mistakes, you might fall out of love with him, and if you fall out of love with him, you’ll leave him. Kaiser thinks about what he’d do in that case. Without you he is nothing besides an unwanted waste of breath — you’re the sole person who got close enough to see beneath his nonsense and decide to tolerate it, attracted beyond frivolity for an enigmatic reason.

Maybe the perpetrator behind this strange limbo of weird hysteria is Kaiser’s low self-esteem. It always circles back to that and he is sick of it. He doesn’t understand why you subject yourself to him and here, a whole ordeal.

Whatever anymore. Kaiser doesn’t even care. It’s a pointless matter to lose his mind over. He knows you cherish him, and even if you didn’t, he’d get over it. Life moves on. There are other fish in the sea…

Actually, if you tried to leave him, Kaiser has so many things he would do, they’d earn him a restraining order. First he’d resort to begging and ugly crying, but he doubts it’d sway you. He’d need to be more extreme.

No, that’s silly. If you separated, he’d react to it like a normal person, right? He wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let you leave without any theatrics and move on. Right? It’s what he would do, Kaiser decides.

Or maybe he can get a leg up on you and catch you out when you begin losing interest in him and he can work to win you back over. You won’t even know what hit you. Yea, Kaiser will scheme to sweep you off your feet.

Not that he cares that much to put so much effort in… It’s just his strength and natural calling as an unbothered male manipulator.

___

After the packing and the waiting at the airport and all that, Kaiser survives a restless flight. He tried to read a book during it, but he turned out not to enjoy it whatsoever (catastrophe). Then he turned to Gesner, who was sitting next to him and seemed like he wanted to kill himself, and told him in detail about all the plot problems and why this was what made nonfiction superior.

To Gesner’s relief Kaiser also spent a good chunk of it trying to sleep, though the endeavor was useless. He closed his eyes and his pattern of anxious cyclical thinking continued and he failed to doze off. What do you think about accountants? Maybe your side piece wouldn’t have any tattoos because you secretly find his corny and you’ve sworn off tattooed men. ‘I mean, seriously, just put the eyeliner on like a real man.’ Kaiser would bet this is what you’re saying to your friends.

Anyway, again, his flight was spent stirring in ridiculous thoughts in that vein. If nothing else, actually, if you knew what was running through his head, that would be what would put you off of him. But you don’t. He needs to just… keep it to himself and it’ll be fine.

So you find each other after some stumbling and chaos and some vague text exchanges like ‘where are you?’, ‘At the airport obviously’, ‘you think you’re so funny’, and so on, and when you spot each other, you grin upon the sight of him (hard to fake such immediate happiness, Kaiser concludes) and spread your arms out for a hug.

Kaiser rolls his eyes. You’re so cute, he wants to squeeze you to death, but regardless he puts on a big show of what an inconvenience this is and gives you a stiff, nonchalant embrace. The way you hold him is a small reassurance. You’re still in public though, so he needs to play it cool for a bit longer, and he reluctantly peels himself away from you.

You interrogate him about his time away while he’s your passenger princess on the way home. Kaiser takes it as a good sign you’re still interested in his life at least enough to ask, as if there was a possibility he was going to come back and you just… wouldn’t give a fuck about him or what he’s been up to. He keeps his answers vague, trying not to let on the almost daily mental torment he’s been subjecting himself to just because his brain can’t stop making up stupid narratives.

Once you two arrive, and only when you’re inside, does Kaiser give into his desire for your affection. He wraps you up in a way tighter embrace without intention of letting go and peppers your face in kisses.

The first time he acted like that with you upon coming back, you were rightfully weirded out, but now you’re used to this whole routine and let him have his moment of rare forwardness.

“You know,” he says, “I missed you like, a little bit.”

“It’s hard to tell,” you say, sarcastic.

Kaiser ignores it. He bites your cheek. Not hard enough to hurt at all, but it’s a strange sensation.

“So gross.”

“I hope you weren’t doing anything stupid without me. I wouldn't want to miss out on any fun.”

“I wasn’t.”

“What do you think about accountants?”

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, but humor him anyway. “Can’t say I think anything in particular about them.”

“Is that so…”

For some reason, you find his tone to sound suspicious? There is a harder bite — your skin might be a bit irritated around there for a few minutes. You wonder if Kaiser was arguing with management or something somewhere abroad.

___

I just wrote this because I thought Kaiser having emotional impermanence (which is likely) would be hilarious I promise I'll write a more plot-oriented one shot soon again

[thatferrybroad]

Bad formatting is an accessibility issue. I cannot read badly formatted text without giving myself either a headache or a full-on migraine. I am not joking, and I know I'm not the only person. Learn to format or resign yourself to being the architect of your own prison of unread fic. rant about summaries below. It includes yelling, swearing, and several summary formats for people to use.

IF I SEE ONE MORE "OHHHHH I CAAAAAN'T SUMMARIZE WELL JUST READ IT" I AM GOING TO LOSE MY FUCKING MIND. I do not read those fics specifically be cause I don't know what's fucking in them now do I!?

If you "can't write summaries" do not say so and think people will read your fic out of pity. I specifically do not click on fics that trot that slop out and expect me to eat.

Hell in a Fucking Hand Basket - just include a fucking line or two of dialogue!!!! It doesn't even have to be amazing dialogue!!!!!!

If you don't respect your own writing enough to figure out a way to summarize it and do at least minimal edits, I'm not spending my time on it. Why would I invest more than an eye roll if you're not going to bother to give your readers even three words and an occasional line break of actual consideration? "oooohhhh but its sooo haarrrrrrd"

THE FUCK IT IS. It may be intimidating or overwhelming at most, but if you wrote a fic in the first place, you can write two sentences. FFS, there's infinite possibilities! Pretend your fic is a book you're reading in a coffee shop. Imagine a stranger comes up to you and asks what the book is about. What would you tell them? Use that as the summary. Do you share the fic with friends? Ask them the most memorable part and use a paraphrasing of that. Keep the ending in, don't keep the ending in. You could even just list the main character(s) and what happens/what internal thoughts they have, what conversations happen.... This does not even have to be a complete sentence.

Here, I will even make a format for you cowards!!!

1. Who or what stars in the fic, what pairings are in rom fic

2. Blurb

3. Tags

4. Content warnings The blurb can be: the contrivance you thought was fun to explore, the actual plot with or without the ending, the type of au, an actual paragraph of the fic, or even just the inspiration, and a bajillion other things! EXAMPLE:

Mazeeda, Gabriele, Soo-Jung, Mazeeda/Soo-jung, Background Jamal/Betty

Retired Magical Girl AU. Former rival magical girls stuck at same table at a wedding of a childhood friend. Drunken shenanigans and makeouts ensue.

Tags: dramedy, adults haunted by teen angst, rivals to friends to lovers in 2 hours, bi solidarity

TW discussion of eating disorders

IT'S REALLY NOT THAT FUCKING HARD!!!!

*This poll was submitted to us and we simply posted it so people could vote and discuss their opinions on the matter. If you’d like for us to ask the internet a question for you, feel free to drop the poll of your choice in our inbox and we’ll post them anonymously (for more info, please check our pinned post).

[gongyoosgf]

nam-gyu as your bf!!

warnings: namgyu is his own warning, smoking, possessiveness, fluff, smut at the end, choking, control kink, lowly hand kink, slapping, overstimulation, praise, degrading, blowjob, unprotected sex, aftercare, uhh yeah all that stuff

an: i wrote this in an hour

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who wants to act tough, even though he knows you have him wrapped around your finger. he tries to keep up a cool, unbothered attitude, but the second you tease him or show him affection, he gets all flustered. if you compliment him out of nowhere? he’ll scoff, subtly covering up how his ears turn red.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets jealous way too easily. he won’t admit it, but the second someone gets too close to you, he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and glaring at them until they get the message.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who secretly loves it when you “baby” him, even though he huffs and complains. “i don’t need you to fix my shirt,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t move away when you do it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who melts the moment you play with his hands. he watches quietly as you trace over his fingers, spinning his rings around (because he definitely has one of those spinny fidget rings).

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who refuses to sleep unless he’s holding you. if you shift away even a little, he’ll instinctively pull you right back with a grumbled, “where do you think you’re going?”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who acts like he doesn’t care, but is secretly the biggest worrywart. “text me when you get home,” he says casually, but if you forget, expect a passive-aggressive “did you die or something?” text.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who always lets you steal his hoodies, even though he complains about it. “why do you even need it? you have your own.” but he never actually takes them back, and if he sees you wearing one, he won’t shut up about how good you look in it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who secretly loves it when you mess with his hair. if you randomly start running your fingers through it, he’ll roll his eyes but lean into your touch, completely betraying himself.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who teases you constantly, but the second you fire back, he gets all pouty. “that’s fucking rude,” he says after spending the last ten minutes roasting you.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets distracted whenever you talk because he’s too busy staring at you. when you call him out on it, he just shrugs. “you’re cute when you talk, that’s all.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who is actually really sentimental. he keeps little things you’ve given him. notes, random trinkets, even a receipt from a place you went together. he won’t tell you, but if you ever find them, he’ll get all embarrassed.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who acts like he’s fine when he’s upset, but the way he clings to you says otherwise. he won’t say anything, just bury his face in your shoulder and hold onto you a little tighter than usual.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who never says “i love you” first, but always finds ways to show it. pulling you closer when you least expect it, keeping a hand on your knee when you’re sitting together, or letting you take the last bite of his food (even if he really wanted that last bite).

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu whose hands are always freezing. without warning, he’ll press them against your neck or slip them under your shirt just to hear you yelp. but if you try to warm them up by holding them, he gets all quiet and lets you, secretly loving the attention.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who likes to act like he’s too cool for couple stuff, but secretly loves it. he’ll roll his eyes if you suggest matching outfits, but later, you’ll notice he’s wearing the same color as you without being asked.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who has the best laugh when he’s high, usually because something random happens, and he just starts giggling uncontrollably.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who always acts like he’s not paying attention, but notices everything about you. the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, the way you tap your fingers when you’re bored, he picks up on all of it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who acts all grumpy when you wake him up, but if you stop talking to let him go back to sleep, he mumbles, “keep talking… i like your voice.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who never shuts up about you when you’re not around. thanos so tired of hearing about it, but he doesn’t care. thanos will just be like, “bro, we get it, you’re in love.” and he’ll just smirk, “yeah, and?”

nsfw below!! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves pulling you into his lap. sometimes it’s innocent, but most of the time, his fingers press into your hips just enough to make you squirm on his bulge. he tilts his head, amused. “something wrong?”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves to toy with you, whispering things like, “you have no idea how much i wanna fuck you right now. all i can think about is getting you alone, but you’re making me wait.” his lips brush against your earlobe, lingering just a second longer before pulling away.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s fully aware of the effect he has on you. when you try to act innocent, he whispers teasingly, “don’t try to act like you don’t want this as much as i do.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves messing with your patience. when he’s teasing you in public, he’s not afraid to keep it going, fingers brushing against your neck, his thumb pressing softly over your pulse point, making you want to squirm, but he won’t let you. “you can’t touch me yet,” he says in a low voice, but he can see how badly you want to.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets real handsy when you’re both alone. one moment, he’s playing it cool, and the next, he’s pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss, hands gripping your waist tightly, pressing you flush against him. “did you miss me that much?” he teases, even though it’s clear he’s just as hungry for you.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves to make you beg for him, but in his own way. he’ll be so smooth, so casual about it, but when he sees you getting desperate, his smirk widens. “not yet, sweetheart. you need to earn it.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves watching you fall apart beneath him. whether it’s just his words or his hands, he knows how to make you unravel completely, to the point where you forget everything but him. “look at me,” he groans, as his lips hover over yours. “don’t fucking look away.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s got a kink for control. he’ll put you in a position where you can’t escape, whether it’s pinning you down on the bed or holding your hands behind your back, he wants to be the one to make you squirm. “you don’t get to decide tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with authority. “i’m going to do what i want with you.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who knows exactly how to rile you up by whispering dirty little things in your ear while his hands roam under the warmth of your clothes, making you ache for his touch even more.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who gets a thrill out of slowly undressing you, his cold hands brushing over your body, making you ache for more while he watches the way you shiver under his touch, not allowing you to rush a single moment.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who lives for the power he has over you. when he makes you beg for more, when he sees the look in your eyes that says you're completely lost in him, there’s nothing hotter. “say it,” he demands, his voice rough and low. “say what you want.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who can’t get enough of how you tremble when his cold fingers slide under the waistband of your pants, letting them hover just before touching your skin, feeling your anticipation rise with each passing second.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pushes you to your knees, taking control of the situation as his hands grip your hair, forcing you to take all of him as he fucks your mouth, groaning with pleasure as you give him exactly what he wants.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves to trap you under him, using his hands to pin your wrists above your head while he kisses his way down your neck, his lips rough against your skin, but his body heating you from the inside out.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who can’t resist the sound of your moans. he’ll slow down just to make them louder, smirking when your grip tightens on his shoulder, your breathing shallow. “i love hearing you like this,” he says, his lips brushing against your skin. “don’t hold back for me.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who presses you into the sheets, holding you in place as he moves over you, making sure you feel every inch of him against your skin, loving how you beg for him with every breath you take.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’ll slap your thigh, forcing you to gasp as he grins at the reaction, loving how he can make you lose control under him.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who loves making you beg for him, his fingers digging into your skin as he moves against you, his touch demanding and possessive, making sure you know who’s in charge while he’s lost in the raw intensity between you two.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls your hair to tilt your head back, his cold fingers digging into your neck while he kisses down your jaw, marking you with his rough, needy touch, as if reminding you that you’re his in every way.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who slams into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pushing you into the mattress with each thrust as he watches you unravel beneath him, your moans spurring him on until you’re both completely lost in the passion.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who grips your hips tightly, his voice a growl, “you like this, don’t you? being fucked like you’re nothing. you’re mine to use however i want.” he slams into you again, making sure every word stings with possessiveness.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who enjoys hearing you scream his name, his cold touch trailing down your spine as he makes you shiver with each movement, knowing exactly how rough to be to make you ache for more, all while keeping you at the edge of your pleasure.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls you close, “say it, fuck, tell me you want me.” his thrusts become relentless, his voice dripping with hunger, “i need to hear you beg for me.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls you into his lap, hands wrapping around your neck as he forces you to ride him, his grip tightening as he controls every movement, making sure you’re completely at his mercy while he watches you fall apart.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s not satisfied until he’s made you cum at least twice before he’s done, making sure every thrust hits deep as he relentlessly fucks you, knowing exactly how to get you to the edge. “you’re going to take it all, aren’t you? i’ll fill you up, make you mine completely.” his voice is rough, each word a command, “don’t even think about running. you’ll stay with me until you’ve given me everything I want.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who grits his teeth and looks up at you as he’s about to cum, his hands gripping your throat just enough to make you dizzy, before he fucking loses it, cumming so deep inside you that you both feel every intense wave of it.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who doesn’t let you stop, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as he makes sure you’re shaking with pleasure, not stopping until he feels you come undone.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who, after he’s finished, pulls you into his arms, his cold hands caressing your skin gently, brushing your hair out of your face as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering, “you did so well for me… just rest now.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who lights up a joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke before leaning back, pulling you into his chest. “just relax with me.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who, after you’ve both come down from the high, gives you the blunt, watching you take a drag as he smiles softly. “i love seeing you like this… at peace. let me take care of you.”

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who pulls you into a slow, lazy kiss, holding the blunt lazily between his fingers, the smoke mixing with your breath.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who’s already high, his body feeling relaxed as he pulls you onto his lap, lazily stroking your back, tracing over the curves of your body.

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bf!namgyu who makes sure you’re hydrated, giving you water and taking the time to sip it with you, making sure you’re feeling good after everything, “i’m so proud of you.” his voice is gentle as he takes care of you in the most thoughtful way.

- - - - ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

uhh taglist: @kouzih @cybrasigilism @222hyunju

[whore-ibly-hot]

Tw: Dubcon, coercion, orgasm denial, general guys being icky and manipulative.

(Its kinda ass idk)

Thinking about...

A couple of guys, not really delinquents bit certainly not 'upstanding' citizens just using you for some relief. It's probably after some event, maybe a rock show at some shithole downtown, or maybe you were just getting some snacks with guys you thought were your friends. Not thought, they are your friends, but you couldn't have imagined this.

The first fidgets with the lever of the backseats, trying to get them folded back into the trunk while number twos tugging at your skirt, your tits pressed harshly into the leather of his car. "Cmon, find the fucking lever!" He growls and number one, who raises his hands in defense. "What do you want me to do, its probably your fucking car that let this happen. This shit-bucket probably doesn't even have a lever for the seats anymore."

Number three is driving, slowly finding some small lot with minimal lights in the back of some old building, shifting into park. While the two in back continue to bicker, he makes his way to the front of you. "Are you two sure about this? Seems like going to far." He says, one hand gripping at his pants sleeve with tension.

"You're bricked up too, bro. You aren't exactly the virgin Mary here." Number two pauses, then chuckles. "But, maybe virgin does fit." One cackles too, prompting three to smack the shoulder of two. "You're not scared, are you? You want this plenty, right?" Two asks, squishing your cheeks together in a 'fishy' face with a free hand.

"Don't know." You're scared, tired from the the fun night, unsure why three guys you've always been platonic with are doing this, but you can't deny the aching in your gut, the way your thighs are rubbing a bit against the leather seams of the middle seat and the far right seat. "I'm not sure, you guys-" You yelp, a hard open-palm grazing across the sliver of exposed ass poking from under your slightly ridden up skirt.

"Fuck is wrong with you?" Three asks, suddenly the seat jolts down, making you gasp. "Easy, easy."

"Get that skirt off, I just know she's got a good ass." One's hands push up, grabbing a cheek each amd kneading them as he groans. "Fucking mint, look at this, baby!" One leans so he's over you a bit, hard clothed cock pressing against your ass as he whispers in your ear. "Why'd you hide this thing from us?" He asks.

"I wasn't hiding it-"

"Obviously." Two snarks. "We barely even had to lift this skirt up, you were practically flaunting it."

God, you're aching. Maybe it's half stress, half arousal making you run on adrenaline, but the lack of care they seem to have for how you feel about this is having a primal effect on you.

"Pussy's fat too..." One comments, yanking down the thin panties keeping your soaked lips from him.

"Careful!" You squeak, causing them all to actually pause for a moment. "Its... been a bit."

Two breaks out into a grin, realizing this should mean dwindling protests from you about the way they plan to use you.

"She's not saying yes." Three protests, hand coming to hover over your cunt, effectively blocking his eager friends wandering fingers.

"She said maybe, and look at her!" One tries to get his hands past threes hand. "She's dripping on his leather seats, she's wetter than a bitch in heat.

"Its not like we're holding her down in some alley or something!" Two adds, placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead. "This is loving compared to that. Vanilla stuff." He snips.

Three seems conflicted, eyes downcast as he reluctantly pulls a hand away, moving it to gently rub your back up and down, as if trying to soothe a cat.

"Finally. Glad you decided to knock off the cockblocking." Spreading the lips of your labia, one whistles lowly, dragging a digital from your hole to aroused bud from behind, gently circling once, then twice.

"Shit-" You whisper out, gripping the seat edges with slick hands. You can feel threes hand clench slightly, but you lay your cheek on his knee, casting a flushed and low-lidded glance up at him. This reassures him a little, but your head near his oh-so sensitive inner thigh makes this action also go right to his dick.

"Fingers, how many you want?" One whispers. You just mewl at the feeling of friction on your clit, whining when it suddenly stops. "Wait, wait, okay, two, two!" You exclaim. You jolt forward a bit at the slight intrusion, the digits working you towards a finish, but not at the pace you'd like.

"You're sucking him in like crazy, shit." Two chuckles, leaning to glance behind you. "Makes me wonder what kinda suction you'd have elsewhere." He fidgets with his belt, the sound of a zipper and belt clasp coming undone sounds out, and a snap of boxers being pulled slightly lower. Three looks disgusted as two just winks, taking his own cock in his hand and running his hand over it once, then twice before pressing it forward.

Your lips wet with the slightly sticky red tip he presses to them, prodding once or twice like he's seeking entrance. "You wanna out in? Just give it a taste, I promise I'm not gonna make you take it all the way, baby." Two chuckles as you awkwardly kiss the tip. "That's nice, but I'm not asking you to give it's first kiss." Gripping your hair, he guides it in a bit, groaning. "Yeah, there we go. Right around my cock, use your tongue." You let out a moan as one hits a spot with the tips of his fingers, curled inside. It reverberates around Two's cock, causing him to buck. He keeps his promise, you have to admit, he only bucks forward a bit before pulling his length back out. "You're taking it so fucking good, not gonna bruise your mouth though, she's taking it like a fucking champ, man." He glances at One. "You think she's close?"

"Her pussy's twitching like she's gonna pop any second." The bragging first member slows his pace, causing you to whine and pull your mouth off Two's cock. "Why'd you stop, wait- wait-" You're panting, on the verge of overstimulation and seeking that release rather than focus on all your conflicting feelings.

"Shh, calm down. You'll get your pussy rocked, calm down." Two elbows Three, nodding his head towards the man. He's been stoic since you out your head on his leg, conflicted and sickened, while simultaneously being sickening aroused. "Last chance to jump this, man. I know you want to.." Three just pushes him back, but moves to have you sit up, now facing him. His hands on your cheek. "Breathe. S' okay, you want to stop, or you want to finish this?" He asks.

"Finish it, baby. We'll stroke it over yo-" Three smacks off one, scolding him before turning back to you. "Your choice. Your decision. Don't listen to them." Three reassures you, arms on blocking you in and leaning over you slightly to keep the other two from interfering.

"Finish. I wanna cum, m' aching and-" You buck forward just a bit, and he gets the memo. "Okay, okay. Lay on your back, spread your legs, I'm gonna do the work."

You don't have to be asked twice; laying on the cool leather, this time back down, chest rising. Two hands get your feet tucked around Threes waist, and he lowers down on you. You're so hyper focused on how sensitive you are, and your 'friend'leaning over you you can barely register one and two jerking off, hoping to climax around the time you do.

Three gets himself lined up, but not before placing a few soft kisses on your neck. "I got you. Just forget about those idiots, okay? You and me, I'm taking care of you. I'll let you finish and make em' take you right back home."

You just nod, eyes squeezing tight as he enters. "Ah-" You groan. "You're big, fuck-"

He's not moving. "Too big?"

You shake your head, and he resumes several slow repitions. Eventually, he's fully sheathed, balls smacking against your ass as he thrusts. "Amazing, you feel so good, so good." He grunts. His hands brace on either side of you, but don't grip you harshly like one and two. "Is it good for you?" He asks.

"Up..." is all you can mumble. He gets the hint, angling his cock slightly. Soon, his bulbous tip is hammering that spongy place deep inside you, and you can feel your release finally hitting. "Yes, cumming, I'm finishing-" You start to yell, then gasp at a hot rush of fluids that's aren't your own.

"Holy shit!" Two cackles along with one, as three halts in his movements. "Mister 'i don't wanna, it's not right' might've just knocked you up!"

Your still riding out your orgasm, but three has immediately snapped out of ir. "I didn't mean to, sorry, I didn't-" he's pulling out, immediately smacking two who finished a bit ago. "Its your car, drive. Fucking drive, go to the pharmacy." Two puts his hands up, but obeys.

"M' so sorry." Three says as he sits you up. "I promise I'm clean and stuff, and we're gonna grab plan b, get you some water too-"

"Its okay." You blurt. "Its okay, I know you didn't mean to." Biting your lip, you think about what happened. Of any other guys did this, it'd be horrifying, and you admit it was scary. But... it also wouldn't feel nearly as hot with anyone else. "It was good."

"Hell yeah it was." Both of you were so caught up, you didn't realize One stayed in the back of the car. "Wait till you get a ride on me, baby. I promise I'll be even more of a gentleman. Shit, I'll tell you before it shoot my load in you."

You should go out for late night drives more.

[tapenbreak]

𖦹. “𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄.” —(𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐍𝐄𝐘)

𖦹. — 𝐬;𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. losing a stupidly made bet has its consequences, it seems. oh, what a moron he can be. although, too late to back out now, is it—dearest whitney? a nice , round 5.0k words.

𖦹. — 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 . . . younger, therefore underclass man whitney who thought it was such a nice idea to suggest a bet, only to lose in the process, ‘first’ kiss, whoever lasts the longest wins, quite tame, actually—in comparison, though it’s mostly unspoken yearning. fat, puppy crush on upperclassman!reader (amab) that may or may not be worse.

𖦹. — 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬, doc? : “I’ve wanted to stretch this on further than intended, but I got something else planned for this fucker, so never mind. I’m not all that fond of this one since it’s quite more heavy on the feelings than actions, but to each their own.”

Alright, so, let’s supposedly say that he’s already somehow impulsively roped himself in an intangible mess due to an irrefutably dumb bet he’s made on the spot with you, none the wiser—of course. Inexplicably caught himself in a sticky, spider web akin to a precarious trap most starving predators would’ve predictably laid bare for their meddling preys to eventually sink into and—would y’a look at that, like the actual dumbass he can seldomly be, he can’t possibly hope to back out now, can he?

No, no, because y’see—if Whitney were to humiliatingly do such an idiotic thing, then surely that’d just be directly admitting to that irritatingly pretty face of yours that you were apparently correct all along. Not that you are, fuck no. Like that’d ever occur in a million goddamn years, you intolerable bastard. God, that being his sole intention from the pure beginning to crudely wipe that frustrating smile plastered upon your. . . ugh, cherry perfect lips whenever the delinquent-in-the-making merely happens to be in your tedious presence.

Or is cruelly teasing him till he’s unabashedly grown hotter in the fullness of his blazing cheeks a conclusive hobby of yours? Probably, considering your blatant sadism when it comes to endlessly poking fun at someone until they’ve inevitably snapped dead in your face before you oh, so innocently claim that it was simply a meaningless joke. Mindlessly shrug the entire ordeal off as if it were meant to be truly nothing more than an obsessive overreaction on his part. Yeah, yeah—motherfucker, well he’s got a precious one-liner for y’a, also.

“Bet I could.” Confidently proclaiming with an overly arrogant tone that you notably took seriously due to the aforementioned circumstances for some unspoken reason. And that, you see—was specifically when the blonde irreversibly dug himself in the depths of a narrow pit which he can’t possibly climb out of now. So, fuck it, alright?? Fuck his sheer idiocy and muddling arrogance that’s shamelessly come forth to screw him over right in the balls for having previously accepted a seemingly doable suggestion.

Uh huh—‘doable’, he said. Cuz’ it’d be so irresistibly, fucking ‘easy’, another moron in his cocky mind chimed along in turn. Speaking of apparently ‘easy’, maybe next time, think twice before actually acting upon your stinging urges to uselessly prove someone else, like your shitty upperclassman, by the way—wrong, huh. Ever thought of that? No, ‘course he truthfully didn’t consider it thoroughly beforehand because it’s Whitney, the stubborn, hard-headed bully of a underclass man we’re namely speaking of here, after all.

Slippery, sliding slope doesn’t truly begin to particularly cut it either, honestly—yeah, he’s gone and undeniably fucked it up, this time for sure. Hasn’t he?

Hence why his clammy palm is currently placed atop your rather. . . uh, firm chest which he’ll never be outwardly uttering out such an exceptionally odd statement unless he inherently wishes to never live it down till the day he literally dies. That is, including this one ceaseless thought incessantly creeping within the remnants of his blurring mind—about how annoyingly nice the dizzying scent exuding from the warmth of your nearby proximity is. Shit, are those your natural pheromones too? Cuz’ he’s already going fuckin’ crazy from a mere unsuspecting whiff like a bitch in heat. Not to mention, the mind-boggling fact of being comfortably perched along the neat spreading of your thighs for his slimmer legs to settle upon, intimately hook themselves around your hips like a delicate lifeline solely intended to be unperturbed for the remainder of this intimate encounter. And no, this isn’t remotely on purpose, goddamn it—get your filthy head out of the gutter, you pervasive freak. It’s not like that, okay? Just. . . give him a moment, pretty please.

And perhaps at best, a generous minute you’d so graciously offer the blonde to discreetly adjust the sweltering heat that’s come forth to prettily stain his face in a similar crimson manner along with its unending path downwards and—well, y’know. . . below, there. Hardening cock certainly stirring with peeked interest at the subtle press of your laidback figure securely held against his own, shit. . . admittedly, smaller one. Sometimes, the considerable size difference shared amongst you two really does get to him in an albeit, fucking degenerative way. Enough so to inwardly curse at how utterly unhelpful that provoking detail was to the pulsing blood swiftly rushing down to his impatient length—hah.

Fuck, there’s no way this is realistically happening, right—but, it is, dammit. All due to prideful banter that may or may not have unreasonably translated to blatant flirting between you both despite his general lack of interest to other surrounding assholes slightly older than him in age.

Listen, you’re just tolerable enough where he doesn’t inevitably blow a sensitive nerve in return to some mild pestering on your end while simultaneously beating his dumb, idiotic self for regarding you in such high esteem—and yeah, that does include the sheer awed admiration visibly apparent in each of his movements. Intricately foolish in every one of his subtle gestures in hopes of successfully imitating your usual mannerisms, coincidentally catch your straying gaze to finally rest upon his uncharacteristically starving own.

Hell, the fucker even went through the irritating trouble of having the delicate muscle of his slippery, pink tongue wholly pierced for the sake of you possibly taking notice of it. Gleaming bud prettily flashing back towards your reflected, half-lidded gaze partially hidden by fluttering lashes, boringly snuffing in light interest at the sudden sight of it all. Taking notice, huh? That, you offhandly did, but merely for a few meddlesome seconds before eventually sinking back into your settled routine, as per usual. Well, said system of vaguely appreciating the sheer extended lengths he pathetically forces himself to endure in an unending pursuit of altering his appearance befitting of the ‘wilder’ types you habitually go for—due to something along the lines of, what’d you say again? Oh yeah, ‘they’re funnier to mess with when they lose their tempers, is all’—sickening asshole that you are, and still, remaining his unchanging crush nonetheless.

Although, whether or not he truthfully vocalizes that childish adoration akin to how a little brother would towards his elder one—is probably not ever fucking happening. As he still retains some semblance of pride to selfishly keep to himself, too. Don’t you forget that either.

Which is reasonably why despite the lurking remnants of embarrassment sourly creeping within the tensed coils of his tummy, a tightly-knitted cousin of shame, mind you. There’s still indisputable trepidation that traverses throughout the length of his shivering, curved spine; deepens his barely concealed smugness at having you like this. Because finally—fucking finally, has your shortly lived attention lastly settled upon the blonde’s awaiting own as purely intended.

‘Course, knowing your blunt self that either chooses not to attentively read the tense atmosphere currently residing within the spacious room or being merely oblivious to it, altogether—you eventually break that pleasurable silence with a singular insistent reminder or rather, a query to snap him out of this shit show. Ah, always the annoyingly persistent one when it comes to waiting for him to defy your set expectations, aren’t ya?

“Something the matter?” Sweetened voice of yours seamlessly passing through the foggy murk of his momentary daze by the slightest tilt of your head in a questioning motion. Still, remaining conscious that there’d be no such thing as worrisome concern on your part considering the utter bastard that you openly are and, yet—the persistent indication that this will be. . . obviously, nothing more than some meaningless wager whose sole intent is to be ultimately fulfilled in the end, leaves an exceptionally sour taste in his closed mouth.

Yeah, something’s the matter, alright—and he’s just about to recklessly give in to that sugary tone lest it weren’t for the automatic switch in your previously gentle inquiry, abruptly interrupting him from slipping out some mumbled confession in turn.

“Say, are you actually chickening out on me now? Is that it, Ney-Ney? Cat got your tongue and you actually can’t do it after all, can you?” Hah—again with that shitty nickname that bears no remote significance besides literally getting on his fucking nerves whenever, which you do impressively possess the sheer knack to repeatedly do so. Uh-huh, he’s gotta hand it to y’a.

It’s like the second you tentatively part your open lips to randomly speak—does his incessant yearning to restlessly press his starving lips against yours immediately shift instead, to this seething urge to meanly tug upon the strands of your hair like an angry kitten scratching at its owner. Oh, way to ruin the goddamn mood, dumbass.

“Will you shut up? I’m tryna concentrate here, but your fuckin’ mouth keeps on talking and talking and—ah, hey! Can you quit it and keep still for just one second or does the thought of sharing spit with your shitty underclassman actually turns you on that much?” Perverted bastard. Blearily aware of his shoddy excuse at some backhanded lie or whatever, as though you wouldn’t easily see through those tactics you’ve come to know of. Particularly becoming defensive once he’s ceremoniously brought back into a difficult corner and shit, you just can’t help but to gleefully tease him for it, can you?

Noooo, of fuckin’ course not! Must be solely imprinted in your bastardized nature to be so thoroughly insufferable at this point, huh? So much so that he’d desire nothing more than to tortuously crane your neck further to then—give forth to a salivating glimpse of your surely vulnerable neck for his glinting fangs to dreadfully sink into, greedily paint its pristine surface a melding velvet instead as pure revenge.

Because that’s entirely what it is, not some other bizarre, obscure fetish of this mean delinquent. Poorly hidden away in the withering depths of his unexplored memories or y’know. . . numerous times he’s come close to almost slobbering all over your veiny dick along with a generous amount of drooling, translucent spit to coat it with. And shit—he’s predictably derailing once more without meaning to.

Judging by the molten pupils that steadily expand in face of this less than desired situation, at most. Evasively trail towards whatever seemingly unimportant spot is etched amongst the boring surface of your bedroom’s blank walls in a futile attempt to soothe the pumping blood presently coursing throughout his thin veins. More or less, yeah. That’s all there is to it, so can you like, eventually cease with the constant staring on your end or something?

“I think you’re lying.” Unexpectedly bringing him out of his overly distracting fantasy for a stuttering second by flashing that signature grin of yours that’s only seeming to be confidently growing by the second, and—double fuck! You’re totally seeing through his barely concealed ploys, aren’t you? “I think you actually can’t do it and you’re just tryna play coy with me right now.”

“Wha—?“ Unsure wether to plainly deny your unjust statement that may or may not unfortunately ring true, regardless of if he painfully insists the opposite or to take actual offense at the likely suggestion that he doesn’t have the fucking balls to go through with it. Sure, sure! He totally can!! Albeit, a minute was all he scarcely asked for—despite it being way more than a single minute having passed, so don’t trample on the boggling nerves occupying the swelling of his drying, bobbing throat.

But before then, your indecently mocking voice somehow slips past the aforementioned comment Whitney was oh, so ready to renounce—because that’s all you ever do, managing to conveniently earn the upper hand in either situation, no matter the contextual circumstances at play. And damn you for it, too.

“See, what I think, honestly—I think you’re nothing more than a pussy who’s all talk and no bite, really. Too fucking dumb to even properly lie to me about it, too. Cuz’ the thing is, you actually haven’t kissed anyone for real yet, have you?” Inwardly flinching at the abrupt scorning on your part since sure, you’re one mean asshole sometimes, specially with others hopelessly clinging to your sides—but, not with him, no. Preferring to play the part of the considerate, older brother figure that’ll happily follow along to his unsatisfied whims.

So, strictly speaking, being unusually harsh on him without any spoken warning shouldn’t be so disgustingly hot to him nor heavily affect the thrumming blood rushing below to his leaking cock. Further dampen the already present, sticky stain against the now tarnished fabric of his trousers, but fucking shit—does it so. Like those untrained masochists, better put freaks, he regularly bullies on the daily, savagely snickers at for squirming beneath the hardened heel of his shoe. Idiots, is what they are.

Yeah. God, it’s so utterly, fucking filthy.

And funnily enough, here he is—shamefully experiencing that same warmth of degeneracy for being caught in his puzzling act, yet simultaneously thrilled at the various consequences that await for doing so.

“I don’t—“ Fuck, fuck, fuuuuckkkk!!! Mere sentences shouldn’t be humiliatingly failing on him now and neither should the withering breath pitifully falling forth from between his lips left agape—be this fucking telling of the unforeseen reality at bay. “. . . —I don’t know what you’re talking about, really—“

“Sure, you don’t. Then, you must also not have a single goddamn clue as to why you’re leaking like a fucking girl all over my lap right now too, huh?” Instinctually knowing better than to wearily spare a glance downwards since, well. . . yeah, about now—your not-so-precious jeans are notably soaked in the melding evidence of his unspoken arousal if nothing else, but did you fuckin’ have to truly word it like that either? Doesn’t necessarily lessen the sheer absurdity of the unbecoming predicament the delinquent practically pranced himself into like he hilariously owned the place or something.

Unfortunately, here’s to learning the harsh narrative that things, when seamlessly played out in the narrow space of your head—don’t invariably turn out the exact same as foreboding reality itself, do they?

Dumbass, he should’ve seen it coming the second he carelessly chose to lie to your face to begin with.

“Fuck, it’s not like tha—“ And there goes his irreparable mistake altogether, knowing fully well that it is indeed like that, if nothing else. Since it’s always been, every single time—without a literal, precious fuckin’ second to scarcely spare—you, you, and you solely. Plus sincerely speaking, he would’ve undeniably chosen for it not to be this way instead, y’know??

Not have his usually unaffected body so effortlessly react in face of your own, whether it’d be the discreet breaths of yours teasingly brushing along the rim of his blazing ears whenever you get the distracting urge to whisper some unimportant gossip during class.

Truly, do you feel the absolute need to remain so unbearably close in his personal space at times? To the point, it has him dizzyingly peering downwards to his clenched fists that greet him in turn. Too goddamn cowardly to steal a glimpse from below lest he realized the shockingly near proximity you’re both collectively sharing, without you bearing the slightest bother, too—and automatically curses as sweating palms land upon your chest and has you barely stumbling back. Cuz’ shit, the blonde’s downright terrified of the increasingly hasty beat of his annoyingly straining heart stuttering against the firmness of his ribbed cage. Fuck. . . it might as well be leaping out at a certain point, although he acknowledges he appears more like some dreadful lunatic if he were to audibly yell at some minor touches.

Reminiscing upon such pointless bullshit won’t necessarily get him anywhere and it’s not like he does it willingly either, no—not when your hand is now currently gripping at the shape of his gaping jaw. Actually, when the hell did you supposedly manage to get ahold of him like this when he wasn’t in the brightest of moments to do so? Momentarily caught off guard by the sudden press of your fingertips digging in the softened surface of his flesh, albeit with no sense of care in the fucking world as you habitually do with the majority of your things. Which, shit—doesn’t mean he’s the equivalent of your outright property since if that were the case, he’d most likely blow an imploding fuse as he knows it, and you certainly do know it, too.

As that was the initial plan presently swirling throughout the mumbling mess of the bully’s mind—only to be swiftly interrupted by a lingering kiss your. . . shit, annoyingly soft lips tenderly placed amongst the crimson hue that is his heated face—too dizzyingly close for his liking, near the mere corner of his pursed mouth. Frankly speaking, he has no clue what to make of this other than the likely scenario that you’re borderline amused by this and fuckin’ toying with him like your other various stress balls, as per usual.

“Earth to Whitney. I’m still tryna’ speak to you, but I guess you’re too far gone thinking about us sucking on each other’s tongues or something like that, am I right?” Drawling out lazily as though, you’d bear no semblance of interest for this little game of cat-and-mouse you collectively play on the daily basis and if not for that slight, adorning glint in your gaze—maybe he would’ve stupidly fallen for that easily concealed facade altogether, too. But no, he does know it’s a selfish thing of yours, or rather. . . some intricate fetish would be a better word to scarcely describe this sheer high you get from witnessing the gritting of his teeth, fluttering eyes narrowing in mere irritation. To say, it’s progressively building into something else until he’s undeniably pissed at your continuous mockery—that being, what others around you call ‘salacious flirting’ or something like that. Sheesh, he holds no importance for random spectators at your school besides you two.

Uh-huh, isn’t that what they refer to it as? ‘The boy likes to tug at the girl’s pigtails to draw her attention, after all!’—yet, he’s no squealing girl swatting at your insistent touches, is he? Fuck no. Truly, it’s nothing like that. However, sometimes with the way you constantly pinch and prod along the bruised surface of his perched figure atop your own, patiently await his expected curses like an anticipating dog wanting to be scolded. . . Well, can’t say it looks like anything else other than apparent sexual tension. Unsure whether or not he should be seldomly pleased at that somewhat late realization or temporarily concerned as to how you treat your usual girlfriends—or boyfriends, sometimes, that come and go like the blowing wind. Not to say, he treats any of his disposable sluts any better, either.

Eh, shit. No time to necessarily delve further in something he isn’t meant to supposedly poke at, is there? Yeah, cuz’ frankly speaking—he’s always been the goddamn impulsive type that’ll do as he pleases, expectant of yours truly to follow along to his baseless whims.

“Let’s quit with the bullshit already and do it, I don’t got all day to be sitting here on your lap like your prissy bitches.” Yup, yup. Carelessly ignoring the minor and important aspect that he cleared up his busying schedule regardless of his friend’s muttered pleas—going on and on about something at the shady pub that’s down the farthest street in this shit town. Oh right, he didn’t remotely listen to what those fuckers had to honestly say so, here goes that. Discreetly swishing at the messied strands of platinum blonde hair partially obscuring his vision, huffing at its burdensome concealment until he’s face to face with you. Almost clumsily bumping the curvature of your two noses together in an impatient haste to interlock each other’s lips in a. . . what others call it, huh; shitty, goddamn kiss.

However, rather uncharacteristically—he silently waits instead, hazy pupils traversing lower to where your curled up lips are solely a melding breath away from his dumbly hanging own. Maintaining eye contact like this. . . till your foreheads are nearly pressed along one another like this, inwardly shuddering at your unwavering focus upon his straying eyes. Gosh, do you seriously wanna fuckin’ do this with your eyes open or something, like a freak would??

“If you say so, Ney-Ney. I’m sure you wouldn’t wanna be kissing a boy either, huh. I’ll try to make it nice for you as best I can.” Ever the oh, so charming type that tries to accommodate to the blonde’s ill tempered tantrums, aren’t ya? Uttering so forth in an unspoken promise even if actually, he wouldn’t wanna be sharing spit with anyone else other than you. Whether he ever eventually admits it or not is an entirely different story, though.

Wordlessly so, he lets you do as you joyously please, at your own steady pace—‘course, which is to trace the softened pad of your cushiony fingertip along the sharp line of his tightening jaw. For it to ultimately land to where his chin awaits your yearning touches, brief moments of lingering contact to subconsciously gawk at in desolate secrecy. Y’know, how a drooling puppy would when awaiting its sweet treat; which he’s not, at all—no. Especially not your questionable pokes as you childishly peer to the side, rub soothing circles across the nape of his tensed neck as if to ease him into this, all the while idly playing with the shortened strands of hair settled there.

“Slacken your jaw for me, will you?” You gently order in a. . . shit, soft lull and he doesn’t like to be commanded around neither, but he calmly does so regardless. Solely to get it over with, nothing else extra that’s simmering deeply in the background. Especially not the unspoken crush he withholds for you whether you’re both mutually conscious of it or not, well—regarding how exceptionally cunning you tend to be that you can seamlessly read through him like a tattered heap of pages thrown atop your lap—yeah, maybe it’d be arrogantly dumb of him to assume otherwise, huh.

Plus it’s not like the delinquent here, is particularly used to his usually pursed lips wholly parting in an expectant nature for yours to plant featherlight kisses against. Since they’re generally brought up in a dismissive scowl for all to wearily witness—either when passing him in the hallways as his snarky laughter resounds with each echoed step, or the occasional glimpse of his shadowed figure sneaking between deserted alleyways, is seen.

Which, he would’ve indeed protested in stingy opposition at your insistent need to meticulously comb through the glistening locks of his hair. Sure, if it didn’t feel so damn good. . . to have your cupping palm carefully easing him into this, gradually melting in the imprinted shape of your entangled limbs settled together, atop this pillowed bed. One used thumb lightly nudging across the pouty flesh of his bottom lip in a silent gesture of the familiarity both shared between the two of you as your face nears closer to his. Intimately inspecting at the accumulated saliva that drips forth from the other’s open maw, nearly suckling at the intruding digit that is the continuous rub of your curled finger pressed across his drooling tongue. ‘Course, you gotta get a whole mouthfeel of its heated sensation before ultimately—diving in, don’t you?

“Yeah, there we go. . . You’ll be a good boy for me, won’t you—pretty boy?” It’s meant to have him inwardly seething towards this blatantly obvious taunt of yours, openly scorn at the unwanted nickname he’d like to jab at until that irritating grin of yours disappears altogether.

And shit, did he really want to—nothing more than that, honestly. But, he’s immediately interrupted from doing so once you’re ceremoniously covering the cushiony surface of untouched lips with yours, instead. Utterly pissed at himself with how easily it eases up from the experienced brush of your tongue inviting itself in its warmth depths. Those same arms that’d stubbornly stick to his sides like it’d never leave such a place either; now finding themselves to be clutching at the wrinkled fabric of your shirt draped along your reassuring back. Instinctually arching in your enclosed ones in return, loosely held around the width of his waist to absently pinch at in humming thought.

Fuck, fuck. . . fucking shiiittt. Was a kiss always supposed to be this mind-numbingly good that he’s out here losing all utter senses besides taste and touch? Neither struggling against the sudden weight of his eyelids shutting themselves in favour of greeting pitch darkness—goddamn it, not if it’s your mouth is perfectly made for his to mold against.

Even more so as an unwanted keen resembling that of a trembling prey, just about ready to be wholly devoured by the predator looming above its eventual demise—slips past previously sealed lips. Ugh, dammit. . . and here he is, upper lip wobbling in response to the added stimulation of your slippery tongue sliding against his own. Nearly wavering over the tempting option to hurriedly scratch along the delicate skin of your neck and—ah, speaking of, he’s gotta have a fixation with that bobbing throat of yours or something, shit. In some vain attempt to signal the sheer suffocation overtaking him from having his mouth crudely stuffed in repeated fucks of your impatient own, practically devouring his breathy moans in musing delight.

Accompanied by shuddering breaths collectively intermingling into one steady beat that’s bound to hurriedly quicken if he somehow keeps this one up, stretches it any further lest he doesn’t obviously get it over with soon. Which is the actual prime objective here! Don’t get him wrong! The sole plan, here—he’s intricately envisioned in the deep receding of his mind is to prove you wrong of his so-called loss, either way.

Quite literally, if it weren’t for the intolerable amount of pride residing within the swelling of his heaving chest—caught up against your own effortlessly casing over him; he’d have already done so, by now, without the slightest trace of hesitation.

But, y’know. . . It’s proving to be quite difficult for no reason whatsoever to necessarily pull away as he’s originally intended to do so. Partially disgusted by his own weakness when it comes to you and ‘course, it has to be solely you to wholly encase him like this. Whether or not it’s through plain obliviousness of his muddled protests swiftly concealed by your lips covering his own—or maybe, the sheer stubbornness of the mere possibility of letting him out of your sight. Either way, the numerous kitten scratches he’s subconsciously leaving along your treaded skin isn’t letting up itself.

Because even as he somehow manages to draw further backwards, your mouth instinctually follows his in return. As though the absurd thought of him teetering away from your emboldened grasp isn’t one to remotely ponder upon due to its ridiculousness, and neither is the way you both ultimately fall onto the bouncing mattress in a heaping mess with a resounding oomph! Although, he’s suspecting it was his quick-witted gesture of dragging you downwards—to where he’s predictably atop of, that landed you two in this precarious position.

“M-Motherfucker, you didn’t even give me a chance to catch my breath.” It’s rather an uncharacteristically petulant complaint than it is a fitting scolding on his part. Peering from underneath messied hangs that do oh, so well to conceal those narrowing eyes of his when he desires to. Yeah, they’re especially useful when it comes to evading your zeroing gaze hovering right above his own—like you’re actually surprised he hasn’t attempted a punch in your stirring guts for suddenly taking the lead like that.

“Hmm, was the kiss that unpleasant for you?” Pouting sorrowfully in response to the aforementioned statement like such a thing would potentially hurt your veiled sentiments, altogether. ‘Course, he knows better than to ceremoniously cave in to that pitiful nuzzle you offer along the crook of his neck since the thing is, your amusement of things comes first and foremost.

“Eh, don’t know. Why don’t y’a take another try at it and I’ll tell you how much you suck at it then.” It’s a tainted falsehood, at most—however, for the sly grin of pearly teeth flashing in your direction and the renewed sense of competition that swells within your chest at the provoking taunt. Well, he supposes that it’ll be worth the excuse so that his tongue better remembers the melding taste of your own upon one another.

And maybe, he’ll garner a measly chance to actually win this time. Rarely catch you off guard during one of those make-out sessions that are bound to grow more frequent, one way or another.

Though, it’s unlikely. Huh. You never do give him the chance to do so when it comes to your bets, do you?

Fucking prick.

[maaenyo]

I'm not responding to this for you, rather i'm doing it so whoever finds the post is not so mislead by your bias. Really, your attitude at the end of the post is unfortunate, like who died and named you master of the lore?? Specially when you're getting it wrong.

I don't know where you got that from, i've played the game enough and don't recall such a statement. The Blight is contained in the Black City, that's why it's black. There's hardly any doubt about this idek why it's a point at all

The Fade has spirits, spirits represent or mirror emotions, ideas, concepts. Some are positive, others are negative, they're still spirits. The Veil separating reality changed everyone's perception of things, spirits once used to the fluid nature of the Fade were suddenly faced with a stagnant reality that didn't adjust to their will; crossing the Veil becomes a traumatic experience that literally changes their composition. This resulted in aberrations and other scary things that humans called demons. Whatever humans fail to understand always gets demonized. In the harrowing of a circle mage Warden we meet Sloth, a so called demon. The Fade is full of desire demons tempting mages all the time. We have seen this many times both in games and other media like the comics. Nightmare was not an anomaly only present because of Corypheus, call it demon, spirit or whatever, it was always there to begin with because fear is one of the most ancient and natural emotions of life. I agree demons are spirits too, but the lore states very clearly they don't just turn negative by crossing through the Veil, they ARE already present in the Fade from the start.

Another idea you pulled out of..somewhere, idk, i've never read anything like it. The Veil choking?? the life and magic out of Thedas? The Veil is an unfortunate by-product of the Evanuris prison, whatever went wrong in Solas' ritual caused the barrier meant to contain the Evanuris and the Blight in the Black City to extend further and contain the entire Fade apart from the rest of the world. And it's a VEIL. Not a wall, not just any barrier, but a VEIL. Veils are usually of see-through fabric, they're not rock solid, they allow for some things to pass through, and the Veil gets thinner in some places, making that even more likely to happen. And things have been passing through, pushing through for ages; it's only been ripped open in places a few times (Magisters Sideral, Corypheus, the occasional mage fucking shit up). A Veil ripped open is what we see in Inquisition, with the Breach and the tears all over, and in future Redcliffe as well, a Veil torn and taken down carelessly. It's not a wall -unless you count the shield Gaxkang drops called "Fade Wall" which if you think about it is indeed a way of seeing the Veil-, if it were it'd take more than a knife to open it. I think there's a confusion between the Veil, the Fade and the prison Solas made. The whole thing is like a freaking onion, i once posited all the circles in the murals were a barrier between a barrier and i was correct, there's the Veil surrounding the Fade -an accident- and the containment around the Black City. You don't wanna consider it, fine, but that does not erase the fact DAV clearly states multiple times that the Blight is in the Black city and Elgar'nan is trying to break in to get it out; it's not just chilling everywhere in the Fade.

I'll just point this out because I think is hilarious you did it: first you say he doesn't lie. Massive retcon, right? Oh he doesn't lie. Then you say he's an absolutely terrible liar. Which one is it? Either he never lies, or he lies poorly (which is still lying, mind you), you can't have both. Also, every damn single time he uses the "i saw it in the Fade" excuse he IS lying. We know he didn't see shit in the Fade, he lived it, he was there when things happened for thousands of years. Tricksters trick but also lie, a lot, lying it's a big part of their trickery. You failing to grasp this is entirely on you, and sorry not sorry but you don't get to define any aspect of the lore like this when even you contradicted yourself! This is the point that got me to write a lengthy counter because it is ridiculous, and i say this as a lore fan, who played all the games, dlc, got all the books, comics, i even watched Redemption ffs, also as a Solas fan, a Solavellan even. Solas has lied more times i care to count. Not just by omission, but actively lied. He spent all of Inquisition lying "oh i saw it in the Fade, i saw it in the Fade" dude you were there when it happened!! LOL Are you for fucking real? You literally went just "nuhn unh, Solas doesn't lie cause i say he didn't".

You can dislike the game all you want, but do yourself a favour and heed your own advice, listen to people who know the lore. Right now you just proved you don't know it as well as you think, and that your interpretation of it is tainted with your bitterness over a game you didn't like, which whether you accept it or not will always be a Dragon Age game, and the lore it presents, whether you accept it or not, will always be Dragon Age lore.

I'm relegating you to the list of people who didn't understood shit about the lore and Dragon Age as a whole. I've spent YEARS diving into the lore, analyzing everything, got a whole blog dedicated to that, got a considerable number of things right in the process, but i always phrased things as maybe, might be, could be, because i'm well aware my word is not the law. Your attitude is the most annoying part of your post, you can have any headcanons you like but you're not a lore master and you don't get to twist things in your anger like that.

Do whatever you want, believe whatever you want. And using Veilguard as any sort of source for anything remotely related to canon Lore is just ridiculous. It's so... awful, IMHO, to use it to defend any sort of point.

I'm not certain if this would be considered critical, so I'll put it under a cut. Potentially critical of Veilguard.

Though I'm really just talking about the Lore.

I point out 4 massive retcons in Veilguard that blew my mind and that I see people commonly using as arguing points. And yes, if someone wants to pay me for the time, I can prove all of it with sources.

What little canon Lore they actually used in Veilguard? They twisted beyond recognition.

Just a few examples.

1. The blight is NOT, in fact, (or even in Veilguard) 'everywhere in the Fade'. It has always been contained to the Black City, that floats disconnected from everything else in the Fade. It's why the previously golden city is black ffs! Even in Veilguard, it's really damned obvious that the Fade isn't full of blight. We hop in and out of the Fade throughout the whole damned game like it's a shopping mall.

2. The Fade is not full of demons. Demons are spirits (people) of emotion. What usually twists them into demons is coming through the veil! The only reason there was the big demon in DAI is because it was attached to Coryphyfish. There's probably some, but it's an arguable point that an emotion spirit of, say, anger, or spite is actually a demon. Emotions aren't bad. They wouldn't automatically be demons simply because they reflect a negative emotion.

3. The veil has been canonically choking the life and magic out of Thedas for thousands of years. If the veil didn't come down, there would be no Thedas. This is clearly spelled out in canon. The veil was never meant to be part of the world. At the end of Trespasser, the veil is as holey as my grandmother's doilies. It's not as they tried to depict it in Veilguard, a firm, whole wall holding hordes of demons and the blight of blights back. That's such a bullshit retcon, and I make weird faces every time I try to figure out the mental gymnastics necessary for someone to come up with that idea.

4. It's also a massive retcon that Solas lies. (Sigh. Yes. It really is. No matter what you believe.) He canonically does not. They rewrote his character for DAI so that he doesn't lie because it weakened the character. He was originally written as much more similar to Blackwall. They decided it weakened Solas as a character and made sure he doesn't lie. He obfuscates, misleads, doesn't answer, and is really good at letting people make assumptions or even leading people to make assumptions. Because that is what a Trickster does! But in all of DAI and Trespasser, he does not lie except once. At the Winter Palace when you ask him where he got the experience of court. No. A 'lie of omission' is not a lie by the definition or philosophical understanding of what a lie is. You, as the player, not paying close attention to what he says doesn’t mean he lies either! He is not the 'god of lies'. That's Epler's hate shining through. Throughout 3 games, many dlcs, books, comics, short stories, the Dread Wolf is known as the Trickster. The god of rebellion and sometimes the god of betrayal. He is never once referred to as the god of lies in anything pre-veilguard. It's. Bullshit.

And Solas is an absolutely terrible liar. He stumbles all over himself trying to do it in the winter palace. It's hilarious tbh.

There were more retcons. But I need to go help with dinner.

Just, even if you liked Veilguard, don't use it as a defense in any sort of discussion of Lore. Perhaps listen to us Lore fiends, instead? Because they shat all over the Lore for Veilguard.

Real talk? It makes you look ignorant to anyone who actually has been paying attention to the Lore.

FWIW? I'm not in the best of moods right now. Please think twice, then a third time before responding/reblogging in disagreement. (Unless you're polite and actually have sources I haven't seen. I'm usually willing to have polite discussions or answer questions. I'm also willing to stand corrected if people actually can prove me wrong with sources attached. A 'nuhn unh, Solas lies cause I believe he does', won't get you far with me.) Nor will using anything from DAV to support an argument. I've relegated DAV to the graveyard of not-canon because of the complete disrespect of the Lore.

And I'll just laugh at you if you try to attack me. Internet randos filling my responses with shit doesn't phase me, bother me in the slightest, or make me upset. I find it incredibly, laugh out loud amusing because I've lived through so much more than that in my life.

[lovecla]

TBH ; LUKE HUGHES

PAIR ex-luke hughes x fem!reader, auston matthews x fem!reader

SUMMARY maybe luke hughes’ passion isn’t enough. he just doesn’t know about it, yet.

WORD COUNT 1.1k

WARNINGS suggestive, jealous luke, size kink, heavily inspired by the song ‘tbh’ by partynextdoor, lowkey toxic luke, mentions of sex.

FROM ME TO YOU listen, i know i have, like, one hundred and twenty things to write but this is one of my favorite songs and i just wanted to leave this here!!! this is something super short, messy and not at all my style, but i still wanted to do something with this song. i’d recommend reading this while listening to the song ;) as always, i love you and have a nice reading!

𐙚

HE COULD’VE swear he felt it when you entered the room.

It wouldn’t be easy to explain if he tried to, but with the way the hairs on his arms stood up when you stepped into the room, he knew he was screwed.

He was sitting on the couch across the room, with a couple of people standing in front of him, as he discussed with Curtis about something he now can’t seem to remember.

“Duude.” He heard Curtis calling him, and he nodded, his perfectly styled curls moving with his head.

“Yeah?” He answered, but he didn’t bother turning around to look at his teammate. No, he couldn’t. Not when you had just entered the room with no one other than the captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs, Auston Matthews.

Luke didn’t know what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t right. He was sitting somewhere angry and frustrated as he watched the way your body seemed to float towards Auston’s. The dress you had chosen for that night would probably be in his thanksgiving speech, because he was, indeed, thankful for the opportunity to see you wearing something like that: short, white, almost transparent with a huge slit in the middle, that left little to the imagination.

He didn’t even know why he was noticing you in the first place, since he remembers how he was the one who fucked everything up between the two of you, but fuck. He can’t really help it.

The way you’re laughing at the shit Matthews’s saying, the way you blush slightly under the warm lighting whenever he touches your waist or lower back. The way Luke can tell everyone thinks how much the two of you look good together.

And it infuriates him.

But now— now, you have finally noticed him. You were scanning the room with your eyes when you made eye contact with him, dropping your smile in a millisecond. He can see the way you gulp and hold Auston’s hand a bit tighter.

Luke watches as you force yourself to draw your attention back to the conversation happening in front of you, but he feels accomplished when he notices that, once in a while, you will look at him, for nothing more than a second.

Still.

He finishes the rest of his beer, feeling the bitter taste of it fill up his mouth. He wants to scream at himself to let you go, to stop staring at you like a fucking creep, to not let his mind wander through dangerous, dangerous memories.

Yet, he does none of these things.

He just watches the way your nipples pierced the dress you were wearing, hard and there for everyone to see. He licks his lips, remembering how happy he was when you’d told him you weren’t much of a bra type of girl.

You say something to Matthews before kissing his cheek and excusing yourself, walking towards what Luke assumed to be the bathroom.

“Man,” he hears Curtis, again. “She’s not yours anymore.”

And? He wants to ask. “I know.” Is all he says.

Knowing that you aren’t his anymore doesn't stop him from getting up and going after you, leaving the beer bottle on the table sitting in the corner before walking down the expensive hallway until he’s standing at the door.

“Luke, what—” he hears you asking, but he doesn’t say anything. He just walks inside the bathroom with you and closes the door behind him, hungrily eyeing your body, as he had been doing for the past few minutes.

“Y/n,” is what he says, and you have to pretend that hearing him say your name for the first time in months doesn’t affect you. Because it shouldn’t. “I miss you.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Luke?” You hear yourself asking— you’ve fantasized about this scenario several times before and you’re still not sure of what you’re supposed to do. “You can’t just say things like that. I’m with Auston now and God,” you put your right hand on your forehead. “If anyone sees us here, together, then—”

“I can see that you’re with him,” he scoffs. “It’s all over your face. The way you look at him makes me sick.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that,” you say, crossing your arms in front of your chest, not missing the way his eyes linger around your boobs for longer than they should. “Luke.”

“Does he know you used to belong to me?”

His question takes you by surprise, and you bite your lips, suppressing a frustrated moan. “If you let me end things with you because you didn’t want to make our relationship public, then why would I tell people about it? It was your choice not to.”

He knew you were right. And that made him even more upset.

“Then he doesn’t know about the things we did,” he whispers, standing tall in front of you, making you realize once again that he’s much larger than you, much bigger, much stronger. “He doesn’t know about how loud I could make you scream, how wet your pussy would get whenever you saw me, how you loved when I threw you around like you were nothing but a toy.”

“Luke—” you sigh, but he shakes his head, while pressing his thumb against your bottom lip. His touch burned.

“How when we first started dating you’d cry because you were so worried that I wouldn’t fit,” he chuckles, like the memory itself is enough to make him laugh. “And how you cried even more when I made it fit, when I forced my cock inside that tight, little cunt of yours.”

“Luke, stop,” you mumble against his finger. “You… you shouldn’t be telling me this. We’re— we’re over.”

“No, Y/n, we aren’t,” he says, kissing your cheek, gently. “I miss it when you’d lay with me, body so tiny next to mine it makes me hard just thinking about it,” he presses his finger harder against you. “I miss it, Y/n.”

You sigh, closing your eyes.

“So, tell me, baby, are you with me?”

You shake your head.

“No,” you say, even if you don’t want to. “Not anymore.”

“Y/n, fuck. I loved you.” He reasons, and you open your eyes, just to frown at him.

“Your passion, or whatever you want to call it, isn’t enough,” you answer, stepping away from his touch. “You don’t have what I need.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But that’s just how life is.”

“You’re not being honest with yourself, Y/n, you want me.” He argues, scrunching his curls in his hands.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” You ask, raising your eyebrow before turning around and leaving the room.

Leaving Luke and your history with him behind.

if you want more… ! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

LUKE HUGHES MASTERLIST.

NHL MASTERLIST.

[cloverapple]

How To Let Go

First things first; drop the idea that reading this will magically make you shift. If you’re here thinking “Oh, I’ll read this, I’ll let go, and then I’ll shift” stop! right! there! I know you want to shift, I know you want to get your desire, but you are missing the whole point of why you want to let go in the first place!

Second if all; there’s no one way to let go because there’s no one thing you’re letting go of. And that’s where most people trip up. You hear it everywhere:

”Just let go!”

“Release!”

“Detach!”

Like it’s some effortless switch you can flip on command regardless of how your unique mind works 😑

And then when you can’t, you start to feel like a failure, like you cannot accomplish this very basic thing that everyone seems to be doing so effortlessly.

Well my darling, listen to me: this is not your fault. You not being able to let go has nothing to do with how capable you are, how lucky you are, or how “primed” your mind is. None of that.

The mind fixates. That’s what it does. If shifting is a huge desire for you, you don’t just drop it overnight. If your DR is playing on a loop in your head, of course you’re going to latch onto it. If every time you go to bed, you secretly hope to wake up in your DR, your brain is still holding on. And yeah, it sucks. Because suddenly your dedication feels like a burden. You start asking “Why can’t I just let go? What’s wrong with me?”

Been there, felt that.

I’m going to tell you exactly why letting go is something anyone can do, and how you can start immediately—without the mental stress that usually comes with it.

But first, let’s clear something up: Letting go is not a quick fix for shifting. It’s not some miracle pill that guarantees success. For some people, yes, letting go is the missing piece. But for others, the real problem isn’t that they need to let go—it’s that they need trust and patience in themselves. And because they’ve been told that “letting go” is the thing to do, they beat themselves up for not being able to do it. When in reality, they were fine all along.

So first of all, figure out if letting go is what you actually need in your journey. If it's not, and you suddenly remember that you’ve found success while holding on, great! If not, let's move on.

So, what does “letting go” actually mean?

A lot of people hear it and think it means quitting, cutting shifting out of their lives, turning away from their DR, walking away completely. And yeah, that is one way to let go. But it’s not the only way. Let’s break it down the different ways there are to let go:

• Letting go of trying to shift – A.K.A what I talked about in this post. You still think of your DR, you still daydream, maybe you meditate at night with no intention to shift, you go about it like you already have it because you do. Stop it. Stop trying to shift.

• Letting go of expectation – You keep doing your methods, you stick to your routine, but you drop the pressure. No more “when will it happen?” You do it just because you enjoy it. You stop putting a deadline on shifting. You let go of when it will happen and just let it unfold.

• Letting go of your DR – You still shift, but you step back from your DR itself. Maybe you try a different DR for fun, maybe you explore WRs or fun, relaxing realities. You turn your focus elsewhere.

• Letting go of shifting itself – You stay in tune with expanding your awareness, but you do this by focusing on lucid dreaming, astral projection, or any other practice for a while. You take the pressure off shifting entirely by trying something new.

• The ‘fuck this shit’ mentality – You throw your hands up and stop giving a damn. Ironically, this one works better than you’d think.

• Letting go of perfection – You don’t need to do everything perfectly, follow every method flawlessly, or maintain some imagined “high vibrational state” 24/7. Stop striving for an ideal and just exist.

• Letting go of comparison – Stop looking at other people who claim to have shifted and measuring yourself against them. Their journey is not yours, and comparison only fuels frustration. Can you imagine driving your car, on the way to go pick up your brand new sport’s car, but you keep looking out the window because someone in the next lane is already driving a sport’s car?? YOU’RE GOING TO CRASH. EYES ON THE ROAD.

• Letting go of guilt – If you feel bad for not shifting yet, for wanting a break, or for feeling stuck, release that guilt. You don’t owe shifting anything. Shifting is you. You don’t owe yourself anything other than peace, trust and love.

• Letting go of attachment to results – Focus on the process rather than the outcome. Enjoy the journey, the experiences, and the growth that come with it. This is the thing I wish I knew at the very start of my journey, not because it would have made me shift faster, but because in hindsight, there’s so much fun in figuring out what works for you, discovering yourself, and the excitement pre-shifting to your DR.

• Letting go of fear – Fear of failure, fear of missing out, fear of doing something wrong, fear of shifting (which warrants another post in itself). Releasing fear allows for a more open, relaxed mindset.

• Letting go of overthinking and self-doubt – Stop analyzing every little thought, feeling, or experience. Your mind doesn’t need to be in constant problem-solving mode. You already know how to shift. You already have your desire/ your desire will manifest in the 3D. You are a creator. You are the god of your reality. If overthinking and stressing out solved anything, no one in the world would have problems.

• Letting go of rules – There are no strict guidelines for shifting. You don’t have to follow what someone else says. Make your own path.

But how do you actually let go?

When you let go, you do so from one of three places: peace, exhaustion, or indifference. To truly let go, you need to lean into one of these.

1. Peace – If what your mind craves is peace, you let go by accepting that your desires are either already yours or inevitably coming. You trust your ability to create and shift, so you stop chasing and start relaxing. Letting go from this state means stepping back, breathing easy, and knowing there’s nothing more you need to do—just be.

"Oh, easier said than done!" Yeah, that’s why we have the next two.

2. Exhaustion – If you’ve reached the point where you’re just tired, use it. Letting go through exhaustion means recognizing that you physically and mentally can’t keep stressing over this anymore. You’ve burned yourself out, and the only thing left to do is stop. Stop trying so hard, stop overthinking, stop forcing. Let yourself collapse into that exhaustion and let go because you have no energy left to hold on.

3. Indifference – This is the "fuck it" approach. Letting go through indifference means deciding that you simply do not care anymore—about shifting, about waiting, about the whole damn thing. Not in a bitter way, not in a frustrated way, just… whatever. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, you’ll be fine. You’ve got a life to live, and you’re not about to waste it worrying over something that isn’t here yet.

No matter which one you lean into, the result is the same: freedom. You stop gripping so tightly. You stop making shifting feel like a desperate struggle. And in that space—wherever you land—letting go happens naturally.

There’s no right or wrong way to let go

Think of it as a spectrum. You let go at your own pace, in a way that feels right for you. Because here’s the truth—holding onto your DR, staying in the cycle of frustration, it hurts. But it’s also comfortable. It’s familiar. And the mind loves familiarity.

Everyone has something different they need to let go of. For some, it’s their attachment to results. For others, it’s the pressure to be perfect. Maybe it’s the need to control the process or the fear of what happens if they succeed. Letting go isn’t a one-size-fits-all solution/It’s about recognizing what is keeping you stuck and unhappy, and making the conscious choice to release it.

So, instead of forcing yourself to drown in the ocean of your desire, because you thought throwing youself in would force yourself to know how to shift, just grab a floatie. You already know how to swim. You just have to remember, and until you do, relax and let go.

[ultravi0lence14]

HIGH TIDE

DEAN WINCHESTER X MERMAID!READER

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, reader being a baddie

SUMMARY: back at the bunker, sam and dean learn that their fishy friend is more well versed than they assumed.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

the sound of a whirling air conditioner and freezing cold air was the first thing you felt when you woke up. you were more than groggy; more or less feeling like you’d been hit by a bus none the less.

everything was a blur. you remembered saving that kid, watching as that man stared at you from his place in the ocean, but you couldn’t pin point what happened afterward. it was all blurs of pain, anguish, and a weird comfort followed by the feeling of smooth leather under your skin.

your eyes had yet to peel open, the throws of darkness keeping you company as you laid limp on a cold surface. as your senses started to come back, you could faintly hear voices arguing; two, to be exact.

“what are we going to do with her?” voice number one asked, voice lilted in that of slight anger. “we’ve never dealt with a problem like this before.”

“i don’t know, dean,” voice number two said, addressing voice number one as dean. “i’ve been researching the best i can, and nothing is coming up about mermaids losing their ‘magic’ or whatever you want to call it.”

dean, what a beautiful name — wait. losing magic?

at the exact time when the second voices words registered in your head, you felt yourself try and flap your tail. all that resulted was you smacking your leg against the table and searing pain to shoot up your body.

“ow.” you groaned, peeling your eyes open and then throwing your arm over them when the bright lights blinded you. you were so confused. yet slowly, everything was coming back to you in pieces.

the pain in your tail. the sea urchin attacking you. the words these two strangers were spewing. your magic had been ripped away from you, making you a mermaid no longer.

everything you’ve ever known had been ripped away from you. the liberation of the sea, your fishy friends. you didn’t have a family, not remembering ever having one, but the feeling of being torn away from your only home made salty tears leak from your eyes.

somehow, the salt from your sadness brought a semblance of comfort. a reminder of home.

“oh jesus. is she crying?” the voice that you recognized as dean had tore through your reins of sadness and made you slowly peel your arm away from your face. “sam, what the fuck do we do with a crying mermaid?”

not being able to lie to yourself, you couldn’t help but admire the attractive man standing above you. with wild green eyes, and golden skin like that of a sun god, you couldn’t help but stare at his stubbly jaw and attractive features as who you assumed to be sam also leaned over you.

his hair haloed around his face, and you wondered if these two were related from the similarities they bore.

“why are you crying?” sam asked, shifting an arm around your back as you tried to rise on your elbows into a sitting position.

“we’re not going to hurt you, i swear.” sam’s words did nothing to calm your racing heart, and you couldn’t help but glower at the man has he helped you sit at the edge of a wooden table.

“i’m crying because i just got my home and birthright ripped away from me jackass, not because i think you’re going to hurt me.” your words had sam’s eyebrows shooting up, and a snort leaving dean’s lips.

“i like her, sammy, she’s got spunk.” dean smirked over at you, and you couldn’t help but turn your cold glare onto him. pointing a finger at you, dean gave an incredulous look in your direction as he spoke with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “don’t go all ursula on me, princess, i’m the one who saved you from being six feet under.”

a small shred of gratitude shone through your chest at his statement. for if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead.

though you couldn’t help but narrow your eyes at him, jutting your chin in sam’s direction as you spoke to his companion. “thanks, i guess. but could you tell your friend over there to stop asking stupid questions like a total seaweed brain? i’m trying to grasp onto everything that just happened.”

with his hands in the air, sam took a step back from you and watched nervously as you kicked your feet back and forth, an expression of interest on your face. the flannel around your shoulders and the pair of boxer shorts on your hips had you staring in confusion, yet you decided not to dwell on one of these two changing you and focus on your new found legs.

you always had a tail, never becoming accustomed to legs in general. this was all new to you, and you realized then that you would need these two dopes help if you wanted to make it in the real world.

sighing, you scrubbed a hand down your face before turning to both of the men in front of you. “so sam and dean. . .”

“winchester,” sam replied, crossing his arms over his chest when he assumed you didn’t want to throttle him anymore. “we’re brothers.”

“thought so,” you shrugged, grimacing at the ugliness of the brown coloured shirt on your shoulders. “anyway, i’m very grateful that you two saved me, yet i can’t help but assume i’m not going to be turning back into a mermaid anytime soon. correct?”

sam sheepishly nodded, and dean couldn’t help but marvel at the pair of balls this assumedly innocent mermaid had on her.

“so, i thought maybe you two could help me.” your words left no room for questions, and dean couldn’t help but quirk a brow at your somewhat ridiculous statement.”

“help you?” he inquired, scratching at the stubble on his jaw as he stared at you with a smirk on his face. “i saved you from becoming sea food, isn’t that good enough?”

shrugging, you started combing your fingers through your hair. “in my books, no.” dean’s eyebrows shot up, and you held out a finger to him when he opened his mouth to speak. “i just need a bit of help getting on my feet; literally.” dean smirked at your joke, and you found it fair enough to continue.

“we could work together. maybe find something that could turn me back into a mermaid, maybe not. either way, help me become human for the time being, and i’ll try not to be annoying. deal?”

you spoke to the two brothers like you were making a gang negotiation, and both sam and dean wondered where you got this type of personality from living under the water all your life.

“i know what you’re thinking, and to answer your question, i am a very perceptive person. i see how you humans act and i create my own personality.” nudging sam’s knee with your foot, you grinned at the two men. “how am i doing so far?”

dean smirked at you, eyes racking up and down your frame as he watched you try and get down from the library table. “you’ve got yourself a deal, princess.” arm shooting out as you stumbled on your new found feet, dean steadied you into his chest so you wouldn’t completely fall on your ass. “first thing: try not to fall and break your neck before we could start though.”

“shut up.” you groaned, hands clutching dean’s shoulders as you stared into his sea foam eyes. “now, the first thing i want to deal with is this hideous thing you call clothes.”

“hey!” sam protested, speaking up for the first time in a couple of minutes. “that’s mine!”

“yeah, and it’s ugly.” you shot back, making dean snort and sam to drop his mouth like a gaping fish. “you guys got any dresses? i always saw the pretty girls on the beach wearing them.”

dean made eye contact with sam, silently giving each other an ‘oh dear lord’ look as dean slung his arm over your shoulder and helped you sit down in one of the library chairs.

‘yeah,’ dean thought, rubbing his brow slowly. ‘this is going to be a handful.’

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @gibson-g1rl @deanangel @sunsbaby @haunteres @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @figthoughts @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke @ilovedeanwinchester4 @whump-loverz @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @djudy99 @ryngzmn

NAT BABBLES: i wanted to make our girl whimsical but also a total princess and slight pain in the ass to both sam and dean (mostly dean)

[sapphiresaphics]

You can do whatever you want in your own videos. I’m not telling you you can’t. BUT if you are going to do analysis videos, it is better that you do so from an objective starting point. Because otherwise you are no better than the millions of other right-wing talking point videos which have no basis in fact and are ALL about playing to emotions and biases.

THAT is what I was calling you out for. You START from a bias (A weak one at that), and just continues from there which gives your video a sHaKy foundation.

Another tell that you’re not coming from a place of honesty is the use of terms like “copaganda.” Not only does that indicate your biases, but it makes it EASIER for people to dismiss your opinions because you’re using terminology no normal person would use to describe anything.

You might not be right wing, but you sure as hell are using their tactics to express your beliefs. And I find that to be really fucked up and wrong. You are alienating yourself from other leftists in an attempt to prove how leftist you can be. You are appealing to a very specific and LIMITED crowd. THAT is why I called your activism “performative.”

Legitimate film criticism revolves around being objective as a way to try and REMOVE biases and critique a work on its own merits. By admitting that you’re coming from a place of bias, you are admitting you do not have any interest in your analysis being taken seriously or objectively. Which is what pandering is.

I have spent the last few months going to the mat for Arcane because the perspective from some people about this show is WILDLY out of step with reality. On both the left AND the right. Apparently NOBODY really gets this show and they all have wildly different reasons for hating it. Your focus on hating Caitlyn and Vi and “copaganda” and hating centrists is no different from the right-wingers who hate on Caitlyn and Vi for being too “woke.”

And for some STRANGE reason, a lot of the hate boils down to completely misunderstanding or misrepresenting the show.

For example: “Caitlyn gassed all of Zaun!”

No she didn’t. The show doesn’t show this. The characters don’t say this. The imagery used don’t show this. The ways in which the fantasy smog The Grey work don’t show this. But a lot of leftists have worked REALLY HARD to equate what Caitlyn was doing with Hitler. And as a Jewish queer, that infuriates me. Not only is it bad analysis, but it grossly misrepresents what happens in the show. And so I’ve been fighting back against that sort of weird nonsense.

And your video… looks to be FILLED with all that same meme nonsense that I’ve been fighting against all this time.

I think part of the problem is you’re going. You’re not pragmatic, and don’t have the experience of understanding what ideals need to be fought for, so you fight for ALL of them at once. And as a result, your politics get muddy and extreme and disassociated from reality.

And when you apply all of that into a show that was never meant to be leftist propaganda in the first place, you do a disservice to the message the show isnACTUALLY trying to say. Cuz news flash, Arcane isn’t left wing, right wing, or centrist. It’s a lot of things and depiction is not endorsement.

Hope that clears up some of my initial responses and why I strongly dislike the very premise of your video.

You know what's also disrespectful? Turning violet's alcoholism self-harm and suicidal tendencies into a fucking montage. Not to mention trying to frame it like she's only upset about Caitlyn and losing her abusive girlfriend? She has a lot more to be upset about.

Also we never talk about the fact that she's literally homeless? Like without Cait she doesn't have anywhere to go and we never talk about this the show sure doesn't. The show also doesn't give a fuck about her alcoholism on top of the fact that they made it into a montage it's either never talked about or it's seen as like a funny haha. Which pissed me off to no end.

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Future is Bright

cw: fucked up superhero agency, interrogation whump, beat down, hero whumper whos an A+ asshole, manhandling, creepy whumper, asphyxiation, choking, broken nose, concussion, blackmail (let me know if missed anything!)

masterlist

Teddy yanks against the restraints on his wrists and ankles. All he can manage is to shift the chair an inch. It scrapes with a horrible sound, then silence. It's been hours since that Savior agent left. His stomach growls, reminding him of the aching hours and that, his muscles wired to relax, are forced stiff. He can no longer feel his fingers.

“Goddamn it.” He’s never cursed with any real weight, but now, the words slip out like they mean something.

I have to get out of here. I have to get out of this fucking mess--

Then, truly, the most gorgeous human he's ever seen walks in.

Teddy's mouth drops, just a little.

The man who steps in looks like he walked out of a Renaissance painting—something Michelangelo or Botticelli might’ve agonized over for weeks. Dark curls are cut, crisp, just below his shoulder and fall over his eyes-- so dark, he can barely see the pupils. White linen enhances, rather than obscures, his lean, poised build. He smiles, all white teeth.

A Savior Hero.

You can just tell.

It's in the way they carry themselves. The way they're vaguely not human.

Teddy closes his mouth, aware of the blood in his own hair and the state he's in. The realization hits him like it's a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

And, god, the man's voice is almost kind. "So you're the one giving us trouble."

Oh. Not good.

"N-no. Not trying to." It takes all of Teddy's self-control to try and bite back his anxious need to apologize. But his brother isn't there to remind him he doesn't need to, so it slips out on instinct. "I'm sorry. I just want to go home."

The man nods, sympathetic. And for a second, Teddy has hope.

Then, "Well, that can't happen."

The hope dies a violent death. Teddy’s throat tightens, and he hates himself for the way his vision blurs. "...We didn't do anything wrong."

"Mr. Wade. Can I call you Teddy?"

Teddy nods miserably. Sure, whatever, we're on a first-name basis now.

"My name's Scott." He sighs and leans on the table, the movement lethargic. "I've heard some pretty disappointing things about you from my partner, Teddy. But I'm not here to ask 'why'."

Teddy winces. His head is spinning so badly, he can't think straight. Each strain blurs at the edges, vanishing before he can pin it down. Slowly, he manages, "So...why are you here?"

Scott smiles again and straightens. "I'm not here to ask why you won't cooperate, I'm here to make you cooperate. And then, I'll cut you a deal at the end." He walks to stand behind Teddy. "I don't make idle promises, Teddy." His voice is treacherous, soft, condescending.

Teddy's breath is quick and fast and trapped in his throat. He wrenches his head back to look up at Scott. "What? I'm sorry, I don't know where your-- fugitive is! I don't know what you want from me! Please, please, let me go!"

The man places a structured hand on Teddy's shoulder, as cold as if it were carved from marble. “Relax,” Scott soothes. “Savior unlocks power, Teddy. For me? Strength. The kind only Herakles could dream of.” His fingers slide up, curling around the back of Teddy’s neck. "Here, let me show you."

I'd rather you didn't.

"Please, sir, no need!"

Too late.

Scott slams Teddy's face into the table.

There's a horrible snap, a wrenching sound of cartilage giving way, then bone.

Teddy screams.

Scott twists his hand into the boy's hair and yanks his head back. Blood spurts from Teddy's nose, soaking the table red, red, red.

Slick copper somehow gets inside Teddy's mouth and he's gagging, gagging, choking on his blood.

Scott pulls the chair back and steps in front of it.

Through teary vision, Teddy can make out the man's silhouette. He's frantic, panicking-- no, no, no-- the man draws his open hand back.

The next blow is across his face, then again, from the other direction.

Teddy's ears are ringing. His thoughts splinter, shattering into static.

Scott grips Teddy’s jaw, tilting his head up, forcing him to look at him. His touch is deceptively gentle, a mockery of anything kind, ever.

“You see,” Scott murmurs, as if explaining something to a particularly slow student, “We're stuck with you and your brother, and now we're going to make the best of it."

Teddy’s whole body shakes. His ears are still ringing from the blows, and blood pools in the back of his throat. He coughs, trying to clear it, but it only makes him choke harder.

Scott clicks his tongue. “Oh, don't you dare throw up on me, lad.”

Teddy barely registers it before Scott grabs him by the hair again--holding him steady-- and drives his knee into his gut.

White-hot, throbbing pain bursts through his ribs. His breath spikes out in a strangled, soundless wheeze, and for a moment, his whole world is just that—searing, suffocating, unbearable.

Scott waits, letting him writhe. Patient.

Teddy barely has the strength to move. The chair rocks slightly, but the restraints keep him bound, helpless. His body screams for air, but his lungs remain deflated, useless.

“Breathe,” Scott instructs, voice light. “Come on, lad, don’t pass out on me.”

Teddy gasps, ragged and shallow. The air burns his throat with the intensity of a knife driven through his trachea.

“Listen up,” Scott crouches, leveling their gazes. “Here's my deal. Take it seriously.” His breath smells of mint and pine.

Teddy shakes his head, barely able to hold it up. “I don’t—” He coughs, blood dripping down his chin, coppery and wet. “I don’t know what you want—”

The man drags a thumb over Teddy’s cheek, smearing the blood. “Not the brightest, huh?”

Then, without warning, his fingers tighten around Teddy’s throat.

Panic flares, instinct kicking in. Teddy jerks against the restraints, struggling uselessly. His vision starts to blur at the edges, darkening, he couldn't breathe, couldn't--

Scott watches him with casual curiosity, head tilting. Then, just as suddenly, he releases his grip.

"Got distracted there, lad, sorry. You have a very delicate throat-- I just wanted to see if I could-- ah, never mind." He stands up and shoves Teddy's chair towards the table. "So, right, your decision."

Teddy collapses forward, wheezing, gasping, barely able to hold himself upright.

The man places a sheet of paper before him, along with a pen. "Sign here." He taps softly at the bottom line with a careful finger. "You can join Savior, become a real hero with your brother."

Teddy is already shaking his head.

"Or we can go for round two."

For the second time in an hour, Teddy curses and means it. "Fuck...you. I'm not...signing that. You can't make me--"

Scott shrugs, unsurprised. "Round two it is."

taglist: @rainydaywhump @chaotic-orphan @whump-in-the-night @violets-whumperflies @whump-till-ya-jump @paperprinxe @b0amagination (let me know if you want to be added/removed!)