#(this is a joke hierarchys are all bullshit)

[antisisyphus]

I feel you on the college quitting. I'm going back for an online program and it only lasts from January to april but I'm already nervous. I've quit college 3 times before this 😬

hey im so proud of you for trying again!!! its really scary and hard to do smth that you already know is gonna be difficult and draining but WE ARE STRONGER THAN HOMEWORK. also never forget the "Cs get degrees" creed

half ass it if you cant whole ass it

you can always lie and say your dog died for an extension

bullshit. bullshit. bullshit.

never believe the lie of "i can tell if you use wikipedia/spark notes"

not turning in anything is the enemy. if need be turn in a paper with a tittle and your name and nothing else

if you can get your professors to like you you can manipulate them

all nighters are (also) the enemy. go to sleep. nothing good happens after 3am

go to class. it doesnt matter if you have to get high and stare at the floor as long as you can be there

NUTS ARE HIGH PROTEIN AND HIGH FAT! BEST SNACKING FOOD EVER!!

treats are for when you are proud of yourself

treats are for when ur having a bad day

actual tips i have are to get a pomodoro extension on ur computer to help you focus but also give urslef breaks (i do it in blocks of 25-10 25-10 25-45) and to get sunlight on ur skin

[singmyaubade]

Good Luck Babe

poly!marauders x nerd!female!reader

summary: after being a wallflower throughout your first five years at hogwarts, you always thought that you could be invisible. but when you hear the marauders talking cruelly about you and proceeding to ask for your forgiveness after, well good luck babe.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing, reader wants to kill the marauders , swearing, unprotected sex, praise, oral (male receiving), jealousy

a/n: oh hey... this is kinda based on those cliche 2000's movies where the girl is ugly but not really and she has that glow up or whatever. this was written so quick and not proofread, don't kill me. i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

STARTING off your sixth year at Hogwarts being an entirely new person wasn't something that you had planned or expected.

On the inside, you felt exactly the same, the same girl who was bold and could ferociously win a fight when it came to her character.

The same girl who was witty and sarcastic, surprising half of the people around you when you made a joke once in a lifetime.

But on the outside, you didn't have an awkward mis-shaped bob and you no longer wore baggy jackets that didn't do a thing for your figure.

And you didn't hide your face anymore, trying your best to be invisible.

It wasn't that you were shy or that you felt like a loser but you thought social hierarchy was bullshit and the only thing you wanted to focus on was your studies.

You may have been a brave Gryffindor on the inside but on the outside, you had to play the part of a shy mouse as corny as that sounds.

Unfortunately for you, invisibility only tends to last for so long until one moment, you are a nobody and then all eyes are upon you.

And maybe, just maybe, if you hadn't heard the Marauders discussing you the previous year, you would have stayed the same.

You had passed by the boys dormitory to give Remus his textbooks back as you always did when you let you borrow when you heard them speaking of the very person behind the door,

"I still have yet to understand why Lily and the rest of them act like she's some charity case," James huffed, "I mean, she's not some sick patient, they only feel the need to pity her because of how she looks."

You always knew that James had a foul mouth but to be speaking about someone like this, it was cruel.

Remus hissed, "That's not nice Prongs,"

"I'm not even saying it to be a dick!" James groaned, "I just mean, I pity her more for the fact that they don't even invite her to anything outside of breakfast and dinner," He explained, causing Remus to go silent.

Sirius chuckled, shaking his head. "That's absolutely horrid."

James reclined on his bed, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’m just saying, if I were Y/N, I’d be mortified."

Your eyes widened as they began to water, they were speaking about you.

Remus leaned against the wall, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Maybe she just doesn’t want to hang out with Lily and the others."

"Moony, seriously," James shot back, sitting up. "Where is Y/N right now, and where are the other girls?" His eyebrow cocked, trying to make his point as Remus silenced.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Why don’t we investigate for ourselves?" He unfolded the Marauder's Map with a flourish. "Alright, we’ve got Lily, Dorcas, Mary, and Marlene all at Hogsmeade, but Y/N is..." His voice trailed off, eyes narrowing.

James leaned closer, annoyance creeping into his tone as he grabbed the map, "She's-" He stopped, the color fading from his face.

"Fucking spit it out!" Remus said next as he snatched the map finally and saw that the map had shown that you were right outside their door.

"Shit!" You heard Remus say as he started making his way to the door.

Hearing his footsteps approaching, you quickly moved away from the door, bolting for your room.

Once you made it back to your dorm, you had sinked the floor. You put your hand on your mouth, muffling yourself as you cried silently.

You honestly hated to even say it but you did consider Lily and the rest of them your friends. You had never really thought about how they didn't invite you to places.

And if you were being truthful, they had never asked you to have breakfast or dinner with them.

You had always just assumed that you could join but they never told you to leave or swooshed you off. Another part of you hated how stupid you were, trying to intrude on their private time.

You didn't want to let it get to you what a bunch of seventeen year old boys were saying but it did sting horribly.

But in a way, it also motivated you to be who you were on the inside. You already had the top marks in your entire year and your plan to work in the Ministry after Hogwarts had already been set.

And now your chance to be something at Hogwarts was right in front of you, an opportunity that you couldn't miss.

You had to do it for yourself.

The Marauders had no idea who you truly were or even cared to know. And although Remus was kind to you, you could always see that he never made any effort to be your friend.

Not that you expected him to but it only taught you that they truly thought you were some hopeless case.

And an assignment to make the Marauders bite their tongues was one that you couldn't bare to fail.

After hearing that, you decided to avoid the Marauders for the next month, especially with summer break approaching. To your surprise, you barely saw them outside of classes, never giving them a chance to reach out—even Remus.

And then that summer, everything changed. You let your hair grow past your shoulders, embracing your natural curls instead of straightening them. You started wearing clothes that were trendy and form-fitting, a huge contrast to your old style.

You discovered a newfound love for self-care, enjoying the process far more than you expected. Each day felt like a transformation, and by the end of summer, your mother couldn’t help but notice. “Finally listening to me about your style, huh?” she teased.

You only laughed as you embraced her,

If only she knew what had caused it in the first place.

As you said goodbye to your family, anticipation mingled with dread. You knew the train ride would be the least of your worries, but the welcome dinner and the ceremony ahead felt like they might just be hell reincarnate.

As you entered Hogwarts, you admired it as much as you did when you were a first year. The castle was something you considered a second home and everything about it was magical, there was no doubting that.

A crowd of students, including yourself, moved toward the Great Hall, and you settled into your usual seat at the Gryffindor table.

You spotted the Marauders and the usual group of girls approaching, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. They took their usual spots in front of you, with the girls on one side and the boys on the other. James sat beside you, and Lily was directly in front of him.

You never quite understood why they arranged themselves like that, but it hardly mattered in the moment.

They were busy in conversation before James had noticed someone next to him, his eyes widening. You couldn't quite read his face but it seemed like a mix of confusion and flustered.

You stared at him back but he still had yet to mutter a word. You cleared your throat, "Uh hello," You practically whispered.

He snapped back into reality, "Oh sorry, hi," He muttered back.

Silence took over you both as James couldn't find the words of what to say to you.

On one hand, he wanted to call you beautiful, to tell you that you were one of the prettiest girls he’d ever seen. On the other, he just wanted to stare at you for a few more minutes like a creep.

Lily noticed his gaze and leaned in, smirking. "Excuse my friend; we’re still trying to figure out if he has a brain."

"I thought we solved that decades ago," Marlene chimed in, stifling a laugh.

Lily turned to you with a curious smile. "I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?"

Are you actually fucking kidding me?

You scoffed, "I'm Y/N,"

The entire group looked at you in awe, even the ones who weren't chimed in on the conversation.

"Y/N L/N?" Sirius asked, mouth gaping.

"Yep, that one," You snorted.

They all looked like they had seen a ghost, "You look different," Marlene said as Mary shoved her.

"She means in a good way!" Mary added.

"Uh thanks," You said, awkwardly.

They all continued to stare at you like you were an exhibit in a museum, their eyes scanning you up and down.

"Do you all mind not staring at me?" you asked, trying to break the tension. They all looked away, feigning innocence as they muttered apologies.

"How have you been?" Lily asked, clearly trying to ease the awkwardness.

"Fine," you replied, your tone clipped.

You caught the pained expressions on the Marauders' faces, realizing they were the reason for your dismissive attitude.

"That's great," Lily said, forcing a smile.

You felt a wave of frustration at the awkwardness surrouding you and decided it was time to escape. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you announced, heading toward the exit before they could respond.

As you walked away, you could already here the mutters and whispers emerging from the table, the fascinating topic being you.

You paced as you heard footsteps trailing behind you, but you ignored them, letting your gaze wander around the castle.

"Y/N!" someone called out, startling you.

You turned to see Sirius, James, and Remus hurrying after you. You only let out a snort before continuing your same way.

A hand suddenly reached around your forearm as you turned to see Remus. You quickly snatched your hand away, finally stopping to look at the group of boys who you despised.

Crossing your arms, you shot them a hostile look. "What?"

"We just wanna—"

"We're so—"

"Listen, we just—"

They all spoke at once, but you scoffed and turned back toward the bathroom, starting to walk away.

You were hoping that they would realize you wanted nothing to do with them but instead, it only made them want to chase you more.

They quickened their pace, and you spun around sharply. "For fuck's sake, what do you want?" you snapped.

James took a breath, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry for what I said. I've been thinking about it since you left. I was an awful twat, and you didn't deserve a thing of what I said."

You let out a sarcastic laugh, "Are you serious?" You asked as your expression changed to furious, "You basically called me a loser and said that Lily and the rest of them were only hanging out with me out of pity,"

James hissed as your statement, feeling the razor in your voice.

"-And now you all want to act as if I should just forgive you since I don't look the same anymore," You got closer to James's face, "Fuck off."

You turned your heel again and this time, the boys didn't follow you.

You finally entered the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you struggled to read the expression on your face. You were furious at the Marauders, and the idea of forgiving them felt impossible.

Yet, there was a flicker of gratitude that you felt for the change you’d undergone. You’d gained a new confidence that felt good, but the sting of their cruel words still lingered in your mind.

And you knew that you couldn't let it get to you but knowing they thought that of you, even Remus. It still did things to you that you would never admit out loud.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you realized it was almost time to head to the dormitory.

The rest of the night had flown by, with first years being introduced to their new home for the next six years while everyone else relaxed in the common room. Despite curfews, fifth years and above knew they could hang out longer—the curfew was mostly for the first years anyway.

"Caput Draconis," you muttered, and the Fat Lady nodded, granting you entrance.

Stepping into the common room, your heart sank as you spotted the last group you wanted to see. They noticed you just as quickly, encouraging you to pick up your pace toward the dorm.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dorcas called out, making you wince as you turned to see her waving.

The Marauders looked down, shame etched on their faces, avoiding your gaze as if you were Medusa.

You approached them slowly, dread settling in your stomach as they eyed you like a science project.

"We were just about to play a fun little game," Dorcas said enticingly, while Marlene snorted beside her.

"I don’t know if Spin the Bottle is a great idea for the first night back," Marlene added, taking a sip of her beer.

"A little peck never hurt anyone," Lily chimed in, clapping her hands together.

Of all people, you’d never expect Lily Evans to approve such a thing. This was the same girl who nearly fainted when she heard about Marlene and Dorcas kissing the previous year.

"I don’t know if this is the game for me," you replied, eyeing the group warily.

"Of course it is!" Lily insisted, but you raised an eyebrow. "Oh my gosh! Not like that, I just mean it's a fun game for us all to play," she quickly added, looking flustered.

Part of you wanted to say no and retreat to your bed, but that was the old you, and you knew it wouldn’t help. This was a new year, and you were determined to embrace new experiences.

Besides, you’d never participated in any scandalous games for all of the years you've been at Hogwarts—it felt like a crime in itself.

So, after a moment’s hesitation, you said, "Okay, sure." The girls erupted in cheers, while the Marauders exchanged worried glances.

What if you had to kiss one of them? Would you refuse and create a scene? Would you want to strangle them for even suggesting it?

The possibilities raced through their mind, but there was no turning back as everyone began to form a circle.

As you sat in the circle, a shiver of nervousness enveloped you. You had never kissed anyone before and the whole thought made you nervous within itself.

Don't get it wrong, you've had chances but they never seemed right and you certainly weren't kissing Matthew Trunchbull underneath the bleachers of the Quidditch field.

So when you got offered a shot of firewhiskey to cool your nerves by Marlene, you took it happily as it burned down your throat.

You brushed off all the negative thoughts entering your mind,

What really is the worst thing that could happen?

[mrsvante]

At Ease

pairing: namjoon x masc!reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, pfp

summary: he served his time. endured the silence. folded his longing into letters and tucked your name between the creases.

now he’s home.

and all that patience?

about to unravel, one kiss at a time.

warnings: military discharge, soft dom!joon, anal play, anal sex, blowjob/handjobs for all, poetic worship (it’s namjoon 🫠), fluffy aftercare

word count: 4,254

a word from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i personally haven’t seen ANYONE write about namjoon & his secret boyfriend (if you have, send me recs 😏) so i decided to enter the chat with this little piece. hope you enjoy 💟

Namjoon smiled.

Because that’s what was expected.

He smiled for the cameras, nodded sagely for the reporters, posed with Taehyung for photos. Stood tall, hands behind his back in that stiff, perfect military posture. A model soldier to the very end.

But his jaw ached from clenching. His palms were sweating. And his heart wasn’t pounding with pride. It was racing with impatience.

Because all he could think about… was you.

Taehyung leaned over, whispering something about getting the hell out of here before they dragged him back inside. Namjoon smirked faintly, watching as his friend all but sprinted to the waiting SUV. He caught a glimpse of Taehyung’s girlfriend in the backseat, arms open, glowing with the kind of joy Namjoon had only seen in his dreams the last year and a half.

He watched the door slam shut, the car peel off. Lucky bastard.

Then it was his turn.

He walked calmly. Gracefully. Shoulders square, mouth tight in a polite curve that said thank you for your support when what he really wanted to say was get me the fuck out of here.

As soon as the door of his SUV clicked shut, Namjoon exhaled.

Loudly.

The training facility grew smaller in the rear window, and his lungs finally felt like they could expand again. He tugged at the collar of his uniform, yanked off his beret, ran a hand through his buzzed hair.

He hated that place. Hated the cold mornings, the endless drills, the rigidity, the bullshit hierarchy, the hours of silence that stretched into aching, sleepless nights. But mostly, he hated the space it put between him and you.

You, with your soft voice and wicked tongue. You, with your arms he could never quite get around in a letter. You, who waited.

His jaw tensed as the SUV turned onto your street.

Almost home.

—

The second he stepped inside the apartment, he froze.

You stood in the dining area wearing that oversized hoodie he always used to steal, barefoot, smiling sheepishly.

A platter of steaming jajangmyeon sat on the table beside a cake decorated in uneven swirls of frosting, obviously homemade. Balloons clung to the ceiling, and a string banner hung above the dining area that read Welcome Home, Joonie.

His chest ached.

You started to say something, probably a joke about the noodles or how you burned your fingers lighting the candles, but Namjoon didn’t give you the chance.

He crossed the space in four long strides and crushed you into his chest with a sound that wasn’t quite a word. Just a low, broken groan as his arms wrapped around you like he meant to disappear into your skin.

“Fuck—” he breathed. “You’re real. You’re actually—God, you’re here.”

You laughed against his shoulder, but the sound melted into a moan as Namjoon kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you again. Mouths crashing, lips bruising, hands everywhere. He didn’t let you speak. Didn’t give you room to breathe.

Just held your face in both hands, kissed you like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, like he needed you to breathe for him.

You tried again—softly, “Joon, I—”

“No,” he whispered, kissing you again. “Not yet. I need—fuck, I need this.”

His hands cupped your jaw, thumbs sweeping under your eyes. Then they dropped to your waist, your hips, your ass; gripping, grounding. He backed you into the table with such carelessness that the balloons above you shifted, the jajangmyeon trembled.

And Namjoon still didn’t care.

“You smell the same,” he murmured, nosing along your neck. “You feel the same. Fuck—I thought I was gonna forget the way you taste.”

He kissed you again, deeper, slower, tongue licking into your mouth with unspoken apology for every night he couldn’t.

You clung to him, one hand in his hair, the other grasping the back of his uniform, and Namjoon melted. Into your hands. Into your mouth. Into the place he called home.

“I missed you so much,” he groaned. “You don’t even know.”

He gripped your hips, lifted you clean off the floor like it was the easiest thing in the world, and set you on the edge of the dining table. The wood groaned. The banner above you swayed.

But all he saw was you.

“Jesus,” he muttered, spreading your thighs with both hands as he stepped between them. “I didn’t think I’d make it. I told myself, ‘Just get back to him. One more week. One more fucking hour. Just hold out long enough to get home.’”

You opened your mouth to speak, but again, he didn’t let you. He kissed you instead. Tongue curling against yours like he meant to pull the words right out of your throat.

He broke away only to drag your hoodie up and over your head, lips following the trail of your skin as it was revealed to him, neck, collarbone, chest. He kissed each place like it owed him something.

Like it had been missing him too.

“Missed you, so much,” he breathed, kissing along your sternum. “Missed sleeping next to you. Missed your laugh. Missed these sounds.”

His mouth reached your nipple, and he sucked, slow and deep, while his hand slid down to cup your cock through your sweats. You gasped, your head tipping back, and he groaned against your chest.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he whispered. “Missed how hard you get for me. How warm you are. Missed the way you sound when you’re holding back—don’t. Don’t hold it back. I want all of it.”

He eased the waistband down, slow, like he was unwrapping something fragile. And when your cock sprang free—already stiff, flushed, leaking—Namjoon hissed a breath between his teeth.

“God damn,” he murmured. “You’re gorgeous. You’ve always been gorgeous—but now? Fuck.”

He wrapped his hand around you, pumping slow, and leaned in to press a kiss to the tip.

“You know, I spent a year and a half sleeping with my hand down my pants and your name in my mouth,” he said, licking a bead of precum from your slit. “Could’ve written poetry about how much I missed this cock. About how much I missed you.”

You whimpered, hips twitching, and Namjoon chuckled low against your thigh.

“Shh. I’ve got you.”

He wrapped his lips around you, taking you into his mouth in one smooth, practiced motion. The heat of him was overwhelming. His tongue swirled under your shaft, his jaw relaxing to take you deeper.

Your moan was loud and needy, he groaned around you like your sound was the only music he ever wanted to hear again.

Namjoon pulled off just long enough to pant, “You taste better than I remember. Better than I dreamed.”

Then he sucked you again, taking you deeper. Sloppier.

His hand stroked the base while his lips worked the head, mouth slick and messy, every movement fueled by months of yearning. He looked up at you as he worked you, eyes blown wide with adoration and something more.

“I daydreamed about this, too many times,” he whispered between kisses along your length. “Late at night, after lights out. I’d close my eyes and pretend you were under me. In my mouth. That I was on my knees for you again, begging you to cum on my tongue.”

He stroked you harder, twisting his wrist just right. “You ever think about me like that? Think about me kneeling? Taking you in my throat with stars in my fucking eyes?”

You nodded, voice broken. “Every night.”

He groaned and sucked you again, hand still working, mouth taking you deeper and deeper until his nose brushed your pelvis. His throat relaxed, and you felt him moan around you—felt it in your toes, your spine, the base of your skull.

It was too much.

Too good.

“Joon—fuck—don’t stop—” you gasped, hips bucking, thighs shaking.

He held you down.

And kept going.

But it wasn’t about control or power.

It was about relief. About coming home. About the man who waited, and the man who came back, and the bond between them that hadn’t frayed even after the distance, the silence, the ache.

It was about Namjoon’s mouth around your cock, his hands shaking with devotion, his words falling between moans like scripture.

“You’re my peace, love,” he whispered.

And when you came with a strangled cry and a fist in his hair, he swallowed every drop.

He was still panting when he pulled off your cock, spit and cum slick on his lips, chest rising like he’d just sprinted miles. He stared up at you—flushed, ruined, and somehow still looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

But the hunger in his eyes hadn’t dulled.

If anything, it flared.

“I need more,” he said hoarsely, licking his lips. “I need to be inside you.”

He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t need to.

Because the second you opened your arms to him, Namjoon grabbed you by the hips and dragged you off the table, bare thighs brushing the cool air, both of you still trembling.

He turned you around and bent you over the back of the sofa in the living room, hand pressed between your shoulder blades, hips slotted behind yours like he’d dreamed this exact moment down to the angle.

The world blurred around him.

The balloons. The cake. The celebratory noodle spread were all forgotten.

There was only the way your back arched. The way your ass pushed back into him. The way your breath caught when he leaned in, chest against your spine.

“Been waiting almost two fucking years to bend you over like this.” He whispered.

His hand slid along your side until he reached the side table. He opened the drawer and stared down at the bottle of lube resting inside.

Untouched. Exactly where he left it before he left.

He grabbed it, popped the cap, and coated his fingers, then reached down between your cheeks. The first touch was gentle, soothing. His slick fingers circled your hole with care, easing inside with the slow appreciation of a man rediscovering pleasure.

You moaned, back arching further, hips rolling back toward him.

“That’s it,” Namjoon whispered. “Take me. Take all of it.”

He prepped you slowly, carefully. Scissoring his fingers, curling them just enough to stretch you out while his free hand kneaded your hip like he couldn’t believe you were real.

When you were gasping, clutching the edge of the sofa for dear life, he pulled his fingers out and slicked himself up with shaking hands.

“Tell me you want it,” he groaned, lining himself up. “Tell me you missed me.”

You looked over your shoulder, pupils blown, lips parted. “I never stopped wanting you.”

That was all it took.

He slid in slowly, his thick cock pressing against your entrance, slowly stretching you. You cried out, and Namjoon’s hands clamped down on your hips, breath shuddering through his nose as he buried himself to the hilt.

“F-fuck—” he gasped. “So tight… so fucking tight.”

He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed to your back, his whole body trembling like he was trying to hold something back. But the tension snapped the second you rolled your hips and moaned his name.

Then he moved.

He fucked into you with long, desperate thrusts, the kind that rattled the couch beneath you both and made you cry out with every stroke.

The sound of skin slapping filled the room, tangled with the breathy, unfiltered groans tearing from Namjoon’s throat. He gripped your hips, then your waist, then slid his arms under yours and wrapped them around your chest like he needed to feel every part of you, needed to anchor himself to your body before he flew apart.

“I dreamed of this,” he choked out. “Fucking dreamed of this. Of how warm you are. Of how you clench around me like you missed this dick—fuck, baby—you did, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you moaned, fingers digging into the cushions. “So much—fuck, Namjoon—”

“God,” he breathed. “I’m not gonna last..”

But he didn’t want to finish alone.

He reached around you, hand sliding over your stomach, down to your cock, already half hard again, and stroked you in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Cum with me,” he whispered. “Please—wanna feel you lose it with me. Let go. I’ve got you.”

The coil in his belly was already snapping tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps, hips stuttering as the pressure climbed.

“You’re mine,” he panted. “Always mine. Gonna fill you up—fuck, take it—take all of it—”

You cried out, your body jerking as your orgasm hit, spurting into his hand, your walls clenching hard around him.

And Namjoon broke.

He slammed into you one last time and came with a guttural moan, hips grinding as he emptied inside you, body trembling, mouth pressing frantic kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he could reach.

For a long moment, the world stood still.

Only the sound of your breathing—heavy, tangled, together.

He stayed pressed against you, still buried inside, arms wrapped around your chest like a lifeline.

“Never again,” he whispered against your skin. “I’m never going that long without you again.”

—

He was still breathless from the way you both came. His cum dripping from between your thighs, his arms like dead weight slung around your shoulders. He was spent… but not done.

You kissed him softly, slowly at first. Then again, harder. Tongue dragging, lips biting, your hand resting over his still-soft cock like you weren’t quite ready to let him go. Namjoon groaned into your mouth and stumbled a step backward, guiding you with him down the hallway toward the bedroom.

But every two feet, one of you stopped to touch.

To kiss.

To claim.

“Bedroom,” he mumbled against your jaw. “Need—fuck—need to lie down before I collapse.”

“We’ll get there,” you said, voice already thick with want. “Eventually.”

You nipped at his throat, biting gently just below his ear, and Namjoon’s knees buckled a little.

You reached the corner of the hallway, just shy of the bedroom door, when Namjoon reached for the handle behind him.

But you had other plans.

You pushed him back against the wall, a little clumsy in your desperation, and dropped to your knees without a word.

Namjoon’s hands flew to your shoulders. “Wait—baby, fuck, you don’t have to—”

Then your mouth was on him.

Just lips and tongue at first, coaxing his cock back to life. You kissed the head, licked up his shaft, sucked his balls into your mouth, one at a time, and moaned around them like you were starved.

Namjoon nearly blacked out.

“Oh my God,” he choked. “What the—fuck—baby, you’re gonna kill me—”

You took him deeper and Namjoon shuddered. One hand slapped against the wall behind him, the other tangling in your hair with a groan that sounded like it had been clawed from his chest.

His cock twitched in your mouth as you sucked him with messy, mindless hunger, your tongue curling and flattening in perfect rhythm.

His thighs were already shaking again, and he hadn’t even fully hardened before you started.

Now he was thick and pulsing on your tongue, impossibly hard for someone who had just fucked you senseless. Namjoon gritted his teeth, fingers flexing in your hair, breath ragged as his head fell back against the wall with a thud.

“Shit—yes—fuck, look at you,” he groaned. “On your knees—throat so fucking perfect—I swear, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Your hands gripped his hips and kept him still while you bobbed your head, changing rhythm like you knew exactly when to pull back and exactly when to go all in. You moaned around him again, and Namjoon’s eyes rolled back, a sharp, guttural sound ripping from his throat.

“Baby,” he gasped, hips jerking forward when your teeth grazed the underside of his shaft.

He was right on the edge, and he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers tightened in your hair, guiding you with lazy thrusts, hips twitching with every pass of your throat.

“I’m close,” he panted. “Almost—fucking hell, don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Your tongue slid under his tip, and then you swallowed him whole.

That was it.

He came with a broken moan, cock pulsing down your throat as his entire body buckled against the wall. You held him there, taking every drop, his release hot and overwhelming, your throat working around him until he finally hissed your name and tugged you back gently.

You looked up at him, eyes glazed, lips shiny, and Namjoon swore he almost dropped to the floor with you.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathed, hand caressing your cheek.

And then he laughed, ragged and wrecked.

“Death by head from the love of my life,” he added, pulling you to your feet and kissing you like you hadn’t just sucked the soul from his body. “Honestly? Not a bad way to go.”

—

Your bodies tumbled on to the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter, lips colliding between giggles, your arms hooked around his neck as he kissed you.

Namjoon hovered above you, strands of hair falling into his eyes. He kissed your jaw, your cheekbone, the tip of your nose, then your mouth again, but slower this time, like he was trying to memorize you one last time now that he finally could.

“I need to be inside you again,” he murmured, hips brushing yours. “Can’t get enough of you.”

You let out a breathy laugh, fingers dragging across his chest. “What about the food? And the cake?”

Namjoon grinned, all dimples and flushed cheeks. “Later.”

He kissed you again. “We’ll eat when I can breathe.”

You let him guide you onto your back, your bodies pressed chest to chest, legs falling open to cradle his hips. He paused just long enough to reach over and open the nightstand drawer on his side of the bed. He pulled out another bottle of lube, cracked the seal, and slicked his cock with practiced hands.

You were still warm, and soft, and still slick from everything you’d shared so far. Still, he took his time.

His free hand caressed your thigh, your waist, up your side. His lips ghosted over your chest as he lined himself up and whispered against your nipple, “Ready, baby?”

You nodded.

And with a gentle push, he slid back inside.

You both moaned at the stretch, but this time… it wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was love, soft and slow.

Namjoon kept his gaze locked to yours as he sank in slowly, groaning when he bottomed out, your body molding to his like it never forgot the shape of him. His lips found yours, tongues tangling slowly.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

He pulled back and rocked his hips forward, sinking in again.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Another thrust. His hands cradled your face like you were made of glass.

“Missed the way you hold me inside you. Missed the way you breathe my name when I touch you just right.”

You gasped as his hips rolled forward, dragging his cock over your prostate with devastating precision.

“There,” he whispered. “Right there, baby?”

You nodded, eyes wide, lips trembling.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Let me love you.”

He kissed his way down your chest, lips wrapping around one nipple as he sucked gently, his hips never stopping their slow, sinuous motion. You shuddered beneath him, toes curling, thighs flexing around his waist.

Namjoon moaned against your skin.

“You’re so good to me,” he whispered. “So beautiful like this. Fuck—I could spend the rest of my life loving you like this.”

He switched to your other nipple, lavishing it with the same care, his hand sliding down to lace through yours. “I don’t care what comes next,” he whispered between kisses. “Tour, schedule, work—none of it matters. You come first. Always.”

You reached up, brushed the hair sticking to his forehead from his face, and cupped his cheek as he thrust into you.

“I love you,” he said, over and over, like a rhythm between thrusts.

“I love you,” again, as your back arched.

“I love you,” when your moans turned to whimpers, your body trembling beneath the weight of his affection.

Your orgasm crept up with a slow rumble like a wave. And Namjoon felt it—felt the way your body clenched, the way your breath hitched, the way you opened your mouth to warn him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing you deeply. “Let go. I’m right here.”

And you did.

You came with a sob, whole body tightening around him as he groaned, buried himself deep, and followed with a quiet gasp of your name. He filled you again, warmth flooding, both of you shivering as the high settled gently over you like a blanket.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Just the sound of breathing. The smell of sex and skin and sweat and love hanging heavy in the room.

Then Namjoon collapsed onto his side, pulling you with him, still nestled close, cock softening but still inside you.

He kissed your forehead. Your cheek. Your shoulder.

“I’m so happy to be home,” he whispered. “And I’m never leaving again.”

And with your hand over his heart, your head tucked beneath his chin, you both drifted off like that, tangled up together and full.

—

The room was dim when Namjoon stirred.

His body ached in the best way. Thoroughly used and deliciously warm, wrapped around yours like his limbs had forgotten how to let go. The air still smelled like sex and skin, and his heartbeat felt like it had finally slowed to something human again.

You shifted against him with a sleepy sigh, your cheek pressed to his chest, legs tangled with his under the rumpled sheets.

Namjoon smiled.

Then he kissed your hair. “Wanna shower with me?”

You groaned something incoherent against his ribs, and he laughed softly, rolling over to nudge you with his nose. “C’mon. If we don’t rinse off now, we’ll be stuck to the sheets forever.”

That earned him a lazy middle finger.

But five minutes later, you both shuffled into the bathroom. Bare, marked up, and still just a little unsteady.

Namjoon pressed you against the tile with a kiss, hands splayed against your hips as your mouths slid together like gravity was still trying to pull you closer. You were both still a little wrecked, but it didn’t stop the heat from stirring again.

He reached for you without thinking. His hand curling around your cock, giving it a slow stroke. You shuddered, eyes fluttering, and your hand reached down between you both, stroking him in return.

He bit your lip softly, and groaned when your thumb swiped over his slit. “I’m never gonna get tired of this,” he whispered.

You moaned, stroking him a little faster. “Of me?”

“Of you,” he said. “Your hands. Your mouth. The way you moan when I’m about to—fuck—”

He gritted his teeth as your hand worked him, his own movements growing uncoordinated as he neared the edge again. You leaned in and kissed the underside of his jaw, hips bucking once before you both came.

Soft gasps and hot breath mixing under the spray.

Namjoon sighed, forehead pressed to yours, water washing away the heat with gentle steam.

“Okay,” he panted, grinning. “Now we can eat.”

—

The jajangmyeon reheated beautifully.

The two of you sat at the table in tshirts and boxers, legs brushing, knees knocking. The cake went into the fridge. Namjoon swore it was a masterpiece despite your humble protests, and promised it’d be dessert after he recovered from being wrecked all over the house.

You passed him chopsticks and he took a long, appreciative bite, groaning through a mouthful. “Goddamn,” he said, “did I really go a year and a half without this?”

You smirked. “The noodles?”

He leaned over, kissed your temple. “You.”

You shook your head, cheeks warming as he took another bite. He ate like he was starving which made you laugh under your breath as you nursed your own bowl and watched him with love practically humming in your veins.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sighed.

“So,” he said, between bites. “Last day was hell. Early drills, inventory check, gear return. Honestly? The best part was watching Taehyung sneak a selfie in the locker room mirror. He looked so proud of his hair.”

You laughed and nodded, letting him talk. He always lit up when he told stories, even if it was about something as mundane as bunk assignments or how the base dog only responded to Jin’s voice over video call.

“And now that I’m out,” he continued, “the schedule’s gonna pick up. Hybe’s lining up interviews, a group comeback is being mapped. There’s a special shoot for Vogue Korea next month—”

You listened, finishing your noodles, eyes locked to his face as he rambled through plans and hopes and future projects.

But all you could think about was how he was here now. Not calling from his phone. Not writing letters.

He was here.

At your table. In your hoodie. Smiling at you with his bare thighs brushing yours under the table.

Namjoon paused mid sentence when he caught your gaze. “What?”

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Nothing. Just… you’re home.”

He softened.

Put his chopsticks down and reached for your hand.

“Yeah,” he said, gently rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. “I am.”

masterlist

[colombinaa]

White males who direct misogyny at white women specifically are virtue signalling to black and brown males. They’re saying “we know we’re men first and we’re on the same side in the oppression of women and girls”.

Notice how so many of them are leftists: men could establish a society with no hierarchy among themselves and still be male supremacist. They all know the first oppression, from which all others derive, is male dominance over female people, and they know it can exists alone. It already has.

Don’t mistaken me, the ones on the right do this too. Even racist white men occasionally tell a “i hate my wife” joke to men of colour. And their wife is always white. We both know this because we are that wife. Just because right-wing men have different methods doesn’t mean they’re not saying the same thing.

We white women gotta not only wake up, but take action based on this behaviour. Way too many of us keep choosing whiteness above everything, despite the clear evidence telling us we shouldn’t. Whiteness won’t save you. White males won’t save you. What white males told you was a lie with the sole purpose to keep you separated from women of colour - and thus sisterhood - and hurt them in the process.

Unwhiten yourself. Unlearn the racist bullshit they raised you with. Decenter and destroy male-made bullshit systems and hierarchies. You fucked up yesterday? Improve today.

Find and join your fellow women in sisterhood. Choose femaleness over whiteness always.

~~~~~

My blog will always be as much of a safe space for women of colour as i can make it, as a white woman. Racism in the replies and reblogs will get you blocked and reported.

[cursed-40k-thoughts]

Do crypteks serve, or is every cryptek ever more like an independent contractor who happens to be currently hired by a given dynasty? How often are they leaders, like Szeras?

Typically independent contractors. Some will be loyal to a specific dynasty/group for whatever reason, but there's still usually a good deal of personal freedoms involved, owing to how valuable they are.

Szeras isn't reeaaally leader, and crypteks aren't typically leaders in a conventional sense. They don't have official or formal ranks within dynastic power structures. Szeras is an extremely powerful cryptek who, when not doing contracted work for the Silent King, does whatever the fuck he likes (mostly trying to figure out how souls work). He has individuals at his disposal (as resources), and there are crypteks who would work under him due to his knowledge and general seniority in his fields of expertise, but that doesn't mean he's a leader. He’s a project leader, more than any thing, when it comes to his work for the Szarekhan. Crypteks CAN be put in charge of things, of course, and usually are in charge of something when they're living on a tomb world, but that doesn't mean they're leaders so much as resident specialists.

The closest Crypteks get to formal hierarchy are their conclaves, which are (as far as we've seen) academic groupings of them based on their primary disciplines. They don't all seem to adhere to these; most of them appear to operate within smaller groupings or individually, but they are there.

The fun thing with crypteks is that they're extremely powerful turbo geniuses that are basically running around in creative mode. I've said a couple times before that they're kept in check by their own autism, and that's only half a joke. Crypteks are, demonstrably, capable of the most terrifying potential shit in a culture of big egos. But they aren't indulging in said terrifying shit, because their obscenely advanced minds are too busy tinkering with things or experimenting or getting enticed with shinies to help with tasks, or being caught up in random bullshit. If crypteks engage with any kind of power structure, it's because they want to, for whatever reason.

Tldr: it’s largely a case by case situation because of how powerful and valuable they are.

[chasedeys]

......do you have any thoughts about omega ja'marr in an a/b/o setting 🧍‍♂️🏃‍♂️

your hand in marriage. right now. idc idccccc how do you want to do this. /jk hehe i do love and appreciate you though!!! so beware this goes on and on and also has koc/jj in the end because now that screams traditional alpha/omega couple

a/b/o joemarr 😔 are you really truly down bad for a ship if you aren't thinking violently persistent thoughts of them in an a/b/o au.

i am Horrendously down bad so. i fuck so heavily with alpha/alpha joemarr because hello.....alpha pairings.......god...........'battling for control' bullshit except no they actually give it so willingly.............

BUT OMEGA JA'MARRRRRRR that's literally my shit 😭😭🫶🫶🫶🫶 literally everything about him is my shit i fear. call that Obsessive.

him being not of the standard beauty looks wise or traditional omega wise because!! he's brash, he talks his shit, he works his shit, he's big and strong, he chooses his tattoos big and bold, he laughs too loud and unapologetically, he makes crude jokes, he punches alphas in the dick, he flirts with all omegas and betas and steers clear from alphas, okay well no he does flirt with alphas but only to leave them high and dry because he finds it funny (and inside hes terrified and uncertain of being with any kind of alpha) and then just laughs over it bc he's untouchable they can't bring him down at all because he's the exact opposite of traditional subservient omegas he Can and Will kick your ass if you try anything messy with him.

but he also likes the idea of being that kind of omega!! not completely bc if anyone tries to take his rights away or order him around just because they're of a 'higher hierarchy' than him he'll kill them the fuck but!! he loves nesting! loves cooking! completely and utterly shit at it at first but he obsessively pursued it bc someone put it in his head that all good omegas know how to cook and he thinks its crock shit now but back then he stuck with it because he's suchhhh a romantic at heart. he loves the idea of providing and caring a home and nest for anyone he cares for and KIDS ugh we all know how much he loves kids. joe looks at him playing with a kid and his brain melts out of his ears fearfully getting into a knothead headspace he has to reel it back in heavily.

(also something abt me even if i KNOW this person Cannot Cook For Shit in some universe i will make them A Good Cook. it doesn’t even have to be because of plot or anything literally no correlation whatsoever but i'd love to drop in a ‘ja’marr hisses at him to take his spoon away from his cooking pot of gumbo what is he an animal’ or a ‘joe pokes at his side so he’d scoot away, pouring the pancake batter in then smearing the laddle on a distracted ja'marr's hand and laughing when ja’marr yells at him’ or whatever. like i answered a bit here!! learning how to cook together so they wouldn't die of scurvy ❤️ i know they can hire private chefs damn it but who the fuck cares think of the Domesticity)

but back to the omega ja'marr he isnt always like this!! before he grew into the steel spined take-no-shit omega he is now he was a whole lot more shyer and idk uncertain during college!! sure he'd still brawl and flirt his way through etc etc but when people try to deck him down a notch because of his omega status he'd still freeze up at first! it takes time especially in this shit show of a testosterone high alpha centered sport for him to steel his spine to downright indestructible.

totally sleeps around with omegas and betas, tells alphas to fuck off liberally he’s not getting a pregnancy scare (mpreg is such a hilariously fun concept to me i completely blank out on any technical aspect of it. literally the what the hell sure lady meme.) when he’s this close to achieving his nfl dreams and fuck off okay he loves kids he knows everyone knows this but fuck offfff he hems and haws to think of anyone who would he would actually stand and also treat him right for him to want a kid with them (fuck the image of joe in his head offffff).

joemarr, specifically alpha!joe/omega!ja'marr

from college!! where they're still trying to settle into their roles the way they're comfortable with and fighting stereotypes and class expectations!! and also the year where they're all starting to be unapologetically slutty!! and joe being their star qb high alpha or some shit and ja'mar being the new freshie to sopho omega wr

ja'marr chock full of insecurities and hang ups over not being the 'ideal omega' even when he's projecting and shouting clearly that he doesn't give a shit about being the perfect traditional omega in the first place but!! doesn't joe deserve that? joe is such a good alpha that he thought was only possible in fantasy books and movies he watches obsessively when he was a kid (still do but whatever) and getting kind of blinded by this image of joe that he himself built up when joe's anything but perfect ->

he’s awkward, zero smoothness at flirting when he really cares for it, 'flirts' by staring intensely edward-cullen-esque but without the excuse of trying to read your thoughts (well no he’s trying to reach into ja’marrs head and pick him apart to get to know him better in a ‘date me’ aspect instead of just asking like a normal person but anyway), he likes spongebob and has nerdy ass interests that amuses and endears himself to ja’marr to no end, he can be pissy and foul mouthed and sure he can be such a gentleman but he’s also completely down and dirty matches all the alpha crude humor that ja’marr himself delights on, that cocky alpha full-of-himself schtick that joe is absolutely not an exception to, etc etc so basically the thing isn’t that joe is the perfect alpha, he’s the perfect alpha for ja’marr. but ja’marr doesn’t see this at first! and he doesn’t see himself as anything of worth to joe other than a wide receiver and an epically close friend! can’t even begin to think of a future involving anything of requited love with him. all because of his own head.

but the thing is: closet romantic soft-hearted ja’marr growing up loving to watch disney (think lion king lol. 'can't you feel the love tonight' starts playing and he's gone.) and cute one dimensional hallmark alpha/omega movies where the alpha is of a certain sort. but like hell ja’marr can stand a perfect gentleman who treats him like a single minded worshipper, like he's made of glass to put on a pedestal displayed and never to be touched. he needs someone who matches him fire for fire, relentless and shamelessly ambitious, doesn't flinch away from his sharp angles or make him into something he's not, and not just disgustingly bland like those in hallmark movies bland you know?? which is one of the reasons why he’s so reluctant of being with an alpha!! he doesn’t want to be treated that way. no alpha would want someone who doesn’t want to be treated that way. so he backs off completely from alphas no matter the type and finds delight in betas and omegas who are like him! having fun!! breaking norms!!

but then he meets joe and gets to know him past his initial impression of the previous points and oh no holy shit oh noooo, he sees nothing of this alpha sort he's steered clear of in joe!! he's nothing like the basic romcoms on the perfect alphas he grew up loving and idealizing and then growing to feel revolted of!! and that just fucks him up even more because damn. there’s no way that alpha is for him.

and then there's joe who looks like the perfect alpha and tries his absolute best to be the perfect gentleman except he's also such a jock and a frat boy extraordinaire, mixing in his intense chip-on-his-shoulder redshirt qb with a whole new team, his intense focus on winning a cup and proving himself, and also. absolute distraction in the form of one omega wide receiver who's so fucking loud and distractingly pretty and keeps smiling at him like that and sorry okay for staring dead eyed at you you get freaked and defensive but come. on. really? like he's struggling here and he's not saying its ja'marr's fault he's literally just breathing but fuck does joe really not come across as anyone he'd consider as someone to spend the rest of his life with?? as a partner. as a bonded pair.

joe, who doesn’t give a shit what his partner's designation is, he knows what he likes he knows what he wants but right now he’s just trying to focus on this sport he's given his all in. sure he's all down for any love coming his way he's not really planning on actively searching for it but. well. and wow okay he’s all for that ofc but he didn’t think that it would come in the form of his newest teammate who’s kind of fucked up over the whole alpha thing huh okay.

'he knows what he likes what he wants' and ja'marr? ticks every fucking box. -> he sees ja'marr being so free with who he is (later learning the hidden bits! the insecurities! the vulnerable parts ja'marr finally unclenches to let him see and joe's just on his knees for him at that point no way or want to turn back), unapologetically fiery and unbending, but also so so sweet. who enthusiastically busses the cheeks of all the little siblings who hang around the training field. who’s picky with his affections on certain things but completely incapable of not fretting over anyone with a hurt knee or shoulder or skinned elbows. who once yelled at him from across the field to quit throwing it so short the fuck is wrong with him use your fucking biceps right before running leaping laughing to him yelling good shit jay-beeeee the next minute after he catches an absolute beautiful deep ball and brings it home during a walkthrough of a new scheme. literally smitten is what I'm saying.

and on the other side ja'marr is all acting haughty and bristly at joe over his own insecurities 😔 absolutely unknowing how taken joe is with him in spite of all his own hang ups over not being 'an accommodating omega' while somewhat emotionally stunted joe of the 'incapable of showing his true feelings so he's just staring' variety struggles to court him through his own hang ups of not being a good enough alpha over ja'marr's loud exclamations of 'never fucking an alpha' and the looming and inescapable Insane Ambition and self-given sword of damocles over his head of playing perfectly and winning a natty (the ambition which ja'marr matched beat for beat btw. and that's just soooo sooo compelling to joe it kills him and fires him up inside when he sees ja'marr's eyes get as piercing as his when he runs routes and slams away dbs).

basically BOTH dumbly thinking the other is unattainable because of their own issues and they won't fucking TALK about it ugh.

also: the idea of going through their heats/ruts with the other no strings attached (but also not no strings attached bc they really do want to be attached in literally every way possible so the thought of them offering it in a casual 'just scratching an itch' thing would possibly end their life as they know it) is always in their minds but they've never once brought this up with the other because for the ACTUAL important real life shit they've never been good at communicating with each other like at all. why take the risk. why try to break their own hearts even worse than they already are doing.

BUT they're soooooo close to the point of having each other's ruts/heats on each of their calendar 🤗 casually mentioning ‘fuck my pelvis is killing me.’ ‘its the 24th isn’t it? your heats near. i got a heating pack in my locker. wait it's charged just let me grab it for you.’ and ‘im taking the week off.’ ‘oh your rut right? ready holed up good?’ ‘yeah just by myself again.’

like there’s services for heat/rut partners right. that they've recommended to each other 😭 and while it helped with the physical and animalistic levels of their heats/ruts it doesn’t completely help at all and makes it worse when it's all over. it feels wrong because the alpha/omega part of their brain knows exactly what it wants but their dumbassery is stopping them from claiming what’s theirs or some shit idk.

lending each other their used jerseys/undershirts/tees to help through the other's ruts/heats for comfort 😀 a concerning collection of it in their homes and given back with literally no mention of it because they’re STUPID okay they’re stupid men with stupid hang ups pulling themselves back from being with each other.

ALSO OKAY SO one of my favoriteeeee things about omegaverse is the scentssssssss ARGHHH love that shit to death. i have no idea what type of cologne they wear can't think of making anything up rn :(( i think ja'marr said his favorite scent was mahogany no?? non traditional omega scent etc etc. just thinking of ja’marr learning film study with joe from their little ipad and tucking closer together to see the little people in the screen better only to be hit with each other’s scent and unconsciously breathing in deep before freezing bc wait no is that weird except nobody notices the other doing the same thing bc they’re stupid.

feel free to decide how they get together lmao probably on accident tbh

i wanted to add a bit of omegas!bayou trio :)

right. so. imagine omega!bayou trio breaking records left and right (and also breaking HEARTS left and right) where people have been absolutely belittling them bc of their omega status and that burns them except they're so fucking GOOD so they spit right back at all these entitled pricks calling them all kinds of stupid shit.

joeeee beautiful perfect princess joe with the snaggletooth and chubby cheeks who's slowly building into his joe ice persona and bulldozing through with his cocky exterior! people think he's the perfect southern belle of an omega until clips of his qb training comes out and they reel back because he's literally throwing down with the o-line d-line guys, all his shit talk, all his stomping around, all his scrambling forcefully through defenses, etc etc (lsu purposefully releasing this to get the pushier traditional 'fans' to back the fuck up from him).

justin and ja'marr peacocking to the cameras (shamelessly when theyre together, but weirdly shy as hell when theyre alone. people eat this shit uppppp). (more on this below)

the rest of the oline and roster being overly protective of their trio of star omegas (not to say that there arent omegas in the o or d line!! oh my god imagineeeeee my brains melting BUT like. hierarchically. those three the big dogs. if i were more knowledgeable of the rest of their roster like terrace or clyde or pq or delpit i would totally add shit but :( idk them :(()

if it were alpha!joe with omegas!jjmarr!!!

everyone and their thrice removed foreign cousins burning in jealousy over any part of the trio 😭

how dare these two omegas bag THE hottest cfb quarterback alpha currently. what the fuck is this perfect fucker of an alpha who's all look at me i have luscious flowing hair and gorgeous blue eyes and perfect winning record and insane football iq doing with not just one but TWO gorgeous talented omegas?? fuck right offfff

no they aren't together really BUT jjmarr laughingly jokingly playing into the images the media and public force upon them because they know joe and they trust him so this piece of casual close comfort between these three that people seethe over jealously is literally because joe has proven to them that he isn't like any other pea size dick brained alphas.

joe backing them up when these two are acting up (like a little wear whatever you want babe i can fight thing you know) and they let him 'fight for their virtue' or some shit bc they love him and literally him and a select few of their lsu teammates are the only ones who can even begin to act like 'traditional alpha protectors' for them because they know they aren't condescending about it!!

pretty perfect omega justin who knows when and what to say the perfect things, flirts outrageously with everyone but also ruthlessly tells pushy alphas to fuck off and then punches their throat when they get uppity. pretty unconventional omega ja’marr who flashes wide smiles with squinty brown eyes and people fall over themselves trying to make him laugh and then stumble back in fear when they get too overly familiar with him etc etc.

(and i know i said they aren’t actually together!! BUT IF THEY WERE GRAH jjmarr tag teaming joe 😔 putting him on his back and fucking him themselves and joe being completely pliant about it 😔😔😔 completely at their mercy on the sheets and happy about it 😔😔😔😔😔 a little insane power trip for ja’marr and jj)

a bit of koc/jj omegaverse too hehe bc how could i not - (tw - mentions of sa)

perfect omega jj whos downright fucking smitten with his alpha coach who's as touchy with him as he is with everyone else so he can't tell if koc actually likes likes him that way or if he's just. like that. justin as flirty as he is and all pretty eyes and pretty smiles and pretty laughs and absolutely blooming like a sunflower right to the direction of a can't-take-his-eyes-away koc.

one random new teammate acquired on waiver or whatever leering too heavily at justin during practice and maybe he's a cornerback literally plastering himself all over justin and grabbing at his ass during walkthroughs and justin just fucking slams his elbow back to his face and breaks his nose and cheekbones and koc is instantly there flinging them away from each other. the rest of the vikings converging over the guy while koc is on justin fretting hands all over him frantic alpha brain protective haze and when justin grabs his hands by the sides of his face staring wide eyed back, their eyes right on each others' the only thing calming both of them down. justin breathily says he's fine. koc then hauls himself back towards the guy and the rest of the players automatically part away for him and boom koc rips him apart and the only one who can calm him is justin ARHGHHHH i wanna write koc/jj so badly 😭😭

in the end justin's getting his elbow tended but he’s dead quiet thinking fuck fuck fuck that just happened and then focusing more on what koc did. he knows what that means. what koc reacting like that means. a teammate (jordan?? i have no idea what the vikings player’s roster and dynamics are like :() comes to sit by him when left to themselves by the medical team. says that that wasn't justin's fault at all obviously but it had to be said, what would happen to the guy (gone forever never to be seen again), that practice is being cut short but the rest of the guys won't leave until they see him physically all right so they're holed up in the locker rooms antsily waiting to see him, and that koc is on the other side of that door unable to leave but also unable to enter the room at all. and then silence. before a cautious ‘about koc’ and justin tells him to shut up he can’t do this he's shaking he can't do this.

struggling to keep their bond (not to be confused as Bond which would be. Scandalous.) exactly as it is but something calls them towards one another like crazyyyy

and there’s more that could be explored!! beta ja’marr with a chip on his shoulder and beta joe screaming fuck you to the rigid norm of alpha or omega quarterbacks (but i fear alpha/omega is sooo it for me so). tee whom i adore to death -> maybe non traditional alpha teeeeee argrhrghhh doting the ever living shit out of omega ja’marr and joe, or omega tee who literally has the entire locker room wrapped around his finger etc etc

[sarucane]

True Stories, False Stories: "The Best Revenge is Dressing Well"

Right at the start of ep 1x5, Izzy harangues the Revenge crew by declaring they're here to see how real pirates operate in the real world. Pete protests "We are real pirates," which Stede immediately undermines by asking "how bloody do we expect this to get?"

What real, what's false, how do we get to the truth? Although the ep starts with a pirate raid, the real core of the episode is which of Ed's stories are true, and which are false. There's a disconnect to this, a dissonance that's been there since Ed was introduced. There's a hint of this in his "lesson" at the start of the episode: he scares the shit out of the Frenchman when he gives it more "umph," but he's clearly and explicitly acting.

That said, this episode isn't about how Ed isn't really an uber-pirate. This episode is about who Ed wants to be, and who he isn't.

And it's about false stories and the truths they hide. Funnily enough, everyone in this episode is a liar in one way or another. Everyone's telling stories about who they are, who other people are. But the characters are divided between the storytellers who think their own bullshit is true and the ones who use their stories to reach the truth. Between the inauthentic people who tell a lie so others will believe something about them (a lie that hides their own insecurities), and the authentic people who can tell a story and then set it aside, knowing the truth about who they are. And caught in the middle of all this are Ed, and Stede.

The party is the biggest lie of the episode. It's a collection of falsehoods, of people wearing makeup that hides their faces and wigs and clothes that hide their bodies. Telling stories about how they're better than everyone else because they know when to use escargot tongs.

Ed is quickly swept up in the falsehoods. The trouble is, he doesn't realize how false it all is. He's living with a story his mother told him, that there are different kinds of people. Some get to have fine things, some don't. Ed wants to be the kind of person who does have fine things, and thinks he's found a way to do so. He believes their lies are true.

But he's wrong. He's telling a false story to himself, and therefore he's lying to everyone around him without even realizing it. No one here believes his pirate yarns because he's intermixing them with jokes about being an accountant (a literal accidental lie: he doesn't know what accounting is). He thinks he's being accepted, but really, he's conforming himself to a racial stereotype of the "exotic." To someone else's false story, one told to keep society organized in a certain way. He's "truthing" his way to a lie.

Ed doesn't know that's what's happening, but Frenchie could have explained it to him. Because Frenchie lies wildly and delightedly in this episode. He uses the aristocrat's fake "exotic" story against them, uses it to tell his own story about a con. Olu is thrown by this at first, but quickly figures out how to tell it even better than Frenchie.

And in doing so, Frenchie and Olu show just how thin a veneer the false aristocratic story is, how easily it can be pierced and discarded. Because the aristocrats are so caught up in their own story, so convinced it's the same thing as the world (as Ed believes), that they don't even really see servants. They don't realize how much the servants see them. Frenchie and Olu are the paradoxically both the biggest liars of the episode, and the greatest truth-tellers of the episode: as so often happens on this show, the fiction leads to reality.

And then there's the Revenge, where Izzy is trying to impose his own story of a well-run, regulated ship on the clever gays Stede has taught to "talk it through." Izzy's telling a story as much as Ed and Frenchie are. But Izzy's story is about his power, about his place in the hierarchy of the ship. And through his contempt for Lucius's "femininity" and the crew's homosexuality, Izzy is trying to tell a story about his own masculinity and heterosexuality.

But his story can't survive Lucius "actually I think I'm so so but I've decided to carry myself like I'm cute." Lucius charms Fang with a story about how beautiful Fang is. The story might or might not be "true" from Lucius's POV, but the way it makes Fang feel is real. And it leads him to pose naked, a literal truth rising (sorry) from the story.

And thanks to Fang, we learn that Izzy's story is also false, is also a thin veneer. His masculinity was destroyed with Ed's original crew ages ago, and one story from Fang strips it away. And as for his heterosexuality...

That is a man who very much wants this effeminate gayboi to humiliate the shit out of him and make him come so hard he sees God.

The false stories are weak. "A rich donkey is still a donkey." That guy was being a dickhead, but he's right. Being rich, learning table manners, telling a story: it doesn't change who you actually are. It just makes some stories easier to tell--but in this time, it also makes stories like Stede's more difficult to tell. Because the false stories are a way of regulating society, whether they're told at a fancy dress party or on a pirate ship. A way to empower the few over the many. And telling other stories is a threat because (as Stede and Abshir prove) they make it easier to reveal how weak the false stories really are.

Ed learns the danger of telling false stories the hard way. He learns it when he fails to act "rich," when he's already isolated himself from his only real friend. When his true self--who flinches when someone grabs at his face and has no idea how to eat a prawn with these bullshit things--surfaces for everyone to see. And then one false story cancels out the other: he can't credibly threaten people with wild violence because he's "Jeff the accountant." He isn't any good at passive aggression. His false stories were weak.

But so were theirs. And Stede proves this, joining forces with Abshir, with other marginalized stories. Stede pretends to participate in the party by proposing they "play a game," uses their own lies to infiltrate the enemy, just like Frenchie did. And then he destroys them with the truths that hide beneath their veneers. They're not "better" than other people. They're just people who have money.

But what finally destroys them isn't Stede's stories. It's their own.

They all discover, at the same time, that they've been conned. That their stories were false, made them weak. But they don't turn on Abshir or go looking for Frenchie or Olu. They turn on each other, try to take each other's receipts, to hide from the revealed weakness by asserting strength. And the fire is lit because one aristocrat, unable to mentally cope with the truth becoming lies becoming truth becoming lies, hysterically retreats to the absolute truth of existence/non-existence.

Stede's stories open the door for transformation. They call forth that which is "authentic" in the listener, seize on truth with the tool of fiction. For some people--Lucius, Olu, Frenchie, Abshir and his gang--this is liberating. For others--Izzy, the aristocrats--it is damning. And for Ed, it has the potential to be either one.

At the start of the episode, the fact that Ed may never truly 'fit' in the world of aristocrats was a source of despair. Ed's truth will win out, as all truths win out. His true, authentic stories will always within him. He can tell any story he wants, but he'll always be who he is.

So what does that mean? At the episode's end, Ed thinks it means despair. Means he failed a test at the party, showed he "wasn't ready." Means his mother was right, and that "we're just not those kind of people."

But there's one more false story to be knocked down in this episode. Because Ed's mother was wrong. She was trying her best, sure, but she was still wrong, and the story she told herself and her son has warped Ed's whole worldview.

And the person who can let Ed start to understand this is, of course, Stede. Stede, who straddles both world and is of neither. Who proved his worth today, proved the fragility of the world he left behind and demonstrated his own strength to endure, manipulate, and even destroy that world. Who sees the truth under everyone's lies, who tells stories that create space for others' truths to be told. And who looks at Ed's silk, even as Ed projects his own despair and tattered self-worth onto it, and says "sometimes the old things are the best things."

Stede disconnects Ed's silk from that old false story of people being siloed and bound to a story designed to empower the few over the many, from that story of internalized oppression. He can do this because Stede has done what Ed is not yet brave enough to do: he's distanced himself from the the stories he grew up with, the rules that came with his birth.

Stede just looks at Ed as an individual, at the silk as a fine object. Ed isn't a "certain kind of person," to Stede, he's just Ed. His worthiness to have comfort and beauty in his life is so obvious to Stede, it doesn't even need stating.

The stories Ed's built his worldview on might, in fact, be wrong. And that doesn't have to be something that inspires despair. It can mean hope. It can mean he's free to just be himself, and tell all his stories at the same time without worrying what anyone thinks of him or where he came from.

It can mean being seen, and being loved.

[waitmyturtles]

As I did last week, I have more constructive criticism for Jack & Joker, so, trigger warning again, please fly away if you can't deal with objective criticism of your faves.

What frustrates me about the construction of this show is that it's tripping on its own feet. And I shouldn't use the indefinite article; I should call out director Tee Bundit directly, because we saw him do this in spades in Step By Step. Tee did everything he could to avoid building a real narrative romance between the SBS leads, and the emotional beats that succeeded their late-series intimate breakthrough were not syncopated properly to match the development of a convincing relationship.

The incomplete beats at hand here are not as bad as they were in SBS. What's keeping me going on in Jack & Joker is that, at least, we are getting separate emotional development trajectories for Jack and Joke -- and a nice, hearty head-smack from Ah Mah at the end of the episode, towards Jack and his inclination to shut down and keep his shit internal. Ah Mah is trying to get Jack to know how to act as family, and she did the same with Joke's father earlier in the episode.

Like I said last week, I think this show has some really wonderful family-related thematic gems like the ones I just mentioned for this week's episode. Yin and War are acting these themes out with heart. Jack's in a really tough spot. The robber clowns will get together again next week to try to get him out of his tough spot.

And I know many of us are upset with Joke's dad, as I am, too, he's a real piece of shit, but his scenes with Joke struck me as very real to the experience of an insanely strict Asian dad. I've written about this too many times to count, but the ability of an Asian parent to cut their kids off like that is a concept that majority Western culture hasn't contemplated, except in instances of religion, sexism, bigotry, etc., but anyway -- that kind of cut-off doesn't exist as part of the everyday Western mentality about parenting, whereas in Asian parenting styles, to reject the patriarchal hierarchy could mean permanent separation, as Joke's dad has enacted to Joke. The fact that the motherfucker reconsidered AFTER EATING JOKE'S FOOD struck me as deeply sexist ("the way to a man's" blah blah, UGH), so I'm glad Ah Mah told that bitch off, but I did think those scenes were done well and realistically.

Anyway, where this series is absolutely lagging is in the EDITING. All these rich people games. I think there are many more concise narrative ways that we can be told that the rich play with the lives of the poor, than to give us bloated scene after bloated scene of literal gaming. Forget metaphors! Just give us some well-written, snappy dialogue about how these rich people are total assholes! We'll believe it!

And at the same time, I'm feeling bad for Rose, honestly. She likes Jack! She has no idea her crush on him is caught up in this Boss bullshit. She's gonna be hurt! And they're gonna rob her house now? I mean, I think what Tee is saying (I think?!?!?!) is that what comes to her, she deserves, because she's as scummy as the rest of the other scummy rich people (Ajahn Pichai, was that you?!). But like, this is her dad's shit?! So she gets automatically blamed because she's a nepo baby? I mean, I guess, if you're a reader of New York Magazine, that's reasonable thinking, but like, some of us are moral thinkers here!

This shit is complicated, and for an episode that was ONE HOUR. AND. 21. MINUTES. LONG., we could have a shorter AND clearer episode that could have scrubbed at the grout of these otherwise very interesting moral quandaries. But instead, we got video games from some dusty-ass rich boy who needs a goddamn bath.

I know, I know we haven't gotten the intimacy payoffs for any of the implied couples yet, and maybe this is part of YinWar's intention in having so much control over their script. But I did wonder if I was watching a Series Y/BL, or if I was watching a dramedy instead. I don't really care what genre it's in. But what I would like is for the themes to be crystal-clearly focused so that us, the viewers, can lean into what the cast and showmakers WANT us to care about -- which, thematically, I'm unclear on at this moment.

[dkmbookworm]

Fizz Character Analysis (Spoiler Warning)

So when I was watching the newest episode of Helluva Boss, I will admit that I was slightly confused by Fizz’s explanation for why he felt he couldn’t quit working for Mammon. After all we saw that Asmodeus was trying to get him to quit working for him already and had spoken of how much he despised the man. So why does Fizz think that Ozzie will leave him or he’ll lose everything if he quits

However, when you look at the circumstances of Fizz’s life leading up to know and the influences he has around them, this actually does make a lot of sense for his character.

Chronologically speaking, we can see that at the beginning of his life in childhood, Fizz was already a child star in the circus, and was well loved and admired for his talents. He completely outperforms and overshadows Blitzo, and garners the attention of his father, Cash Buckzo. It’s been a running joke that Cash far prefers Fizz as a son because he is better than him and rakes in a lot more of a profit. But, we can understand this isn’t real affection, Cash assigns worth to being a good performer and being able to provide something to someone else in order to be loved. Fizz is overworked and under a lot of pressure in this kind of environment

This pops up again, when we see Fizz as a teenager. The pressure of being perfect is starting to get to him and he struggles to establish firm boundaries with others as we see with that rabid fan. Blitzo was the one who had to step in when he got aggressive, and even though everything that fan said was bullshit, his words still deeply affected Fizz.

Jumping forward again in the timeline, we see that Fizz has been picked up my Mammon as a performer. And again, all boundaries are gone as he makes robotic versions of Fizz to be sold all over hell for all manner of uses, and most commonly in the form of sex dolls. This very obviously makes Fizz incredibly uncomfortable but because he feels he owes his success to Mammon it is harder to turn him down without the backup that Blitzo provided to him when they were young.

And based on his treatment in the present day, Mammon Regularly

Scrutinizes his weight and appearance

Touches and manhandles him

Puts him through dangerous stunts

Forces him to talk to crowds of people when he’s already tired or stressed

Makes him deal with sexual harassment

Putting him into costumes that feel restrictive

And most likely he was already dealing with this kind of thing long before he even met Asmodeus and began to date him. The mindset he grew up with in childhood is being reinforced in this time frame. He is worthless if he isn’t performing, he always has to be striving to be better, he needs Mammon.

Another factor to keep in mind, is that while we don’t know this exactly, fizz has just come out of being severely disabled and traumatized by what happened in the fire with him losing his limbs and horns. And with the theory that Mammon was the one who initially provided him with his new robotic attachments, he would have to be feeling a lot of gratitude towards him for this. His image of himself coming out of this is fragile with this new version of his body to come to turns with, on top of losing his best friend. Making him extremely vulnerable and easy to take advantage of.

Then jumping forward again, we see that fizz has started a relationship with Asmodeus, one of the deadly sins, ranked only under Lucifer and his family. Both of them care very deeply for each other and have established very strong mutual trust and boundaries. Albeit, they do have to keep this secret (even tho they are very bad at doing this). Ozzie is protective of Fizz’s safety considering he is ranked much lower than him in hell’s hierarchy and that much more vulnerable to being hurt. This is one of the first positive relationships that fizz has been able to enjoy in a long time, and you can see that Ozzie has sort of filled the hole that blitz left (no pun intended). He acts as that barrier/voice that keeps him from people who cross his boundaries.

And while we can see that Ozzie is an amazing, loving partner to him, this isn’t going to fix the years upon years of problems he’s faced. His childhood, teen years, and a portion of his adulthood have been in the spotlight with managers exploiting him for profit. It is all he knows and they’re going to make sure he can’t leave.

Think about how Mammon knew that Fizz and Ozzie were an item. Think of how he would be talking to him in private telling him that Ozzie could leave him at any point because he’s just some imp. That without his fame and talents that he is nothing. The bottom of hell’s hierarchy.

One of the strongest elements to Helluva Boss’s storytelling is the way they lay out hints and background details that allow audiences to put together the story without it having to be exactly spelled out to us. And I think that is what they have done here, even if the pacing of the show can be a bit off at times. When we go back and rewatch the episodes that feature fizz we can see begin to see how he got to this point in his life and what it took for him to break out of it.

[astronomalyy]

Mouthwashing notes/analysis: Chapter 3 (Part 1)

As with Jimmy, there's nothing immediately 'off' about Curly, but he's already been cast as a would-be-murderer. The player enters this chapter with these expectations, ready to scrutinise his every decision with a rigour Jimmy was largely exempt from. Curly's absent motive and relative amiability become part of the mystery.

Curly's dialogue is written in white. It's the default option against a black background. His crewmates have unique text colours, but he shares his with internal narration, item descriptions and Pony Express' own announcements. He's struggling with his own identity and the realisation the company is slowly swallowing his life.

Anya isn't a confrontational person. Jimmy's comments are a form of sexual harassment, but she's reluctant to state this directly to his friend. Anya speaks carefully — by framing this as a mildly irritating joke, she can bring it up without risking Curly shutting her down. She's testing the waters.

Curly picks up on none of this implication. He sees Jimmy as a friend first and a coworker second. He's too distracted by the joke itself to remember what the context was — if Jimmy had told it to him, he would have found it hilarious.

Curly assumes responsibility for Jimmy's behaviour. He's vaguely aware his friend is crossing a line, but trusts in his own ability to mediate the situation. Jimmy would never 'try any bullshit' with him.

Anya immediately relaxes once the conversation shifts away from Jimmy. Both he and Daisuke are giving questionable answers, but she seems genuinely amused by the latter. It's not so much that Jimmy's impeding her work, it's that he's going out of his way to make her uncomfortable.

In contrast to his friend, Curly is decidedly normal about cartoon horses. It calls the first chapter's imagery into question.

The pieces correspond to his crewmates' text colours — Curly isn't playing. This hints at both his isolation and his future role in the story. He won't have the chance to participate much longer.

The game itself is a variant of Pachisi. Players move their tokens towards the centre, known as 'home'. This board updates between chapters as the game progresses.

In full shipping company tradition, Pony Express prohibits accessing bathrooms and sleeping quarters during work hours. 'Do not indulge in more than five hours of rest'. They have no way of physically enforcing this, but Curly has already internalised it. He'd rather pilot the ship sleep-deprived than break with company policy.

In contrast to the lounge and the medical room, the ship's corridors resemble the inside of a submarine: cold, mechanical and inhospitable, all exposed pipes and scuffed metal staircases. The Tulpar theoretically supports human life, but it was never Pony Express' first priority.

Curly implies he could have intervened in this decision, but was unwilling to go against the higher-ups. It isn't his fault, but the crew still have to deal with the consequences.

Despite his outward hostility, Swansea hasn't abandoned his intern. He's gone so far as to set him homework.

Swansea is old enough to be Daisuke's father, and refuses to acknowledge him as a fellow adult. Daisuke's parents pressured him into the internship in the hopes that he'd mature, but he's trapped at the bottom of the hierarchy with no hopes of advancing.

Both he and his mentor are exploited by this arrangement. Daisuke has been thrown into a dangerous field with no provision for his basic safety. Swansea, meanwhile, has been tasked with the unpaid labour of training an unqualified apprentice.

'Fixing' the vent is Daisuke's only unique skill. He's desperate to contribute something.

The code scanner isn't just a tool — it's symbolic of the manufactured divide between captain and crew. Pony Express quite literally locks up the cutlery while allowing Curly unfettered access to a minigun. No matter how hard Curly tries to combat these authoritarian policies, he's working within a system designed to atomise its workers.

We never see the full extent of Daisuke's later injuries — the inside of the vent is left to Jimmy's imagination. It's worth noting he overhears this conversation.

This unintentionally threatening line is initially played for comedy. It's a lot less funny on a second playthrough.

Instead of questioning his friend's behaviour, Curly converts it into an inside joke. He hears Anya's concerns, but fails to listen.

Jimmy immediately shuts him down. It was never a genuine attempt at humour.

[strigimorphaes]

OTHER THINGS we can talk about for matjemads. Fanfic goggles FULLY on, we're talking fictional characters.

Mads has been asked in an interview if matje made him question his sexuality, to which is answer was no. BUT. that could just mean the thought has been planted

both are Cars Men.

both are Mud Men.

both have a Jasper.

Jokes aside

Mads as self-proclaimed, taking-it-seriously capital-L Leader of his team who is very aware of hierarchies and relations and debts incurred vs. Mathieu, who seems like he might have a less involved / less "leaderly" role for lack of a better work.

Mads strikes me as more money focused and treating cycling as a job in ways Mathieu doesn't - he talks more openly about wanting to retire, saving up for it etc compared to Mathieu. Compare with Mathieu, who hasn't known other options or plans, who's from a family who does this stuff, who might not know what else he could be,

Both of them like luxury and are aware of how they sell themselves as an image and a public person, but I kind of see Mathieu as five steps further down that road - he bases more of his identity on luxury brands and fancy vacations and sands himself down more, maybe without noticing.

Both care about looks - Mads is the kind of person according to himself who gets bothered if the saddle and handlebar wraps are not matching, who cares about if the bike bags are right, if the jersey is a good fit and design etc. No opposition here, I just think that gives them an area to admire each other. They both get hard for coolness.

Basically Mathieu represses more than Mads, not even conciously, just... not thinking about some of the things that are complicated. And Mads can compare the teenager with the adult and has a keen bullshit censor and maybe some small part of Mathieu wants Mads to provoke him and pull all the ugly and the doubts out of him.

[meruemhq]

Someday, Somewhere, Somehow, You'll Love Again. [Chapter 2]

Master List

The situation just got a shit-ton worse.

Megumi couldn’t stop the sharp edge of panic from creeping into his chest as he stared at your form in the cage. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Tonight was supposed to be a quick job—get in, torch the place, and get out. No complications, no witnesses. Yet here they were, with the unmistakable scent of distressed Omega pheromones thick in the air, a caged Hybrid lying in front of them, and time slipping away with every passing second.

He didn’t even know how to begin processing what he was seeing. Hybrid Omegas weren’t just rare—they were cherished, protected, practically sacred in their world. The hierarchy of their society didn’t afford much grace to Omegas like him or Yuuji, but Hybrid Omegas? They were treated as something entirely different. While Prime Alphas were rare—1 in 1,000—Hybrid Omegas were even scarcer, appearing at a statistical rate of 1 in 10,000.

They didn’t just obey instincts—they were instinct. Their animal traits weren’t just for show; they came with a profound connection to the primal rhythms of nature. And here you were, curled up like a wounded animal, with your spotted bunny ears pressed flat against your head, your mahogany skin glistening faintly under the harsh light.

Why would a Hybrid be bound, sedated and clearly abandoned in a place like this? What bullshit had Yuuji gotten them into now?

“Megumi,” Yuuji said, crouching beside him, his voice breaking through the haze of panic. “Breathe. You’re freaking out.”

Megumi’s hands trembled as they gripped the lock cutter. “She’s a Hybrid. Do you have any idea what kind of heat this is going to bring down on us? On Gojo and the organization?”

Yuuji placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Focus. We need to get her out of here first. Worry about the rest later. We can’t just leave her like this.”

The calm in Yuuji’s voice steadied Megumi enough to get to work. Things like this were always easier for Yuuji to handle—to digest. Toji had joked that Megumi wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle, and Gojo had defended him. But what if his deadbeat father was right? What if Megumi was just playing a game he was bound to lose? But Yuuji was right—all that would have to wait. They needed to get you out of here.

Together, they freed you from the cage, undoing the ropes that cut into your wrists and ankles. You were dressed in a dirty white sleeveless dress that looked more like rags. You stirred faintly but didn’t wake, your dark curls brushing against Yuuji’s hoodie as he draped it over your shoulders. Your scent, thick with fear, tugged at Megumi’s protective instincts, even as it made his stomach churn with unease.

“We need to make it look like she didn’t make it,” Megumi muttered, his thoughts racing. “Cut her hair and clothes, leave some DNA. If we don’t leave a trace, they’ll know that she got out.”

Yuuji hesitated but nodded, his face set in grim determination. “Fine. But we’re not shaving her bald. Just enough to leave behind.”

They worked quickly. Yuuji used a pocket knife to cut the rags that covered you. He had to wrestle to get it off your arms and through the hoodie’s sleeves, but he managed. He then trimmed a chunk of your curls, leaving enough to survive the fire. Your dark brown strands fell to the floor, blending into the dirt and debris. It was a terrible haircut, but they were working with what little time they had.

“Done,” Yuuji said softly. He lifted you into his arms as though you weighed nothing. “I’ll get her to the van. You finish up here.”

Megumi nodded, grabbing the gas can and pouring its contents over every surface in the back cage. The sharp, acrid smell made his eyes and nose sting, but he didn’t stop until the entire room reeked of fuel. When he was satisfied, he went back up to the floor opening in the shipping container and lit a match, watching the tiny flame flicker in the dim light before tossing it down the stairs. The fire roared to life instantly, devouring the remnants of the facility as he turned and ran for the van.

In the van, you lay across Megumi’s lap, your body still and fragile beneath Yuuji’s oversized hoodie. Your head lolled to the side, ears twitching faintly in response to the rumble of the engine. Megumi placed a hand on your forehead, noting the feverish heat of your skin.

“She’s burning up,” he muttered.

Yuuji glanced at you from the driver’s seat. “She might be in shock. Or it could be her Hybrid physiology. I don’t know, man. They don’t exactly teach us this stuff.”

Their world was ruled by instinct, but it wasn’t without structure. Prime Alphas like Gojo Gojosat at the top of the hierarchy, their overwhelming presence and pheromones impossible to ignore. Alphas followed, then Betas, with Omegas like Megumi and Yuuji at the bottom. Hybrid Omegas, though technically beneath even standard Omegas, were treated like delicate treasures—rare, beautiful, and utterly dependent on the goodwill of those around them.

The idea that someone could cage and mistreat you was unthinkable. But then, Megumi thought bitterly, their world wasn’t exactly kind to anyone who fell outside the lines of power.

“What the hell was she doing there?” Yuuji asked, breaking the silence.

Megumi shook his head. “I don’t know. Could be trafficking. The Zen’ins and other organizations like them make money off selling bodies.”

The Zen’ins were a topic Megumi liked to avoid. He would have been sold to them if it weren’t for Gojo.

Yuuji gritted his teeth. “But she’s a Hybrid. That’s... it’s sick.”

“Yeah. But some people don’t care. To them, she’s just another commodity.”

“That’s illegal.”

Megumi shot him a look. “We’re not exactly saints either.”

“Yeah, but we’re not monsters. Weed doesn’t hurt anyone—not like this.”

Their conversation was cut short when you stirred, a soft whimper escaping your lips. Megumi froze, his heart lurching in his chest.

“She’s waking up,” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open, wide and unfocused, before you began to thrash weakly, your body trembling with panic. The distressed whine of your pheromones spiked, filling the van and sending Megumi’s instincts into overdrive.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said, his voice soft and soothing. He reached out, gripping your legs and holding them still. “You’re safe. It’s okay.”

But you didn’t stop, your foot kicking out and catching Yuuji on the shoulder. The van swerved violently, and Yuuji cursed as he fought to steady the wheel.

“Hold her!” Yuuji shouted.

Megumi pulled you closer, cradling you against his chest. His mind raced, searching for a solution. Whenever he panicked, Gojo would hold him by the neck, pressing his scent gland to Megumi’s face until the world felt manageable again.

It was worth a shot.

Megumi tilted his head, pressing your nose to his scent gland, pumping calming pheromones that he hoped would work on you. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and calming. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

The effect was almost immediate. Your body went slack against his, your breathing slowing.

“She’s responding to you,” Yuuji said, his voice tinged with relief. “That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Megumi replied, his own relief tempered by the lingering tension in his chest. He grabbed a water bottle from the center console and pressed it to your lips. “Here. Drink.”

Even in your half-awake state, you drank greedily, and he had to pull it away to keep you from choking. “Easy,” he said softly. You whined at the empty bottle. “I’ll get you more.”

You whined again but eventually relaxed, your head resting against his shoulder as your eyes drifted shut.

By the time they reached the house, dawn was breaking over the horizon. The faint light did nothing to ease the weight in Megumi’s chest as they carried you inside, working quickly to start a bath and gather food from the kitchen for you.

As Megumi guided you to the prepared bath, you wasted no time in removing Yuuji’s hoodie. Megumi wanted to give you the decency of looking away, but the short time you were shirtless before him revealed scars that stood starkly against your mahogany skin—a testament to whatever hell you’d endured.

You were too thin for a bunny Hybrid, your ribs visible beneath your delicate frame. Megumi also found it suspicious how comfortable you were stripping in front of him.

Yes, Omegas were more comfortable with each other and often sought solace in one another over Alphas. But that was only under certain circumstances—close companionship or shared unmated status. You were unmated, as evident by the lack of claim marks on your neck, but Megumi was a stranger to you. There was no need to be so open.

Yet, when he looked closer, your body language told a different story. Your gaze stayed fixed on the ground, your hands balled stiffly at your sides. You were afraid and trying to hide it.

Megumi pushed Yuuji—who had returned with fruit bread and water and was openly staring at your ears and tail—out of the bathroom to give you space. He only returned when you shyly peeked your head out from the bathroom door.

Dressed now, you clung to Yuuji’s hoodie. Megumi added his boxers to your makeshift outfit so you wouldn’t be completely bare.

He sat you down to trim your hair evenly. You remained silent but leaned into his touch, purring absentmindedly—a good, healthy sound for an Omega. It was much different from the distressed whines you’d made earlier. Megumi found his own purr echoing yours.

“She likes touch,” Yuuji murmured as he ran a hand gently over your legs, his touch soft and careful. He sat on the floor near you, eyes low with sleep.

You had started dozing off as well, your head leaning back on Megumi’s shoulder. Your freshly washed, even hair allowed him to get a good look at your face.

Megumi picked you up—not as easily as Yuuji—and guided you to his bed. Once your head hit the pillow, you curled up instinctively, your ears twitching faintly. You yawned but didn’t speak. Yuuji coaxed you into eating some of the fruit and bread he had brought.

“She’s still burning up,” Yuuji muttered, his palm resting on your forehead.

Megumi’s mind raced with questions. What kind of medicine could you take? How different was your physiology from his or Yuuji’s?

Yuuji joined you in bed, curling up on one side of you. Megumi positioned himself on the other side, hoping the arrangement would make you feel safe rather than trapped.

There was so much to do. As you drifted off, Megumi scrolled through his phone, reading news articles, academic papers, and subreddits, trying to find any information he could about Hybrid Omegas—about you.

The door slammed open, jolting Megumi awake. He hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep. The sun was much higher in the sky.

“Megumi!”

Satoru’s voice was as loud and cheerful as ever. Megumi had forgotten Gojo’s obsession with scaring him awake. And, as always, he never knew how to read a room.

He threw himself onto the bed without hesitation, startling Yuuji and you awake.

You immediately began to cry out, the room filled with the sounds and scent of your panic. Yuuji, being closest to you, pulled you into his lap, sleepily cooing soft, calming words to you.

Satoru, for once, went silent. His usually bright eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as his gaze locked on you.

“Why,” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous, “is there a bunny in your bed?”

[weepingpussywillowtree]

I think some ppl (autistic and not) are confused by why/how not understanding hierarchy and subtle cues impacts workplace performance or makes employment difficult. So going to list some times I got in trouble for those traits at my various positions, from retail to internships to now. I had a contracting position for about a year where I was shielded from this bullshit by a frankly amazing boss, but the reality is work is political and it's difficult for many autistic people.

- in grocery store job, was told to load bags as heavy as my Grandma could carry them. Took this literally and got in trouble for loading my bags too heavy (strong grandma).

- Did not understand store politics and was scheduled fewer hours for not gossiping with and sucking up to management.

- as an intern, was shunned after I explained to a group of devs (who were much more experienced than me but had almost no experience with the software we were working with) that the feature they were talking about building from scratch came out of the box

- same internship, did not understand that they expected *me* to implement a solution we talked in hypothetical terms about in a meeting. Got in trouble the subsequent week when I hadnt done it

- there was an unspoken agreement amongst the interns to not really do any work to keep expectations low. I did not pick up on this and was bullied by the other interns for it.

- first job after college, was bullied by coworker one level above me for doing my job well (she felt threatened)

- first job, was told in annual performance review that I performed too high level for my title and that I should stop. Also got told I ask too many questions. (Questioning any process is seen as hostile, even if it's for the benefit of the company or team)

- first job, found a release stopping bug when asked to test a page, was ignored when I brought it up and brushed off by seniors. Later, the bug did in fact shut down the release.

- current job, recent new manager on another team asked me two questions in about a week. The first I scheduled a call to help him with at his request and looped in another team member that I knew had more subject matter expertise. Second question I didn't know the answer to and didn't know who did so I directed him to our team channel. My thought was this familiarizes him with our team and the different subject matters we are experts in. Next week he makes a "joking" comment in a meeting with a bunch of people and my boss that I must not like him because I keep brushing him off. I realize too late that since he is at the same level as my boss he expected me to hunt down the answers he wanted with no background provided or info about who our team members are and what they do (hierarchy)

- current job, interviewing for a senior and they became upset in interviews when I knew more about something than they did or corrected them about something.

- all jobs, noticing coworkers treat me less warmly because I don't do small talk well.

- all jobs, feeling like it's an injustice and unfair that higher up people are more listened to and sucked up to than anyone else at the company.

- all jobs, not understanding that you are supposed to lie about how busy you are

- all jobs, being told I speak out of turn for responding when asked for an opinion in a group meeting, as only those in the meeting "allowed" to respond to those opinion questions are supposed to.

[misterbitches]

joke knew from the beginning what he had and other people didn’t. me personally i’d keep my contacts with the pawn dealers because those aren’t the real enemies tho they’re acting like the petty managerial class i guess. fun (not) fact poor ppl have their shit pawned the most so i’ll allow it.

the show is very literal and there’s that fantastical element. obviously a single ring doesn’t give you power. i think the ring thing was to symbolize shifting money around? not sure and you know i kinda tune out when it comes to that plus it’s ugly but more people can explain the tightrope between the exaggerated and melodramatic and the realism whatever.

anyway his nice house, his dad’s nice job, his education, their cars. even the option to go to jail is so funny bc he could have just. not. gotten a lawyer. whatever. instead he spent his time being dyslexic and wanting to expropriate from the real thieves which are bosses and traitors (capitalism). i wish i knew more about thai movements to be able to tie it into a broader point but i know enough about what capitalism does. imagine this: there is no work in your home town so you must go elsewhere to do manual labor, leaving your family behind. that’s what extraction does but not purely internal—though “never colonized”, to say thailand has been untouched by western power would be silly and untrue by fact of being where they were. and obviously imperialism and monarchy and honestly what seems to be actually semicolonialism which seems a ridiculous marker but alright. the point is the british the french and eventually america all had their grubby little hands there and the monarchy supported it tho the monarchy is not their main enemy today—it is the military (imperialism lmao). (which now that i think about the parallels i guess the show is trying to say that which obviously with the bird flying close to the sun…to which i say no but it tried at least. that system doesn’t function the way the military does…get rid of hierarchy…)

this is the nature of exploitation. toi ting is dark, her dad is dark and an alcoholic; jenny is trans—none of these are central to who they are in the story but a part of them. Why would more poor people skew this way; what system of domination necessitates the darker and “deviant” seen as unproductive and unable to assimilate? what influences and exacerbates these ideas?

and even them talking about english. surprisingly jack knows and joke doesn’t. was joke a poor student or did he just not feel like trying? (obviously he struggles w school but my pt is…he also could not put in effort bc he struggles and is young and has money and will be fine) why was jack such a good student? just asking myself stuff like that.

I fundamentally clash with the idea that we owe anything to these evil people i really do. You see people trying to survive and struggling and grappling with their morality and these sick fucks STILL wont let go. They expect us to just lay down and die? To not fight? And that we are the same as them? Once we get free that we’ll do what they do? And this is where jack is wrong and where joke’s self loathing could be so transformed but i don’t know if the show can see that bc that is not the world we live in and the art that is accepted unless we make it so and usually thats thru other channels.

Just once i’d like us to be able to see that actually yes shit like this, who joke is, is righteous, moral, and good. it’s everyone else that has to understand that! he shouldn’t have to change, the world should and do something along with him about it! Like those angry townspeople are! even the way rosé placated them with bullshit indicates an INABILITY to get out of it without forcing them. They could simply solve the problem and they won’t. So we will make them. That’s it! And all labor fighters everywhere have turned violent and resistance and human flourishing go hand in hand. the need for that resistance, what binds us, that all comes from our labor, our work, being exploited and that’s what the contradiction cannot abide by

and if Jack is out for revenge are we going to acknowledge revenge as a motivator for freedom? morality of oppressors is not real morality. the morality of the resistance is one; it’s complex, dark, and nasty but also full of anger and with that love. it wrestles with the tradeoffs and discomfort but it tries to correct course. the difference between these two groups could not be wider so why pretend like the intent, method, and outcome are the same? What the fuck does it mean to come by anything honestly? joke is to me very deeply not wrong and for as long as we have it it’s refreshing to see a character who needs to do something that is integral to his way of life. that is an alienating dangerous thing

so that’s my real issue with the show: so much of joke growing is about leaving liberation in the past and growing up as if it’s a fantasy. like he was ever not putting himself in danger. but what’s interesting is how unsure i am that they are going to to reject the premise of violence and crime necessary to resistance/liberation entirely. It’s SO WEIRD bc it’s like ok is this jack’s rollercoaster? I hope so? Or am i so stung by the norm that i see this pattern and it isnt coming out? Maksksjuurhrhhebebwjqoeofidgeheb

[mintaikkcorpse]

Honestly, I don't think Blitzø's main fear about him and Stolas is him being rejected (even if that is some of it). I think it's a mixture of both being rejected but also being used by Stolas.

In Ozzie's, Ozzie tells Stolas, "You sold your life for a thrust," which is where Stolas hides his face, and Blitzø looks really hurt. It doesn't feel like an "Oh he rejected me" thing, but more of a, "Rich person got caught with something that he's not supposed to have," "He's going to leave me the first moment he gets," and " that's just proof I was a plaything to him" thing.

Oh yeah, that. Stolas calling Blitzø his, "Impish Little Plaything" in truthseekers. Probably added more confirmation of that for Blitzø.

And then in Oops, Blitzø goes on a little rant about how Stolas 'pretends' to care about him by doing all these these little things like asking about how his day was and commenting on his photos and laughing at his jokes (fr that quote got me at 'laughing at his jokes' bcuz ain't no way someone can laugh at their fake crushes jokes). Fizzarolli is all sarcastic and saying that it's proof that it's all bullshit, and Blitzø just agrees, saying that he's just a rich privileged asshole.

Honestly, it makes sense for Blitzø to feel that way. These two come from WILDLY different worlds. Like, to help understand, imagine you're just trying to survive for scraps (like everyone is in this gen), and a rich deity comes down and starts crushing on you. It'd be pretty weird to think, right? Or very hard to believe that it can be real. And we combine that with all of Blitzø's self-loathing, which makes it a whole mess of denial and all of that.

Back on track! He mentions how royal demons don't care about lower demons like them, and I think that's what shows his true feelings. Stolas is very much near the top of the hierarchy, while imps are just barely above hellhounds, who are treated as literal dogs, despite being sentient. What's stopping Stolas from being like the rest of Hell's nobility and just viewing Blitzø as an object?

(Also, while I know it's an ongoing gag that the Goetia's imp servant gets bullied by Stella and Stolas, and even though Stella literally threw him across the room, Stolas is no saint either. Remember when he was squeezing the poor thing while screaming at Stella? Yeah, that was an issue.

[pinksomovember]

Day 7 - Peeing During Sex [ao3]

Jackson arched back, drooly tongue hanging from his mouth ever since Hunter had fucked it out of him forever and a half ago.

Hunter panted out a laugh, hot air hitting Jackson’s left ear in gusts, from where he was curled tight over Jackson’s back. With a sudden, vicious motion he bit into the meat of Jackson’s shoulder—hard enough to draw blood.

Jackson howled like the stupid, fucked-out mutt he was. A pathetic slurry of ah, and ow, and yes, please, more.

They’d been at it for hours or what felt like it. That’s what the almost-full moon did to wolves. Hunter more so than Jackson, being a proper full-blooded wolf born of two wolves and conceived in the light of the moon. Like he was trying to knock up Jackson, Hunter might joke, if his teeth weren’t locked into Jackson’s skin tighter than any ring could ever fit.

Jackson was all wolf, sure enough, but his mama had been born to two wolves that had been turned and his dad was still human as far as he knew. It made only a bit of difference, outside of hierarchy and dumb shit like it. A stronger set of ears, a heightened sense of smell, a looser grasp on the bonds of humanity. Things that were barely measurable but undoubtedly still there.

“I got you howling like it’s already tomorrow night, Jacks?” Hunter released his bite to say. His sharp-tipped teeth scraped against the bleeding marks, the rough stubble of his chin rubbing the wounds raw.

“Fuu…gonna cum,” Jackson groaned. His hands clawed into the shitty carpet, his spine protested the steep tilt, his knees grinding bone-on-bone-on-carpet-covered-cement as they bore the majority of his and Hunter’s combined weight as Jackson tried getting just that little bit closer.

“Again?” Hunter mocked, but it was raspy and way too smug to hold true.

Jackson shook with the force of it. Then didn’t really stop shaking.

They’d been at this…for a while. It’d been light out then, at least. Hunter’d showed up at Jackson’s shitty rental. He’d ran there, the maniac, clear across town in this humidity. It was dark now, anyways, with only the light over the sink the room over and the almost-full moon through the dusty window to see with. And they’d gotten going just about as soon as Hunter’d walked through Jackson’s front door drenched in sweat and smelling good enough to lick and lick and lick.

Hunter’s hand dragged down Jackson’s flank as he unfused his front from his back. Even that simple touch had Jackson’s abs jumping.

“Gotta see you,” Hunter mumbled.

He pulled out of Jackson’s sore ass—alone enough to make Jackson’s breath punch out of his lungs—and gripped him by the hips. He flipped him on his back like it was easy, like Jackson didn’t near outweigh him, folding over him again like he couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

His dick bumped back up near Jackson’s ass. THe pull at his rim, even glancing as it was, made him shiver and shy as far back as the ratty carpet would let him.

Hunter snuffled near the place his teeth had indented themselves. He could only reach the highest arch of it from this new angle. He gnawed at the new skin revealed to him, undeterred.

“Hunt,” Jackson said. His voice was breathy. He felt like a livewire.

“God,” Hunter groaned, and snapped his hips forward. The two of them had practiced so long there was no way he didn’t sink back into Jackson’s body smooth as melted butter.

“Fuck!” Jackson yelped, scrambling at Hunter’s back for something to hold onto.

Hunter fucked into him in small, helpless little thrusts. Each one hurt—hurt just as much as it felt white-out good.

“You're not gonna wimp out on me, Jacks, are you? When I’m just getting started?”

Just getting started was a load of bullshit. Hunter had come just as much as he had. Jackson had sucked him off so good he’d nearly knotted his mouth, even, not to mention how Hunter had locked neatly into Jackson’s ass and spent damn near half an hour grinding there and milked Jackson’s naked knot in a torturously careful fist.

But Hunter had at least one more good round in him and Jackson, unequivocally, did not.

“T-too much,” Jackson said. He made no move to push Hunter off, though he probably could. Even with his legs shuddering tight around Hunter’s waist like that’d do anything to slow him down.

Hunter groaned into Jackson’s collarbone. His hips circled and pressed deep.

Jackson hiccuped on a gasp.

“All you gotta do is hang on for the ride. You think you can do that, for me?” Hunter asked. He was at least partially genuine, but he was shifting against him like he couldn’t help it. “You’re a big bad wolf, you can take it.”

There was a hint of puppy plea there. Just enough that Jackson couldn’t help but gasp, “Yes.”

Hunter slammed into him.

“Fuck, God, thank you-”

Jackson flailed and squirmed and twisted like he’d been electrocuted. He couldn’t do anything about it, either, just whine high pitched as a kicked dog and take it like a good little bitch.

He couldn’t feel his toes, or the tips of his fingers. They were staticing out of his awareness.

He couldn’t control himself. If Hunter wasn’t pinning him beneath his full weight and then some—wrestling into place—Jackson’d be halfway across the room. The only thing in his mind was a senseless jumble he was drooling and moaning outloud, too fucked stupid to keep it in his head.

“Ow, ow, ow- ah! T’ much…s’ too…c’mon, c’mon, please-fuuu…ah! No- no- I gotta-”

Jackson put a bit more force into his next flailing escape attempt. Hunter grunted and shoved him back down hard. 

“No!” Jackson whimpered, seizing. “No, I’m gonna-”

He couldn’t have stopped it if he tried, and he fought to do just that.

Piss spurted out of his dick like a leaky faucet. It was just a fit and a jerk, at first, his bodily functions failing to comply with so much overstimulation, then Hunter caught the scent.

He reared back, nostrils flaring, pupils dilating until black overtook the whole chocolatey iris.

Now that it started it wasn’t stopping. Despite the sudden halt in the assault of sensations, Jackson’s muscles still fluttered and jumped. His dick leaked across his stomach, soaking into his shag of hair.

Spit dripped down to splatter and join it. Hunter sucked noisily at his teeth, a low, deep keen rumbling from his teeth, and he absolutely battered into Jackson.

The force of the thrust made for a spray of piss. Hunter fucked into him again, just as hard and fast, and it sprayed again.

Fuck, the pheromones, Jackson thought through the shame and hurt and Jesus fuck it felt so good. He could smell them, too, but Hunter could smell them more and to Jackson it was little more than the satisfaction of a thorough mark left in his territory. Though, when he’d properly think about it later, it did something for him that the territory was Hunter.

For Hunter, it must’ve meant something else. His mate being made to feel so good he couldn’t help it, his mate drenching the pair of them so good no wolf could deny what they were to each other, his mate wordlessly saying mine-mine-mine.

The back of Jackson’s head ground into the carpet as he tensed like a bowstring. He didn’t feel relieved at all, like one might when emptying a full bladder. He was back to: “Too much! So good! Stop, stop…don’t stop! Plea-ease!”

Piss slicked between their bodies. Something swelled and tugged at the ring of muscle of Jackson’s ass.

“Hunt, God, fuck!” Jackson wailed as Hunter bullied his knot in tight.

Although nominally through, Jackson didn’t stop leaking until his bladder ran all the way dry. And then some, a few minutes later, when more dribbled out to join the soggy puddle the carpet was doing a shit job of absorbing.

Hunter held him through it, rumbling and groaning and half a step away from human.