#THE ABUSE… IT GOES ROUND AND ROUND……..

[extremely-judgemental]

Warning: Mild tangent.

I strongly believe it won't even be a debate whether Nesta was 'imprisoned' in HoW if the readers had any proper spatial sense.

I am an Indian raised as a Hindu in my home country. We find a hill/mountain in our lands, we carve a temple on it. At the highest peaks. The strenuous journey is a form of purging and meditation and a sign of sincerity of your prayers and devotion, well anyway that doesn't matter here.

We actually have a real temple atop a mountain with 10 000 steps. It's called Dattatreya situated at ~3 300 ft and you can find more details here on the journey itself and how much prep goes into for ONE trip. You cannot complete this journey in one day and it is not advisable as such. The path itself is split into two so the visitors could rest and replenish. Moreover the photos you might find are the structures built as part of more recent renovations to some degree in order to ease these climbs.

The most common misbelief is that since the steps are built in, it must be easier than hiking or rock climbing, two activities that have become widely popular in the western world, when it isn't a right comparison.

The temple I recently visited had roughly 600 steps at an altitude of 350 m. This number is for the modern stairway that is similar to those in your common residential buildings. But the older ones must round up to much smaller count and they are coarser, jagged with sharp, rough edges. Imagine 2-3 steps collapsed together under high pressure and that's how high each one would be.

(I don't have my photos of those steps or the winding path with me. If I find them, maybe I will post them later. This is the view from the peak of the hill I found on google. This is just 350 m which should be around 1 000 ft.)

Statistically, the uphill trek is much safer compared to downhill and anyone who's climbed these paths will attest to this. The biggest problem of upward path would be retaining your strength and though the downward one feels easier and exerts least energy, it is dangerous as you are more prone to tripping and falling to death. It isn't the same as rolling down a curved rocky surface with serious bumps. Remember the ragged steps we talked about? You will get injured one way or another. You have no idea how high the death rate is for these hills with steps.

I usually take the death trap stairs as I find it an exciting challenge. I am of average build by Indian standards and have decent stamina. It was a long time ago but if I am right, it took close to 30 mins to climb those 600 steps for me. Now can y'all do the math for 10 000 steps or shall I do it for you?

And here we are talking about a woman who is malnourished from self-inflicted starvation and been self-sabotaging for a while, clearly dealing with depression and a form of PTSD.

What's unbelievable is that the injuries she sustained from the fall and the fall itself are described so vividly and yet people don't get how brutally she was hurt. Nesta almost died. It isn't an exaggeration, but a very, and I cannot emphasis this enough, likely outcome in this scenario.

But hey, it's just 10 000 steps if she really wanted to get out. Babe, you don't even hit 5k on your daily steps on levelled ground.

And I will forever hate Cassian for laughing at her when she reached the house again. Yes, it was abuse. He was revelling in how 'humbled' she was by the failed attempt when she barely survived. He heard her fall! And still didn't help because he needed her stubbornness and resolve broken.

And I will also forever hate Feyre for this. She was manipulated, okay. But she is twenty and has common sense? Just cause she is a daredevil who is jumping at every chance of death, it doesn't mean everyone else should suffer like she does.

My point is what the IC did to Nesta is far worse than what Feye accuses Tamlin of.

We've been shown Prythian is dangerous from book one. Creatures were luring Feyre. Rhys literally beheaded fae and put their heads on spikes to threaten Tamlin not to mention the fact that you can't see the bogge which is terrifying in itself. There's a lot of other dangerous things in Prythian. Yet Tamlin stopping Feyre who hadn't yet learned to control or use her new powers and was traumatised and newly fae from patrolling with him and Lucien is a huge problem for some people but Nesta being locked up because she was using alcohol as a coping mechanism and sleeping around (like the IC but apparently that's different) is not the same because she had 10,000 steps to climb down (who can actually walk down 10,000 steps realistically?) and it was to protect her. Right ok. I don't see how that makes sense.

[franzkafkagf]

you're your mother, sweetling; you sunk your teeth, ragged and sharp into my mother, she let you suck her dry. now you sink your teeth into me, and I'll let you suck me dry.

inspired by this post by @15step

Mine / A Storm of Swords – George R. R. Martin / House of the Dragon / A Game of Thrones – George R. R. Martin / A Feast for Crows – George R. R. Martin / A World of Ice and Fire – George R. R. Martin / Fire and Blood – George R. R. Martin

[pynkhues]

So I know you’ve discussed this a little before and not sure if you’ve seen this (or care that much lol) but recently Jesse Armstrong confirmed that Logan treated all the boys the same when it comes to physical abuse. Link here to the clip if interested [just remove the parentheses https://twitter(.)com/princekendalll/status/1696683862976336042?s=20]. This aligns with my own read of the show too which is nice but if you listen to the clip Jesse further clarifies that the reason it (the physical abuse) stays with Roman in the present is because he feels like a victim or like he was bullied whereas Kendall and Connor have found a way to like…slot this into their worldview, I guess. I found this interesting because I tend to read Roman as having something of a victim complex but I also think this brings up a few other interesting ideas I’d love to hear your views on if interested.

If we think of Roman as understanding himself to be a victim or bullied within the family unit, do you think Roman is aware that his brothers have had similar experiences with Logan’s physical abuse, or does he think of himself that way because he think’s he’s had a unique experience? Further, how do you think Connor and Kendall were able to move past it. I tend to read Kendall as just…not thinking he was abused. But Connor’s the one that I find kind of fascinating in this context because his past is kind of a black box – narratively we have no one to give us little nuggets of his childhood the way the Trio are able to recount childhood stories of each other to shed light for the audience.

Thank you so much for sending that, anon! I hadn't seen it / heard it, and as someone who's always felt Logan was physical with all of the kids, but especially the boys, it's pretty vindicating.

Which is - - y'know, a weird thing to say about a topic like this ,I guess, but it's always nice to think your read of something is what was intended.

I'm pretty fascinated by victim complexes in general. This is a bit of a personal aside, but I'm really close with my uncle, who's my mum's baby brother, and he's bright and funny and has lived such an interesting life, but he's definitely got a victim complex. For him, he knows it, and he's trying to work through it, and it probably comes from a not dissimilar place to Roman now that I think about it - my uncle never felt like he was enough of a man to his father, and when his father died when he was just 17, he joined the army reserves to 'prove' himself, which went.

Not Well.

That kind of snowballed into a very complex relationship with his own masculinity, especially as my uncle was pretty heavily engaged in counter culture and queer and punk scenes in his twenties after being in the reserves only to get into rural journalism which - - y'know. Certainly didn't help his sense of being targeted and bullied, particularly as the organisational culture in rural newspapers as he was coming up were aggressive to say the least.

My point though is that his sense of victimisation is really tied pretty deeply to his sense of not feeling like enough of a man, which was a sentiment established by his father, reinforced by the army and further abused in male-dominated rural towns that he was reporting in.

While Roman, of course, doesn't have the latter, it's an interesting thing to think about in the sense of the first two with Roman clearly feeling his masculinity under threat by his father, and there is an argument to be made about that being reinforced by St. Andrews, but funnily enough, I kind of feel the opposite about that particular point.

Probably because I disagree with St. Andrews being a military school at all.

So let's talk about St. Andrew's

It's pretty widely accepted, I think, that when the show named St. Andrew's they were referring to the St. Andrew's-Sewanee School in Tennessee, in no small part because there were no other St. Andrew's it feels like it could've been. This is a wealthy school (in fact their school fees, with boarding, are almost exactly the same as Buckley without boarding where Kendall canonically went), and the show's attention to details like this feels too deliberate.

And I think it works in no small part because St. Andrew's had stopped being a military school in 1971, about a decade before Roman could've been born (in my timeline I will one day post, haha, probably when nobody will even want it, I think we can pretty cleanly put Kendall as being born in 1979/1980, so Roman at the earliest would be born in '81). It was also during the 1970s, long before Roman would've gone, that St. Andrew's became co-ed.

Of course, this is an area ripe for speculation, but I think it rings true of the show for the kids to treat St Andrew's like it was a military school when that was a fragment of a past (and not even technically a part of St. Andrew's past - it had merged with the Sewanee School, which was the military school). What St. Andrew's became was not the school that Roman actually went to, but a symbol of this sense of being victimised and ostracised. Cast out, in a punishing system, which - - looking at this particular school, while bougie is also co-ed, outdoorsy, freer than Buckley, but that doesn't matter.

Roman's not fixated on the conditions of it, he's fixated on the othering of it. He sees Kendall and presumably Shiv too going to school near Logan (although I doubt Logan was there all that much) in Manhattan, while he's out in the midwest. I kinda think you could argue he played up the military history of the school to perform a strength and masculinity for his brothers and sister he felt he lacked, which could also be a part of why the narrative stuck.

But yes, that's not your question, haha.

Do I think he's aware that his brothers have experienced similar abuse? Yeah, actually, but I think it probably has its ebbs and flows and takes on different meanings depending on the moment or the circumstances, right?

An Aside

So my best friend's grandmother's was in an extremely violent and abusive marriage (I promise this is relevant), and every now and then, he would hit their two daughters too. He died young and unexpectedly, when the girls were still teenagers, a blessing to everyone, but the elder of the two girls - my bf's aunt - has developed a very complex and sometimes hostile relationship with her sister and their mother.

She feels their mother should've protected them better, that she should've left their father years before he died, and she deeply resents her sister for forgiving their mother so easily.

That's warped over the years - both daughters are in their 50s now, their mother close to 80, they're genuinely all pretty close - but it's gotten to the point where the elder daughter feels she was The Most Abused.

I know them all pretty well - me and my bf have known each other for almost 16 years - I've vacationed with them, gotten drunk with them, been involved in multiple weddings, not just my bf's but other members of her family's too.

One night, I was chatting to her mum after she and her sister had had a fight at a party - my best friend and her brothers had gone inside looking after their grandmother - and she just said her sister couldn't move past it. That they all knew what their mother experienced was unimaginable, that he hit them every now and then, but what he did to their mother was so much worse, and that she just didn't see what the point was with holding onto any of that pain when they can just push forwards.

More than that, when you can move on.

My bf's mum became a neonatal nurse, and she thinks she can see it sometimes. Men like her father, absent usually from delivery and controlling or too physical in the ward after, and she feels it too. The way she can throw lifelines to women who are ready for them, or just let women who aren't know where the lighthouses are. It's not a perfect system, but she loves her job, and this part of it - - I think she finds it healing too.

My bf's aunt was a receptionist to a guy who works high up in a bank, and she married him.

She hasn't worked since they had kids 25 years ago.

But back to your question

I think one of the interesting things about the show is that it's showed Roman as typically fairly directionless. He's out of the company at the start of the series, and doesn't seem to have any other thing he's driving towards. Shiv has politics, Kendall has the company, but even Connor has Austerlitz and his water planning before he jumps on his presidential campaign.

I do think a lack of purpose probably can become a bit of a feedback loop psychologically which has caused him to stew in resentment and has probably rationalised his abuse as 'worse', because if it wasn't, then why's he the fuck up? Even just of the Golden Trio.

Probably helped by - as you mention - Kendall's unwillingness to acknowledge it, and the fact that none of them take Connor seriously.

With Kendall and Connor - - yeah, I think Kendall is, in many ways, a caged animal constantly trying to claw his way out of his own head. I think he distracts himself with projects, or people, or drugs, and leans into the whatever, it happened, hey, but right now... of his own circumstances. He knows what happened to him, but he can never talk about it, not to a friend at a funeral or to his own father on his death bed. Kendall's stutter exists I think in his own thinking too, a record scratch that lets him start the song where he has to instead of where he wants or needs to.

He's not quite disassociated, but he's not quite connected either.

And with Connor - - gosh.

I mean, it's interesting to talk about him in this sort of context, because as you said, his history is so much more of a black box. I do think him having a period of absence from Logan plays into his acceptance of it. More and more, I tend to think that the three years he talks about in 3.09 was before Kendall was born, and so I think he's stepping back into formal 'Roy' life at 15 with a lot of complexity that shapes his experience very differently.

Not only is there that tangible anxiety of being rejected again if you don't fall in line, but there's also these new and complicated feelings of being replaced / in competition with a new child (always fascinated that Connor so rarely expresses that in the series, but whenever he does it's with Kendall), but also I think naturally feeling immediately doting and protective of this scrap of family offered to you after a period without.

I think in that context that Connor probably long ago reconciled himself with the fact that if he wanted his father in his life, that was what it was going to be like, and that he was prepared to be the failure if it kept him out of the bloodsport between their father and his siblings. I think he does occasionally wish for a higher position, and wonder what it could've been if Dad had ever thought of him in that context, but I also think he, at some point, made the choice that none of the rest of them have been able to make, which is that he can always go home.

[bubblebbunch]

Childhood.

1. Luca and Sabrina, 7 and 2 years old. They used to be thick as thieves, but after their parents passed away, things were never quite the same again... the love they used to have for one another is what fuels Sabrina's hatred towards him today.

2. Noel, when he was still known as Noelle, coming home from school to his alcoholic father. Knowing that if he was ever to get anything around this house, he better act the part of a perfect child, as well as hiding any single thing he may want to keep to himself... He's already begun practising that ever-present smile of his.

3. Corwin's mother did, just like him, struggle with BPD and depression. Often accusing her son of lying to her and not caring about her, worried that he was going to leave her with his dad and that he actually hated her... After his parents' divorce, followed by a planned kidnapping by his own mother, Corwin learned very early on that love is a very, very complicated emotion.

[watchyourdigits]

no one asked, but fic updates and falloutober are postponed indefinitely while i deal with being dragged into my parents' shitshow

[dc-bitchin]

i pressed record on my phone because I wanted to really *quickly* summerize an episode for an animated Batman series I would LOVE to make and it ended up being 15 minutes long and makes references to shit only I know about... :|

[maykitz]

if you can stomach it i would recommend watching the body cam footage of the sonya massey killing, i'll try to describe it but it's hardly possible. you can't truly understand the type of extreme, completely volatile aggression that happens with cops if you haven't seen it, and it's captured here very harrowingly.

several officers are in her house, calmly talking with her about her id and vehicle papers for some time. it's routine administrative stuff, no acute danger or stress whatsoever. one of them tells her to take her pot off the stove, remarking that they don't need a fire in the house now, she walks over into the kitchen and complies. he suddenly backs off towards the front door despite already being several feet away. she asks him where he's going, he says "away from your hot, steaming water." she repeats "my hot, steamin' water?" in an amused tone. then adds "i rebuke you in the name of jesus," in a similar tone while pouring the water down the sink. the atmosphere is completely calm, you might even say amiable.

she's at this point still separated from the cops by her kitchen aisle and several feet of additional distance. the cop prompts her to repeat what she said, she repeats her reply about rebuking him in the name of jesus [edit: i didn't phrase this right in the original post; this phrase is not really a joke but rather used similarly to 'perish the thought'- ie rebuking his implication that she would harm them]. she doesn't even realise there's been a complete 180 in his head. he goes "you better fucking not, i will shoot you in your fucking face," she's stunned by the sudden abusive language for half a second, immediately he draws his gun directly at her head, she gets out a panicked "sorry!" and ducks behind the aisle, he rounds the corner into the kitchen specifically to advance right next to her, immediately fires 3 shots at her head from above at minimal distance. she's dead where she stood, or cowered rather, by the sink in her nightgown.

after a few seconds you hear the click of him turning on his body cam, saying "she came at me with a pot of boiling water." for the recording. he also nonchalantly tells his partner there's no need to get a med kit because it was a headshot. it's one of the most clear cut cases ever and it's fully recorded only because his partner did already have the body cam on throughout.

[tojbnuy]

by popular demand and since i hit 1k! here’s a part 2 💞 find part one here! art by @ _3aem on twt!!

bestfriend!satoru who always takes you on late night drives if you’re feeling upset. he’ll buy you something sweet and when he drops you back home he’ll always leave you with a little kiss. he doesn’t want his favourite girl being sad.

bestfriend!satoru who absolutely adores the way you smell. everytime he’s near you in class he places his hands out for some of your hand cream and he sits there sniffing his hands afterwards.

bestfriend!satoru who will always suggest a horror movie when it’s movie night with your friends. he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re freaking out and you’ll climb into his lap. ‘sshhh you’re okay baby i’ve got you’ and while you’re distracted his hands will find their way under your top and start stroking your back and tummy.

bestfriend!satoru who insists on massaging your back when you come round. ‘take your top off baby it’s just me’. he’s working on getting you to take off the bra too, all in good time.

bestfriend!satoru who is so used to you wearing long sleeved and baggy hoodies that the random times you wear something that clings to your figure he all but passes out. suddenly his hands are all over you and to everyone else in the room you probably look like a couple. (just how he intended)

bestfriend!satoru who insists kissing your best friend on the lips is normal. it’s cute. ‘come on baby another one. i’m your best friend’. is using tongue normal? he doesn’t care.

bestfriend!satoru who wears compression shirts around you all the time because he overheard you talking about how much you like guys with big biceps. he doesn’t want to sound big headed but he’s caught you staring a few times now.

bestfriend!satoru who goes through your underwear drawer when you’re not present. he wanted to know your cup size but the pink and the lace got him distracted.

bestfriend!satoru who really is such a perv when it comes to you. he can’t help it you’re like a drug. sometimes he knocks his pen off the table because he knows your sweet self will quicky bend over to retrieve it for him. he’s left with the adorable sight of your panty clad ass, white ones today just how he likes. ‘thank you baby.’ ‘you’re welcome toru.’ god you’re just so cute.

bestfriend!satoru who helps you dye your hair. he doesn’t care that he’s leaving with splotches of black on his arms and hands. it’s worth it when you give him those big hugs with your arms wrapped around his neck.

bestfriend!satoru who is in love with your handwriting. ‘course a pretty girl has pretty handwriting’ it’s all cursive and slanted, he even makes jokes about you writing something for him to get tatted.

bestfriend!satoru who knows you love to cuddle. he was never much of a cuddler himself but he would have to be sick to pass up on the chance to hold you. ‘no of course i dont mind pretty.’ your head lays on his chest and one of your thighs covers his stomach. he could die like this and he would die happy. (preferably he would die in between your thighs but)

bestfriend!satoru who gets upset when you’re laughing a bit too loud when talking to suguru. he knew for a fact suguru was not that fucking funny.

bestfriend!satoru who absolutely abuses pet names when it comes to you. His baby His pretty girl His dolly

bestfriend!satoru who’s always patting your bum. for what reason who knows.

part 3 !! part 4 !!

taglist : @haruhatake @moncher-ire @startwithrecords @ranatherealestsigma @chjinua @whozeurdaddy @sukuxna0 @purp1eha1o

[lay-z]

sugar plum promises | 1

SYNOPSIS: SIMON RILEY, WHO DISCOVERS (AND ACCEPTS) THAT HE HAS A RAGING MOMMY KINK, MUCH THANKS TO YOU.

PAIRING: SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY x CURVY!FEM!READER

WARNINGS/INFO: 18+ | Mommy kink; VIRGIN!SIMON; some physical descriptions of Reader; dom/sub dynamics; cussing; strangers to lovers; hurt/comfort; eventual smut [Please mind the warnings for each part!]

➥ BASED ON THIS BLURB × | [ SPP MASTERLIST ]

It’s Saturday, his first day off base since returning from a three month long deployment just the day before yesterday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly like no one ever has before while he’s minding his business and checking out the new flavours of instant Ramen noodle cups.

And his spine goes rigid, when you suddenly address him directly.

“Big lad like you needs a proper meal,” you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. “In my humble opinion.” You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.

Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, immediately checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.

His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a “Have a good day, love,” and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.

By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.

And he doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling in this moment as his body decides to act on autopilot, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.

Oh, perhaps this time, Simon’s going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping that maybe, you’ll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.

He follows you discreetly through the supermarket like a man on a never-ending mission, silently stalking like a cat in a mouse chase down the aisles. His eyes are locked on you like a heat-seeking missile, noting every move you make, watching how every step sways your curves in the right fashion, nearly causing him to run into a display rack at his momentary distraction.

He nearly growls when some random bloke blocks his path to you and to ask you a question on top of that. He doesn’t quite manage to pick up the words, but it’s enough for him to clench his jaw and tighten his grip on the abused instant noodles cup. A deep huff escapes from behind his balaclava, and he resumes his discreet surveillance as soon as the man saunters his merry way.

Simon watches as you throw a pack of biscuits into the cart, your body turned away from him, your back facing him while you lean over. His eyes land on your round, firm rear like a magnet drawn to the iron. He can almost see the way your muscles move under the jeans fabric—

His thoughts are rudely interrupted when an elderly woman approaches the same shelf, and he has to step into the next aisle and pretend to browse, stomach twisting as he loses visuals on you.

As the woman moves her squeaky cart on wheels down the lane, his eyes flicker nervously before he catches sight of you again, chest heaving with a sigh of relief as he sees you browsing the frozen goods section, and his fingers twitch around the plastic cup, itching to touch you, to grab your hips and grind himself against—he shakes his head with a low grunt, trying to rid himself of that thought. He's already painfully hard enough.

It’s wrong, Simon knows that. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t use his skills to basically stalk you for making a nice, yet throwaway remark in his direction, but he somehow can’t keep his eyes off your body, his gaze glued to your every move—until you obviously pick up on the surveillance.

You do notice him. He’s like a looming shadow sneaking after your own, and for a moment, you wonder if you should’ve just kept your mouth shut for once when you’d spotted him initially.

He’s built like a bloody tank, wearing a balaclava and matching gloves with a skeleton pattern. What the bloody hell were you thinking?

All bark, no bite. That’s what you were thinking, and Wonder if he’s as tough as he looks or if he crumbles like a fresh scone with a few buttery words—like many other “scary dog privilege” men before him.

Slowing your steps, you eventually come to a stop, heart thudding as you glance over your shoulder, only to see him a few feet away, staring right back at you in a way that’s as adorable as it is eerie.

Simon’s feet freeze on the spot, his gaze locking with yours across the freezer cabinets, eyes wide. He didn’t expect to be discovered so easily, and he stands there like a deer caught in the headlights of a Humvee with an RPG attached to it—that he hopes will shoot him on sight.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly under the fabric of the balaclava, his mind racing for an excuse, a reason, though he comes up with nothing. The seconds feel like hours as the two of you stare at each other, before he finally blurts out:

“I...” His voice is hoarse, a low grumble that betrays his own surprise.

Oh. You almost laugh out loud at the sight before you, though you manage to suppress it, lips pursing in amusement instead.

No bark, no bite, actually.

He looks like an awkward little boy who’s been caught with his hand in the secret candy drawer in the living room.

“Yes, you?” you ask teasingly, wanting him to continue, to stammer and try to come up with a proper yet easily punishable lie. Raising an eyebrow, you turn towards him fully, keeping one hand on the shopping cart while your other rests on the curve of your hip casually.

“Well?”

Simon’s brain short-circuits as he desperately tries to come up with a plausible excuse, but all his mind supplies is a loop of caught, caught, caught like a broken record while he merely stands there like a fish washed out on the shore. He clears his throat awkwardly and straightens up, attempting to look innocent.

“I... I was just... uh...” he stammers, his voice wavering as the words refuse to come out. He mentally curses his lack of social skills, the years of isolation making him stumble like some twonk.

“Just doing some shopping,” he eventually mutters gruffly, his eyes flitting away from your gaze for a moment before darting back, unable to resist another look. There’s a hint of defensiveness in his voice, mixed with a tinge of embarrassment.

You nod slowly. “Doing some shopping,” you repeat, amusement glinting in your eyes as you glance down at the single cup of instant Ramen he’s still clutching in his hands like a lifebuoy. “Right.”

You notice how utterly still he is; no shuffling, no fidgeting, broad chest barely moving as he breathes, dark eyes flickering the slightest bit whenever your gaze catches his.

He’s a different breed of man, that one, you muse.

Clicking your tongue, you shift on your feet. “You call that shopping?” You nod your chin at his hands. “Like I said, you need to be fed a proper meal, love. Is your wife out of town or something?”

Simon bristles at your comment, his shoulders tensing as your words hit a nerve, a bit too close to home. He glances down at the cup of Ramen in his hands, feeling a mixture of shame and stubbornness.

The truth is that he’s so bloody touch–and attention-starved that your simple words, your simple presence, make him feel flustered, his frayed nerves now on edge.

“I don't have a wife,” he mutters, words edged with a hint of bitterness. He knows he’s being judged, but there’s a baser, hidden part of him that simply revels in the attention, in the fact that someone as classy and obviously put-together as you, has noticed him at all.

“And I can feed myself just fine.” He adds dryly, raising the cup defiantly as if to prove a point.

You swallow another pleased smile as he confirms what you've expected while the word brat burns on the tip of your tongue at this display of attitude.

Glancing back at your full shopping cart, you lick your lips briefly in thought, pondering and weighing the risks before looking back at him. He hasn’t moved an inch, simply keeps observing like you’re the odd ball here.

Pulling on the shopping cart, you slowly start walking backwards towards him, approaching like someone would a strange street dog.

“Tell you what,” you say as soon as you’re an appropriate distance away from him, and it’s then that you notice how tall and broad he truly this is up close. “If you help me carry these groceries to my car, I’ll cook you a proper dinner tonight.”

His mouth drops open, eyes wide and bewildered by your audacity. He simply stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, grappling with the unexpected situation. You’re trying to coax him with a treat like one would do with an animal to gain its trust, and Simon is furious about the tiny part inside his brain that’s thrashing to jump on this opportunity.

“You... You’re serious,” he finally manages to sputter, his brain struggling to process that you, that a woman like you, a stranger, is actually proposing this to someone like him.

“Why would you do that?” His eyes narrow in suspicion, though beneath the hardness of his expression, there’s a hint of curiosity, a hint of longing for a chance at this offered piece of normalcy.

Sensing his—understandable—apprehension, you give a small shrug in return, finally offering him a tentative yet genuine smile.

“Because you look like you could use it, love.”

You let your eyes roam once more, looking him up and down from boot to mask, heart giving a curious flutter as your gaze locks with his; tawny eyes so dark, you know you could get lost in them if he lets you in.

Then you reach into your purse slung over your shoulder and you notice how his broad shoulders tense and how his fingers flex as if he’s bracing himself for an attack.

As your hand disappears into your purse, Simon’s defensive instincts kick in automatically, his muscles coiling tightly in anticipation. His sharp senses on high alert, he blinks, slightly taken aback but not surprised by his own reaction, though he can’t help it; years of experience and survival training already hard-wired into his responses.

But he relaxes incrementally, when he sees you withdrawing your hand—now holding a purple ball pen and small note pad, and the sudden burst of adrenaline fades to a steady thrum in his veins as fast as it came.

“I...” he begins, but the words feel caught in his throat, his mind suddenly blank.

Covering his little slip-up with your own feigned nonchalance, you start scribbling away on the first blank page of your notepad before ripping it out and holding it out for him to take, thus offering a different treat—secretly hoping he’ll like this one.

“My name,” you explain, deciding that it might not be as self-explanatory as it would be for any other man you’ve previously met, “and my phone number.”

When he eventually takes the slip of paper with due care, his eyes keep flickering between your hand and face as if still expecting you to pull a gun on him, until you take a polite step backwards.

“Call or text me for that meal if you change your mind,” you add confidently.

Simon’s gaze follows your hand warily, taking the note from you with a slow, measured movement, his gloved fingers feeling uncharacteristically clumsy and uncoordinated as he grabs it. He stares at the slip of paper in his hand for a moment, brows furrowing behind his balaclava as he takes in the sight of your phone number and name written in neat, cursive handwriting, reading the words slowly in an almost mechanical manner, committing them to memory as a precaution.

His fingers twitch involuntarily, and for a wild, fleeting moment, he wants to raise the paper to his nose and inhale the faint scent of your perfume that clings onto the paper. And then you take a step backward, giving him space, and he takes an unconscious step forward, like a puppet on a string, not wanting to put that space between you again while his eyes stay glued to yours with a touch of desperation.

You’re leaving the ball in his corner and he doesn’t know how what to think, how to act.

As you adjust the straps of your purse on your shoulder, you drink in his subtle reaction with a mixture of sympathy and glee.

“Alright then?”

Simon watches in awe as you readjust your purse like it’s the most interesting action he’s ever seen, and when he opens his mouth to respond, his thoughts tumble over each other like leaves in a breeze. A simple yeah or a sure would’ve been the logical answers, but none of this is logical to him right now.

“You’re not worried,” he observes, the words nearly sounding accusatory, “about having a stranger over for dinner?”

He almost wants to call you daft, reckless; giving a man like him your number and name, offering your kindness up so easily. Can’t you tell what kind of man he is? Don’t you know what he can do with the intel you’ve already provided him with so willingly?

Simon wants to reach out and shake you, but his fingers are trembling and his cock is still throbbing, still semi-hard in his pants—and he can’t quite tell which is worse.

There’s a long pause between you as you regard his question with a light crease between your eyebrows, and you catch yourself wondering again what this poor man could’ve possibly been through for him to be this bloody suspicious.

From your experience, almost every other man would’ve jumped on this opportunity already, presented on a silver plate. You’ve been flirting with him since you spotted him entering the supermarket. However, you can only admit to yourself that his cautious reactions are merely heightening your curiosity and the urge to unravel this beast of a man completely.

“Most people start out as strangers,” you answer eventually, gauging his next reaction carefully, “and usually one takes the initiative to get to know the other if they’re interested, you know?” You flash him a disarming smile. “This is me taking that initiative here, mister.”

He takes a step forward, invading your personal space, and the height difference between you two becomes more painfully (arousingly) clear. Simon towers over you, his body vibrating with suppressed tension while he looks down at you with a stare that usually has his rookies quiver in their boots—not you, though.

“And what if I’m not interested?” he responds too bluntly and not as playful as he intended to, his voice lowered, nearly growling at you. He’s picked up on how other men talk to women at pubs, has eavesdropped and heard how Soap and Gaz talk to the birds they end up taking back to the barracks, and yet he can’t quite get his own tone right.

He certainly doesn’t like the fact that you’re making his heart race, that you’ve piqued his curiosity without even trying. It feels unfamiliar, dangerous, and somehow, he finds himself craving more of it in the same heartbeat.

Tilting your head owlishly, you regard him with a half-puzzled, half-amused look.

“Then I'll go on my merry way, love,” you reply with a breathy chuckle that obviously leaves him feeling even more lost judging how his eyes widen. “And then we move on after having a basic human interaction at a supermarket. Life’s beautiful, innit?”

Something about the way you talk, with the casual pet name, ‘love’, thrown in every second sentence, or the way your laugh makes his skin prickle in some foreign, exciting way, drives him mad with primal want and the unfamiliar urge to keep you here with him, keep you talking.

But he also feels like a damn fool in this moment, and on top of that, his face feels so hot under his balaclava, too. You’re not reacting the way he expects you to, not at all, and it’s throwing him off-guard.

He clears his throat again. “You’ll just... move on,” he repeats incredulously, like it pains him to say the words. “Just like that.”

You shrug, flashing another smile. “I mean... yes. What else is there to do? I’m not running after a man who’s not interested in me. I’m too old for games like that.”

Simon’s eyes narrow again. The thought of you giving up so easily, leaving, not even giving him a second thought—it pisses him off, for some reason, because it’s making him desperate. How the bloody hell does Garrick make it sound so easy and suave every time?

“How old are you?” The words burst out without him meaning to, his tone still gruff and defensive.

You snort softly. He’s so bratty, so rude, it’s almost endearing for a man looking like him, and it pokes your curiosity, causing the urge to take care of him to blossom even more hotly behind your ribcage as you drink up the tension in his body and fatigue clinging behind his wary, bottomless gaze.

“Old enough to know what I want, love.” It’s a curt response that has the desired effect judging by the way his jaw ticks under his odd mask. You smile again as you put the pen and notepad back into your purse, turning halfway around to your shopping cart to signal your departure.

“Anyway... my ice cream is melting, so I’ll be heading to the cashier. Thanks for the chat. You have a good day now.”

Just like that.

Simon is reeling internally as you prepare to leave, and he can’t help but admire the subtle power you wield with the way you carry yourself and the nonchalance you display so bloody effortlessly. Suddenly, he is torn between letting you go and the fierce need for you to not walk away. His chest tightens and his fingers twitch, and he suddenly feels like a child lost in this bloody supermarket, scared of being abandoned again.

However, he swallows the plea festering on the tip of his tongue, the words asking you to wait, stay, and talk more. No, Simon falls back, clutching the bloody Ramen cup in one hand as he stares after you while you simply move on like you said you would, as if you didn’t just throw him off balance completely with this whole interaction.

When his other hand balls into a tight fist, he hears the crumpling of paper, and when he glances down at his open palm, his heart nearly drops with relief.

You’ve given him your number. He’s never gotten a girl’s number in his life.

It was real. It is real. Everything that just happened is real, and he wasn’t simply daydreaming it up this time.

His fingers close around that scrap of paper like a life line, his mind racing once more with possibilities, the scenarios, the what-ifs.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

💀 Making Your Villain Make Sense (Without Making Them Right™)

("because if I see one more war criminal with a sad diary entry get a redemption arc, I’m gonna throw my laptop.")

Here’s the thing: your villain doesn’t need to be redeemable. But they do need to make sense.

And I mean sense beyond "they’re evil and they monologue about it." Or “they have a tragic past, so now they do murder <3.” Or “they were right all along, the hero just couldn’t see it 🥺.”

Let’s fix that.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧠 STEP ONE: BUILD A LOGIC SYSTEM THAT ISN’T OURS Your villain shouldn’t just be wrong, they should have their own internal system that works for them. Morally flawed? Absolutely. But coherent.

Ask yourself:

What do they value more than anything? (Power? Order? Loyalty? Vengeance?)

What do they believe about the world, and how did they get there?

What fear drives them? What future do they think they’re trying to prevent?

The villain doesn’t need to know they’re wrong. But you should.

Make their logic airtight. even if it’s awful. Give them cause and effect.

─────── ✦ ───────

👿 STEP TWO: STOP GIVING THEM THE BETTER IDEOLOGY Listen. I love a “morally gray” moment as much as anyone. But if your villain is making all the good points and the hero’s just like “no because that’s mean,” your arc is upside down.

If your villain is critiquing injustice, oppression, or inequality, make sure their methods are the problem, not their entire worldview.

✖︎ WRONG: Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt.” Hero: “That’s not nice.”

✔︎ RIGHT: Villain: “The ruling class is corrupt, so I’m burning the city and everyone in it.” Hero: “So you’re just… committing genocide now?”

Your villain can touch a real issue. Just don’t let them be the only one talking about it, or solving it with horror movie logic.

─────── ✦ ───────

🔪 STEP THREE: GIVE THEM POWER THAT COSTS THEM The best villains lose things too. They’re not just untouchable horror dolls in sexy coats. They make bad choices and pay for them. That’s where the drama lives.

Examples:

They isolate themselves.

They sacrifice people they love.

They get what they want, and it destroys them.

They know they’re the monster, and choose it anyway.

If your villain can kill a dozen people and feel nothing, that’s not scary. That’s boring. Let them bleed. Let them regret it. Let them double down anyway.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧱 STEP FOUR: MAKE THEM PART OF THE WORLD, NOT OUTSIDE IT Villains shouldn’t feel like they were patched in from another genre. They should be part of the world’s logic, culture, class system, history. They should reflect something about the setting.

Villains that slap:

The advisor who upheld the regime until they decided they deserved to rule.

The noble who’s using war to reclaim stolen legacy.

The ex-hero who thinks the system can’t be saved, only reset.

The priest who truly believes the gods demand blood.

They’re not just evil, they’re a product of the same world the hero is trying to save.

─────── ✦ ───────

👁 STEP FIVE: SHOW US THEIR SELF-JUSTIFICATION You don’t need a tragic backstory™. But you do need to show us why they think they’re right. Not just with exposition, through action.

Let us watch them:

Protect someone.

Choose their goal over safety.

Justify the unjustifiable to a character who loves them.

Refuse to change, even when given a chance.

A villain who looks into the mirror and goes “Yes. I’m correct.” is 1000x scarier than one who sobs into a journal and says “I’m so broken 🥺.”

─────── ✦ ───────

🧨 BONUS ROUND: DON’T MAKE THEM A HATRED MEGAPHONE Especially if you’re writing marginalized characters: don’t let your villain become a mouthpiece for slurs, abuse, or extremism just to make them “evil enough.” That’s lazy. And harmful.

You don’t need real-world hate speech to build a dark character. You need power, consequence, and intent.

─────── ✦ ───────

TL;DR: Good villains don’t need to be right. They need to be real. Not a vibe. Not a sad boy in a trench coat. Not a trauma monologue and then a sword fight. They need logic. They need cost. They need to scare you because you get them, and still want them to lose.

Make them dangerous. Not relatable. Make them whole. Not wholesome. Make them make sense.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // villain critic. final boss consultant. licensed chaos goblin

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[fuyungus]

freak like me ?!?! (Jason drabbles)

Jason's favorite position is you laying on your tummy, him pounding from the back and his hand pressing your head against the mattress.

he grunts and when he watches your hands trying to reach his, he grabs both of your wrists in his hand as he rams in and out of your abused hole. he's very aware that he is so much bigger than you, one of his big hand could cup your little cunt, when you were with other people he knew everybody was thinking, how does that fits there?.

he could easily lift you with one of his arms, he loved throwing you to his shoulders and carry you like a sack of potatoes. and let's not talk about how big his dick is. in missionary with your body folded, your legs against your chest and your hands holding them for your boyfriend to destroy you. he can see the outline of his dick on your lower tummy, he swore that only happens in porn, but the first time he sees it he can't stop getting harder. being so much bigger than you really turns him on. seeing you struggle to take his dick even at your mouth, he loves seeing you all fucked up for him. letting him fuck your throat, letting him use your pussy, letting him cum wherever he wants to, even if he wants to cum inside, even if he wants to coat your cunt with his cum.

and he has so much stamina, he's not satisfied with once, nor with two rounds, he usually goes for four. he loves to overstimulate you, making you cum more times that you're capable to, he loves wrecking you, making you a whining mess, a "dumb slut" like he usually says, you know he doesn't mean it, it's just the horny thoughts eating him !!

[reidsfilm]

cowboy!simon riley who catches you stealing apples from the apple tree he had grown in the backyard of his house. Pretty sundress swaying in the wind as he stands by the window watching you pluck from the tree, discreetly looking around and making sure no one sees you. but you’re caught, you just have no clue.

cowboy!simon riley who confronts you for stealing his apples a few days later, having you perched over his lap. ''You're a little thief aren't you?'' He lifted your sundress, your plump and round backside coming into view for Simon's dark eyes. You squirm on his lap and he growls as he doesn't warn you about the harsh smack that lands on your ass, making you jolt forward at the impact.

''M'sorry...'' Is all you can manage to say. Simon scoffs as he lands another firm smack to your ass, making you yelp. ''You're sorry, eh? Should've thought about that before you stole, love.''

And he continued abusing your ass until you're a red and crying mess, tears streaming down your face as your ass is as red as those apples you stole. Serves you right doesn’t it?

cowboy!simon riley who stuffs you’re tight cunt full of his thick and throbbing cock, using the slickness of your folds to coat his head before sinking into your awaiting heat. ''So tight… this cunt is swallowing my cock so good.'' he rasps into you're ear as he folds you’re knees, having them pressed up into you're chest as his balls slap against the underside of you're ass.

''Such a good cunt, hm? So obedient. If only the owner of it was as well.'' he clicked his tongue, his thrusts harsh and rough as the tip kissed your cervix. And all you can do is babble and whine as your brain is completely fucked out and mushy.

cowboy!simon riley who fills you to the brim as he comes with a guttural groan as he spills all of his seed inside you, milking you’re gummy walls white. and when he pulls out, he watches his cum seeping out of you're hole, and he can’t have that. You whimper and hiss as he puts two fingers into your hole, collecting his cum and making sure not a single drop goes to waste. 

cowboy!simon riley who simply leaves you there, breathless and flushed and hole filled with his essence. ''Next time I'll use a belt on that pretty little arse of yours.''

And maybe stealing those apples wasn’t such a bad thing after all with the promise of a next time from the hardened cowboy.

a/n: had a dream about this. so I just had to write a short blurb about it ughhh

[drgnflyteabox]

ghost x fem!reader

simon finds a reason to live // stalking, depression, disassociation, simons past child abuse, body horror imagery, you're a single mom, minor sexism-kindaish

Simon's humanity is an external thing, amorphous and disconnected. He might've had a tether as a child, a distinct human softness necessary for survival, but it's since been deadened.

It's not so much a lack as it is a shrinkage. Empathy, emotional intelligence, they come natural at first but terrorize someone, neglect them? They'll turn black and rot as any limb without oxygen.

His father is long dead, he knows this, has read the obituary (full of lies) and pissed on his grave (twice).

And yet his father has the power to strike lightening through the only soft part of him left on any given day, at any given time, at any given place–

His father lives in the way that his heart nearly stops at the shop when the child beside him knocks down a full display of four cheese tomato sauce, glass and red slop crashing to the floor.

Run.

He freezes but his eyes snap to the sound, startlingly loud, mind racing and yet thinking of nothing at all as he feels the fear of god race through him.

Dad's gonna fucking kill you, Tommy laughs raucously.

Simon's never really blamed Tommy, but his voice echoes in his head sometimes too. It does again now, dad's got two tickets for the weekend.

The child takes two steps back, shocked at themselves and the mess and the loud loud sound that has quieted the rest of the store.

He thinks of all the ways he'll step in when the father rounds the corner. Then it's you and his breath goes thin.

"Awe, honey," you say softly. Kindly.

"Oops," the kid says, not a trace of fear in their face.

"Did'ja knock these over, Bram?" you crouch down, careful of the glass, and gently move the boy to the side, "that's okay. Do you remember what we do when we break a glass?"

Simon is still frozen– dumfounded, really. Your patience throws him off.

Fucking moron, his father screams in his head, useless! before he hurts Simon so bad the memory loops and loops, restarting just to torture him.

Fucking moron, fucking moron, useless, fucking moron–

And then you smile sheepishly up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners, and that soft human part of him eternally drifting sticks back to his skin and spreads like a rash.

They don't make you pay for any of the jars, nor do they make you clean up the mess. Still, you crouch again beside your son and explain to him again what to do when he breaks a glass.

Make sure you have shoes on. Don't use your bare hands. Call a grownup.

He's addicted to the sound of your voice. The softness of it, how gently you make sure to speak so that the message is taken in without any kind of fear.

Simon follows your car like the sound of your voice is the warm smell of pie on the windowsill and he's Mickey Mouse floating after it.

Awe, honey, loops through his head. Awe, honey. Awe, honey.

He doesn't make himself known just yet. All he does is note down your address for the next time he's on leave, tells John he's met someone and she's a sweetheart.

When he's back on leave he watches you struggle, and it tears at the new growth of softness.

You work, dropping Bram at school and then spending the day at the office. Then, when Bram is asleep and you've cleaned the house, you open your laptop back up and work a second job.

That just won't do. It takes everything in him not to kick your door down at the weak spot and have you whisper in his ear for a living.

Not yet. Not yet. He tries to loop that, but all he can hear is your sweet voice pleading with the electricity company and it becomes harder and harder.

Please, you say through the bug, I just need four more days. Then I get my paycheck.

Simon thinks about putting his hands around the answering voice's neck when they deny you–

But that's a bandaid solution.

It'll be better to eliminate the problem altogether.

Not the piling bills on your kitchen table that you tuck away when the child goes to school, nor the boss who shouts at you 'til he's red in the face.

No, he'll eliminate the real problem. The way he's seen John do, the way he's seen Gaz take example.

He'll be the man in your life, soon.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, incest, abuse of power, sex-slave reader, gangbang

♡ FEM reader

Nasty emperor who’s gone to the pleasure house every day since coming of age. Now middle-aged and a seasoned dictator, fucking his own litter of bastards because they all have his family’s long line of royal hair and eyes—and it gives him some sick sense of pleasure to have made you all—bred to be his own personal harem of half-blood princes and princesses.

Most of you hate him, of course—but none of you can do anything about it. Kept prisoners in pillow rooms, hidden away in the castle. The Kingsguard stands watch, ensuring you all stay put—always on hand for the King’s visit.

You all have your tongues, nipples, clits, and dicks pierced with rings—and yes, he uses a leash on them all to remind you of your place.

He'll wear an open robe—and only that—walking in stride with his cock in hang. And you’ll all kneel for him, in row upon row, as he makes his pick for the evening. Sometimes pointing out a group of three or more for an orgie—other times, singling out just one of you. 

“I created this little pussy—it belonged to me before you ever even came into the world,” he’ll grunt. Fucking your cunt deeply from behind, cockhead cuddling your womb, soon to fill it with his big load—ringed hand pulling that pretty hair you inherited from him, grinning by your ear in huffs and puffs and gross vows, “Gonna breed you, my girl—make you big and round with a pretty sister-daughter or brother-son.”

You cry in disgust, but you don’t dare fight back. It wouldn’t do you any good. Forcing you all to be his little subservient harem of whores is the least of the cruel things he puts you through if you upset him. 

“I’m not just your King—I’m the God that gave you life. You worship me,” he’ll say. “Disobey me, and you’ll face my divine judgment.”

Devine judgment—meaning rope burns, tied up tight and unmoving, allowed no food until you’ve proven your loyalty by making all your fellow half-bloods cum.

Your sisters, in the dozens, will ride your face—while your brothers, two at a time, make full use of both your holes.

And he’ll sit on a throne of blankets and pillows and watch as they all take you—some scared to disobey him and be put in the same position—others equally depraved as him, making a meal of it—each giving you a good slap for not being good children like them.

And that’s how it goes, for hours, until all of them are spent and you—reminded of your place.

♡ BNHA – Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Kenjaku, Sukuna ♡ AOT – Zeke ♡ DS – Doma, Muzan ♡ HxH – Chrollo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[tojiphile]

ONE PIECE LIVE ACTION MEN + DICK HEADCANONS & SIZES

a/n. i wrote this last night at 5am while sleep deprived so the further it gets the more wack it gets LOL

cw/tw. f!reader, rough sex, blowjobs, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, body hair, skinny penis, unprotected sex, for 18+ readers

MONKEY D. LUFFY

— 6.5” but thinks he’s average, so he doesn’t stretch it out with his abilities. not too girthy, but he makes up for it with his unrelenting stamina. it curves up against his stomach and leans left slightly. a little bit messy because he tried to shave it once and nicked himself, so he just settled with the hair. honey-toned towards the base and a deep red at the tip, especially when he’s raring to go.

— he wants to do it in every position, on every surface. he has you bent over the dinner table, one leg up and slamming into you mercilessly. he has you spread eagle in the bathtub, legs locked behind his back as he stuffs you full. it’s almost as if his dick is made for you, the curve perfectly abuses your g-spot as every orgasm overwhelms you, and you’re left a sobbing, babbling mess. he wants to know if he’s doing well, and he gets his answer when you chant “s— so, ah! good, fuck, d— don’t stop!” like a prayer.

RORONOA ZORO

— long, fat and heavy. he’s blessed with a stunning 7.3” length, though if anyone asks, he rounds down to make them feel more at ease. veiny. the mushroom tip is flushed purple, and it’s rests nicely on your tongue!! probably messy down there, he doesn’t see the point in shaving or trimming, but if you ask nicely, he’ll grunt, roll his eyes, and do it for you.

— you insisted that you didn’t need any prep, but as you straddled him, lining up your cunt with his cock, you soon realised your mistake. you have to spread yourself open, face scrunching up, and slowly sink down. he loves the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering as you start riding him. when your eyes flutter shut and your hips stutter, he takes control—holding you tight by the waist and fucking into you until you’re screaming.

SANJI VINSMOKE

— 6.4” and so so pretty. slender, with a pale shaft that leads into a rosy pink at the tip. it curves up and to the right. the carpet matches the drapes. he keeps it neat, though he probably doesn’t grow much hair anyway. he trims it once every few days, but he’ll never admit to it. smells the best AKA smells really clean, like soap.

— he goes crazy when you maintain eye contact and drop to your knees. you take his cock in hand, lifting it to run your tongue on the underside, tracing a prominent vein. you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head and his whole body is shaking, knees buckling as he chases that familiar high.

USUPP

— coming in at 5.8”, he makes up for it in his thick girth. when he jerks himself off, he can barely wrap his hand around it. he’s soooo sensitive that the wind can blow and he’s be hard. fat fat fat mushroom head that’s olive, golden-hued, and always oozing precum. heavy heavy balls. he might be clumsy and inexperienced, but his size alone is enough to make you drool. trims sometimes but only when he thinks he might get lucky.

— his hand grips your hair as you worship his cock, working magic with your mouth. as you jerk him off, you give small kitten licks to his leaking tip, tasting his salty precum. you whisper, “i want you” and before you know it, he has you pinned under him, rutting his thick cock into you desperately. his eyes are fixated on the way your cunt swallows him, and only strangled groans escape his lips.

BUGGY

— sorry buggy simps but he’s definitely a shower not a grower, though he still does comes in at a nice 6”! also, it’s ya boy, skinny penis. built like a tree branch but at least it’s really veiny, AND he knows how to talk you through it. so really, it might not be the most impressive but with his confidence when he’s fucking you? he’ll fuck you out and make you believe he’s 8” and 5”.

— he loves admiring your sopping cunt as it swallow him whole, your princess parts stretching to to accommodate his cock. he likes to fucks you. he presses you up against a window and fucks you from the back, choking you with his forearm and practically purrs, “taking me so well, ya dirty slut, fuckin’ cunt was made for my cock.”

SHANKS

— he doesn’t act like it buuuuuuut monster cock. it’s 7.8”, thick, and curved so much it slaps against his happy trail. let me tell you that when he sun tans, he does it naked. he lathers that horse cock up with sunblock and spreads eagle on the sand, hands behind his head, so he’s bronzed and beautiful. trims when he feels like it or if you ask, he doesn’t really think much about it.

— he doesn’t look like he’s putting in much effort when he fucks, barely breaking a sweat, but he has you writhing, hands gripping the sheets, eyes hazy and choking on your own spit. he knows what he’s doing to you. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in delicate circles making you cum over and over again until you’re absolutely wrecked. when he’s close, he picks up the pace, grunting heavily, hips stuttering as he spills his seed inside of you. when he pulls out, he takes the time to finger fuck his cum back into you, your body shaking as you work through the aftershock.

[secretidentie]

A rumor about Superman and batman dating starts making the rounds in the hero community and everyone goes crazy. Primarily, a group of heroes who don't approve of the relationship . Their reason? They don't approve of the relationship's "large power imbalance"

Some heroes don't think the imbalance is a big deal while others say it's the reason they can't support the relationship but regardless everyone thinks the imbalance is there and no one elaborates on what this power imbalance is because it seems so obvious to them. It's however not as obvious to Bruce and Clark.

Bruce: I do understand why people are concerned

Clark: Yeah but I would have thought people were over the fact I was an alien by now. I would never abuse that power

Bruce: .......Wait you think you're the one they're concerned about?

Clark: Well....yeah. Why else would everyone be making such a big deal

Bruce: well not only am I funding the league I also own The Daily Planet. Maybe they're scared I'm leveraging power over you

Clark: Bruce I literally have superpowers. No offense but they obviously mean me

Bruce : I have more contingencies for you then you could count and a larger hoard of kryptonite then Luther. They obviously mean me

Clark: I can move mountains and planets. I've fought the worst in the Galaxy. I'VE REVERSED TIME BEFORE, BRUCE . I'm pretty sure I could kill you easily (if I were to abuse my power which, you know, I wouldn't)

Bruce: No you couldn't. I'm batman

Clark: that's not a valid argument and you know it

Bruce: yes it is. I'm batman *Smoke bombs away*

This whole back and forth leads to the most annoying and petty dick-measuring contest you could imagine until a week later someone explains that everyone was concerned that two of the most powerful members of the league dating would make them overall much more powerful than anyone else in the league.

This whole thing is solved by batman giving a presentation on relationships in the workplace and how it will not affect how they work and a follow-up presentation on how he could totally beat superman in a fight if he had enough prep time.

Superman walks out soon after the second presentation starts and that sparks conversations of how a superbat break up would affect the league