#like. really disappointingly wrong

[tshifty]

tbh, and like maybe im wrong yk, but i Would be actually fucking shocked floored if taylor suddenly was a republican now. i honestly Dont think that. at ALL. what i Do think is she is further disconnected and like unimaginably wealthy now more than even comparably before tbh, that. like. she just does not care about deeper implications of politics. like trump is bad. but like yk She will be fine literally no matter what could ever happen in the world. so. like she doesnt fucking care about associating with trump supporters if theyre friends of her boyfriend or whatever bc. like She isnt one but. yk?? she'll break bread with them. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ which like damn i fucking would not but

[nekcihcetaruccayllacilbib]

Rather proud of this self-portrait

[a9saga]

the men on big brother 5 are fucking pigs

[fairyhaos]

◈ raspberry and pistachio cake // jeon wonwoo

wonwoo x gn!reader, 1.6k+ words

tags: non-idols, fluff, soulmates(ish), established relationship, wonwoo watches yn paint by the river :3

warnings: pet names (baby), yn is of a skin colour that can get sunburn

summary: you're raspberry pink, and wonwoo is pistachio green.... unfortunately (not), that's all it takes for his soul to be permanently bonded to yours.

Soulmate. 

You’ve never really liked the word. There’s always been something rather—disappointingly predetermined, about it. Like a soulmate is someone that you simply find one day and, suddenly, you realise they’re your other half. The last puzzle piece to your life. Like you were imperfect, incomplete, missing something, before you met. That always felt wrong.

Despite this, Wonwoo is most certainly your soulmate.

“What do you think?”

Wonwoo looks up at your voice, leaning over to peer over your shoulder, and he pauses contemplatively as he considers.

“Very pretty,” he says finally, the smile warm in his voice. “I like the pink you used.”

He points at your painted blossoms, dark pink and delicate, alive against the flat yellow page of your half-finished painting. The compliment earns him a brilliant smile from you, and his own smile widens, pleased.

You’ve been at this for a while now, hunched over your mini sketchbook as Wonwoo twiddles his thumbs on the bench beside you. To any passersby who see you painting by the river, lost in your own world, it looks like you’re cruelly ignoring your boyfriend on a picture-perfect day on the picture-perfect date, but it’s actually quite the opposite. 

In fact, Wonwoo offered to bring you here to do just this.

Today is quite honestly the most gorgeous day of the entire year, with the sunlight a dainty white-gold, spilling over the water and making even the grass glow. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and by some miracle, they haven’t disappeared even though the weekend has arrived. They rustle quietly in the spring breeze, soft as marshmallows, pink as cherub’s lips. Some of their petals snow down when the wind hits them just right, and you lift your head in wonder at the sight of the pink blending with the green blades of grass.

Your head is blissfully quiet, devoid of any whispers of worry or stress. All that exists is you, the beautiful landscape, and your sketchbook.

Oh, and Wonwoo, of course.

Wonwoo, who read your mind like it was nothing, who had known, even before you did, that you wanted to leave the house today and take some time to empty your brain and paint mindless landscapes by the river and let the hours pass you by.

Beautiful, wonderful Wonwoo, who had done all of that with a simple “Shall we go out today?” and a beautiful, wonderful shine in his eyes.

It’s like he really does know you. In a way that only a soulmate would.

He watches you now, quiet, taking in the way you dip your paintbrush into your paints, brushing tiny strokes across the page, pausing every now and then to observe your own movements before carrying on. He can’t help the smile that permanently lifts the corners of his lips: you’re so obviously in your element, relaxed and happy, and he’s so pleased to see you so content.

Wonwoo quite honestly has nothing to do right now. He didn’t bring anything to occupy himself, and it doesn’t feel right to go on his phone when nature is bright and alive all around him, so he just watches you.

It’s quite nice. You’re very pretty. Everything about you is so—pretty, and from the twitch of your eyelashes to the frown of your brow when you concentrate, there’s something so uniquely you about it that he adores. You have the prettiest, kindest, loveliest soul he’s ever seen, and he loves seeing the way you practically glow whenever he’s by your side. He loves knowing that he can make you feel that way, that you feel comfortable enough to be so soft and vulnerable with him in a way you never are with others.

Makes him feel like he’s your soulmate, almost. He knows you don’t believe in that kind of thing, but for him, you really are his soulmate. So he hopes he’s yours, too.

“I really like these blossoms,” you say abruptly, and Wonwoo blinks back into the present. You’re not looking at him, instead squinting at the blossom trees on the other side of the river, but Wonwoo gives you his full attention anyway, wide-eyed and attentive.

“Really? Why these ones?”

“They’re raspberry pink,” you say, mixing more of the dark pink to paint your flowers. You look up and meet Wonwoo’s gaze, a smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. “It’s rare to find blossoms that are this kind of pink. It’s so pretty.”

Wonwoo softens. “I see,” he says thoughtfully. “You’re right, we don’t see this colour of blossoms very often. They really are rare and pretty.” Then he smiles, the frames of his glasses glinting in the sunlight. “But nothing is as pretty as you.”

That makes you laugh, head tilted back, laughter like bright bursts of light, and Wonwoo’s heart swells.

“You’re just obligated to say that, ‘cause you’re my boyfriend,” you say teasingly. Both of you know that’s a lie, however. Wonwoo would love you to the ends of the world, even if you didn’t feel the same. 

Wonwoo goes along with it anyway.

“You’re right,” he says solemnly, abruptly stoic-serious, and it makes you laugh again. “I’m contractually bound to call you the prettiest being in existence.”

You rub at your cheek with a paint-stained hand, grinning. “Damn right you are. I made that contract.”

“Yes, you did,” Wonwoo says, and he can’t help the fondness that seeps in as you go back to your sketchbook. He can see the way you begin to disconnect from the world again, can see the exact moment his own voice becomes muffled to your ears. Wonwoo smiles, fond. “And I was so infatuated with you that I signed it right away.”

───────────── 🍰

When the heat finally gets too much for you, you finally stretch and set your paints aside, giving your boyfriend a smile.

“Finished?” Wonwoo asks, and you shake your head.

“No way. If I could paint more, then I would, but I think I have sunburn on my wrists now,” you say with a laugh, and Wonwoo chuckles.

“That’s plausible. We’ve been sitting here for a while,” he says, and begins helping you pack away. Gently, you blow against your still-wet pages as Wonwoo gathers your brushes and paints. You turn to him once he’s finished, a pout on your lips.

“I don’t think this is dry,” you say sadly, as Wonwoo packs your things away into a bag he brought with you. “I’m gonna have to hold the book like this all the way home.”

Wonwoo smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll shield you from any strong wind.”

You laugh. “Thank you, baby. You’re the best. I was more worried that I wouldn’t be able to hold your hand, though.”

“Ah.” His smile drops comically fast as he contemplates this oh-so serious matter. “It’s okay. In the name of art, I’ll go home with my hands empty. It’s fine.”

“Thank you for your noble sacrifice,” you say, and Wonwoo laughs. “Come on, let’s go home.”

You have no idea what time it is as Wonwoo turns you by your elbow and slowly walks you home. The sun is still out, and there’s still a light breeze rustling the grass, so time has done that weird thing where it feels like it’s stopped. But you don’t really have a desire to know how long you’ve spent by the river. It’s not like it really matters. 

There are worse things in life than spending 6+ hours painting by the riverside, anyway. 

“Say,” you say abruptly, and Wonwoo looks over. “Do we have any cake at home?”

Wonwoo hums. “I’m afraid not. But I can stop by the store and get some, if you want.”

“Oh, definitely,” you say. “This is certainly cake-eating weather. We need to have some cake and eat it, Wonwoo.”

He laughs. “Alright. Let’s put the paints away and I’ll go get a cake, then. Which one should I get? Pistachio, as usual?”

“As usual,” you confirm. “Though…” Your voice trails off, and you look down at your painting in your hands, the bright splashes of raspberry pink blinking up at you.

It’s like Wonwoo reads your mind.

“Shall I get some raspberries to put on it, too?” he asks, and smiles when you brighten in excitement. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

You sigh happily. “God, Wonwoo, you really are my soulmate.”

Wonwoo stumbles a little, tripping over air. “I—really?”

“Of course,” you say, and laugh when his eyes widen in disbelief. “Hey, I might hate the concept of soulmates, but I’ll still love my own. You’re like, literally the love of my life. I wasn’t broken before I knew you, but you make me feel even happier than if I was just by myself.” You gesture with your head to the sketchbook in your hands. “You let me paint by the river, you buy me cake without batting an eye, you literally love me with every fiber of your being. Never before have I felt so loved until I met you.”

Wonwoo is—he’s your boyfriend, but he’s also more than that. He’s your carbon copy, your polar opposite, your safe space, your happiness, the light in your life. He’s the green of new growth, the warmth of spring, the softness of baby ferns against your sharp, citrusy pinks. 

He’s your soulmate, in the fact that his soul was made to reside next to yours: both whole, both perfect, both beautiful, but all the more overjoyed with one another by their side.

Wonwoo looks a bit teary-eyed at your words, to be honest. There’s a shine to his eyes that makes them sparkle in the pale sunlight, soft with adoration, and you can feel the way his heart is melting.

“You’re my soulmate too,” he says, warm as love. “I want to make you happy for the rest of your life.”

And as you walk with him, under the spring sun, an open sketchbook in hand as he carries your paints, promising to buy you the cake you wanted, the word soulmate leaving his lips, light as flowers—you find yourself knowing that he really will.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit @dokyeomkyeom @hopeless-foolery @aaa-sia

[p0orbaby]

We’ll Do the Things That Lovers Do

summary: you ask, alexia answers

warnings: none

a/n: it’s a cute one

word count: 1.5k

-

The first time you meet Alexia, the sun is a ruthless overseer, searing the already pale blue sky into white. You’re twelve, English, slightly awkward, and profoundly unsure of why your parents thought it was a good idea to send you to a football camp in Spain. You like football well enough, but you’ve always been better at watching it than playing. Still, here you are: standing on a pitch that smells of hot turf and dry grass, surrounded by kids who chatter in Catalan and Spanish. The words tumble from their mouths too fast for you to catch more than fragments, a reminder that you’re out of place.

The ball comes to you with a dull thud. You freeze, and for one breathless moment, the whole world shrinks to that scuffed, overinflated orb at your feet.

“Shoot,” a voice says, startling you. You glance up and see her—Alexia.

She’s smaller than the others but somehow commands the space around her, her presence as steady and deliberate as her movements. Her ponytail is lopsided, and her knees are bruised, but her eyes are bright, alert, the colour of chestnuts split open in autumn. She nudges her chin towards the goal, repeating the word as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “Shoot.”

You do.

It’s a disaster. The ball veers wildly to the left, nowhere near the goal. You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but Alexia grins—a wide, unabashed smile that flashes crooked teeth. She claps you on the shoulder as she jogs past, muttering something you don’t understand but recognise as encouragement.

That was the beginning.

-

The pitches look smaller than you remember—disappointingly so, as if the scale of your childhood has been robbed by adulthood’s harsher clarity. Once, they stretch endlessly before you, bordered by mountains shrouded in haze, the kind of expanses that make you feel free and invincible. But now, standing at the edge of the field, the chain-link fencing looks shorter, the goals less daunting, and the turf more contrived—newer, more synthetic, missing the patches of wear and uneven grass that seem like the field’s imperfections were secrets shared only with you.

You’re struck by how time skews memory. Is it really this contained, or is this just another reminder of how the magic of youth magnifies everything? Back then, the setting sun behind the hills paints the whole world in gold, and the air always seems fresher, tinged with the earthy smell of grass and sweat. Now, as the same sun filters through the fence, casting sharp geometric shadows, it feels less grand, more staged—as if the past doesn’t belong here anymore.

The drive here is steeped in silence, a comfortable one, though tinged with anticipation. Alexia leans against the passenger window, her profile illuminated by the last of the daylight. She isn’t glued to her phone like most people would be; instead, she keeps her eyes on the world beyond the glass, mind wandering to a place you wish you could join her. Every so often, you catch her glancing at you—not suspiciously, but with a curiosity that she doesn’t voice. You think she’s learned to trust your mysteries, to follow where you lead, even when you offer no explanation.

You don’t tell her where you’re taking her. She doesn’t ask either, though the slight tightening of her lips gives away that she’s thinking about it. It isn’t a long drive—twenty-five minutes if you discount the wrong turn past the industrial estate. You hadn’t planned to drive at all; Barcelona’s public transport is convenient, reliable, and environmentally conscious. But today feels like a day for small indulgences, for moments steeped in intention.

The Aston Martin DBX707 isn’t the kind of car you use often; its polished bottle-green exterior and tan leather interior scream opulence in a way you sometimes find embarrassing. It isn’t about practicality or subtlety—it’s about craftsmanship, the pure indulgence of owning something that serves no greater purpose than being exceptional. Alexia doesn’t comment on it when you pick her up, though you notice the way her fingers linger over the stitching on the door handle, tracing the lines absentmindedly, as if she’s trying to understand it through touch alone.

When you park just outside the gates of the Espanyol academy grounds, she finally speaks. “You’re being weird,” she says, her voice light but edged with curiosity. Her outfit mirrors her casual confidence—black jeans that brush the laces of her shoes, a white cropped t-shirt that looks effortlessly styled, and a leather jacket that has clearly seen years of wear. It isn’t flashy, but on her, it might as well be runway-ready. The thin gold bracelet on her wrist—a birthday gift from you two years ago—catches the fading sunlight with every movement.

You smile, stepping out of the car and sliding on your jacket. It’s one of those late-March evenings where the air is crisp but not cold, hovering just on the edge of warmth. “You’ll see,” you reply, your tone deliberately vague.

The grounds are quieter than you remember, almost reverent in the stillness. The sleek building that replaces the old equipment shed gleams in the light, its glassy windows reflecting the hills beyond. Everything looks new, improved, as if the years have smoothed over the rough edges you’ve grown to love. Even the pitches seem more uniform, the kind of green that’s cultivated with care rather than worn down by eager feet.

As you walk, Alexia trails a step behind, her eyes roaming the space with a mix of recognition and disbelief. “This is—” she starts, her voice catching. Then she stops, as if finishing the thought might make it too real.

“Where we met,” you say simply, stepping onto the grass.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she stands still at the edge of the pitch, her hands sliding into the pockets of her jacket. Her gaze is distant, fixed somewhere between the past and the present. “I haven’t been here in years,” she murmurs finally. Her tone is quiet, almost introspective, like she’s speaking more to herself than to you.

For her, this place is sacred. It’s the foundation of everything she’s built—the trophies, the accolades, the flint of the unwavering respect of millions. For you, it’s a piece of your past, formative but fleeting. Yet standing here now, you realise how deeply intertwined your histories are.

You walk toward the center of the pitch, the turf soft beneath your shoes. You’ve chosen your outfit with care: tailored charcoal-grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, and suede loafers that are entirely impractical but precisely the point. Alexia follows, her steps slower, more measured, as if each one carries a memory she hadn’t expected to confront today.

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” you ask when you reach the center circle.

She squints slightly, her expression softening as she searches her memory. “I told you to shoot,” she says at last.

“And it was terrible,” you add, a grin breaking through your composure.

“It was,” she admits, a quiet laugh escaping her. But her smile lingers, her eyes meeting yours with something deeper—a shared understanding, a recognition of how far you’ve come.

You reach into your pocket, the small velvet box heavy against your palm. This isn’t impulsive; you’ve rehearsed this moment in your head a hundred times. But no amount of planning can prepare you for the way her gaze shifts, the subtle widening of her eyes as she begins to realise what’s happening.

Look,” you start, your voice a little rougher than you intended, “I’m not great at this stuff. You know that. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and… here we are”

Her eyes flick to the box before you’ve even opened it, and she straightens slightly, her breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“This place—it’s where we met. It’s where all of this started. And I figured, if I’m going to do something as ridiculous as this…” You flip the box open, revealing the ring. The diamond catches the last of the light, though it feels absurdly shiny for how grounded she is. “…then I should at least do it here”

She blinks, her lips parting as though she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t. So you keep going.

“I love you,” you say, the words blunt, unembellished. “You already know that. And I don’t think there’s a version of my life that makes sense without you in it. So… will you marry me?”

For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind skimming over the turf. Then she steps forward, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a grin so wide it’s almost smug.

“Yes,” she says simply, as though the answer was never in doubt.

Your hands are steady as you slide the ring onto her finger, the weight of the moment settling between you like a tangible force. She steps closer, her arms wrapping around your waist, her face pressing into your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

“It felt right,” you reply, your hand brushing over her hair. “It’s always been you, Alexia”

[1-800-c3dr1c]

GIRL I NEED A SMUT OF CORIOLANUS SNOW BUT LIKE IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN BUT A SEX POLLENNNNN

YOUNG! CORIOLANUS SMUT ONESHOT.

submissive! reader. dominant! coriolanus snow. female reader. reader is shorter than coriolanus. established relationship (boyfriend and girlfriend). aphrodisiac used in drink unwillingly (reader getting drugged because of it). consent (but technically not because the reader’s under a drug?? ..would’ve consented even if not under a drug). fingering. unprotected sex. mean! coriolanus snow (if you squint). overstimulation. ANOTHER WARNING, NSFW IS AHEAD.

requests are: open! please look at the pinned post for characters i will write for. <3 let me know if you’d like to be in my tag list for whenever i post anything related to young! coriolanus snow under this post as well, or in my inbox!

i hope you like this, anon!! i did change it up slightly, so that it’s an aphrodisiac instead! i hope that you like it, but if you don’t, i can of course rewrite it to fit the request completely! <3

word count: 2,431

your boyfriend, coriolanus snow, was stressed. you could tell, even by the slightest of things. the pull of his eyebrows going downward, or the small crease of a frown on his mouth. you knew.

you wished you could help him, you really did. and at times, you’d pipe up and ask if he wanted help. disappointingly, he always denied your offer to help him, brushing you off while trying to sound nonchalant about it, letting you know that he could deal with it all by himself.

your boyfriend was a terrible liar, but you chose not to press on whenever he’d deny you of your help. however, it had startled you quite a bit when he had come into your room, a steaming cup of your favorite tea clasped in his hands.

“hello, darling.” he said softly, kissing your cheek and setting the cup down beside you. “i made you some tea.”

“oh! thank you, corio.” you turned to him, a bright smile on your face. “do you need help with anything?”

“no, i’m quite alright. thank you, though.” he lifted a hand to ruffle your hair, smiling back at you.

you found his actions genuinely surprising. he was never one for affection, especially due to how busy he always seemed to be. the problem was, you had no idea how he had gotten so much supposed free time. first he’d made you tea, and he was even talking with you?

“are you going back to work?” your voice was soft as you asked the question.

“hm? no, i have a few hours to spare. i finished what was most important, the rest can wait.” he told you, watching you pick up the cup of tea, softly blow on it, and then drink some of it.

you didn’t pay attention, but if you had, you’d notice that a slight smirk had formed on coriolanus’ face. he was up to something.

“..is something wrong?” you asked, noticing him staring at you.

“mm? nothing’s wrong, love. everything is fine, no need to worry.” he assured you, his head tilting just slightly as you continued to sip the tea. perfect. that’s exactly what he wanted.

“whatever you say, corio.” you shrugged, unbothered by it. after all, he usually kept to himself, and you knew that. it was fine with you, he would tell you if something was wrong when he was ready, and if there wasn’t? that was even better.

he simply put his hands in his pockets, watching you as if he were waiting for something. but what could he be waiting for? as your gaze wandered to his lips, you asked yourself this question. was he waiting for something from you? if so, you didn’t know what it was.

“are you waiting for something?” your voice was low, way lower than you had expected it to be. however, you figured it may just be sleepiness starting to catch up with you. and yet still, your gaze couldn’t help but linger on his lips. how peculiar, but it wasn’t very uncommon for that to happen, so you thought nothing of it.

“mm.. no. i’m not waiting for anything. i was hoping i could spend some time with you, though.” he sounded calm, way calmer than you’d thought he’d be. he seemed so sure of himself, as he always did. but for some reason this felt different. he carried himself slightly differently, as if he was on top of the world.

maybe he was. maybe he wasn’t. but coriolanus had told you plenty of times. snow lands on top. he had also told you that someday, if you’d ever want it, you’d be a snow, too. his wife. but you two were just getting into university, perhaps after your studies were over. for now, all you could focus on was work.

you had told coriolanus that before. that you weren’t thinking of marriage, or hell, even having children. however, for some.. unknown reason, these thoughts began to fade away. those thoughts became fuzzier, obscuring your thought process and no longer claiming it as your own.

..had coriolanus put something in the tea? no, he wouldn’t. he’d never do that to you. right..?

“corio..?” your voice was quiet, barely even audible to your own ears.

“yes, my love?” he replied, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

you couldn’t think clearly. disregarding your former question, which had been right on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to ask it, you caught him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your height and kissing him roughly.

you couldn’t tell, but he was smirking against the surprising kiss, before placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. he let out a low groan, a guttural, almost animalistic sound emitting from the back of his throat. “fuck, love.” he murmured against your mouth, his breath catching in his throat.

“i- i’m sorry, corio. i dunno what came over me..” you whispered after having pulled back from the kiss in an attempt to catch your breath.

he didn’t say anything, cupping your cheek. “it’s alright, love. promise, it’s okay. tell me what you want.” he murmured, his lips right beside your ear.

you swallowed thickly. “i need.. need you.” you could barely think clearly now. your head was spinning, your thoughts running miles a minute. frankly, you didn’t quite understand what was going on.

coriolanus snow had put something in your tea. that much was obvious by now, but what? you didn’t know. it could’ve been anything. you were fighting with yourself, knowing that it was a losing battle.

give in, give in, give in. your mind was screaming, and your hands balled into fists as you clutched his shirt. “corio.. please.” you were nearly whining.

“whatever you want, love.” he said quietly, carefully guiding you to your shared bed. despite not being engaged, you two did live together. it was much less expensive, especially with the plinth family paying off nearly all of it for you anyways.

he carefully sat you on the edge of the bed, humming to himself. “what d’you want me to do, darling?” he questioned lowly.

“f- fuck me. please!” you couldn’t keep your hands off of him. frantic, you tangled your fingers in his soft, curly locks of golden hair. he smiled at you, and if your head were clear, you would notice that it was more akin to a smile of which showed that he’d won. as if this was a prize for him, something he’d rightfully deserved.

“sh, shh..” coriolanus soothed you, tracing patterns on the back of your hand with his fingers as he hummed, using his other hand to begin sliding your shirt off of you. “i’m right here, ‘m gonna give you what you need, i promise. alright? just be patient,” it was nearly as if he was mocking you.

he knew that you couldn’t be patient. not in these circumstances. what a fucking tease. you thought it unfair, pouting at him like a child would when they didn’t get what they wanted. “but corio..” you whined out, evidently needy.

“don’t say a word. i’ll take care of you, darling.” he said softly, finally slipping your shirt above your head and smirking at you. “you’re so gorgeous.”

you couldn’t think of a coherent reply to that. your head was fuzzy, and it was obvious that your thoughts only consisted of one thing in its entirety. coriolanus snow.

he busied himself with removing your shorts next, before your hand shot out and caught his wrist. “not fair.. that ‘m gonna be undressed and you’re not.” your voice was quiet, slightly slurring due to what’d he’d put in your tea, which still remained unknown to you.

he laughed, such a startlingly genuine laugh. he hadn’t expected that from you whatsoever. “alright, love. go ahead and off my shirt if you want. unless you want me to do it?” he offered, his tone suddenly seeping with an utterly surprising warmness laced in his words.

“i wanna do it,” you murmured absently, already unbuttoning the shirt. he didn’t say anything, didn’t move away from you. sometimes you’d pause, smiling giddily as you traced one or two patterns on his chest when it was exposed to you. after a few minutes of you fumbling with the buttons, you were able to get the last one unbuttoned.

he helped you this time, and thank goodness he did. you didn’t know if you could handle not being able to feel him. he slipped the shirt off of himself, letting it fall to the floor in a heap behind him. he caught your chin with two fingers, tilting your head up so that your lips met his own in a heated kiss.

this distracted you, making him able to slip off your shorts and underwear without much difficulty. after he’d done so, you shivered at feeling his finger beginning to trace patterns on the inside of your thighs.

“corio, please don’t tease.” you whimpered against his mouth. he smiled at you, as if a kind smile, before carefully slipping one of his fingers past your folds. this allowed for a gasp to escape your lips, and you broke off the kiss, resting your head in the crook of his neck. he used his vacant hand to pull you nearly impossibly closer, that you hadn’t even realized you two could even get any closer until he’d done so.

“tell me how much you need it, darling.” he cooed softly, evidently teasing you with how his tone was. however, this fact slipped past your mind, and you didn’t hesitate.

“need it so badly—need you so badly! corio, please.. please, please, please, please, please..” you whimpered, letting out a squeak when he slipped another finger into you, carefully thrusting them in and out.

if in any other circumstances, you’d be blushing in embarrassment at how lewd the noises of coriolanus thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy were. this time, it was quite the contrary. you didn’t care, your body trembling as you moaned out, pleading for more.

“need you, need your cock- please!!” you sobbed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. this felt so good, so so good!

“nuh-uh. ‘m gonna have you come on my fingers first so that you’re ready, mkay? don’t wanna hurt you, y’know.” if you hadn’t known any better, you’d think he actually cared a lot about that. but he’d fucked you plenty of times in the past, this was just his way of teasing. of edging you on, making you beg until he finally decided that he’d fuck you once he thought you’d done good enough for him.

it seemed like your lucky day, however. he seemed just about ready to fuck you, and before you could tell him you were going to come, the feeling of emptiness in your core suddenly fell over you. you gasped, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. “wh.. what was that for?” you choked out, shaking. you needed him! he knew that! why hadn’t he let you come?!

“i think that you’re quite ready, love. i thought you wanted me to fuck you?” he grinned at you, a mischievous grin thar showed he fucking knew what he was doing.

you nodded, desperate. you couldn’t let your orgasm escape you, nor could you even think about not having his cock inside of you. in fact, it was all you could think about. it consumed your mind, leading you to be even more frantic than you had before.

you tried to take of his pants, but he’d already beat you to it. he was teasing you. he was making sure to take his time, slowly slipping off his pants before slipping off his boxers just as slow. it was excruciating, and you whined every time your need for him got even a bit worse.

he leaned over you without warning, pressing his cock against your folds, opening them slightly with his tip, but not pushing in. “tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” he murmured.

you nodded again, unable to speak clearly, and that’s all he needed. with a deep breath, he slowly pushed his cock into you. inch by inch he sunk into you, and it felt like heaven. you let out a moan, and coriolanus groaned out.

he slowly pulled back, keeping his tip inside, before he thrusted back into you at a somewhat faster pace. he continued this until he found a good pace to set for himself, a sheen of sweat adorning his face. he was concentrated, letting out breathy grunts and groans. to shut himself up, he leaned down and bit at your neck, beginning to suck on a specific spot.

you knew what he was doing. he was marking you, creating a hickey on your neck. showing everyone that you were his. you were coriolanus snow’s, and he wanted everyone to know. not that you minded in this state.

you were a moaning mess, sobbing as tears rolled down your cheeks. you were shaking so bad, and to stop you from shaking any harder, he pulled you closer to him, whispering sweet little nothings against your neck from time to time.

over time, his pace became utterly relentless. it was nearly inhumane, and it felt so fucking good. you were panting, chasing the orgasm that he’d denied you of from before, and chasing back the air you’d lost.

“oh, fuck.. oh fuck.” coriolanus gasped into your neck, and you knew what that meant.

he was close, and so were you. “love.. love, please. come with me.” he groaned out, his thrusts becoming sloppier, his pace speeding up to the point where you hadn’t even thought was possible to begin with.

all you could do was nod, shaking as you let out a high-pitched moan, your orgasm crashing over you as stars blurred your vision.

coriolanus didn’t stop, however. he thrusted into you, helping you carry out your orgasm and allowing him to reach his own. with a loud groan, muffled by his mouth pressed against your neck, he came hard, pushing his cum into you.

slowly, your thoughts began to clear up. you could think a bit more clearly, and as he lifted his head to look at you, coriolanus spoke.

“are you alright?” three simple words that formed a commonly asked question, and yet you knew the answer to that.

you were perfectly fine.

[rottingsins]

hi !! wincest fic idea :) cnc that turns into actual rape <3

tw: CNC, r4pe, inc3st

note: thought about writing this all day, thinking of furthering it some other day but this is what I came up with in about 30 minutes just now from the itch to write it <3 tell me what you think, would love your thoughts. (I am working on all other suggestions/prompts, dw you're not forgotten)

Sam's head was pushed down, air knocked out of his lungs as Dean's rough hands carded through his hair, fingers gripping in a tight hold to keep him there and yet he fought against the hold, desperately trying to climb up for air but his brother never let up.

"No-no, no, no-" He muffled into the pillow hand coming up to dig his nails into Dean's wrist who hissed in return, pulling him and pulling Sam's back to his chest.

"I told you I could've been more gentle if you were nicer, laying down like the whore you are. But no, no you want to fight back." His rough tone rang in Sam's ear and he was shoved down again, rough and mean.

He could hear the clink of the belt being taken off behind him, and it was like everything moved slowly, his hands clawing at the sheet as he attempted to move away but it was fruitless, truly. Dean was right behind, grabbing at the hands that tried their best to reach for freedom.

Sam may be bigger, taller but Dean was always stronger, able to round him up and move him how he pleased.

"Please, I'm sorry, please Dean, no-'' He cried out when his arm twisted behind his back. "No, please, I don't want to, Please-" the belt fastened around his wrist, tight enough to burn from the rough drag and dig of leather in his skin. And then Dean's hands were back onto him, rough and calloused as it pushed his front into the bed, other hand going to Sam's pants buttons, opening with haste, so easy - like Sam was free access to begin with.

And Dean treated him like that, pulling down his pants and boxers mid-thigh and he was exposed. It was embarrassing how his cock was red and throbbing between his legs, it was embarrassing how he whined when the cold air rushed to him. 

He was reacting so well - like a true whore, Dean had thought as he took the disappointingly average cock in hand, giving a few dry jerks just to hear his little brother cry, leg kick out. He was always too sensitive for his own good. But good god did it make Dean twitch in his own boxers.

Sam could kick and cry out all he wanted but he enjoyed this, he wanted it. It was their little game after all. Big mean older brother Dean taking advantage of his little brother Sam who wouldn't want to hurt Dean too much to even properly protect himself. He was just Dean's baby, his toy. Always was and always will be.

So it wasn't surprising when Sam's tip began to leak when Dean dragged his nails down Sam's back, watching the red marks leave in their absence. Maybe it was wrong, the things it did to him when he saw it. 

Dean pushed down his own pants and underwear just enough to slip out his cock, his slowly moved his hand from the middle of Sam's his ass, and just as he reached his ass, pulling his cheek to the side enough to get him a view of his hole, and that really got Sam to start a kicking mess again. And just as the first kick went out, little "no's" coming from his lips, Dean's hand landed harshly against the skin of ass, a red blooming under his palm and skin heating up.

But he didn't stop at one, he did it again, and again until all Sam was cry a couple of tears and finally stopped fighting against him, shaking legs giving up the hell they were raising.

Sam could feel the ache of his ass and it made his cock pulse, so close to the edge. But the pain wasn't over, a few little "no, no's" passed his lips before there was the feeling of a wet and blunt tip against his hole and he gasped, legs seizing - he was frozen, and scared and Dean was pushing in, liquid hot fire flooded his veins as the ache ran up his spine the further he forced his way in.

It wasn't right, something was wrong- it was never like this before, he couldn't explain it but he couldn't speak, the hands tied behind his back were tapping against Dean's abdomen, in the three tap pattern Dean swore he'd notice and stop at - that the play was over. Sam was gasping desperately for the little air he had to fill his lungs because he just couldn't breathe.

Dean was pulling out, and Sam waited and waited for the coo's and care that was to come but it didn't - "Awe, you're bleeding baby." he pushed back in and again and again - he wasn't stopping, not like he promised.

The pain was too much, like a never ending fire. Sam fought against the restraint, pulling desperately at them to get his hands free, to crawl and fight away. But the belt simply rubbed his wrist raw and he sobbed an honest sob. His throat was raw from it alone, dry and sore. He cried out for his brother, wanting his aid and not his pain.

"-hurt's, it hurts, hurt's, Dean, angh-" The air rushed out of him just as it had come. He couldn't remember what he was meant to say, couldn't remember the safe word.

Why didn't he stop when he tapped? Why did he keep going?

He tried tapping again, pressing against Dean's abdomen as it came again and again. Impaling him so deep it was all he could feel, all he could think about - about how much it hurt. How wrong, wrong, wrong it was. His thighs were shaking and they were aching. The only thing keeping them up was the death grip of Dean's hands on his hips.

Sam feverishly shook his head in the pillow, tears falling one after the other. 

But it was like Dean was too caught up in the way Sam wrapped around him, sucking him in further - tighter than usual and it was just too good to stop, not when the tears and panic of Sam's shaking added to the pleasure coursing through his veins.

He would take what he wanted, he always would and will. So that's what he was doing. One hand grabbing onto the belt of the restricted hands and going deeper, drilling in until he truly couldn't go any further, pulling him to meet his hips in each thrust to hear the guttural groan that fell from his baby brother's lips.

To say he was obsessed with Sam's ass was an understatement, he was addicted. The little sobs and babble of words fueled him on. Only he could do this to Sam, no one else could have him, make him into the mess he is. He owned Sam.

At some point, Sam's struggles and fighting began to cease, just laying limp. He had no fight left in him, choking on his own tears with groans climbing up his throat. There was never a spark of pleasure, it was like someone was ripping apart his insides. The zipper of Dean's jeans digging into his skin with every thrust, he wouldn't be surprised if he was bleeding from it alone. The raw rubbing of cloth against the back of his thighs was bordering painful.

He waited, waited after every thrust, every groan from Dean that he would stop, that this would be the last, that he would pull out and acknowledge him, apologize, anything, he'd accept anything if he would just stop.

But it didn't, it dragged for what felt like hours. He didn't even notice when Dean was done, filling him up raw with his cum, groaning "fuck" mindlessly as his hips stuttered inside of him. The white mess leaked out of him, mixing with the blood to create a pink as it dribbled down his thighs.

And he's never felt so numb, so used, so discarded as Dean simply pulled up his jeans like it was just another night. Like he didn't care.

But, like a kicked puppy, Sam called out for him in a rough and broken voice. "De-an." 

After all, Dean was all he had. All he wanted. All he needed.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  when broken is easily fixed

SUMMARY : priestly broke up with tish (yes!) uh, i mean… you watch him be pathetic and sad with his big wet green eyes.

PAIRING : boaz priestly x fem!reader (implied Latina)

CHARACTERS : tish (mentioned)

WARNINGS/TAGS : jealousy, breakups, fluff, tiny angst, innuendos, obliviousness x2

WORD COUNT : 2.7k

A/N : SURPRISE YALL, I’m back, heheheh. title from silverstein’s song. this fills the square “I’m having what you’d call a rough day” on my @jacklesversebingo card. lmao, this was nice to jump back into writing. I secretly like teaching y’all physics. 

You remember the day Priestly showed up at the market in a disappointingly normal state. 

No piercings, no colourful hair, no beard, no eyeliner. Just plain old California clothes, nearly looking Christian with his neat hair, and composed manners.

The only things that reassured you that Priestly was still Priestly after all, were the tattoos that peeked from outside the collar of a white dress shirt and the tiny holes in his skin where his piercings once belonged.

It was confusing at first, but he looked happy. Brighter.

You thought his parents were in town. Or that he became religious after all. Or that he joined a cult. 

You teased him at first. He’d just give you this dreamy look and never said anything to ease your curiosity about his current state. He’d be out the door in a hurry, with a tiny bit of that Priestly swagger that told you he was definitely not brainwashed by a cult.

But the reason for the sudden change in him soon became clear. 

One day, he walked into the store to buy groceries and other necessities with Tish. Hand in hand, the two of them. All giggles and shoves and smiles. The honeymoon phase. She’d kiss him on his cheeks, take his chin in her hand and press herself against him in an unnecessary manner to tell him something, and he’d look stupid, like he couldn’t believe she was there giving him affection. 

Your stomach dropped at the sight of them. 

You’d never felt the way you did before. 

Yeah, there was a cringey-ness and aversion you always had  for PDA and romance that you’d noticed in yourself for years, but it never bothered you like it did now. From watching Priestly and Tish be a couple.

But it also didn’t take you long to realise why it bothered you so much more. Why it was so much harder to ignore than if it were any other couple doing it. Why you felt rejected became clear.

You had feelings for Priestly.

What a dumb way to find that out. 

Excuse the fuck out of yourself if you were too focused on your university courses and your job and your future and your personal life… to realise that you really actually liked him. Romantically.

You weren’t going to lie to yourself and pretend that you didn’t care at all when you were alone. You weren’t  going to lie to yourself about the sting you felt. Or push away the feelings of jealousy and push down how upset you were and the other, million emotions you felt as you watched them go about their lives as a couple for months. 

You never wanted to quit more badly than you did then, just to avoid having to see them get closer, clingier, more affectionate, serious. But it was the only way you could afford living in your dorm, to have enough to pay your classes, and afford your supplies and books... 

You sucked it up and pretended that nothing was wrong. Like you didn’t even care about him. Like you never did. 

It never really got easier, the only thing that became easy was pretending. 

You blamed yourself for waiting too long. That’s what haunted you. If you’d just been braver. If you’d been more honest with yourself and him. If you’d had the courage to say what you felt. If… if…

It was torture.

The high California-in-the-summertime temperatures made you think that you were in Hell, but time passed and you accepted that your chance with him had passed. You told yourself to move on and be happy. For the most part, as long as you ignored them, it was easy to be happy again, to live your life and do whatever your wildest friend was doing to enjoy her summer. 

But that happiness you’d seen in Priestly was gone by the time the fall semester came around. It took six long, horrible months for that happiness in him to fade away. 

It didn’t last. Just like the spring and the summer.

Until one day you didn’t see her with him. And the next day he was alone again. And the next week; alone. And the week after that, too. 

No Tish. 

Just mopey, wet-eyed Priestley. 

His stubble grew, his eyeliner returned—slightly smeared from tears. 

No more Banana Republic, Tommy Hillfigure, or Calvin Klein. Just those ridiculous shirts that always made you smile.

He entered the store today again after a week. 

The shop's bell rang and you looked up out of habit, and watched him with his gorgeous green eyes cast downward to the slightly dusty floor you were trying to sweep. God, you’d guess it was more of a depressing, someone’s-dead type of chime than a merry one—from the state of him.

His hair was a mess and slightly longer, it was not brushed or styled neatly. Like he woke up from a nap after breakfast and decided to go to the store because he remembered something he forgot before his nap. 

You felt bad… at first. 

His cheeks were pink and his eyes were red-rimmed and glassy from tears. He had darkened bags under his eyes. But as he moped around and you avoided being noticed by him out of awkwardness, you caught a glimpse of his shirt, which amused you: Hang in there, it gets worse, with a little thumbs up, too. 

He came completely in black, too. 

It was unavoidably funny. But you stifled your snort as you continued to sweep quietly, until eventually, you got lost in thought again. Your head filled with your to-do list before entering your final semester. 

But you eventually found yourself in the same aisle as him. You swept the trash up into the dustpan as you watched him try to hold bread, bananas, napkins, and toilet paper in one arm while trying to take out a gallon of milk from the fridge.

You saw what would happen from a mile away and quickly released the broom and left the dustpan where it was to help him. Before you could actually get to him, the napkins toppled out of his hold and he mistakenly released the milk to grab it which caused the gallon to burst open when it fell to the floor like a ripe melon in the sun. 

You gasped when the milk splattered on you, but you didn’t actually mind at all. Priestly, on the other hand, sighed heavily again, completely giving up. 

He finally looked at you when you reached for the napkins he dropped and you smiled warily at him, hoping it appeared more reassuring than pitiful. You handed him the napkins and he murmured an apology, taking them from you. 

“They say when you drop your food, it's because someone craved it,” you tried to make light of the situation but he didn’t even notice. He gently placed everything down on top of the shelf behind him with a deep sigh.

“I’m so sorry,” he frowned at the large white puddle, “I’m having what you’d call a rough day.” You huffed a soft laugh which made him raise a brow at you. 

“Day? You’ve been mopey and pathetic for weeks,” you teased playfully, but he remained quiet. You figured you’d offended him or hurt his feelings because he sniffled and looked down at his hands. 

Your face softened.

“I’ll pay for that.” He pointed to the spilt milk and broken gallon.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him. “Let me clean this up. I’ll help you when I finish.” You turned around to pick up some napkins you kept behind the counter and he made a sound of protest. 

He followed you, you heard him walking behind you quickly. “I made this mess. I should clean it. Besides, it’s almost your lunch break,” he tried to stop you. You laughed softly and shook your head as you laid yourself over the counter to grab the napkins from underneath the counter, your feet dangled embarrassingly above the floor.

“Hey, it’s no trouble,” you dismissed, smiling triumphantly to yourself when you got up with the napkins. “Go be a customer and bring your stuff… take two trips this time. There’s no one else here.” You snatched the napkins away from him when he tried to take them from you. 

He smiled a little. 

It made you smile more earnestly. 

“Okay… Fine…” he gave in hesitantly and followed you as you walked towards the mess he made. He picked up the stuff he left on the shelf and watched you squat down and lay some napkins over the puddle. The paper soaked the milk up and he slowly walked to the counter then returned as you finished up. 

He stood there awkwardly at first. Still just watching you clean up and then you got up and smiled at him sweetly. He smiled back at you gently and your heart sped up the way it always did when he looked at you. Your stomach clenched happily, but you frowned and quickly stepped away from him to throw the wet paper towels away along with the gallon that had contained the milk. 

“I’m really sorry,” he apologised again when you returned. 

“Priestly, it’s fine, accidents happen,” you chuckled to convince him and eyed the new gallon of milk. “You ready?” You wiped your hands on your jeans despite still feeling icky. 

“Yeah,” he answered quietly, then looked around at the unusually empty store. “You want me to finish sweeping for you? Or maybe… Do you wanna wash your hands? You look uncomfortable. I can wait,” he rambled.

You laughed at him, this was all too much for you so “early” in the morning. He instantly shut up and became flustered. His free hand flew up to the back of his neck and he laughed awkwardly. 

“Well, if it matters so much to you, put the Closed sign on while I throw the stuff in the dustpan away and wash my hands. I’ll meet you at the counter in five.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said automatically. 

You rolled your eyes at the name, but walked away wordlessly to finish up. You actually were pretty hungry.

When you returned, Preistly had his hands in his trouser’s pockets, he was chewing on his lip, and his cheeks were red from embarrassment. 

“What’s that thing you said earlier about dropping food?” He asked, trying to alleviate the thick tension that hung in the air around the two of you. You smiled as you scanned the items he needed. 

“Oh, nothing,” you shrugged, “just a saying.” 

He was quiet for a moment and then you looked up at him. He was already looking at you and your face instantly started to get warm again. You looked away as casually as you could to finish scanning the remaining items and neatly placing them inside a plastic bag. 

“It was funny.”

“Ha, I guess…” you shrugged awkwardly and told him the price of his groceries. 

“Right…” he took out random, balled up dollar bills from his back pocket despite having a wallet with enough space. You smiled curiously and took the money from him. 

God, hurry and leave, you prayed internally as you placed his money in the cash register and took out his change. You dropped three quarters and a nickel into his hand when you began hearing the soft sound of rain hitting the windows and the concrete outside, and the delightful aroma of petrichor sneaking through the vents into the store.

“Fuck,” Priestly muttered, his fingertips grazed your palm and your body lit up like the second the temperature of the universe hit one billion Kelvin after the Big Bang, finally allowing neutrons and protons to form atomic nuclei as they hit and stuck to each other. “The worst day ever.”

You snapped out of your daze, disappointed, but not surprised at his obliviousness. 

“I could give you a ride,” you offered with a shrug, taking your bag from inside the bottom drawer as he took his bag of groceries.

“I keep wasting your time…” he trailed off, but he did not decline your offer. 

“That’s fine. Where do you live?” You made your way around the counter and walked past him to stand at the door and watch the rain slowly come heavier.

“You’re a stranger,” he joked, and you turned to roll your eyes at him. “What? You could secretly be a Mankiller.” You opened the door with a sarcastic laugh and squirmed as rain hit your face.

“Please, look at me,” you scoffed playfully, locking the door to the store once Priestly stepped outside with you. 

“I am,” he said gently. 

You looked up at him with your brows knitted in confusion. “Whatever. My car’s over here,” you brushed him off and quickly led him to your car.

You both sighed once you were safely inside the freshly cleaned car. He laughed to himself as he looked around inquisitively, but you didn't question him. You turned your car on instead to pull out of the driveway and asked him again where he lived as a Britney Spears song played on the radio. This time he finally answered your question seriously.

The conversation was light and you kept asking him about the sandwich shop he worked at and about his friends to avoid talking about yourself or his break up. It was basically small talk, bleh. The conversation was superficial because you didn’t want to get close to him, not now, not when he was freshly broken up and still clearly hurting. 

He ran his hand through his hair once you parked outside his house, somehow he managed to make it look tame. He looked at the time and you waited patiently for him to get out so you could leg it and cry to your friend over the phone about how you were so not over him. 

“Stay,” he proposed suddenly when he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I can make you a sandwich, I’m really good at that.” You shook your head at first and racked your brain for some excuse to get away. “Whatever you want, I’ll make it for you, I’ve even got some soda in the fridge. Please, I feel really bad.” You chuckled softly at him and the pleading eyes he gave you. They looked much wider and greener. 

“Fine,” you gave in, “I’m really hungry, so… I guess I could stay for a bit.” He lit up slightly and started to get out of the car before you managed to turn it off. But you caught up with him as he kicked the welcome mat to the side to retrieve his house’s key. 

“You want a sub?” He asked, you bit your tongue to stop yourself from making a joke out of that and nodded as you entered his messy house. Oh well, he’s been going through a breakup. 

“Oh, God, I forgot it’s a mess,” he apologised when he looked at the star of everything around him. “Close your eyes, pretend you don’t see it,” he pleaded jokingly. 

“As long as I don’t step in something squishy, we’re all good,” you reassured him with a small laugh. You followed him to the kitchen and figured he must be going through the not-eating breakup rather than the eating-my-feelings breakup.

“How big do you want it?” He asked you, setting the bag down on the counter and going to wash his hands.

“How much do you think I can take?” You asked before you could actually filter it out of your mind. He quickly looked at you, amused and intrigued while he dried his hands with a clean towel from inside his cabinet. “Kidding, how big is it?” He laughed loudly at your question which made you get more flustered, but he still gave you a measurement with his hands. “Half of that,” you tried to ignore his face and sat down before your knees gave out from embarrassment. 

“If you can only take half of that, I don’t think you could handle me.” 

Your mouth fell open. You were sure you stopped breathing for a few moments when your heart stuttered and your stomach lurched at the thought.  

This time, you blinked at him in surprise, but your eyes stayed wide, and you felt yourself turn hotter before you both bursted out laughing. 

@spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @lanassmarty @candy-coated-misery0731 @jessllianaquilesrolonworld @murdockscumsock @the-achievementhunter @lyarr24 @rominaszh @zepskies @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @k-slla @mrlonelycat @taylortotsworld @ohnosy @angelbabyyy99 @impala1967rollingthroughtown @iwishiwasntreal @pasteldecrack @blackcherrywhiskey @dayhsdreaming @xshortputax @imsapphine @il0vebeingdelulu @gravesphillip @illicithallways @saturnsooya

jacklesversebingo23 masterlist

boaz priestly masterlist

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[jennykins]

~Take My Breath Away~

Johnny Cade x Fem!Reader

Summary: Johnny Cade and the gang are looking to go to a diner for the night, luckily you were there and earned yourself a date with a pretty shy boy..

Word count: 949

Authors note: i am a beginner and i know that this might not be the best but ill try! and if you like it please send in requests for any character of any fandom <3

Warnings: None! Fluff

You were a soc who worked in a small but successful diner in Tulsa, it wasn’t really a good pay but it was good enough for you. Working in the summertime was better than just staying at home all day.

Today, you would be working a night shift. You started getting ready at 7pm, showering, and doing your routine until 8 a clock when you would be entering your shift. When that time came you walked to the diner and clocked in, noticing a group of greasers sitting down at a large booth near a window. You asked your friend and coworker Sharon if she had taken their orders yet.

“Hey Sharon, have you taken table 6 yet?” you asked while grabbing a small notepad and tucking it in your pocket.

“Oh no i haven’t, i have been stuck with table 3. Very picky and quite the complainers” she replied

“Okay then” you walked over to the large booth where the loud laughter of the boys was heard and when you stood at the table they all turned their attention to you.

“Hello! my name is y/n and i’ll be taking care of your table today, are you guys ready to order?” you said with a kind smile.

( i’m too lazy to do the whole taking order thing so let’s skip that;))

After you took their orders you ripped the little piece of paper out of the notepad and took it over to the kitchen.

Meanwhile..

“She was pretty wasn’t she?” Two-Bit said while twisting a toothpick in between his teeth.

“She’s a soc, two” Steve said with an eye roll and a cheer right after that because he won a match of arm wrestle with Sodapop.

“Yeah yeah whatever, man i saw how you were looking at her Johnny boy” Two-Bit turned to Johnny who was looking down at the table in embarrassment from being called out for staring at the pretty waitress. “No i wasn’t,” he murmured

“He’s not wrong Johnny, it was obvious i mean you looked at her like how Steve looks at chocolate cake” Ponyboy laughed and lightly hit Johnnys shoulder. “Man quit it, i don’t have a chance anyway. You really think a soc is willing to get with a greaser?” Johnny said disappointingly

“You don’t know if she’s different, what if she’s like Cherry, the girl from the drive in.” Ponyboy tried to reassure Johnny. “Yeah, i don’t know” and with that y/n came back with the drinks that they had ordered on a tray.

“Alright im back,” she said while putting down the drinks to the people that ordered them and picked up the tray again.

“Sorry for the wait, i’ll be back with the food soon” she clasped her hands together and looked around the table for a second, meeting eyes with a pretty boy who had dark hair, and was dark skinned, along with a small cut on his cheek. his eyes were dark but looked up at her with puppy eyes. he looked at her with admiration and she did as well. time seemed like it slowed down and she caught her breath.

‘he’s so beautiful’

‘she’s so beautiful’

Johnny never thought that he would see something or someone so beautiful in his life, that was until this moment. to your pretty hair that was tucked into a bun with some loose strands in the front, to her nice shoes that clacked against the diner floors. what caught his attention the most were her eyes, they were doe like and had a nice shade of e/c. if he were standing up he probably would’ve tripped over his own feet, she took his breath away..

Darry coughed when he noticed that the two teens were staring at each other with a look that they made seem like they were in a romance movie. this made them snap back into reality and thank goodness the rest were busy fighting about something because they both turned as red as a tomato. y/n turned back around to return to her spot in the kitchen to check on their food but she didn’t miss the smirk Darry had on his face. y/n still had a red face as she checked on the food, sharon not failing to notice this either.

“Woah, Y/n why are you so red? Did something happen?” she asked in a confused tone

“Oh im fine, its just hot in here that’s all” she brushed it off and hurried to grab their dishes and give them to the greasers.

When she returned and handed everyone their own plate while asking if they needed anything else. she was about to leave the table when she made eye contact with the boy again and smiled a bit at him and turned away. johnny was blushing a deep red and turned his head down from the rest of the group.

After a bit, the boys had finished their plates and paid. One by one they left the diner, Johnny being one of the last ones. he walked right up to y/n where she was standing by a small table where she would take customers to their designated tables. she looked up at the boy with a slightly confused but flustered look.

“Hey, I’m johnny and i don’t want to seem like a creep or anything but i just wanted to say that,” he hesitated before he said it “i think you’re really pretty and i would like to take you out sometime if you would like to..” his face was filled with nervousness yet he was determined to spend some time with the gorgeous girl.

“O-oh, thank you..” you blushed and brushed a stray hair out of your flushed face. “my name is y/n, and i think that it’s a good idea”

Alright i had a brain fart and i don’t know what else to put, and this is my first attempt at making a small story sorry if it’s bad, i tried.

:)))

[simcardiac-arrested]

i’ve been browsing the watcher tag, reading different opinions—both criticisms and defenses of the game. and this is my conclusion of the last few days:

some of you act Very Bizarre about people who dare criticize the thing you like. i think pointing out the broken storytelling of watcher and its other flaws, gameplay or lore related, doesn’t actually mean that you missed the point of the base game or that you never actually liked it and hurr durr, you must be a fakeass downpour fan who only cares about linear storytelling with characters you can help.

some of you are extremely biased against not even people who exclusively only enjoy downpour, but people who enjoy both base game and downpour. some of you are treating these people unfairly because (checks hand) uhh, they don’t enjoy the thing the way you enjoy it so they must’ve been fake fans all along and are probably just here for downpour! clearly you guys don’t even like rain world if you don’t think watcher is like the second coming of jesus christ!

does this sound familiar? if you were here in 2023, it does. if you have been a fan of rain world for a while, and you were here for the release of downpour and witnessed the fandom growing in real time, then boy does this attitude sound familiar. today’s “if you didn’t enjoy watcher it’s because you’re a fake fan who’s only here for downpour” is yesterday’s “if you got into the game through downpour and didn’t enjoy base game then you’re a fake fan”

to understate it—this attitude is fucking exhausting, especially coming from people who are grown ass adults and should be able to handle criticism of their favorite things without instantly jumping to “you guys like this thing in a surface-level, unenlightened way, while i, an intj, like this thing in the proper way that the writers intended”. it’s fucking exhausting and i cannot believe we are still doing this shit 2 years later, with a new dlc, and just switching the word order.

i really want the rain world fandom to be a place where many different opinions coexist, a place of discussion and constructive arguments. i want to be able to talk about the elements watcher succeeded in, and the many elements it could’ve done better—without people implying that one of my favorite games, one of the most important games in my life, actually means nothing to me and i missed the point of it. i want this fandom to be a place where i can listen to differing opinions, where people can try to prove me wrong and i can try to prove them wrong in a way that gives me—or them—a new light to see The Thing in. because that is what criticism is about—letting people change your vision of the thing you’re criticizing, letting them give you new things to consider, and vice versa. it’s about listening to each other, and respecting each other.

disappointingly, this is not what the rain world fandom is, and maybe never will be—just by nature of how much each story contrasts with each other (no, i do not think that watcher captures the base game perfectly, i think it’s pretty damn removed from base game the same way downpour is, but i digress), but, still. what i’m seeing is just…upsetting. i am not seeing respect. i’m not seeing any constructive discussion. i’m seeing people invent yet another echo chamber where They’re the True Fans and Everyone Else just doesn’t get it. i’m seeing people once again dividing themselves into factions of basegame vs downpour vs watcher vs basegame & watcher vs downpour again (because there’s never enough treating downpour like it is some kind of black sheep of the family). i’m seeing people literally say that if you want the watcher to be 0.2% clearer or 0.2% more accommodating, the game is not for you. and much, much more that i won’t list here, because you can literally see it for yourself if you just go in the tag.

all of it feels very dissonant in relation to the game—the game where you have to think, to consider different perspectives and interpretations to fully piece the story together, and even then you might not get all of it…it seems like the fans refuse to do just that. to me, at least.

i’m sorry if you saw yourself in this post and my words hurt or offended you—this was not my intention. i am not trying to go after anyone, call anyone out, or make anyone think like i have a personal vendetta against them because they have a different opinion. i tend to use hyperbole and strong language, so i understand if people misinterpret that, but the main point of this post was to just bring light to the issue and, i don’t know…feel less insane? feel less like i’m living in a separate reality, because most people i’m seeing seem to think this is just normal behavior that should be supported?

and, well, to let my emotions out. because as much as i am angry, annoyed and tired of this, i am also just profoundly sad that we’ve managed to cultivate such an environment that is antithetical to everything the game was trying to say. i am sad, because i am itching to share all of my thoughts and hear others’ thoughts, i am itching to understand what people take away from this dlc and how it differs from my experience. i am itching to just…post, to just talk about it. to put my own thoughts on my own blog.

i am sad, because i don’t feel like these thoughts are welcome.

so, yeah. this post turned out pretty emotional and kind of vague, so here’s a pretty emotional and kind of vague conclusion to it:

i did not enjoy the watcher as much as i wish i did, as much as i hoped i would. and it is not because i’ve actually been misunderstanding the game all along and never truly liked it for what it is, it’s not because i’ve constructed some personal version of rain world in my head that i expected the watcher to 100% adhere to.

i really wanted to enjoy it. i wanted to like it as much as everyone else did, wanted to be blown away by what it meant for the story and the characters and the worldbuilding. i wanted to look at it and see what everyone else sees in it.

but the reality of the situation is this: i did not enjoy the watcher as much as i wish i did, precisely because of how much i love rain world.

and that is not a mutually exclusive statement.

[premamelody]

do yall think in some runs, flowey and clover like really really bonded

like they made an inside joke or something. had an actual serious moment where clover spilled a bit about their life on the surface that hit too close to home enough that flowey actually listened?

maybe for the rest of that run until their death, flowey had some genuine care for clover, though stopped doing so remembering clover was likely going to die in it and every other run.

flowey is left with these memories and him only.

sometimes would he subconsciously says a joke from the past and realize disappointingly that clover doesn't remember.

all those good times just go to complete waste at their death. if clover dies, so does the memories of the run. flowey cannot hold on a single memory alone. after many many long runs he's going to forget eventually.

if he's going to forget, what's the point of remembering. whats the point of caring. the entire thing just proves flowey's point, there isn't much reason to care for others if it only lasts a run.

except, when the player becomes present, clover is remembering, indirectly. Clover themselves might not remember previous times at this point, but as the thing controlling them we do. we indirectly imbue previous runs into their mind, aware of it or not. better soul movements, different responses. at some point clover has to realize there's something different. it doesn't help that flowey after a neutral run skips his tutorial. wouldn't someone new like them need guidance? but no, clover is such a brave, clever person who doesn't need one.

to them, this is clover's first time there so that shouldn't be the case. there's something terribly wrong and it only takes 1 killed monster to find out what.

[wickedsmille]

Head empty, only gen fluff Tiny Tim and Jaybin being adorable. Please see below for lil' mini fic-

drum roll

-----

Tim knew it would be a bad day. From waking up two hours before his alarm for school when he'd only just gotten to sleep to spilling his bowl of cereal all over the floor after one bite. It hadn't gotten better when he missed the bus into Gotham and needed to wait for the next, leaving him nearly an hour and a half late for school. Of course, it's the one day Mr. Briggs, a history teacher old enough to give his own first person accounts, pays more attention to the students than the whiteboard. Tim got called out by Mr. Briggs, his older classmates laughed and snickered and Tim slunk into the only empty desk right in the front where no one ever wants to sit.

His rotten luck hadn't ended there either. Despite actually doing his English homework for the first time in months, he'd left it at home on his desk. Mrs. Everette, a woman perpetually in a bad mood, wasn't feeling gracious enough to give him an extension. When lunch rolled around, Tim rejoiced at having a reprieve from the awfulness of his morning. Alas, peace was not in the cards for him because his lunch account was empty. Gotham Academy didn't have a very forgiving lunch program either. Stomach gurgling in protest, Tim quickly fled from the cafeteria before the whispers could start about the Drake family's imagined financial crisis. Really, his parents had forgotten to fill the account and, having checked the account too many times to find it disappointingly empty, Tim forgot to double check and add funds himself.

The library was closed. School aids were actually doing their job and patrolling the doors so students couldn't leave. Giving up, Tim went straight to his next class and sullenly rested his head on his desk, fighting back the urge to drift off to sleep. Then he'd been rudely woken up and once more the center of attention.

No matter what he did, everything went wrong.

So, maybe it wasn't the best decision to go Bat-stalking that night. Things had been so horrible he couldn't help it. Nerves frayed and mood a cesspool of mortification and frustration, Tim was desperate for a crumb of happiness. Traversing the city at night always lifted his spirits. Catching a glimpse of Batman and Robin, sometimes Nightwing, made him feel bigger than himself. Like he was important in a world hellbent on convincing him otherwise even on the good days.

He couldn't help but don the dark colored and threadbare sweatshirt and jeans kept under the floor boards beneath his bed. Slinging his camera bag over his shoulder became a need rather than a want. His steps felt rushed and harried as he trotted to the bus stop. The ride into the city left him anxious and jiggling his leg in anticipation. By the time he was weaving in and out of the shadows, skimming the edges of Park Row and a known patrol route for Batman and Robin, Tim felt more centered. The cheap, plastic Halloween domino he put on bit into the meat of his cheeks but it was better than the off-chance someone recognized it was Timothy Drake, heir to the Drake family and prime kidnapping material, running around.

With practiced ease, Tim jumped up and grabbed the ladder to the fire escape. The metal creaked and groaned as it came down. He scurried up it and took the steps up the roof two at a time despite his short legs. Oh, how he couldn't wait for his delayed growth spurt. Being shorter than even peers his own age was getting tiresome. With a hop, barely able to hook his fingers over the parapet of the roof, Tim hefted himself the last few feet.

His landing wasn't exactly graceful. At all. His foot caught the edge and sent him tumbling face first onto the loose gravel. He skinned his hands trying to catch himself. Sitting up fast, he whipped his head back and forth to make sure no one saw his folly. Satisfied his embarrassment would stay his own, Tim hunkered down behind an AC unit on the other side of the roof to wait for the Bats.

At least it was an atypically nice night for Gotham. Lying in wait could be horrendously boring and only made worse when it was wet or snowing or windy. But so worth it when the Dynamic Duo would cross close enough he could snap a couple print worthy shots. Tim settled in for the long haul, ready to wait it out and let himself hope.

Now, normally, Batman and Robin would be a block over from Tim's position. The zoom on his camera is sophisticated enough to get a few decent pictures. Other times, they would soar right over him and he'd have all of five seconds to capture the moment men become myths. When Batman is suspended in the air with his cape flared behind him, seeming weightless despite his heavy armor. When Robin flies, wild and free and uninhibited.

Sometimes Tim dreams of what it would be like. Not swinging through the cityscape necessarily, although he'd never pass up the opportunity if given it, but that feeling. To be unburdened by expectations. To finally surface from the aching loneliness of living in a house too big for one person.

Tim should've known because it's not a normal day.

There's a burst of noise over the side of the roof he's closest to. The abrupt sounds startles him hard enough he nearly drops his camera but experience and reflexes honed through hard lessons learned on Gotham's streets have him clutching his camera tight and swiveling towards the commotion. Taking a couple cautious steps closer to the edge, Tim carefully peers over the roof.

He reels back as a bright blob of technicolor fabric shoots up. It arcs overhead and sails across the roof faster than Tim can track it. Whatever it is, because Tim has no earthly idea, ignores Tim completely as it shifts to dart down the other side of the building. Tim raises a brow, staring after the blob.

"Hey, stop!" a voice calls out from behind Tim.

He turns so fast he nearly tips over. Then he actually falls to the side when a body crashes into his own. Landing flat on his back knocks the wind from Tim's lungs. Tim's too busy wheezing and remembering how to breathe properly to bask in the reality of the situation. Because there's a figure clad in red, green and yellow sprawled across his legs, arms wrapped around Tim's thighs to keep him pinned.

Once his brains unscramble and Tim's inner fanboy starts screaming about how Robin is the one on top of him, Tim squeaks. Actually squeaks. Any other time, he'd mentally chide himself for it but, considering the circumstances, he gives himself a little grace. Slack jawed and wide eyed, Tim pushes himself up onto his elbows to meet the intense but confused glare of Robin.

Eventually, Tim's tongue cooperates long enough for him to utter a faint, "Hi."

"You're not a D-list villain," Robin says. He narrows his eyes and holds Tim's legs tighter. "Wait, are you?"

"Uh, not the last time I checked," Tim replies.

Nodding, Robin releases him and scrambles up. "Sorry about that. You see which way that thing went?" He reaches up to readjust his domino but it's barely hanging on.

Tim sits up fully and points to the other side of the roof. "Over there. Then down. What was that?"

"Don't worry about it," Robin answers casually, quickly. "You should go home," he says distractedly as he tries to get his domino to stay in place.

Tim has a snappy reply on the tip of his tongue when the technicolor, vaguely human-shaped form appears over the edge of the roof again. A bright flash of light in the corner of his eye draws Tim's attention. The bottom of his stomach drops out as he realizes the D-List Villian, as Tim is dubbing it, has shot a Thing at them. Magic or a ray gun or who knows. It is Gotham after all.

Robin barrels into him and knocks him back onto the ground. Again. This time, Tim has no qualms with it as the ball of light hits the AC unit behind them and erupts into a shower of sparks. That could've been him. But he was just saved by Robin.

Tim was saved by Robin.

He's beside himself, basking in giddy joy and disbelief, when Robin snarls and hefts himself up off Tim. The blue of his eyes is electric as he fixes his gaze on the D-List Villian before it vanishes over the edge of the roof again. His bare blue eyes. Because Robin's domino has come off. Tim is looking at Jason Todd, not that the information is anything new, but seeing it first hand is something else. Something fantastic and wonderful and awe inspiring.

As soon as Jason notices Tim's unabashed staring, he tenses up and slaps a hand over his eyes and the top half of his face. "Not a word, kid, you saw nothing," Jason snaps. He's fast enough anyone else might not have realized who is but Tim is already armed with the knowledge of the Bat's secret identities.

"Nope, I definitely didn't see your entire face," Tim agrees sarcastically.

Jason shoves a hand at Tim's face, squishing Tim's cheek and pushing him away. "You know what," Jason growls.

He doesn't take his hand off Tim's face. Instead, he curls his fingers around the edge of Tim's domino and yanks it up and off. Spinning on his heels, Jason turns his back to Tim and slips on Tim's domino. When he turns back around, Tim can't help but guffaw. Robin is wearing a $1.99 mask that, by Tim's own experience, offers maybe 50% visibility through the lenses. It's crudely made and so obviously fake. Compared to the military grade armor of the Robin costume, it looks ridiculous. Jason looks ridiculous.

In retaliation, Robin grabs the hood of Tim's sweatshirt and pulls it over his head, blocking Tim's view. Tim tries swatting at his hands, not putting up much resistance because at least it's a way to hide his own face before Jason realizes he's Tim Drake, a kid hovering on the periphery of the same social circles. It would be weird for him to not put up any kind of fight though.

"Okay, twerp, I need to deal with this but you run home and forget this ever happened," Robin warns him, holding down Tim's hood as he attempts to wriggle away.

"Yes, Mr. Robin, sir," Tim snaps, grabbing at the fabric of his sweatshirt to pull it away.

"Please, Mr. Robin is my father."

"Leave the one liners to the first Robin."

"No idea what you're talking about," Robin says blithely, grip unrelenting despite Tim's best efforts. "Now, promise."

"Okay, okay, I promise I didn't see anything," Tim responds, crossing his fingers.

"Damn right you didn't," Robin agrees, sounding satisfied.

Finally, Robin lets him go. Leaping over Tim, Robin sprints across the roof and jumps onto the edge. He scans the area, leaning forward and no doubt squinting because, come on, there's no way he can actually see out of Tim's stupid mask. He seems to light up as he spots his quarry. Deftly, he unhooks his grapple and readies to shoot it.

Oh no. Grappling and low visibility can't make for a winning combo.

"Wait!" Tim yells, intending to warn Robin.

Twisting around, Robin gives him a crooked grin and a two finger salute. "No can do. And remember, even if you say something no one will believe you!"

Then Robin is gone, airborne once more and moving swiftly away from Tim. By some miracle, Robin doesn't crash into the side of a building. At least, as far as Tim can tell. Too soon Robin is out of sight and no doubt in pursuit of the D-List Villian Tim's sure will be on the news in the morning. Maybe. With so much happening in Gotham on the daily, it's always a toss up which flavor of crazy will actually make it onto the broadcasts.

Tim won't be watching the news. Won't need to because he's lived the story, or at least part of it. The forming bruises on his back will be proof enough. The red, angry patches of rubbed raw skin on his hands and the loose gravel worked into his shoes will be his reminders. That and his lack of a domino. Because Robin has it. Since Robin is wearing it. Robin saved him and is wearing Tim's crappy domino and Tim thinks this may be the best moment of his life, second only to when he realized the identities of Batman and his Robins.

With trembling fingers, Tim yanks out a spare swath of cloth to wrap around the bottom half of his face. The domino was impractical anyway but it didn't make him look like a budding gang banger and helped him feel closer to his heroes. Tim would now willingly sacrifice it over and over and over again.

Because Robin is wearing it!

Overcome by a cascade of joy and incredulity, Tim flops back onto the roof. He hisses at the spike of pain but settles as all the tension seeps out of him. The worst of the day sloughs off along with it. For as terrible as the day had been, Tim regrets absolutely nothing because it's led him to this moment. It makes up for everything else and leaves Tim smiling so hard it hurts.

[multiheadcanons]

FUNNY NUMBERS; DOUBLE DUTCH

i did it again. enjoy! 😉

scout: scout’s a virgin, and that’s on purpose… so he says. the truth is if literally anyone asked him to drop trowel and stick it in them he absolutely would no question no thought. actually, that’s wrong. he would have many thoughts. so many thoughts, in fact, that he would say “no thanks” and simply walk away. he won’t do it in public. he won’t do it if he thinks there’s a chance anyone could catch him. he won’t do it in the car. he won’t do it during the day. he won’t do it if he has other responsibilities he can take care of— as a matter of fact it’s one of the best ways to get him to handle responsibilities he has been actively putting off. he won’t do it if he feels weird, or off, or exposed, or anxious, or angry, or sad, or hungry, or avoidant, or too needy… the list goes on. it is difficult to catch scout in a moment of sexual tension to urge him to have sex with anyone because he’s overthinking it. it’s like erectile dysfunction but it’s all in his head. he can turn himself off faster than anyone else could possibly. to get in bed with scout is a multi to the nth degree step process. including a minimum of ten dates and at least two emotional breakdowns. and that’s not to say he won’t try multiple times before you get the first success. he just can’t. he will choke. and it is embarrassing. and if you say anything about it, he will never speak to you again. it’s not even something you can spare a chuckle at because it is just so embarrassing to him. but once he succeeds… what a guy. he’ll bust disappointingly quickly the first few times. usually inside of you. but he’ll find a stride. long, slow strokes. often breaks to eat you out, or finger you, anything he can do to prolong himself he will do it. he’ll even get a cock ring. his face gets so red from the focus of not busting immediately, he’s switching between holding his breath and hyperventilating. remind him to breathe like a normal person, please. he says he’s willing to try anything, but experimenting is only something he’s willing to do occasionally. he’s not denying you because he doesn’t want to do it, he’s denying you because he doesn’t want to do it right now. also, get him a condom, or get on birth control. he hates pulling out. he will make a point to not pull out. he doesn’t want to see anything but a homemade boston cream pie. he’ll cry if he has to pull out. but he cries when he enters you, too. just a couple of tears. he’s not sobbing but he won’t deny it’s euphoric. he’s just a crier in general during sex, sue him. it feels good. it feels great, as a matter of fact. why get upset with him because you feel that good? if there’s an established long term relationship, he may, hesitantly, bring up the idea of bottoming. don’t get too excited or you’ll freak him out and he’ll take it back. he’s cute as a bottom. a lot of cussing, a lot more tears. he might only let you get one pump in before he tells you to get out of him. but trust, he enjoyed it. he just needs a minute to adjust to it. he will go silent when he cums. he will take a sharp inhale, stiffen, and then collapse. bad aftercare at first. he will just straight up fall asleep, still buried inside of you, and if he bottoms he’s absolutely just passing out post climax. if you don’t care, he won’t change. but if you let him know that you need a little more than that when you two are done, he’ll put forth the effort to make it good for you too. just might take him a minute to pull himself out of you. if he doesn’t get hard again. but once you are sufficiently cared for, he is going straight to bed. won’t wake up until his alarm clock goes off. he might, might miss a meal to have sex. but he is only missing one meal like… a month to do that. and honestly, once he gets used to sex and its inner machinations it very quickly tanks in the list of scout’s priorities. he actually doesn’t really care about sex that much. he cares about the closeness he has with his partner, closeness and intimacy which can be garnered other ways. but he’s not gonna say he doesn’t enjoy blowing fat loads in you either.

soldier: if you meet this man anywhere near a crawlspace you’re leaving with a creampie, and if that’s not what you want, maybe stay out of his sights and go the other way. keep an eye and a keen knowledge of whatever field you may be on, because soldier is acutely aware of every small, cramped, mostly private space; and that’s where he’s headed if he is not caught in the heat of battle. if you even say hi to him, he’s assuming that’s what you want. frankly, both teams are fully aware that the blu soldier is getting his… “needs met” on the field. and it’s funny, to them, to take guesses as to whether or not he’s got a partner (or partners) joining him in his more… vulnerable moments. but everyone is tight lipped about it. so nobody on either team knows who’s been the lucky one (or few) to join him except soldier himself, and the lucky recipient(s). the teams are so aware, in fact, that they even give him the grace of privacy. nobody wants to kill a man with their dick out. that’s not fair or fun for anyone involved. and honestly, when he returns he is never disheveled any more than he seems to be when he is battling normally. which begs the question to the team if he’s actually doing anything other than taking a break or if he’s always been doing this. it is the latter, there are people on those teams walking around with either condoms in their pockets exclusively for jane doe or a creampie. soldier is a man of efficiency. he really has no clue or interest if his partners are getting off unless they’re men, and when he’s done, he’s done. maybe if he really likes you he’ll make sure you are cleaned up enough to be presentable, he might even give you a kiss, but he’s not staying any longer than he has to. and he’s vicious. there is enough foreplay to get you going and that is it. he’s going at the pace that feels good to him and that is it. sometimes, if you’re lucky, it’s a good pace for you, too. but i really hope you don’t want that every time because most likely you will not get it again. gets a little confused if you offer to suck him off. not “where does my dick go” confused, but “why would you want to do that” confused. soldier will never have sex on the grounds of the base, so having sex with him in general is somewhere where he doesn’t have access to a shower, making it dirty, nasty, occasionally bloody… he fucking reeks. and you want to put your mouth on that? put your nose all up in his pubes? but he supposes he can’t say no. he will let you do what you want if you’re direct in your request for sex and he likes you enough. but he won’t ask you himself unless he really likes you. really, he’s never propositioned anyone to join in on his escapades. he just realized he was fighting with a boner most of the time, and would quickly excuse himself to take care of it. then people just started… meeting him there. and if they propositioned, or took over whatever he was doing, then he assumes they wanted to have sex. the same way he never told anyone to not tell. if they wanted to air out that business to the teams he didn’t care, as long as it didn’t get to the higher ups. his partners decided to keep their silence. curses and grunts when he’s getting close, and i have to reiterate he’s not pulling out. if anything he’s driving himself in deeper. as far as he possibly can. normally will have his partners face down in the dirt anyway, holding their hips up just high enough to get the angle he wants, and draped over them otherwise. he doesn’t think anything of it, but his partners do. it’s touching. he’s shielding them from view. taking the fall of being the freak. he is genuinely just trying to bust his nut and go about his business. don’t talk to him while he’s fucking you, either. don’t make any noise, in fact. he’ll tell you to shut up. and if you can’t, he’s going to cut off your air supply until he’s done. he won’t kill you, but you might pass out depending on how long you’ve been going at it. if he’s fucking a member of the red team he’ll kill them so they have an excuse for being MIA, if they express concern.

pyro: pil. low. fuck. er. pyro goes through like… a pillow a week grinding against them until they’re limp and sad, they’re not even getting used for bed. the team does not question why they are ordering obscene amounts of pillows, they just buy the pillows. it’s not weird as long as they’re not specifying the pillows they want. maybe they just like having a bunch of fluffy, clean pillows. that’s fair, and the team can delude themselves into thinking that it’s even remotely correct and even improve their opinion of pyro at the same time. they are a desperate humper of anything and one that will not deny them. if you actually say “yes, please god pyro fuck me put it right here” it’s just a cherry on top. when they are desperate they make it known, to everyone. but it always starts so innocent. gentle back pats here, an innocent offer of their gloves hand to hold, the team doesn’t mind that too much. it lets them know pyro’s feeling good, enjoying their company, they appreciate it, even, from pyro! but then they turn into lingering touches, that then sink lower. the team will shut it down at that point unless pyro absolutely begs for them to acquiesce. and sometimes they do! because pyro will beg. on their knees, mask pressing into their shoes, so forceful with it you can make out every letter through the mask. “please. please please pleasepleaseplease—” it’s honestly too cute. like a dog begging for something to do. unfortunately pyro has cruel masters. and the team will almost always redirect pyro’s need elsewhere. so the pillow has become their main lover, though they are constantly thinking about what it could feel like to be touched by someone else. they have explored their body as much as they’re willing to, they have found what they enjoy and what they’ve hate; and they’re ready to share that with others. pyro is a strong contender as one of the nicest lovers on the blu team. they will make sure you are not only thoroughly satisfied, but that you are well cared for afterwards as well. they will listen to you if you tell them to do something, they will do it without complaint. they do not care as long as you touch them back, and don’t ask them to take off the mask. say whatever you want. call them whatever you want. stomp directly on their chest until you hear the bones crack, just touch them. and hopefully you’ll get naked and they can look at you. and touch you back. pyro is very gentle, and you would do best to not sway them any other direction. let them be soft to you, you don’t owe them anything if they want to be soft. but there is a price to asking pyro to play rough. pyro doesn’t play rough very well. they don’t know when enough is enough. they don’t know when the tears are good or bad, and if you allow them to be mean to you they will take it further than either of you expected it to be taken. it is simply not worth the risk. let them play nice. they are more than satisfied with that. they really don’t want anything more than to touch someone and be touched by someone. eerily silent, aside from heaving breaths and ragged pants past the filter. it’s hard to even know if they came or not, or if they really just wanted the view and didn’t care otherwise what happened from there. but either way, it’s pretty cute. if you wanted to you could make them roll over. you could make them kill someone and they’d do it if they thought they would get a night with you. they’d do it and return faithfully to your side. pyro is eternally on the quest to fulfill everyone’s love bar until everyone is willing to touch them. and they used to feel like there was just too many people in the world to really make headway with anyone. but when the world is pared down to only a select few, it’s not nearly as hard, it seems, to do enough for someone to get so much as an ass squeeze. they mean, seriously, who’s balls or titties do they have to suck to get a smack on the ass every once in a while? a gentle caress, they’ll even take a kiss blown their way, can someone please give pyro the chance to appreciate a body other than their own?

demo: a professional whore. demo will not have sex drunk. he will touch you exclusively when he's sober. he wants to remember exactly what he's doing, he wants to remember every gasp, every twitch, every sigh, the good, the bad, and the loud; he needs to remember all of it so he knows what to do next time. he is striving for perfection come your third interaction with each other. so if you want him to make love to you, or fuck you, let him know so he can emotionally prepare to be sober for the day. he won't even sneak a single drop of liquor as he waits. and he's incredibly twitchy while he waits for what he knows is going to be the best time of his life. so he's twitchy, as he usually is sober, but he's also invigorated. ready to move. keeping his mind occupied as he counts the seconds. if he could, he would force the time to move faster. he can't wait to experience you in your entirety. demo's driving force, much like his counterpart's easy going manner, lends itself heavily to sex. a word you could describe for it is 'excited', but the most realistic word to use is "motivated". you will come to him and he is immediately stripping. tell him what you want, he is happy to get started. and he'll do anything. anything you want, you just tell him so he can begin. even the super freaky shit. he will suck the polish off your toes. he will fist you. he will go proposition the other teammates and run a train on you. he'll watch someone else fuck you, even though he might get a little jealous. he probably won't allow that to happen for long before he decides he's going to join in. he'll invite someone to watch him fuck you, which he is much more excited to do. he will suspend you from the ceiling and slowly lower you down onto his cock like a sexy saw trap. he will shove his dick so far down your throat that you vomit. he will sit on a cake and eat it off his own ass. he'll hold a gun to your head and ask you, firmly, to get on your knees. he'll stick an entire tree up his urethra if you tell him that will get you off. he will never say no to you. do you want to fuck him? he is prepared and ready for you. he will bend over so fast and spread his legs so wide. do you want to watch him fuck himself? do you want to watch someone fuck him? he'll do that too! and while he will never complain about whatever you want to do, if you were to ask him personally what he wants, he will blank. he knows a lot of what he doesn't like to do, but he doesn't really focus on exactly what he likes! he likes being inside of any orifice you offer him, and that's about it. he'll never say no, but every sexual experiment leaves him at a net neutral. he's just happy to be fucking something that isn't his hand. he doesn't have jewelry in his prince albert currently, so when you both find out there's a second hole in his dick, that will be an experience for both of you. kind enough to pull out, unless you explicitly ask him to cum inside of you; and if you do he's going to ask you to repeat yourself. not to be smug about it, but he just wants to double check that's what you want. god tier aftercare. what do you need? a towel? a snack? something to drink? and he will check, double check, and triple check if you want another round. because if you're done, he's getting a drink. he may not drink himself into a stupor, but those first few gulps... almost better than sex. that relaxes him enough to come tend to you, and hold you, and give you the comfort he's unable to in the heat of sex and sobriety. he can be an absolute sweetheart once he's got some liquor in him. but he will never fuck you drunk. it is the only time he will deny you. he just doesn't have the heart for it. he doesn't want to touch you and not remember what he did the next day. he doesn't want to forget how you ask for him. he clings to those moments. it's his life preserver in the sea of liquor. it reminds him there's a reason to not drink so often. he can be the man he wants to be when he's sober. maybe only exclusively in the bed, but if that's the man he wants to be... then what. a. man.

heavy: to fuck this man there is a question you have to ask yourself: can you match his utter freak? mikhail isn’t described as a sweet, kind, or caring man on his best day, and he will never be described that way if he has anything to say about it. his easygoing, relaxed demeanor is a facade. it is the nectar in the pitcher plant that is this man. you will die interacting with him. but you will die at the top of mount everest. you will genuinely think this man at least likes you the first time he propositions you for sex. and he doesn’t. he’s not gentle. and he’s not attentive. he was looking for the quickest way to get a nut and you provided that for him. it’s fine enough. if you beg for something he may give it to you. he probably won’t. it’s fast. he gets what he needs. he ignores you for the rest of the day. the cracks begin to form in him if you come back for more. if you start demanding actual pleasure. something in him is almost forced to comply. and he’s not happy. he’s not happy that he’s compelled to drop to his knees at your mere command of it. it’s embarrassing looking up at you, but he is waiting patiently to be told what you want him to do. you’re so soft, and you’re so warm, and it hits him that he is so cold. you are a lovely reminder that he loves to eat. there’s something about your noises. your taste. and then his eyes flick up at you… and it’s not so bad to be on his knees, watching you squirm above him. and it compels him to be gentler as he slides into you. if you’re really enjoying it, he might even kiss you. hesitantly, nervously, almost. he won’t pull away until he cums. in the clarity, he hates you. he doesn’t want to speak to you, look at you, be around you, he’s ashamed to even think that he submitted for you. and you’re everywhere in his mind. he gets flustered, almost angry if you’re actually in his presence. he finds anywhere else to be. he fears he might actually appreciate your presence. at that point, put a collar on your new dog and keep him on a short leash. most anything you want can be done with a firm command, and he will obey. but when you’re done using him, he will beg you to leave him alone. he will plead that you leave him be so he can fix his mind. all i can tell you is don’t. he actually doesn’t want you to. if you do, he can convince himself he was overcome by carnal desire. but he won’t stop avoiding you, or acting like he hates you either. so tighten your hold on him. demand his presence daily. watch as he grits his teeth and follows. watch him crumble as you undress for him (his mind shuts down. he can’t stop thinking about how good you look with nothing on.). watch a man gain an addiction to giving oral. listen to a grown man call your name in hushed, broken gasps as you slowly lower yourself onto him. feel his hands grab at you, grip tightening to the point of sprained bones. watch a man gain an addiction to you. there comes a point where you don’t have to ask him for anything. he will memorize the times you call for him and wait for you. he’s had so much experience with you he knows exactly what you’ll ask for, and he waits to see what you want first. any request is met with immediate action. he’s obsessed. and he will flush red if you mention it. he leans into your touch, and it’s the first time past his mouth you feel heat emanating from him. he refuses pleasure unless you insist. and he hates you. he reminds you every time you’re done that he hates you. it’s hard to believe that when he’s sitting on the floor, looking up at you, face covered in your fluids. just let him hate you. don’t tell him you love him. you will break him. he can’t contain his rage if you tell him that. he doesn’t want to be loved. he wanted to be left alone. he wanted to fuck and be left alone from there. he didn’t want to get this attached. he didn’t want to like you. but he does. and he doesn’t know any other way to show it except to follow you dutifully to a bedroom and slowly sink to his knees, waiting for the best meal he’ll have the pleasure to eat. bon appetit to him.

engineer: oral connoisseur, vehicle sex aficionado. you can suck this man off anytime you want. do not ask for confirmation, you tell him you want to suck him off and the overalls are coming off. no questions no qualms no statements no problems. thankful and gracious for all sexual encounters. loves some road head. he'll hit a pothole to hear you choke. one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of your head. you don't get to get up until you reach your destination or he cums. and don't think he won't reciprocate! he is more than happy to lean over if you're in the driver's seat. something about the idea of oral in the car just gets him going. he can't even describe it. much more of an exhibitionist and voyeur than he would like to admit, and he's not willing to connect the dots of that and his tendency to fuck in cars. but if he walks into something he shouldn't have... it might take him a little while to find the door again, if you catch his drift. though he won't want to join in. the idea of a threesome or anything more than a two-person job makes him a little queasy. he's just not sure how anyone could keep up when there's that many people. he almost feels bad for the porn stars who are on the receiving end of a train, because he just can't imagine. but that's not gonna stop him from staring. dell would probably have a fun time at a kink or fetish party. he will respectfully ask to be an extra set of eyes, and will never attempt to go further than that. he'll even refuse if he's propositioned. he makes a very good aftercare partner, usually the one who has the most energy to get towels and drinks for everyone else involved. engie is also a top contender for one of the nicest lovers on the team, and other than his tendency to stare and be stared at, is quite vanilla in comparison to his counterpart. he will normally pick one partner, and if that spot is filled he is not looking for replacements. and his libido is not raging. now, he's not a priest or a monk or anything like that, he just doesn't have the energy, time or want to put sex high up on his list of priorities when he needs to get paid... and he lives at his job. literally. since moving his workshop off the main building, getting his rocks off has become infinitely easier. no members of the team really know exactly where the workshop is, so they have to contact him first to get a location to arrive. which has made his sex life flourish! nobody comes to his little den unless he invites them. and because it's disconnected from the base, you can be as loud as you want! he won't quiet you down. he himself is not loud, but he is vocal. just likes to talk, and will actually talk about anything during sex. his plans for the week, your plans for the week, a meal he had a week ago that he's considering trying to recreate... his mind wanders unless you're keeping him there. so talk to him! you can indulge him in his own silly musings, or you can ask him how you feel. what you taste like. if he's having a good time. that will generally let him know it's time to lock in and get some answers for you. and he's happy to do so. quite a slow lover. prefers to show you a long time, with generous bouts of foreplay. he will cum anywhere, you just tell him where you want it. happy to paint your face, happy to fill your mouth, more than happy to cum inside of you, condom or no condom, and he'll never deny a nice backshot. he will normally have towels and water on hand for aftercare, and he likes to take the time to hold you. caress you gently for a while before he sends you on your way. he doesn't like to sleep in his workshop. but, if he's still got some energy left in him, and he's feeling a little adventurous, he might invite you back to his room. it depends how lively the base is. the greater the chance he has to sneak you in the more excited he is to try it. if there's a chance he might not even make it to his room, he's happy to put you in a closet and tell you to stay put. he'll come grab you if the coast is mostly clear. or he can have you there, if you'd prefer that.

medic: oohhh, doctor!! stay away from this man because i want him. call the police immediately so i may go post his bail. and don’t fuck this guy. having sexual relations with the blue donned doctor is like getting on your knees and begging the devil to bring a spark back into your life. while he is (allegedly) unassuming and uninterested in sex half the time, if you proposition him you will never be free from the man. one of the few good things about him is that he will absolutely drop everything to tend to you instead. subjects will be left on the table, paperwork left unfinished, if not simply thrown away, if he doesn’t fuck you on the desk and ruin them regardless. he won’t care who walks in, if anything it may be more beneficial to you to have a third party watching, because the medic is mean. and he’ll trick you into thinking you’re getting just a good love session… no. you’re getting fucked. you get maybe a solid thirty minutes of him being so disgustingly sweet to you, mumbling almost incoherently into your skin of how he will care for you, he will love you, he could love you and maybe then you could truly be worth something to the world because he loves you, now. and he can make something useful of you. and if you fall for it, his smile is absolutely precious. soft, kind, almost apprehensive. focused fingers drawing circles and running down your skin in lines as he maneuvers you where he wants you. he loves being able to keep your entire body in his line of sight, from every hair on your head to your toes. the foreplay is lovely! it’s everything that comes after that which will utterly ruin the phenomenal ground work he just laid. the slowest thrust is the one where he enters you. the moment he has been fully sheathed inside of you, he’ll lean over into your ear, and ask you once to be his good little toy. and he’s going to just piston into you. he is actively aiming to put his dick in your stomach acid with every thrust. and he's just cruel. he's snarling in your ear as he thrusts, commanding that you take it. take every inch of him. take every thrust. cry for him. tell him how much you love it; how much you love him. and don't stop telling him how much you need him. and even if you obey him, and you do everything he could possibly ask, he will never be kind to you in return as long as he is inside of you. you will not hear those soft words he roped you in with. you are a whore, you are a sick, sad little slut who's so dick-obsessed that you'll say anything you need to to get what you want. you poor, desperate little thing. he's happy to tend to you, though. who else would possibly bother with you? and you have to beg him to not cum inside you. make it sound like it's a better idea for him to cum elsewhere. it's an easier task to convince him to give you a facial. he's happy to paint your face white. and none of this is to say that he is an entirely indomitable man. there are times where you could, hypothetically, turn the tables on him. but it is a fight. he will fight you. he will hit you. battling the doctor one on one isn't an easy task by any means. and if you can't overpower him, he will taunt you as he hold your arms at uncomfortable angles behind your back and slides inside you. but if you can get him on his back, or on his knees, he'll let you take the win. out of breath, probably bloody— he has the most cowardly smile on his face. tell him what you want him to do. he'll listen. he'll even respect it enough that he won't try anything to get the upper hand on you, this time. he certainly won't let you win again for the forseeable future, but he'll certainly enjoy being told what to do for the moment. stupidly obedient when forced into a submissive role, the second you get this doctor's ego in check every request, suggestion, command is met with an immediate correction, and the profuse thanking that you would even give him the opportunity to please you. please let him cum inside you. or at all? a small orgasm for the doctor? he’s been good, promise. don’t trust him. let him suffer. make him beg for it.

sniper: hands down the best friends with benefits you could possibly ever have. snipes is the most easygoing guy on the team. and should be exclusively approached for casual sex. this is not a guy to fall in love with. snipes is the guy you take to the shitty dive bar and fuck in the car and if you've got time maybe you'll both go to the ihop and have a fascinating conversation about whether extraterrestrials exist, and then you're not gonna hear from him again until he wants to fuck again. and it is hard to not garner some form of feelings for the guy, because he is a hell of a conversationalist. before and after, he is a muse, a jester, and a philosopher all at once. it's not that you play mind games with each other, per se, but you build an entirely new reality that you are the sole occupier of. he is not there with you. you are a good time and a fun conversation. a nice way to spend a day off. and those are few and far between unless he's slacking off. unlike his counterpart, this snipes keeps a very clear line between his job and his personal enjoyment. you will not be contacted unless he's got an off day coming up. your attempts to contact him will be ignored. though, sometimes, you can catch him out and about in town. it's very rare, but there's only two guys in the entirety of teufort who wear that god awful hat, and one of them exclusively wears red. so it's pretty easy to confirm who you're looking at from a distance. that is, if he hasn't spotted you first and turned tail. but, if you manage to catch him, depending on the length of his roster (which is never particularly long) and whether you're one of his favorites he might be willing to appease you for the moment. but then he'll have to tell you to not go out of your way to locate him again. granted, this is a pretty easy command to hear and promise to follow when he's teasing you with the world's best (or worst, depending on how you feel about being teased) game of just the tip. and while he slowly pushes in and out of you, he'll make some... unnecessary confessions to you. one of those being that he kills people for a living. and following him is not a smart thing to do. and you don't want to be on the wrong end of the wrong rifle, do you? he hasn't forgotten about you, he just can't be there all the time for you. but he'll help you out this once while he's on the clock, and he'll try to keep you more updated. this is a lie, by the way. he isn't going to reach out any more than he was prior, which was never. but, on his next off day, he'll give you some special treatment. he rarely likes being the sole object of your affections. he doesn't like anyone being overly invested in his business. it's why he excels at fantastical conversations. conversations where he doesn't have to give any actual information about himself is where he feels most comfortable. it's where he's most charming! it's where he finds the most beauty in the human nature around him! it's when he can get swept away in the fantasies of a utopian society, and not the one where he kills people every day. if he wasn't working, he would certainly have his way with a new partner everyday. he would love to be a hedonist! but neither he, his lifestyle, nor his brain were actually built to be that guy. he's actually never had enough pussy, ass or otherwise thrown his way to even see if he could walk that walk. but dammit... if he doesn't want to try. he has a fantasy of having a harem, of different people and different types, and maybe they can fuck each other too so sometimes he can just be left alone. solid contender for the third nicest lover on the team. thoroughly engaging, if not marginally cruel, snipes is good for an expulsion of energy that keeps coming back. he's the one to go to when you thought you just needed one round, but when you're done you realize that it just wasn't enough. he can go toe to toe until he's back on the clock. pulls out, he has no interest in fatherhood or paying child support, and he doesn’t trust any partner to not baby trap him. keeps condoms in his pocket.

spy: spy wouldn’t fuck pyro with a gun pointed at his temple. pull the trigger, he dares you. sex is a tool spy knows how to use, with much less enjoyment from it gleaned than his counterpart. however, doesn’t mean he’s no good at it. he just prefers it when it’s not used for business. spy is a disgusting, hopeless romantic. he really isn’t invested in the sex unless he loves you. not just like, he has to love you. otherwise he’s not cumming. and getting spy’s love is hard. it is a herculean task that nobody has surmounted. you have got to be phenomenal in the sack to get anything past boredom from the frenchman in a one night stand. whether he’s bottoming or topping. he generally looks uninterested. he’s bored to death, and normally attempting to reach his cigarettes. and he doesn’t truly mean to sound so cruel, but when he asks you “are you done?” you may as well be, or the dejected sigh he lets out as he continues will make you want to stop entirely. and he makes heavy eye contact. so he’s staring you directly in your eyeballs with a scathing look of disappointment and boredom. at that point get off of him. he will probably never contact you again. being a sexual partner with spy without emotion attached is best for quickies, preferably five minutes or less so he can leave and let you feel stupid alone in the post nut clarity. supernaturally attracted to glory holes, but he likes to look through them first. it’s almost like a peephole to another world. he got caught once and now he cloaks to keep up this little habit of his. it does not deter him. all of this to say, spy is not selective with sex. he’s selective with love. and with his love comes the true sexual prowess this man wields in his cigarette smoke riddled body. anything you may want to do, want him to do, want to do to him is on the table. he loves it all, if you’re suggesting it. and he’ll do it with the dopiest smile on his face. not a smirk, not a tight pulling of the lips, a full teethed smile. that’s how you know he’s in that mood. because he looks at you and can’t help this shit eating smile on his face. a smile that says he’s plotting something and it’s gonna be good when it comes to fruition. his favorite position to take you in is missionary. is it boring? sure, but it’s low effort and everything he wishes to touch, kiss, and stare at is in easy access. and he can look down and watch himself enter and exit you, which strokes his ego. he can’t help but to laugh during sex. he just feels… victorious. it’s a prized possession, to have you in his bed. to have your ankles over his shoulder. to hear you whimper, and gasp, and grab at him. he almost gets high off of it. and however loud you want to get, he is happy to match you. he’s more likely to bite into your skin to silence himself, but if you’re howling… what does he look like trying to be quiet? sex is a two man job. and you’re making him feel just as good as he’s making you feel. pulls out, he is paranoid about pregnancy and he's not even the one getting pregnant. he will usually book a hotel room if he’s expecting “company”; he doesn’t want to deal with the team’s jeers. and it gives you a sense of class. you deserve better than a dark room in a building with seven other men (and pyro). you deserve a soft bed. dimmable lighting. clean sheets. but also if you wanted him shitfaced in an alleyway he’d have you there, too. if you want him to pluck you off of a street and drive off without another word, and you just come up missing from the world for a few days or weeks, he’s happy to do that for you, too. and he just can't wipe the smile from his face when he catches sight of you. anything you ask that he can accomplish, he is happy to do. he just wants to make love to you, however you want him to showcase his love to you. he's not very good at being mean, or firm, because he just can't remove the smile from his face. even as he has you bent over and his fingers in you up to his knuckles. even as he ties you up. that smile just shines. if you're having a good time, he's having a lovely time.

[creatingblackcharacters]

hi, i just had a question about how to address people i know not capitalizing Black in writing

for context, i am a non-Black POC

they were writing a speech to give and i was looking over it with friends to make suggestions, offer corrections, and see what could be improved and what is already great about it. i noticed they didn't capitalize Black when referring to Black people and Black men, so I said "capitalize Black, always" immediately, all my other coworkers (all non-Black POCs) (including the person who i was correcting their work on) began saying things like "well it's just in my personal section" and "no one's going to read it" and "you can't tell if you're reading out the speech" and "it won't be printed" and "it's just their personal section"

i didn't really know what to do other than say "come on guys, really? always, just make a habit of it" and they all seemed disgruntled and didn't really acknowledge or say anything afterwards.

it felt weird because i think i should respect their autonomy of choosing how to write in their personal section/speeches if they are only delivering them verbally and never in writing, but also it's the capitalization Black -- like, making a habit of it shouldn't be hard, you know? i'm kind of at a loss of what to do, or what to say to them, sorry for the long message.

Congratulations, you've discovered the Line of where your nonblack coworkers are willing to deal with their own bias. It's disappointingly soon and simple, isn't it? Something as small as "hey just capitalize the identity as a habit" gave you uncomfortable pushback. No willingness to change because "no one will even see it". Imagine trying to convince them of more 😅

I hate to say it, but you've come to a difficult moment. Because they are coworkers, admittedly you don't have a choice but to work with them; it'd be different if they were friends. But "autonomy", I mean yeah. They have the autonomy to choose racism, and they're practicing that. That's who you're dealing with.

Me personally, I would just start leading by example. You cannot control anybody else, but you can control yourself. You can capitalize Black, you can show what it is to actually respect Black people in your life. And calling out things like "hey, this is something respectful to do" is the right thing to do. You didn't do anything wrong. Remember, the goal is not to change minds, it's to remove ignorance. They all know now how you feel and what the right thing to do is. It's not even on something like Tumblr, it's on professional speeches. So when they don't do it henceforth, it's a choice. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[marlynnofmany]

Urban Fantasy Microfiction

Airhoof steered through traffic with the ease of long practice, adjusting the shape of her seat with a thought. It obligingly gave her more back support, yellow sand shifting quietly, while she focused on the road. A couple smaller vehicles up ahead were edging into her lane. She could have slowed or honked, but instead she checked that the central aisle of her sandworm bus was clear. It didn’t take much of a turn of her head to be sure; a minotaur’s range of vision was to be respected. One of the many reasons she was the best at her job.

When she was certain that no passengers were in the way, she instructed the sandworm to narrow, bringing the seats closer to each other and letting the bus pass without so much as grazing a fender. None of the passengers commented.

Airhoof widened the bus again when the road was clear, just in time to glide to a halt at the next bus stop. Right on time.

Passengers walked down the newly restored aisle and out to the sidewalk. Some even said polite goodbyes.

Then a new passenger got on, and he wasn’t polite.

“This bus is falling apart! Look at that! You should offer free rides to make up for the inconvenience.” The mysterious figure in the cloak held up a handful of speckled grains, which had theoretically come off when he grasped the railing.

In response, Airhoof stood and stared him down, fists on hips and muscular arms flexing. The little man was still on the top step, and significantly shorter. The face he was trying to hide under his hood looked like he was only now beginning to realize this.

“That sand is the wrong color to come from my bus,” Airhoof declared. “Apologize and pay the fare or get kicked to the curb.” She adopted a battle stance while more than one passenger murmured in excitement.

Disappointingly, the troublemaker dropped the sand with a barely audible comment about wanting to walk anyway. He stepped back off the bus without any new hoofprints in his chest.

“Smart choice,” Airhoof told him. With a flick of her wrist, she undulated the steps to fling his impostor sand at him.

While the jerk exclaimed and flinched away, Airhoof closed the doors and sat back down. There were no other passengers waiting to board.

“Everybody in your seats; we’re taking off,” she announced. It wasn’t really necessary, since she could see that the well-behaved passengers were ready, but it was only polite. As befitted the best bus driver in the City.

Her bus accelerated away from the curb in a hiss of sand, leaving the troublemaker to brush his cloak clean and regret trying to lie to a minotaur.

~~~

Happy day seven of February Fiction Fight! This is a snippet from one of my characters destined for a very cool anthology that got stalled before making it off the ground. I live in hope that it will happen someday. In the meantime, this is Airhoof! She's great.

[bennetsbonnet]

I love the '95 version so much, maybe because it's so similar to the book, or maybe because they nailed both Darcy and Lizzy. I think that everyone and their mother already have praised Darcy, you know, for the yearning, the glances from across the room, but my god their Lizzy is just spot on. She's almost exactly how I imagined her, so fun, lively, feeling so much and the only criticism I can give is that she's way more beautiful than Jane in this adaptation. They didn't get Mr Collins or Catherine de berg right for me tho (although their mr Collins sure is a specimen, I'm still in awe of that performance), but the Bennet girls all acted like they jumped from my head onto the screen. I could never get into the 2005 version, and it's frankly so ironic that I'm too prejudiced against their choice of the male lead to enjoy it

Yesssss, P&P '95 really nailed the warm, fuzzy feelings that I get inside every time I read the novel and captured the dynamic between Elizabeth and Darcy brilliantly as, imo, if they mutually look at each other with affection in their eyes instead of some level of disgust before Pemberley, it's all wrong! Jennifer Ehle really did so much with her eyes. You can understand why Darcy fell in love with her because those little glances are EVERYTHING! I love her physicality too! She is a great Lizzy, very very close to how I picture her when I read it. She won a BAFTA too which was fully deserved, I'm glad she got that recognition, even if everyone lost their minds over the Wet White Shirt™. The rest of the Bennet girls are fantastic too, so many little background acting moments I adore, like Lydia pushing Mary out of the way at the church right at the beginning, it's so funny! Their dynamic is great and I really enjoy the scenes around the dinner table at Longbourn.

I do wish some things were slightly different; the dialogue between Darcy and Elizabeth when she stays at Netherfield is some of my favourite and I'm not fond of the changes they made (though I can see why compressing multiple scenes of dialogue into two makes sense from a production standpoint). Also the Rosings arc is disappointingly different from the novel, though I think the proposal scene is absolute perfection. I really don't think that will ever be topped, it's amazing! Susannah Harker who played Jane is so pretty but they really messed up her hair imo, it didn't flatter her at all! Not sure it's that wrong for the period, but I don't think the style suited her :(

Lady Catherine is probably too old, but she's such a snob in this portrayal, I still enjoy the performance! Mr Collins differs from the novel too, he should be far younger and TALL! but he's so loathsome which is vital for any portrayal of him :')

I have a complex relationship to '05 because in many ways it's what truly sparked my love for P&P. I'd read the book a few months before but it wasn't until I saw the story on the screen and got to grips with all the characters that I really understood how great it was. So, while I had some idea of the plot thanks to reading the book first, it was like seeing it anew. Then I re-read the book and found it to be even better than the film and, well... here we are now.

I will say that although Matthew Macfadyen is not really my type at all, I got it by the end, much like how Elizabeth comes to see the best in him. He is charming and tall, and they have great chemistry! Though I now struggle to see it as a really faithful interpretation of Mr Darcy, I did enjoy his performance and he made a great Regency hero... just perhaps not an accurate Mr Darcy. Still, I don't think it's his fault that people misunderstand the character based on it, it seems like the director's fault, if anything.

I always think watching any adaptation of Pride and Prejudice is worthwhile, even if it makes you consider things from the perspective of 'they'd never do that!' Helps you get to know the characters better. Plus, the '05 does has a lot of good points, the music is very dreamy and it's visually stunning. I can see why it appeals!