#literally goes 'uhhh... anyway!'

[mamamittens]

Random idea for something I'm sure.

Some sort of adventure, epic-type thing where one of the companions is this dude. He's impossibly strong and tall and haggard beyond belief. He wears a cape at all times and never removes it, it's the nicest thing he seems to own but it's clearly never been cleaned once. Despite that, the feathered cape is in otherwise immaculate shape. He's seemingly very generous otherwise, so long as he keeps his cape. His reason for traveling with the group is to find his lost love, the cape a gift from her.

Anyway, the general vibe of the party is "The world is super fucked up, has been fucked up for a long time, and we're trying to un-fuck it up".

Long story short, they find what appears to be the literal source of ALL EVIL in this world, including a plague of endless suffering where you can't die but rot eternally. Fun stuff. And it's this massive, rotting giant. Bodies fused together painfully, still screaming in agony in their suffering. Attacks do nothing, it cannot die. And every time the party tries, there's a wailing symphony declaring that only mercy may free them, so they cling to her until she delivers them from their suffering. Each body capable of speech screeches against any attempt to pull them away.

It's very visceral and unpleasant.

Then, out of desperation, someone casts a healing spell and bodies start falling off. One by one, this towering giant turns into a frail, emaciated body in the center. Bleeding wounds on their back as they weep.

This is where that dude runs forward, manically clutching the near corpse to his chest. Muttering and rambling as the fragile being tries to squirm away.

Yeah, turns out that's the literal embodiment of Mercy, who this man fell in love with and refused to let go of. To the point that he cut off her wings to keep her with him, but in doing so deprived this world of her virtue, as the wings were more... Metaphorical. Mercy goes where it's needed most, after all, and is always in reach.

The dude insists that it's their torn love that caused all those ill, but like, Mercy CLEARLY FUCKING HATES THIS DUDE and is just too weak to fight him off just like she couldn't fight off those wretched corpses before. The party barely even suggests returning Mercy's wings and he goes FUCKING NUTS.

that's right.

The actual final boss.

It's only after ripping away the cape and returning it to Mercy that she's restored to her true glory. Unearthly beautiful and serene, she opens her arms for her tormentor and he rushes forth only to be fucking obliterated by holy light.

Her suffering ended, she thanks the party and promises to continue her true work... Perhaps this time unseen by mortal eyes. Good call, tbh.

The world slowly heals, the plague cured, and general Bad Times and Bad Vibes are lifted by seemingly randomly blessed individuals who are carrying out Mercy's work. Or perhaps enabling Mercy's touch? Unclear.

Basically, something something, some dude yandere'd so hard he severed the concept of Mercy and kindness from his world in a selfish bid to hoard it for himself and Gets Holy Fucked for his hubris.

Idk.

Sounds fun.

And he spends the entire time playing into the trope of a forlorn lover, who only wants his true love returned to him. The cape a 'gift' he cannot bear to part from for a single second but is actually a trophy of his cruelty. Mercy having given him the benefit of the doubt until that last betrayal and no longer wants to like... Physically help people after that. She still helps just... Social distancing kind of help.

Can't have shit around here lol

[moeblob]

Terrified by this customer I helped today holy moly why would you say that while reading my name tag and saying my name please don't REPORT me for any behavior, good or bad. Just don't.

[yogurtlid10000]

Drew transformers from memory the other day.

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[the-red-hoodlum]

bus time again chat 💔 the price of going to see friends i fear.. 😔

[i-like-books-and-women]

Okay so my newest brain worm is kinda based around how after Zach comes out to Jon and Angel and they're like "omg bro thank you for telling us we love you" pretty much instantly Angel looks back between Zach and Ruben once or twice and is like "Shut the fuck up you're dating" and they're like "I mean like we haven't really talked about that but like-" and Angel essentially goes "Ooh friends with benefits? Based." And I kinda forgot how perceptive he is at times so I think it'd be really funny if he just straight up missed a lot of subtext but can clock any romantic/sexual developments/activities in any of them pretty much instantly. If Jon started dating someone he knew the next time he saw him without being told. He knew Zach and Ruben were gonna get engaged before it had even happened and sent them a congratulations text like the day after despite not being told, not seeing them in person for a hot second, and the fact that they didn't live together anymore.

[prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue]

Neglected Reader x Yandere Platonic Batfam pt 2

continuation of this au -> 🍁 , 🍁🍁🍁 , 🍁🍁🍁🍁

- well anyways, so the reader is stuck in this expensive limbo and they're like " uhhhhh so about the fact you've been avoiding paying your taxes for the past five years -" like reader is just trying to be professional .

- Bruce ignores their comment and just gives reader a cheshire smile and is like " Don't worry about that hun right now we just want to spend time with you " like he's just trying to reassure reader and they're just there like ' WHERE IS THE NEAREST TRUSTED ADULT THIS GRANDPA IS WEIRD ???'

- reader is just awkwardly sitting there like 🧍‍♀️ meanwhile damians just staring at them , enamored . So reader just awkwardly goes on their phone and text their secretary to track their location and pick them up because they are creeped tf out.

- Bruce is trying to be smooth by making dad jokes like " simba was moving too slow so I told him to mufasa "and readers just awkwardly laughing because she doesn't want the old man to feel bad .

- it gets worse when he tries using modern slang like " Hey ( reader's name ) you're so sigma today " and literally everyone in the limbo cringes and damian tells his dad to shut up and to stop embrassing them.

- anyways y'all reach the Wayne Mansion and you try to get out of the limbo but damian literally holds onto your hand and is like " allow me the most handsome , incredible , reliable , intelligent , best looking wayne to escort you out " and readers like okay whatever because he's just a little kid what's he gonna do ???

- so yall enter in and reader is escorted to a fancy living room , so reader sits dowm and whips out their laptop - insistent on being professional and wanting to get this over with so they could go home and take a much needed nap .

- " Okay Mr.Wayne ? It's says here you owe $100, billion to the IRS -" reader starts but then Dick and Jason enters in with big smiles . " Hey sis /bro !!" They greeted them but reader looks at them confused like who the hell are these randoms .

- this makes them both sad and sulk that their adorable little sibling wasn't as joyous to see them as they were to them. In comes tim with Alfred, and the reader perks up at Alfred. " Hey Alfred how are you ? didn't know you started to work for a new family !" Reader greets him.

- everyone just sits there in shock like does reader seriously forget about them - like they know they fucked up big time by ignoring /neglecting them but like they didn't recognize their own family??

- Alfred just politely smiles at reader and is like " Mr./Mrs. (Reader's Name ) I am still working for the same family, your adopted family in fact " he clarified. Reader just stares at him in confusion because like they don't ever recall being adopted ?? Like they've been in foster care they're whole life??.

- reader is just awkwardly like " hahaha hahaha nice joke man " and dick literally dramatically falls to floor and starts sobbing about how reader doesn't love them anymore .

- reader is just like ' wtf ' because like dramatic much and also they thought Alfred was their foster parent and they were just living in a big apartment complex w another family they didn't know they were supposed to be adopted siblings .

- tim literally grabs dick by his shirt collar and picks him up . " It's very nice to meet you :> " tim greets reader. Reader responds with a poker face , " uhhh we lived in the same place for 13 years mate it's a bit late to an introduction, yeah ?" reader says with a deadpan tone.

- everyone just looks at each other awkwardly and reader gets a notification from their secretary that they were outside waiting on them . Reader sighs and gets up from the couch and shoves their laptop into their travel bag . " Alright was nice knowing yall but I gotta dip " reader says and begins to walk right out .

- everyone immediately gets up to chase after them , Damian literally clinging onto their leg, and Jason and Bruce was trying to persuade them into staying saying ' its too late to go outside ' , " it's too dangerous ' . Reader just stops and looks at them both like " yeah grandpa it's 4 pm we know it's your bed time " and walks out the mansion.

- reader walks out , boss bitch style into their own expensive sports car not before waving at them and saying " See you later in court when you get arrested for tax evasion Bruce " and with that they drive off.

- the batfam just stands there in shambles because they failed in kidnapping and convincing reader to stay with them.

[st7rnioioss]

i feel like when skater!chris and girly!reader were friends he would always try and show off on his skateboard at the skatepark, and i can imagine him falling one time and she is all like oh my gosh !!!! are you okay??

and she goes into a whole caring mode, and he's so flustered and like ahhhh. and oh em gee imagine her taking chris to her dorm so she can clean his cuts !!!! #need that PUH LEASEEEEE

𓂅 ♥︎ SKATER!CHRIS x GIRLY!READER

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... skater!chris x girly!reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... girly!reader helps skater!chris clean his cuts after he falls trying to impress her... #embarrassing #butlowkeycuteashell

warnings... fluff, swearing, mentions of cuts, blood, and bruises.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ “now watch this,” chris said with a cocky smile, looking back over his shoulder as you sat on a bench watching him.

to say you were blushing was an understatement. but it wasn’t your fault, it was chris’s. he’d been showing off, and it was as if he wasn’t aware of how obvious it was—showing you new tricks he’d learned, some of them just because you mentioned it, others way too hard for him to actually land, but still he’d do it if it meant you’d giggle a little… and maybe tell him how cool he looked.

“chris, seriously! be careful, you’re not a cat. you don’t have nine lives!” you laughed with blooming cheeks, your stomach hurting from how hard you’d been laughing for the past hour.

chris giggled along, but he was sure that he could land this one trick—sure, it was way out of his range of skills, but if it meant you’d praise him a little more, he’d do it.

“come on, don’t be like that. i’m fine, see? now watch!” he smiled brightly, and you couldn’t help but smile back and just let him do whatever—not that he’d listen anyway.

well.. he should’ve. not even a second later chris is lying on the ground, a forming bruise across the side of his face, his lip cut open. he groaned, and you’re quick to stand up with a hand covering your mouth.

“chris! oh my god, what the fuck, are you okay?” your eyes are wide, hurrying from the bench to sit down next to him on the ground, gently trying to lift his head.

he groaned again, one of his fingers reaching to feel his lip that was completely cracked open. how the hell he managed to do that you have no idea.

instead of reacting to the blood covering his fingers, he looked up at you, a tiny smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

“i’ve never heard you swear before,” he chuckled, wiping the blood off in his pretty much already dirty flannel, his cheeks going a little pink because of how close you are to him,

“chris— shut up! you’re the one who swears too much, now stop wiping off blood, you know it’s basically impossible to get blood stains out, right?” you whined, immediately taking him by the wrist and managing to pull him up from the concrete floor, quickly taking his face in your hands.

all while you’re rambling on about the fall, asking if he hurt his head, and grabbing him by his cheeks, he’s completely entranced by the way you’re acting. he’s never seen you act like this, but not that it’s a surprise that you’d handle it like you’re doing. it’s exactly how he’d think you’d react, all sweet and concerned.

“uhhh—“ he scratched the back of his head, his heart doing a few jumps when your thumb ran across his cheek.

“hello? oh my gosh, you hurt your head, didn’t you? just— grab that god forsaken thing and let’s go,” chris doesn’t get to react before you’re dragging him back to your dorm, leaving the skatepark hand in hand.

“well, that doesn’t fucking hurt at all,” chris winced when you pressed a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen perioxide to his lip, doing everything against his will not to shove the thing off.

“i literally told you it’d sting a bit,” you mumbled back, awkwardly standing between his legs as you tried to rinse the cut on his bottom lip.

to say you weren’t nervous about how close you to were right would be a lie. you always got a little shy when he came too close to you, and now wasn’t any different, though you were trying to focus on cleaning his wound rather than start cheesing over him.

chris huffed in response, but allowed you to keep going—it was you anyway. eventually you threw the cotton away, taking another look at him. “are you sure you’re okay?”

chris looked up at you behind his messy hair, and you carefully reached to push it out of his eyes to get a good look at him. just friends, my ass. his heart did another tiny jump, going awfully quiet compared to how he’d normally act.

“i’m fine. my lip is a little sore though..” he broke a smile when he locked eyes with you, deciding to push your buttons a little, “maybe a kiss would help?” he giggled, wiggling his eyebrows up and down, trying to put the attention somewhere else.

your face immediately flushed red as if no one would notice, turning your back to him. “i gotta pack this first-aid kit up,” you mumbled through a smile, trying to act like your whole body wasn’t tingling, all while chris knew that one day you’d kiss it better.

more skater!chris x girly!reader here!

˚𝜗𝜚 notes... exam tomorrow.. wish me luck!!!!

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❛❛ © ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023 ❜❜

[kxsagi]

OUGHHHH MAY FIRST CAME 😈 at least here in Poland. You can ignore this if it’s something you don’t wanna write btw!!!

Can I request BL men that are already pro players, and they’re dating a reader that has chronic pain and uses mobility aids because of it? And the media is super weird ab it cause how dare a pro athlete date a disabled person. Maybe he comforts her because she stumbled upon a weird ass article or a hate comment idk.

Uhhh ness shidou bachira and whoever u want 🙇‍♀️ I love you and your writing I hope you have a good day!

SORRY if this is too specific. Shout out to my fellow disabled girlies 😔✊

“𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝”

a/n: NOOO I LOVE THIS, I LOVE YOU AND YOUR COMMENTS AND I AM SO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE THIS FOR YOU

ft. ness alexis, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

ness alexis

ness is literally the definition of a gentle boyfriend, so the moment he sees that one trashy gossip headline – “Pro Athlete Seen With Disabled Girlfriend: Fans Concerned?” – his jaw drops like someone just slapped him. 

“concerned for what?” he whispers like he’s in a horror movie. 

you find it first, though. you're just scrolling while curled up on the couch, using your heating pad, when you freeze mid-scroll and go, “hey, do you wanna see something funny, but soul-destroying?” 

ness peers at your phone and immediately climbs onto the couch to wrap himself around you like a human blanket. “do not let stupid people ruin your mood. you are my favorite person. also, what is this site even called? ‘goalz4gossip’? this looks like it was made by a 12-year-old with an ipad and rage issues.” 

he goes on a small rant in german under his breath and then kisses your forehead 400 times. 

“you’re literally the strongest person i know. the media can go date each other if they’re so pressed about us.” 

shidou ryusei

shidou finds a comment that says, “how is she even keeping up with a guy like him? she uses a cane 💀” and immediately screenshots it. 

not because he agrees, but because he wants to roast it on his private story. 

his post is just a screenshot with the caption: “buddy she keeps up with me just fine, she made me cry last week for stealing her fries. sit down.” 

shidou doesn’t sugarcoat stuff, but he’s aggressively supportive. like, if someone tries to come at you sideways in public, he’ll bark at them. 

literally bark. 

“you okay, babe?” he says when you look a little too quiet after seeing one of those backhanded articles. 

you shrug and say, “i’m fine,” but he doesn’t let it go. he walks over, squats in front of you, rests his chin on your lap and goes, “wanna egg their office building? or better yet, light it on fire and commit arson together?” 

instead of actually committing a felony, he picks you up bridal-style and plops you into bed. “you’re hot, you’re smarter than me, and you walk cooler than 99% of the population. who cares what some sweaty journalist thinks?” 

he also gets you custom accessories for your mobility aids with little flames or skulls ‘cause you’re metal like that. 

bachira meguru

bachira is completely unbothered by the hate. but super bothered when it makes you upset. 

like you’re sitting in the park one day and overhear someone whisper “is that her? the one with the crutches?” and he notices how you instinctively stiffen. 

he grabs your hand instantly, leans into your ear and whispers, “they’re just jealous you’ve got me wrapped around your finger.” 

always trying to turn the moment silly so you smile again. 

later, when you’re spiraling a bit in your room reading too many mean reddit comments, he flops beside you dramatically. 

“stop. too much screen. i’m gonna fart on your phone.” 

you shove him away laughing, but he tugs you close with a pout. 

“you know… they don’t get to have you. i do. and i think your pain doesn’t make you less, it just makes you stronger and cooler. like a character in an anime who gets up anyway, no matter what.” 

then he insists on decorating your mobility aids with googly eyes and doodle stickers cause “it’s armor now. i’m your sidekick. beep beep.” 

michael kaiser

he acts unbothered in public, but he absolutely loses it behind the scenes when he sees an article titled, “Can a Pro Like Kaiser Settle for Someone Like Her?” 

“settle for– oh okay. okay. no one tell my manager i’m about to commit slander with a side of defamation.” 

you find him aggressively typing in a notes app. “dear anonymous hater from 'SoccerDailyBuzz': how does it feel knowing you could never even get a date with her, much less someone who calls you ‘baby’ while making espresso at 6 AM?” 

turns his anger into sarcasm but also kisses your shoulder after every sentence to calm himself down. 

“i didn’t fall in love with your pain, but i fell in love with the way you live through it. your stubbornness, your fire, the way you still make fun of me even when you’re hurting. that’s what makes you beautiful, you know? wait, that sounds so cheesy.” 

he makes a point to show you off even more. red carpet? he’s holding your hand the whole way, mobility aid and all. interview? he’s saying “my girlfriend is the strongest person i know” before anyone even asks. 

he sees your worth so clearly. and he makes damn sure everyone else does, too. 

itoshi sae

sae’s already got a reputation for being cold and unbothered, so people are shocked when he’s openly soft around you. 

he doesn’t do PDA or gush about you on TV, but the way he always slows his pace to walk beside you, carries your bag without a word, and makes sure you’re seated comfortably before interviews, it’s noticed. and, of course, dissected. 

you show him a headline that says, “What’s Sae Itoshi Doing With Someone Who Can’t Even Keep Up?” 

and he reads it with a completely neutral expression, then tosses your phone face-down on the table and goes, “well, that’s funny. you seem to keep up just fine when you’re lecturing me at 2 AM about leaving the stove on.” 

you burst out laughing, but he looks at you with the tiniest furrow in his brow. “does it bother you?” he asks quietly. 

you admit it hurts a little. and he just nods, slides over, and presses his forehead to yours. 

“they don’t get to know you. they don’t see how hard you fight. how much you endure. they don’t see you the way i do. and that’s their loss.” 

next time you two are seen in public, he’s the one walking with your cane slung over his shoulder like a sword. the caption on the paparazzi pic reads: “new accessory or relationship statement?” yes. yes to both.

itoshi rin

rin already hates the media, so this gives him another reason to despise them. 

when someone tweets, “idk i just think it’s weird for a high-performing athlete to date someone who can’t even do sports,” he literally glares at your phone like it personally insulted him. 

“what the hell does that even mean. i can’t do ballet, but i’m not out here judging people who can.” 

he’s blunt, but he’s furious on your behalf. he’s also the type to go down the rabbit hole of comments and get angrier by the second. 

when you try to downplay it – “it’s fine, i’m used to it” – he looks at you like you just said gravity isn’t real. 

“don’t do that. don’t act like you have to take it just because people are cruel. they’re wrong.” 

then, more softly: “you’re… more than what your body lets you do. and i fell in love with you, not your physical stats.” 

rin shows his love by doing things for you. adjusting your seat. finding the best accessible routes. learning how to help without hovering. 

someone once asked him in an interview, “how does your girlfriend feel about not being able to travel as easily to your matches?” 

rin deadpans: “she’s the reason i win. so unless you’d like to speak directly to my motivation, maybe pick a better question next time.” 

isagi yoichi

isagi is the type who genuinely doesn’t understand how people can be so heartless. 

like he reads one awful comment and goes, “... do they think you’re not allowed to be loved?” with genuine confusion in his voice. 

he’s devastated that you saw it. “you shouldn’t have to read stuff like that. i promise i’ll protect you from it all.” 

you shrug and tell him you’re used to it, and he immediately goes into ‘motivational team captain’ mode. 

“you being used to it doesn’t mean you have to accept it. people suck. you’re brilliant, and funny, and beautiful, and strong in a way most people will never understand. and you don’t have to prove your worth to anyone.” 

he holds your hand tighter when you’re out in public. makes a habit of stopping to adjust your pace so you’re never rushed. 

also, he subtly drags anyone who says anything ableist during interviews. 

“a lot of people think strength is just about running or scoring goals, but i’ve learned from my partner that real strength is showing up every day, even when your body fights you. that’s the kind of strength i look up to.” 

cue the internet sobbing. cue you sobbing. cue him also sobbing because he made you cry and didn’t mean to. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[darlingdaisyfarm]

First of all, Loveeeeee your work SO MUCH!! Your works are so comforting to me. Your writing is phenomenal every time. I’m not even really a Stan girlie (Ford girlie for life) but I still read your stuff with Stan because it’s too dang good to skip.

✨ANYWAY: I loved your Stan and Ford reacting to reader getting hurt post. I was curious if you had any thoughts on how they would react to you getting hurt specifically during an *intimate* situation if you will. ✨

Once again, LOVE your work! Don’t feel obligated to answer this if you’re feeling too stressed or overwhelmed at the moment 😌 take care of yourself above all else

𐔌 . how Stan & Ford react when you use your safeword or get hurt during intimacy .ᐟ ₊ ꒱

a/n: idk if it’s the universe or what, but literally right after finishing my last hcs i had this little thought like “hmm what would Stan & Ford do if you used your safeword??” and THEN. i kid you not. i got TWO asks about it!!! i have some mental connection with you people or what?? you are literally reading my mind!! AND THANK YOU SO MUCH SWEETHEART, FOR UR KIND WORDS. im so so happy u like my stuff<333 uve lifted my spirits so much rn <33

another ask said: How would stan and Ford react to their so getting hurt during sex? Nothing serious maybe they bump their head in the headboard of the bed or smth lol

STANLEY

♡ oh damn. Stan knows he’s big, and he knows he gets carried away, especially when you ask for it. when you say “harder” he takes it personally. that man pounds you non stop if u let him

♡ you flinch just a little, and he sees it. and it hits him like a brick wall. he was doing so good, he was so into it, he thought he was making you feel good and now you’re wincing and it’s like the floor drops out

♡ the instant the safe word leaves your mouth, no matter how turned on and panting and deep he is inside you, he freezes, “whoa, whoa. sweetheart, sweetheart, hey” his voice would change in a heartbeat. hoarse and full of fear. he’s yanking back, sliding out so fast it’s a little messy, grabbing you like you’re made of glass

♡ next thing you feel is how both hands of his are cradling your face, one sliding over your back protectively, his thumb stroking your temple. you’d feel how hard his heart’s slamming in his chest because it scares the shit out of him that he could’ve pushed you too far. “you’re okay. you’re okay. fuck, i’m sorry. talk to me, honey, please, i’m right here, ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Stanley would not care if he was still hard or close. nothing. all of him would go into comforting you, wrapping you up in his big arms, rocking you side to side a little, kissing your forehead over and over

♡ later when you're calmer he’d probably be like ”shit, got carried away, didn’t i? fuckin’ old dog like me shoulda known better.”

♡ but he's also MEGA PROUD OF YOU. making sure you feel safe, adored, and so, so good for knowing WHEN to use your safeword.

♡ “you did perfect, sweet thing,” he’d murmur against your temple, “you tell me anytime it’s too much, okay? that's good, good. that’s my smart, fuckin’ perfect baby.” while stroking ur hair <3333

♡ if you're hurt from him reaching too deep (we all know he will) and you whimper like “too deep, Stan, c-cant. your too big” HIS FIRST REACTION IS FEAR. “oh SHIT, baby. did i hurt you?? fuck fuck, we’re stoppin’. i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to” he physically recoils from you. freezes up with this overwhelming rush of horror and guilt, eyes huge like a kicked puppy. cupping your cheek with his hand still warm from where it was on your hip a second ago

♡ but also. . . if you go “it just went too deep, hurt for a sec, baby, please continue” and give him a half-lidded look through your lashes??? OH THAT OLD MAN WILL BE DOWN BAD!!! he’s like “wait. you’re tellin’ me i got that far in you? i’m that big?” and you’ve created a MONSTER. he goes from worried boyfriend to puffed-up cocky perv in five seconds!!

♡ uhhh will later brag about how he “tapped that cervix by accident” but still, next time he’s gentler. slows down and watches your face more. asks “this okay? this angle better?” every couple minutes. he learns and listens. he’s rough only if you want it <3 Stan is obsessed with making you feel safe

♡ sometimes you end up squashed under his full chest when he gets overexcited. just absolutely buried in chest hair, gold chain, his weight. and when you squirm, groaning, “babe, air, i can’t breathe,” he yanks back, mortified.

“m’sorry! i’m crushin ya, huh?” and then starts kissing your face all over like you’re a lil pancake he flattened <3

♡ but Stan can also go too fast and you get overwhelmed, so suddenly you’re a little dizzy, overstimmed. he probably notices it not by the sounds but by your grip, when your fingers curl too tight on his shoulder, or your thighs twitch too sharp. he knows and stops, breathing ragged, and Stan just presses his forehead to yours. “you need a break? talk to me, baby. don’t try to take more than you wanna.” his voice is gutted, yeah, he feels guilty even though you begged him to go harder in the first place

♡ but then he rubs your clit real slow instead <33 fingers soft and gentle, praising you, kissing your shoulders and neck, “lemme getcha there without makin’ it worse, ‘kay?”

♡ when his back gives out mid-thrust, he just pauses, winces, and goes “okay hang on. hang on. fuck. my back.” honestly he gets so vulnerable and cute that way, you can't help but giggle softly. “don’t laugh at me,” he murmurs, still inside you, trying to twist his hips, searching for the least painful position. “do you need to stop?” you ask. “what? no, absolutely not,” he grunts, rolling his shoulders although his face obviously speaks otherwise. “i just need a second. maybe a pillow. and a painkiller. and a heating pad. and— don't look at me like that, i’m still hot.” you kiss his forehead and tell him he’s the hottest man alive <333

♡ aaaahhhhg im going insane i CANT I NEED TO GET THIS MAN PREGNANT. JUST IMAGINE your getting railed like it’s the last night before the world ends. and it always starts in missionary so his gold chain keeps dangling in your face. it’s hitting your chest, sliding against your neck, catching in the sweat between your collarbones. Stanley doesn't wanna stop but he pauses, noticing this thing causes you trouble. “shit, babe, lemme take this off” and your hands are already on his chest like “no. don’t. it’s hot. keep it on.” that makes Stan grin. “yeah? y’like that?” so it’s a little tangled now. doesn’t matter. you damn love it because he looks even hotter like that. the gold flashes every time he moves, and you’re thinking about it for days. the chain’s choking him more than it is you but he’s too deep in it to care

♡ and when you bump your head on the headboard, Stan absolutely hears the bonk 😭 “what the—? sweetheart, y’alright?” honestly your not, but you're too horny to care. you’re seeing stars but trying to wave it off, and Stan’s like “nope. nuh-uh. i wanna be the one smacking my head, not you. i need your brain intact, ‘kay?” he guides you off gently and lies back instead, smiling at you. “get on top of me, gorgeous. ride me. no concussions this time.” you’re already climbing on, too cock drunk to care when he adds, “yeah, that’s it. take your time. safety first, baby”

STANFORD

♡ Ford is obsessed with feedback and you may not notice it but he keeps eye contact on you, even when your own eyes are closed. so if you're shifting your legs slightly? data. your breathing quickening? important. a stuttered whine? log it. that's cuz hes constantly analysing how you’re taking him because he’s so scared of going too far

♡ so when you gasp too sharply or your body jerks away, he panics. “w-wait, what was that? did i hurt you? please be honest. was it the angle? did i overstretch you?”

♡ imagine accidentally getting his glasses knocked crooked or smashing your forehead into his chin during a particularly frenzied thrust :(( he'll get so flustered and embarrassed. “i-it’s fine. i didn’t need to see that clearly anyway!”

♡ but i also think he's so attuned to you that honestly? he might notice something’s wrong even before you say it. but the second he hears the safeword, he’s pulling out, “darling! i’m stopping, i’m stopping“ his hands immediately go to your face, your shoulders, trying to touch you everywhere at once to calm you

♡ will check on you. like visibly scan your body with his hands and eyes probably saying something as “i’m checking for swelling. you feel tender here? here? what about this side?”

you’re like “Ford it’s okay i’m fine” and he says “NO I MUST BE CERTAIN.”

♡ even during most passionate intense sex, once you whimper your safe word or say “stop” he’d immediately withdraw, whispering “i'm sorry, i'm stopping. you're safe, you're alright, my darling” and he'd tuck you into his arms, checking your face, brushing your hair out of your sweaty forehead, kissing your cheeks

♡ lowkey his cock is deep-reaching so there’s a real chance he’s unintentionally hit your cervix at the wrong angle once or twice. you yelp, making Ford get a full existential shutdown. he wont continue. will sit on the bed with his face in his hands like “what kind of animal am i. . . i promised myself i’d never be reckless with you. . . i lost control. . . im horrible. . .”

♡ “i hurt you. that’s not acceptable. please, guide me differently”

♡ always kisses your hands first. then your forehead. then he wraps you up in the blanket, tucking it all around you to keep you warm even though he’s sweating too, whispering, “it’s alright, sweetheart. you’re safe. i promise you, you're safe with me.”

♡ has definitely tried to apply pressure to your hips or thighs to help reposition you and ended up giving you a bruise :(( ouchh he feels so much guilt!! will leave a handwritten note to you later that says “i saw the mark. i’m so sorry. i’ll be gentler. i love you.” because he gets too shy or awkward to tell you it in real life

♡ and if we're talking about clumsy sex. . . hmmm. Ford has zero business being that hot and that stupid when it comes to lab safety during sex

♡ so when you’re half-stripped on his cluttered workbench, legs around his waist, moaning into his shoulder and there’s a glowing crystal under your ass or some quantum device two inches from your foot, you both don't give a fuck because well, you just want to fuck each other. or make love as how Ford calls it. but that's the problem because when you lean back and suddenly SCALDING HEAT— your palm lands on a freshly soldered piece of alien tech, you yelp.

♡ he freezes and stops moving, asking “what happened. what did you touch. where. tell me exactly which object it was. does it have residue? how hot? do you feel faint?” already running to the emergency first aid kit

♡ then Ford is already holding your hand under the faucet. “you got minor surface heat exposure. i’m sorry. i should’ve cleared the workspace”

♡ but he learns quick! for example, you scrape your leg on a weird lab corner or get a bruise on your hip from a bad angle?? next time he gently positions your limbs, holding you, while pressing inside, kissing your cheek, “does this feel aligned? what about now? no strain? optimal angle?” so yep <33 you get chart-level care. but also intense eye contact the whole time, Ford gets even more tender when you’ve been bruised. your pain makes him want to worship you twice as hard

♡ believe me, he takes this seriously. might even start reorganising the lab after you leave. his smart ass probably thinks of making a “safe sex zone” in the corner with blankets and lead-free surfaces. pervert

♡ sex in the forest while anomaly hunting? Ford finds it so damn hot. but you both forget its literally dangerous too. and not because of the anomalies or some dangerous animals. what's worse is when he presses you up against a tree and forgets it’s covered in sap :') now your back is sticky, your hair’s tangled in pine needles

♡ hes so into the outdoors you’re getting laid where deer nap. or maybe it's some suspiciously lumpy patch of earth? but the result is: you’re getting laid on the ground. everything is good and sexy until your bare knee finds a rock, making you wince, “ow. that’s- there’s a literal rock, Ford. hurts :(” AND FORD IMMEDIATELY GOES “my darling you’re about to be on my coat” he shrugs it off, spreads it beneath you with, gets leaves in his hair though. but stays so focused, whispering in your ear, “i’ll carry you back if you can’t walk” because he knows you can't walk straight for some time after he's done with u. but he says this while literally having twig scratches on his shoulderblades :')

♡ and about back pain. . . he will NOT admit he’s hurting, not a single word. but halfway through he starts going weirdly slow and unsure. knowing your man's age and health, you go “is your back okay?” and Ford tight-smiles, saying “everything’s fine” but it's not because then you move a little and he flinches. turns out he threw out a vertebrae ten minutes ago and was trying to “focus through the discomfort” so yeah. . . eventually collapses and goes “ow ow OW, darling, please get off get off im gonna pass out.”

♡ not gonna lie, but you also love to give him head when he's working in his lab, meanwhile you take him in ur mouth, being under his desk. and yeah, shit happens. you bump your poor head on the bottom of the desk. hard enough to make a dull thud sound and jolt his whole spine. Forc gasps. “are you alright?! my love, did you hit your skull? do you feel disoriented?!” his hands are suddenly in your hair, on your cheeks, checking your pupils. “i should’ve made a better clearance. why is this desk shaped like this, it’s unsafe!” he looks at you and thinks, ur poor thing. he should’ve thought this through. you’re too precious to be bonking your head down there. no more injuries under Ford's watch!!

♡ so next time, when you’re back between his legs, eyes locked on his face while your mouth drives him insane, his big hand slides down. Ford finds the exact spot you bumped your head last time and he keeps it there, resting on the crown of your head, fingers curving protectively around it, shielding you. “there. right here. good. safe.”

♡ if you bump your head on the wall / shelf / headboard, Ford instantly goes into guilt. “no no no, we’re stopping. ill never forgive myself if u bruise. i love that head. u use it for thinking” you’re dazed, naked and being wrapped in his coat while he mutters something about using a pillow. then kisses your temple. “im so sorry. i can, well, i can pleasure you with my mouth. that doesn’t involve blunt force trauma.”

[r-o-s-e-f-i-r-e]

ok between evan buckley’s cultural black hole of an upbringing and his noted love of documentaries trivia research deep dives etc what i’ve been turning over in my mind palace the last few days is like

tommy logs into instagram once a week to like all of sal and gina’s pictures of baby lila and whatever memes chimney has sent him. he hits a button weird with his gigantic beautiful fingers and gets taken to an instagram reel about uhhh the irish potato famine it doesn’t actually matter what it is he just watches the first few seconds and goes !!! evan was talking about this!!!!! evan thing! thing for evan!!!! tommy immediately shows it to evan later like hey babe weren’t you just talking about this i found more Information for you 👁️👄👁️ and buck watches it and is just like what???? that’s not true. excuse me, he’s - he’s literally making shit up, potatoes are native to the americas, this is misinformation, there was food the english were just exporting it under armed guards it was starvation under colonial rule!!!! he doesn’t even bother to list any citations? that’s not what a primary source is!!!!! and then buck takes tommy’s phone and starts eviscerating some like podcast bro adjacent “real history” account (it’s a funnel into tradwife conspiracy theories and also the podcast bros MLM which evan will never realize because he doesn’t make it to the end of the video he keeps swiping and is like ALL OF THESE ARE WRONG!!! HOW CAN HE JUST LIE ON THE INTERNET LIKE THAT????)

anyway after tommy is like uh??? it eventually comes out that evan’s bubble boy childhood was the natural extension of both of his parents like. being tenured history professors at penn. the only music released after 1980 that he listened to growing up was paul simon’s graceland. they didnt own a television but he spent a lot of time sullenly swinging his feet back and forth in a corner of the special collections library while his dad gave public evening and weekend lectures about Petrarch and bookmaking and how to properly handle manuscripts and his mom edited what would become The defining collection of churchill’s personal correspondence and he Did Not Retain Much Of It out of spite but they drilled how to Accurately Research Anything into his 8 year old brain and it became a fundamental building block of his identity (and maddie’s duh) without them realizing how fucking weird they are. for examp he’s sooo annoyed he doesn’t have a date for the billy boils rodeo stampede in the hospital. the substack he found was run by a uc berkeley folklore MA who emailed buck scans of microfilms of contemporary newspaper articles abt boils & the gang after buck is like nice wiki template 🙄 tommy hears all of this and is like okay. cool. umm where do curses fit into this worldview. and buck is like you’d be a believer too if you’d had PhD students over for dinner every other week comparing traumatic field research stories while your parents nodded along sagely and said stuff like yeah that’s why you don’t fuck around in the catacombs after dark you idiots. ANYWAY that’s all thanks for stopping by

[llavender-honeyy]

࿇˚࿔ sebastian invites you backstage…

⟢ genre ; pure smut

⟢ pairing ; seb x afab!enby!reader

⟢ wc ; 4.2k

⟢ summary ; after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

⟢ warnings ; 2nd person pov ; they/them pronouns for reader ; explicit smut [piv] ; no protection used ; bottom/sub reader ; general size difference ; dubcon [coercion, drugging/aphrodisiac] ; smoking [cigarettes & weed] & forced inhalation [reader receiving] ; accidental cigarette burn [reader receiving] ; groping ; reader kinda goes along w everything ; oral [f receiving] ; i heart seb’s nose uhhh ; 1 singular usage of the word “slutty” ; cervix fucking ; squirting ; creampie ; and please feel free to lmk if i forgot anything significant !

⟢ a/n ; reminder that this is a work of fiction! i do not condone or support any illegal/unsafe activities as described below in reality. and just for clarification’s sake, the “mystery drug” i describe is just your run of the mill fanfic-grade magic aphrodisiac, to be on the safer side. stay safe, be responsible, and surround yourself with comfortable people !!

byf & dni | navi | m.list

starts under the cut !

its not like you really had a chance anyways. the truth is, you were fucked from the moment he spotted you. and it just made it all the more easy for him to go through with it, too, what with him making it out to be your idea; your tease of a threat–your innocent joke–to find him backstage was met with a taunt of his own, and really it’s cute how obedient you were to follow instructions when he beckoned you from around the back door after the show. down to those shocked, wide eyes you looked at him with, just the spitting image of a helpless deer.

it was even cuter when, after he’d ransacked his precious stash to provide you both with a shot of liquor in celebration of finishing the performance, you were too stupid to notice the hastily dissolving tablet as he handed you the small glass. stupid because he didn’t even try to hide it—had it right under your nose literally while he pretended to conversate with you before coaxing you into finally downing it. could barely keep himself contained when he saw how it went down your throat, itching to squeeze it closed or stuff it full he didn’t know. hopefully soon, you’d be in the right headspace to make the decision for him.

its only a couple more minutes of letting you lead the conversation–‘i don’t mean to be a bother to your band mates,’ ‘what was that drink anyways?’ ‘it’s getting kind of warm in here, don’t you think..?’–before he sees your eyelids set deeper and your lashes fluttering as you try to keep them open. he’s already buzzing with excitement, the anticipation coursing from his gut to his fingertips and the top of his head, nearly turning himself dizzy in the blur but he brings himself back with the thought that you were way too easy..

he cracks a forced half-smile, soft in a way to be unassuming, and uses the adrenaline to will himself into standing from the tattered black couch. he smears his palms on his too-tight jeans–they were drenched–and almost laughs at himself for being too easy to get excited.

he makes his way to the door in a steady stride, looking back briefly to see you lay yourself on the couch lazily fanning your face. you’re watching him and he wonders for a moment if that’s concern lacing your eyebrows. he attempts to sway your worries with another tight lipped smile, gripping on the handle of the door as if to open it and let in some air, just to wiggle it to double check it’s left locked.

“hey–” he turns with a hand out, palm facing down, “don’t worry.. i’ll take care of ya.”

he feels that same buzz of excitement when he hears a whimper get caught in your throat. he swallows thickly, keep it in your pants, fuck, and keeps himself from pouncing now by busying himself with cracking the small vent-sized window high on the wall adjacent to the couch. not just for your sake at this point, but for his own too.

his hand digs in his zipped open jacket for that familiar rectangular box, fishing out a cigarette with practiced movements and lighting it with equal ease. the end burns with orange embers as he takes a deep inhale through the filter, puffing at it a few times and letting the excess smoke wash over his raised hand. the harsh sensation on his throat contrasts to how it soothes his mind–each inhale almost a peek into the euphoric buzz that will be getting to indulge in you all while he convinces you it’s what you want. it's what you need now that his handy little drug has taken effect. he’ll make sure of it.

he turns on a heel to step back towards you, eyes on how you’ve tucked your legs up near you on the couch and the resulting swell of your thighs. his mouth is already watering and he needs to take a heavy gulp before he speaks again,

“look, see…you’re just a bit hot, right?” his smirk this time is genuine, but ideally you won't be privy to the real reason why, “people don’t usually wear thick sweaters like yours to crowded shows like this,” a low chuckle gets caught in his throat, focused on making sure his hands trembling with excitement don’t drop his half-smoked cigarette on your face while he brushes a few stray strands of hair back into place.

and the sweater you wear isn’t even that outlandish for the event; in fact it was probably standard attire, rips and tacky graphic and all. but at this point he’s banking on the fact that you hold him on too high a pedestal–and are gullible enough to believe him.

you nod slow, in a manner like you didn’t really hear him but go along with what he says anyways.

“it’s.. yeah… makin’ me dizzy, too..” and another victorious ding sounds in his head. he can’t hold himself back another moment, greedy paws already going to grab at the sweater resting on your waist while he makes room for himself on the couch with your resting form. scrambling like he just can’t help himself, like he needs to be pressed up against your warm and smaller-than-his body in the next few moments or he’ll truly snap. he manages to fit in front of you, almost pushing you back down into the cushion with how oppressively he traps you in.

“don’ worry, i gotcha,” he huffs under his breath, like it doesn’t matter to him whether you heard or not. it’s not genuine reassurance in the first place anyways.

there was really no reason to wiping his palms before; he can feel how the sweat is already back on his hands and the back of his neck, prickling his skin with the accompanying goosebumps that arise from feeling and hearing your pathetic breaths fan between you two. almost like a teaser for how he’ll have you sounding in a few moments, once he gets out of his head and the fantasies planted in his brain just from the way you had watched him while he was on stage.

his free hand curls around the thick of your sweater at last. his eyes are glued to where your skin peeks below the hem, and his lecherous smirk is an unconscious reaction when you don’t seem to protest his upward tugs at the fabric. in his haste the burning out cigarette gets tucked between your pretty pout, just to grab both your wrists and maneuver them above your head.

“stay just like that,” like you had a choice in the first place–your muscles were way too weak at this point to try and struggle. entirely uncoordinated and way too eager he pulls up your sweater, revealing the expanse of your soft tummy to his dark hungry gaze. and even despite just placing the cigarette in your mouth, he spares no time as he pulls almost desperately to get it over your head and off your arms, leaving the cuffs around your wrists like flimsy make-shift handcuffs.

another high pitched whine of yours blesses his ears and his cock pulses with his heart for a beat until–

“mmh.. s’gross,” manages to tumble past your lips and the white roll falls as a result, landing at your collarbone next to the strap of a bra he’s sure you hadn’t planned to show anyone; literally ripping at the seams and very obviously well-worn. he was shocked you managed to open your mouth again, chuckling lightly in disbelief–no, awe–at your determination to stay conscious. like you want to bear witness to what his depraved mind has convinced him to do.

like it somehow makes it okay if you seem conscious enough to say no if you want to, but you don’t, and who is he to say no to you offering yourself up so nicely. the way you squirm under his weight and rub your sticky skin against his palms you don’t even know that you’re only making it more exciting. how the light bounces off your sweat and creates a mesmerizing pattern, only sucking him deeper into the spell you had unknowingly put him in. or maybe you did know and that would make it all the better–because that’d mean that you want it.

you squirm again from the sensation of the burning end of the cigarette singing your collarbone. blinking he realizes his palms are groping the fat of your chest and molding to the shape of his hands, bulging between his digits and turning his mouth dry.

as if burned by your touch he draws his hands back with another idea. he suddenly remembers the joint he indulged in only halfway and set aside before he had to make appearances for the show, left for later on the very coffee table next to him; now in his hold again with his lighter fast approaching.

“try this instead then,” he speaks between a harsh drag of his own and another that he huffs into your mouth as he grabs at your jaw meanly to keep it open. 

he exhales the heavy smoke into your untrained lungs and yet your sputtering coughs don’t dissuade him–in fact they make it all the harder to not shut you up with his own mouth; show you how to handle the green and just let it take over your mind so he can take over your body.

he’s practically trembling in his excitement; it’s a wonder how he doesn’t collapse right on top of you where you lay catching your breath. you make it even harder on him when your eyes, squeezed shut to protect against the fanning weed smoke, drop tears down your temples thanks to how hard you’re coughing. your mouth, opened so wide to take in large greedy gulps of fresh air yet all you get is more of the dizzying smoke sucked from his own stash that he’s bestowing unto you–be grateful that he’s willing to sacrifice so much.

he finds himself a moment later almost having gotten carried away–thank god he caught himself before his own mind slipped too far. between his fingers is now just a roach and fuck rocking the hardening bulge in his pants up against your thighs suddenly feels so heavenly. and to think–had he not done all this, he might’ve never known! now that would just be too unfair, y’see–you’re such a tease–so he just had to make it right. eyelids setting heavier over his eyes already he drops what was left of the roll to the floor, uncaring of where it ends up.

his self control has thinned enough now, he decides. he can practically taste you on the tip of his tongue–saccharine and syrupy he just knows it. can’t bear to have it so close but so far anymore.

your bottoms are being tugged down to your thighs before your mind even has a chance to catch up, what with you still reeling from the smoke in your lungs and the resulting haze. you only register how exposed you’ve suddenly become when the air of the room feels cool against your inner thighs and sends a shiver up your spine.

“shit– you’re s’wet..” he huffs the words like they were never meant for you in the first place–maybe they weren’t, almost reverent and entirely desperate. your eyes finally open again, fuzzy and unfocused when you realize he hasn’t just exposed you, no–he’s already dived in, can’t even help himself. the line between your copious amounts of slick and the saliva dripping from his greedy maw is entirely blurred and the resulting sounds make your head heat with a self-conscious flush.

“w-wait… what are you…!” your confused plea falls on seemingly deaf ears, small and far too hushed to be convincing. your weak neck attempts to lift your head to catch sight of the mess of hot breath and spit between your legs.

should be illegal how good you taste–how well the drug worked–making you pour all this sweetness like an overflowing pot of honey into this frenzied bear’s mouth. his hands dig into the backs of your thighs, carving small crescents into the flesh. with brows furrowed he only sinks in further, drinking you down in earnest and worshipping your little hole.

it’s enough to make you squirm under his surprisingly strong grip, but with that powdered pill coursing through your veins you aren’t sure if your hips are bucking away or towards him for more. it’s effects we’re almost dizzying, a swift punch to your senses and making you feel hot, oh so hot. covered in a thin sheen of sweat and radiating every mind-numbing throb from your core to your every nerve. with that cursed nose of his, big, but strong–yet cute, you’d thought earlier in the night, bumping against your swollen clit sending involuntary shocks of pleasure through your every hyper-sensitive limb. and when he gives that a break just to suck and flick at it hard with his tongue, you know. you know that your hips are canting towards his awaiting mouth, that you welcome the trembling of your legs from the unending onslaught of his ministrations, and that you want more.

“did you.. what’d you jus’ say?”

the poor thing you are, all drugged up and pliant, didn’t even notice you said those words out loud. even all sluggish and quiet, he’s sure he heard those words right and it damn near makes him short circuit on the spot.

“not.. ‘nuff… need more,” you almost don’t recognize your own voice, how breathless and faraway it sounded in your own ears, the words processing then instead of before they tumbled out of your mouth. and… well, who was he to deny you offering yourself up so nicely.

between the heartbeat rattling against his ribcage like a bird in captivity and the same heartbeat just below his waistband, he’s wound up enough to know he doesn’t need to ask anymore questions–not that he really had to. he unclasps his belt with one hand, keeping your legs up with the other; not bothering to pull his own pants down more than necessary. just enough to flip the zipper open and dig his hand down his briefs to yank his cock out.

and he wastes no time at all lining himself up with your weeping hole which he just can’t seem to tear his eyes from, clenching around nothing but his swollen tip and turning his mouth dry. it’s as he blinks slowly, almost a split-second decision to sink himself in entirely that he curses lowly and the breath is punched out of both of your lungs.

you feel even better than he could’ve imagined, somehow. whether that be the weed in his system, or that pill in yours, or his own underestimation. he’s throbbing and aching to pound you silly and soothe that tight burn low in his gut–if only he could get a grip first. his sweaty palms release your legs which fall uselessly to either side of his hips, the heat from them alone enough to have him reeling. he hunches over you like he’s mounting you, gripping at your hips like a lifeline and holding your ass up off the couch to get even deeper. nudging right up against the spongy spot inside that makes you whimper. so pathetic and high-pitched he’s convinced you’re out to kill him.

he almost laughs, “ooh, fuck.. you have such a slutty little hole–” a depraved smile on his face but his brows furrowed, really just in disbelief. and it’s as if saying it out loud made it all the more real, but he still holds his breath as he grinds involuntarily into your gummy walls just to check. “s’like you’re suckin’ me in..” he scoots in closer, letting your hips rest on his thighs. and interestingly enough, he can’t seem to sit still.

the hot drag of your walls along his cock is all he can focus on, all he can bare to keep up with. he’s truly screwed himself somehow–put himself in the position of being devoted to humping up against you until he can’t anymore. “fuck, wait.. quit– quit squeezin’ so hard,” he’s choking up, unable to catch his breath with how restless his hips are. practically huffing down your neck and drooling over your skin, hunched over like a man starved finally getting fed. in some twisted way he is; finally found the one that’ll satiate his craving, sit back and let him take what he needs, but not just that–you asked for it, and that fact alone is making him go haywire.

“c-can’t,” you hiccup, mind already utter mush and body jolting with every gushy thrust. your fingers are clawing at the outturned sleeves still encasing your wrists; unable to get them off with your arms as weak as they are, you opted for leaving them there. in hindsight, it was a good decision. especially considering it was the only thing keeping you grounded right now, no thanks to the guy who was seemingly trying to fuck you right off the edge of the couch. the one who doubles down when he notices your back bowing reflexively, using it as motivation to really give you more like you asked for. “s’too m-much!”

“nonono, you wanted this,” he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and tugs you back towards him with his bruising grip, your head ending up positioned in such a way where you have no choice but to watch him sink into you over and over, “yer gonna– mmfuck– take it,” his voice breaks and so does the sharp tone, pleading more than anything through his low whines.

for a moment, you cant look away–every lewd clap of skin ringing in your ears accompanied by the sight, the feeling–and when he drags you on the couch to properly fuck into you, changing the angle and rearranging your insides to fit his shape you fall apart.

every thrust is a pain turned pleasure shooting up your spine, the blunt tip of his dick bullying your poor cervix, but you still only want more. you’re so close already, can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. whatever was turning you silly was doing a damn good job, engulfing you in a heat that’s only being soothed by how relentless his thrusts are into your gummy walls. tightening the knot in your core, promising that sweet release, making your head and eyes roll back just before you will your lazy gaze to the source of a low broken groan.

you almost yelped out, one of his hands suddenly flying up to brace himself up against the armrest and effectively caging you in. after getting over the startle your eyes blink open again, refocusing on the face above you. his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips are dripping both sweat and saliva on your flushed skin, his own cheeks and nose similarly pinkened. the expression he makes, the utter desire and desperation written in his darkened eyes, literally drooling over you–your heart flutters suddenly and you can’t break your eyes away.

before this all started, before the drink and before even having the conversation that led you into this very room, you couldn’t deny your attraction to him. all quiet, brooding, mysterious; the only thing you knew about him was that the sight of his talented fingers stroking at the keys of that keyboard, lost in the music amidst the impressively-bustling bar crowd made you feel things. things not too different from what you’re experiencing now, just… intensified.

you tuned out everything else between the ad-libs of other onlookers and the pestering of your friends, your eyes settled snugly on the dark haired man up on the short stage that you could swear looked back at you. multiple times. and every time he did it was like you were bolted into place; at a standstill ignited by the skip of your heart like you were exchanging unspoken words.

after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

in the end, all you really cared about was getting him into your pants. and it ended up happening.

a broken moan tears from your throat, garbled and needy in a way that makes his head spin, almost confusing him, “f-fuck.. you really want this, don’t you…” it takes everything in him to stay up straight and not crush you under his weight when all you do is stare back like he’s the only person in the world. he drops his chin to his chest, hearing the beat of his heart rumbling in his ears to the same rhythm of his pulsing cock. turned so sensitive from the weed and the tight squeeze of your cunt like you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

in an effort to stave off his own orgasm he grabs at the fabric of the armrest and your waist like a lifeline, his eyes closed tight enough to see stars.

“gonna.. c-cum,” you really are out to kill him, he thinks.

“wait–” he gasps, if not a bit too late; the tight squelch around him a sign enough that you’ve already started tumbling over that peak, “just a bit.. l-longer,” with the amount of pre spilling from him already and how taut his balls get squished against your ass, he doesn’t know if the words are meant for you or himself.

after everything, tossing and turning the idea around in his head–the very idea that landed you here in the first place; he can’t help but want to savor it. at least a little, y’know? relish in the siren song that was your moans and whimpers, lose himself in the feel of your devilish pussy… but hell, he’s been holding on by a string for too long and it snapped the second he felt a gush of pure wet splash up against his pelvis.

his hips squish down into you, trapping you between the scratchy couch cushion and the sudden flood of hot cum in your walls. “fuckk–” he hisses close to your ear, the arm holding him up having finally given up and opting to rest on his forearm instead. he doesn’t dare to let up on grinding down into you, the feel of you constricting around him and the mixed release spilling out far too addicting. you clamp down so hard it’s like you’re trying to force him out, pulling out every last drop of the thick white his cock rubs into you.

his heavy pants feel almost sticky against your neck and collarbone, spreading tingles over your sensitive skin. as the tension dies down the chill of the room enters your senses, prickling at your skin to raise goosebumps, cooling your throat as you drink in the freshness.

breath finally finds you again–him as well, it seems–the labored rise and fall of your chest evened out. but you still hear the beat of your own heart, noticeably speeding up when he starts shifting above you.

even after just resting above your head your arms are still weak and trembling, like loose rubber bands. you find the strength in your shoulders though to finally pull them back down and the sweater sleeves around your wrists finally slide off. not knowing what else to do with your hands, you decide to take a risk and rest them on his arms.

he lifts himself back up but his head is still cast downwards. the long hair of his fringe covers his eyes, messy and riddled with stray hairs. his skin is flushed a deep pink, but that can easily be explained by anything that took place within the last 10 minutes. what otherwise can’t be is how he doesn’t even try and meet your eyes–but he also doesn’t move to take his softening hard-on out yet either. both of his hands grip into the cushions of the couch, the fabric straining and groaning under his palms like he’s holding himself back from something.

his entire mind has been jumbled into disarray–he’s not sure where to start with the scattered pieces floating around his head. you’ve effectively thrown a wrench in his plans. it was simple before; easy, foolproof even. but it turns out he was the fool the whole time. how was he to try and go through with finishing up quick, dumping you out back after having his way with you once like was written in his mental plans, head out with his bandmates and fuck off to who knows where next. how could he ignore the residual rhythmic spasming of your cunt, your thighs pressing meekly to his hips, how the slight inhale of breath you take before speaking to him sounds so similar to the ones you took while he filled you to the brim–

“c.. can we keep going? m’still, y’know…”

the good thing about plans is: when one fails, there’s always a plan b.

↳ ty for reading ♡

[bisclavret]

i've loved bbc gwaine for 13 slutty, slutty years but it wasn't until i watched eoin macken's depressing ass film (that he made with tom hopper and funded partly with donations from merlin fans 😭) called Leopard about generational trauma and gendered violence and uhhh severely messed up brothers with an oedipal complex? and a 5.7 imdb rating. the protagonist eoin plays is basically modern gwaine if he was appropriately half-dead from alcoholism and pub brawls and sick with worry over his brother percival i mean tom hopper. and the movie goes crazy with the symbolism. i'm talking the painting of ophelia floating on the water being a puzzle they work on together cutting to literal dead women floating in water leading up to the wildest mommy issues you've ever seen type symbolism. anyway it wasn't until THEN that i was like. oh i see. this guy eoin is not normal. about themes and narratives. and gwaine was his dream role of a lifetime like that's still his special guy so i just KNOW he overanalyzed him to hell and back he did all those microexpressions on purpose he took that shit SO seriously. and now i do too. now i, too, am. the gwaine overthinker.

[naturesapphic]

Idk if u saw the interview of the hot chicken wings with billies but Can u write a fic with Billie and un doing this interview!! And like billie letting yn win bc she loves seeing yn happy! (I don’t know if u should do it with little yn or « big » yn so u decide!!!!)

Hot Ones: Versus

Billie eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: cussing, fluff, Billie being a little simp for her girl

Word count: 1,967

“You spin it baby. You’ve been wanting to.” Billie said with a teasing smile on her face. I leaned over to spin the hot sauce bottle and it lands on Billie. “You go first bils!” You said excitedly as Billie smiles at your cuteness. “Yep it’s my turn. Go ahead and hit me with it mamas.” Billie said confidently. “As a songwriter there’s a constant need to document your innermost thoughts and feelings. Read your last notes app entry out loud.” I ask and Billie smiles as she pulls her phone out of her baggy pants. “Ruh roh.” She sings out in a funny voice you love so much.

Billie starts to go through her phone and lets out her loud laugh that always makes you giggle. “Y’all it’s a quote from my dad.” Billie says and keeps laughing. “I was talking to my friend nat the other day and nat said you literally have the most beautiful eyes I’ve seen except for maybe your dad.” Billie explains and you agree with her. “Your mom has really beautiful eyes too.” You said and Billie agrees with you. “100%. Most beautiful eyes ever for two parents. Anyway I was telling my dad this and he goes your mom said I have bird eyes.” She said while sticking her pointed finger up making you laugh. “Then he said and that I look like a baby Dinosaur.” Billie giggles out and you kept laughing, almost losing your breath.

You looked over to see Maggie laughing and agreeing with Billie. Billie looked over and saw her mom agreeing and Billie points to her “she’s like yep. She’s like yeah.” Billie says as she looks back over to you. “Okay my turn!” Your girlfriend says excitedly as she picks up one of the cards and starts reading. “Can you guess one of the pet peeve’s Billie has of you.” She said out loud and you looked at her shocked. “I didn’t know you had pet peeves over me!” You said gasping dramatically as Billie looks around nervously. “Uhhh not really but there’s this one this you do that I absolutely hate and it’s because finneas does this too.” She explains and you immediately knew what she was talking about. “Me and finneas will put our feet up on stuff a lot.” You said and Billie nods as she giggles.

“A lot of the time finneas is barefoot while you usually have your socks on. Sometimes y’all will wear your gross shoes and have y’all’s feet up still.” Billie explained and went ahead and moved some of the food away so she could prop her feet up to show everyone how y’all do it. “And my face is like right there.” She laughs out and puts her feet down. It was now round two and it was your turn now to ask her another question. “In addition to being a Grammy award winning singer, you’re also a style icon. Rate these classic billie eilish fits on a scale of 1 to 10.” You read out and Billie groans as you gather the pictures together. “Jeez…” she mutters to herself.

“We’re gonna give that like a three.” She said about the camo outfit. “I had the idea, the idea was there. I had grey sweatpants on, I had a camouflage vest. It really doesn’t look good on though.” Billie explained and you gave her a pout. “I thought it looked amazing on you bils!” You said and Billie felt her cheeks heat up at your compliment. “This is cute!” You say as you pull up the next picture that was of Billie wearing a sailor moon outfit. “That was cute. I give it like a 7/8. All things anime is like the coolest shit ever. I feel like anytime I have a shirt that has any sort of anime character on it, it’s the coolest shirt I own.” Billie explains and you nod your head in agreement. You put up the next picture and the both of you ooh at it.

“This was a person whose shit did not stink.” Billie said while you gave her a confused look. “Well she thought her shit did not stink.” She corrected as you smiled at her. “I remember walking around this specific event being just like I am absolutely the sickest person in the world.” She said as she told the story of the photo. This time billie went over and picked up the next one which was her “assassin’s creed” outfit she wore. “Oh look it’s the assassin’s creed look!” You said while giggling. “It’s kind of hard. I feel like that’s an eight. This is so embarrassing.” She said as she looks around the room.

“Now it’s my turn to ask you. What’s the worst celebrity you’ve ever met?” Billie asked and you sat there quietly for a while, trying to think of an answer because you didn’t want to eat the hot wing. “I’m trying not to punch down.” You said not really thinking and Billie laughed. “Try not to punch down did you say?” She said confused. “Yeah I could punch way down.” You said giggling and the two of you laughed. You whined a bit as you couldn’t come up with an answer so you take a bite of your chicken wing. “Whew…that’s hot…but it’s really yummy. It’s probably because I’m hungry as fuck.” You said while wincing slightly. “Same.” Billie agreed as you picked up a card to ask her a question. “Couple test. I’m going to write down my answer and you have to guess my response. Guess wrong and eat a death wing.” You said dramatically.

“What is my favorite song of yours baby?” You ask and she makes a thinking face as she starts to write down her answer but then stops and then goes back to writing again. “Do you have it?” You asked and she nodded as she picks up her board and shows you her answer. “Nope that’s not it baby. But that one is one of my favs but it’s y/f/b/s (your favorite Billie song).” You replied and Billie lets out an ohhhhh. “That’s a great answer babygirl.” She says and you feel your cheeks become redder and it wasn’t because of the chicken. “I wanna eat a wing” Billie said in her baby voice she does and you coo at her. “Well you did get the answer wrong sooooo…take a biteee babyyy.” You said smiling as she gets excited to eat it.

She takes a decent bite and makes a mmm noise. “This is fire.” She says and you laugh loudly as she enjoys it. One of the people behind the camera asked if the spice was kicking in yet for her. “I think so. It’s getting a little hard to think.” Billie states and does a little smile and burps which makes you chuckle at her behavior. “You’ve never been shy about giving credit to your early musical influences. Now that your heroes have become your peers. Rank these artists from most to least talented.” You ask and gave her a shocked expression to which she matched that expression with you.

“Ooh….who?” She asked you and you grimaced at what you were about to say. “Tyler the creator, Lana del ray, childish Gambino, and Justin Bieber.” You said and Billie groaned. “Oh my God….most to least talented?” She asked and you nodded. “I don’t know if I can do it.” She said and laughed nervously. “Well baby eat a death wing im afraid.” You said and she grabbed her vegan wing. “It’s the lips that are the problem. The mouth and tongue is fine.” She said as she goes in and takes a bite on the top. You decided to eat one since you were starving and you regretted it. “Fuck! That’s so fucking hot…” you breathed out as you felt like you were gonna pass out. “You okay mamas? You can have milk or water if you want. It’s what it’s there for.” She said softly as she looks at you with worry.

“Yeah no I’m fine baby it’s okay. Let’s keep going.” You reassured her and she nodded. She picks up a card and it read a wild card and as soon as she said it a airhorn was blasted which made the two of you jump. Billie looked terrified and you started cackling at her face. “What the fuck dude!” You exclaimed and Billie shook her head in disbelief jokingly as she tries to read the card but was having trouble getting the words out. “It’s tradition around here to put a little extra on the last wing. You and your opponent can add an extra dab to your final wings now.” Billie read aloud and you groaned. Billie tied her hair back and took off her jacket while you took yours off and put your hair up as well. “What’s the question or challenge we have to do?” You ask as you just wanted to get this over with.

“Don’t smile at me. Challenge your partner to a compliment battle. First person to smile must eat a death wing.” She read and the both of you dreaded what was to come. “Baby this is so sad…” she said breathlessly. “Ummm…you have the most beautiful eyes mama…” she said and you kept your face neutral. “You are the most talented person I know.” You say to her and you saw her lips twitch up for a second but it never turned into a smile. “You are an incredible driver even though you drive fast as fuck.” You said and she holds in her giggles. “You are hot as fuck.” She said and you put your hand over your lips so you wouldn’t smile. “You always look good in the most bizarre clothing.” You said but you let out a laugh as did Billie.

“Well we both laughed so here we go but are you okay though princess?” Billie asked you as the two of you picked up a wing. “It can’t get any worse.” You replied and Billie shook her head laughing. “Oh but it totally can mama.” She warned and you took a deep breath. “I love ya.” Billie said and you said it back. The two of you ate pretty big bites and the two of your were dying by the end. It was clear that Billie had won since she didn’t drink anything but in her eyes you had won. She grabs the trophy and hands it to you while you looked at her in disbelief. “You deserve it mamas and plus I love you a whole bunch.” She said and you coo at her.

She leans over and tries to take a bite out of the fake wing and makes a disgusted face. “Oh my gosh…you didn’t even make that a little bit edible” she said as she pushes the trophy closer to you. “Baby what the fuck.” You laugh out and stand up as Billie stands up with you. You end the video with the two of you saying goodbye and that was that. Even though Billie could have gotten the trophy, there’s not one thing she wouldn’t give/do for her girl.

A/n: this took me so long to do so please like, comment, reblog everything lol thank you to the anon who requested this. I hope they enjoyed it and I hope the rest of y’all did too. Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! I love y’all!

[watermelonlicker]

Hi!!! First of all, English isn’t my first language so if this gets a bit jumbled, or sounds illiterate. please just pretend it’s poetic or something, okay? Cool.

So. I’m not in the industry, but I grew up around people who are. enough to know that the entertainment world is not all cool places and stadium tours. It’s actually… kind of a horror show with money on top. Labels and management will literally sell their souls (and maybe yours too, read the fine print) to protect the machine. And when I say “protect the machine,” I mean: cover up relationships, silence abuse, manipulate public image, slap PR paint over every crack  the whole lot.

You think the average 17 year old going into this industry reads and understands a 45+ page contract written in lawyer language? Absolutely not. Most don’t even know what they’re signing until it’s way, way too late. And yes even straight relationships get hidden if they’re not good enough for the brand. So when people say “but if Harry and Louis were really together, we’d know,” it’s like… uhhh. You think general public would know? Since when do they let us in on the real story?

These talent shows (I think that’s what they’re called)  The X-Factor,AGT,BGT, ect. they hand-pick young, hopeful artists with stars in their eyes and then throw them into the fire. It’s predatory, it’s calculated, and it targets the most vulnerable people. Teenagers, women, queer people. Because they’re easier to manipulate and scare. It’s not an accident. It’s the way it’s built.

So when antis scream “delusional!” every time someone connects a dot or notices a pattern, I just laugh. Not because it’s funny (okay, maybe a little), but because if they really understood how deep the industry rabbit hole goes, they’d be questioning everything too. Instead, they quote a denial from full of sarcasm and annoyance,and honestly,pain. Rather than looking at this for what it is.

They trust headlines that are basically fan service written by PR interns, and completely ignore what was visible from day 1…I think a lot of it is people genuinely not wanting to imagine what H&L have gone through,which I can sympathize with. I just think it’s more hurtful to them to ignore it. 

Anyway. The best advice I can give is to trust your eyes and not your ears 

the truth usually doesn’t speak but it does show. (I hope this sounded somewhat articulate,I had to translate)

I HAVE NO NOTES FOR THIS LIKE Y’ALL ARE GENUINELY BLESSING MY INBOX AND MAKING ME FEEL SO LOVED THANK YOU???? like i agree so much with this it is the arrogance and entitlement of the general public to believe they know anything that’s going on without educating themselves. it’s why north america is in the current political HELL it’s in. education and research is FUNDAMENTAL to understand what is actually going on in this shit world.

[chrisesslut]

the first impression

two weeks ago today you had met nick at one of tara yummy's parties. you weren't famous per say— just about 20k followers on instagram, but you still were definitely in the whole 'influencer' circle? i guess you could call it that.

and now you were ubering over to nick's house for the very first time. sure you were nervous but you've gotten like— hella close hella fast with nick. it's just one of those kind of friendships that you click with eachother; so going to his house shouldn't be that bad.

the uber comes to a stop. you thank the driver and get out and let out a sigh. "okay c'mon malibu you can do this." you try to convince yourself as you knock on nick’s front door.

a familiar face answers, nick. "hey mal! you made it!" he says excitedly as he pulls you in for a welcoming hug. "hey, yeah i'm glad you invited me over." you muffle into his shoulder.

"c'mon in, by the way my brothers are home so don't mind them." nick warns you as you follow him up the stairs. "you have brothers? and you live with them? i though you—" your mouth shuts in confusion as you stare at the almost carbon copies of nick just sitting on their gray couch.

one of them nods at you and goes back to scrolling on his phone, while the other doesn't take his eyes off you. "hey hon." he says nonchalantly as if he's known you for years. "uhhh hey..?" you say trying to not sound confused. "oh uh yeah i'm a triplet— that's matt and that's chris right there. and chris for the love of GOD stop perving on all my friends!" nick exclaims at chris. chris is still wearing that boyish grin on his face though. the type you only could dream about seeing. like literally some model type shit.

a pair of black baggy jeans, a simple white tee and a black backwards hat. oh yeaaahhhh your friends brother was hot. nick could already read your thoughts as he seen the flushed look on your face. "mal trust me you do not want chris— like at all. he'll literally break your little innocent heart." "hey! i'm not innoce—" you tried to argue against him but once again you got interrupted. "mal is it?" chris asked curiously. you gulped and looked at him, "uhhh no it's malibu." you say anxiously as if he would eat you alive.

"pretty name for a pretty girl." chris says with a wink but nick quickly cuts him off— god this cutting off thing need to stop. "christopher owen sturniolo i swear to god! leave my friends alone— they're off limits!" he groans annoyed again as he drags you up the stairs to his room.

you stumbled as nick dragged you away but all you could think about was how goddamn fine his brothers were— like you knew that nick was hot but he was gay so it was in a more friendly way that you seen him. but now that you've seen his straight brothers. hollyyyy they are FINE.

and like even the other one who didn't say a single word to you was fine as fuck too, those genes really hit hard huh? not that you were complaining anyways cus having that sight everytime you go to your friends house would be an absolute blessing.

and goddamn that grin too— you would be lying if you said your panties weren't a little soaked. was that dramatic? yes. but were you also a virgin who got absolutely no guys attention, like ever? yes! so seeing such a hot guy grin at you like that got you a little excited, you can't help it!

nick opened the door to his room and you stepped in, it was pretty clean honestly— not what you would expect for a twenty one year old mans room to look like at all. you couldn't help but wonder how nicks brothers’ rooms looked like too— and how you would look on their bed underneath them— okay okay enough! no more thinking!

“uhh so this is my room— it’s a little messy but i’m sure you don’t mind.” nick plopped down onto his bed as he looked at you expectantly waiting for you to get on too. “nah i don’t mind— my room’s a complete dump too,” you replied and got onto his bed too.

“so uh— what’s the deal with your brother?” you asked trying to sound like you didn’t care at all. “what? matt? ugh don’t mind him he’s just shy around new peopl—,” you cut him off quickly. “no—no— not that one, the other one— chris or whatever.” “oh chris? uhh he’s just flirty i guess, always has been. just ignore him honestly, he’s only lookin to get into ya pants.” nick warns you with a laugh but it only made you more flustered.

a fine ass guy like that wanted to get into your pants?! like yes please!