#this is easier than putting asks in all of your inboxes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Strange as Fiction 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, delulu behaviour, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your visit to the library results in more than borrowing books.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Deluluverse is ever growing.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

After some tension, Mr. Drysdale and his visitor, that man from the library, agree to have their coffee at the cafe. You can’t make yourself small enough once they’re gone. You can sense the stray glances and the whispers. Any office is ripe for gossip but a publishing house is always thirsty for a dramatic flair. 

You slouch so you can’t see anyone past your monitor. You highly doubt this will help your case. Mr. Drysdale didn’t seem overly fond of Nick; they almost seemed antagonistic; competitive at best. Great, you’re never getting out of the swamp. 

“You’re engaged?” Trina stands behind your monitor as she plays with a perfect wave around her face. “To him?” 

Your brows arch. You want to tell her the truth. No! That man is lying. He might even be crazy! 

“It’s not work-related,” you mutter. 

“Him? Really?” Lorna rolls her chair closer. “He’s hot. How’d you manage that?” 

You frown and look between them. 

“Personal,” you sniff and focus on the screen.  

Trina reaches down and hits the power button. “You have to tell us everything. Oof, he’s hot. Does he have friends?” 

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”  

You try to push the button to light up the monitor and she swats your fingers. You recoil. The last time you mentioned you even stepped foot in the library, they laughed in your face. They’re just here until they can get work for a much loftier executive. 

“Come on. One interesting thing and you don’t want to talk about it?” Lorna rolls her eyes. “You have to. I told you about Andy.” 

You didn’t ask her too. You crinkle your nose. 

“There’s not much to say,” you shrug. 

“You are so boring. There’s no way he’s with you,” Trina sneers. 

Lorna laughs and you almost do the same. They’re right. He can’t be. He’s not! This has to be some twisted joke. Maybe it is. 

You once more look between the women. Was it them? Did they do this? Would they really go to all that effort to humiliate you? Well, even if they did, you’re not letting them gloat. You’re not saying anything else. 

“I have to work,” you push the power button. 

Trina nearly knocks over your monitor as she backs up. Lorna blows a raspberry. 

“Oh, he won’t be your problem for long, sweetie,” Trina pops her lips. “I’ll take him off your hands.” 

She turns and struts away. You notice several heads turn as she does. You stare too. She’s the kind of woman Nick would go for. With his tailored jacket, his fancy watch, his expensive haircut. He drips wealth and confidence. You reek of anything but. 

Lorna wheels back to her desk. You scroll up and down the inbox, clicking between that and the calendar. You can’t concentrate. Not through the dread and confusion. You just want this to be over. 

As soon as Drysdale comes back and reveals it’s just a prank, you’ll be okay. Right? Everything will be as it was. Just as you like it. Quiet, easy, just you. 

Your vision blurs as you run your finger across the space bar. Back and forth in a mindless limbo. You hear the elevator doors split but don’t react until Mr. Drysdale guffaws. 

You glance over as he claps Nick’s shoulder. “You’re a mad man but dammit, you got a point.” 

“Only had to repeat it ten times,” Nick drawls. “Cut the deal. Send it to my assistant.” 

“Done and done,” Drysdale declares and sucks on the plastic lid of his coffee cup. “Gotta run. You’re bleeding into my eleven o’clock.” 

You put your head down as footsteps rush by your desk. Drysdale’s door snaps shut and you pretend to write on a post-it, only scribbling circles around the edge. Another set of shoes tap towards you. Don’t look up, don’t look up. 

You know it’s him before he speaks. 

“Hey sweetheart, all yours. Just in time for lunch,” Nick drawls as he plants a hand on your desk. He leans as he hooks his other thumb in his pocket and bends one leg, pushing a toe into the floor. “What’re you in the mood for?” 

You don’t react. You still the pen as your hand shakes and you put it down. You grab your mouse and wiggle it around. 

“Mr. Fowler, was it?” Trina approaches. “Is there anything I can get you?” 

“All good,” he says dismissively. “Just waiting on my lady.” 

“If you change your mind, my name is--” 

“I don’t care,” he shifts and reaches to pet your sleeve. “Baby, we gotta talk. You know, there’s lots for us to figure out still.” 

You shake your head. “No. There’s not.” 

“I’d say there is. If we’re going to get married.” 

“Married?” You squeak and sit up. Trina looks back before she reaches her desk. Lorna stares and several others tear their attention from their screens. You cover your mouth. You take a breath and drop your hand into your lap. “No, there’s nothing--” 

He leans in and pets your cheek. You wince. 

“I can’t hear you, sweetheart. Look, if you don’t wanna talk about this here, come on. I’m taking you to lunch.” 

You peer around. You sit back, away from his touch, and wipe your forehead. You’re sweating. Even your palms are damp. You could scream right now and no one would believe you. He’s a professional, he looks perfectly normal, and he’s a friend of Mr. Drysdale. That means he’s more important than you. 

You just want to be left alone. You don’t need a stranger calling you their wife. Talking about a wedding!? No way. But you also don’t need them to ruin your livelihood. 

You logoff and grab your purse. You get up and he stands straight. He runs his hand down your arm and wraps his fingers around yours. 

“That’s my wifey,” he purrs. 

You flinch and look at him. He smirks. You’re breathless, speechless. This man is bold. He’s so confident you almost think he believes his own lies. 

“Let’s just go.” You hiss. 

“I can’t wait to be alone either, sweetheart,” he says. 

You almost rip your hand away. There’s something wrong with him. You shouldn’t go with him. But if you don’t then you look the crazy one. 

You let him lead you to the elevator. His firm grip on your hand keeps you from fidgeting. He tugs you through the doors as they open. It’s just you and him as you’re closed in. 

You yank on your hand. He doesn’t let go. You face him and wriggle, fighting to twist free. 

“I don’t know you,” you exclaim. “Get off--” 

“Sweetheart. I know you remember me. It’s Nick--” 

“I remember but I don’t know you,” you argue. “Please just leave me alone.” 

“You don’t know me?” He sounds hurt. “Ah, baby, you’re not giving me a chance here.” 

You back up as he comes toward you. You press yourself to the wall as the elevator descends slowly. You gulp. He caresses your cheek as he hushes you. 

“Please don’t be like that. I know that’s not you. I know you, baby. I do.” He extends his other arm. Click. The elevator stops. “I know you like to get your books, take them home, and find the perfect bookmark for the size of page. Once you get that done, you make tea. Lately, it’s been pomegranate, but your favourite is the toffee one.” 

You blink. Stunned. You shake your head. 

“No, you don’t know...” 

“I’m right. I know I am. And that’s just the little things. I know the big things too.” He frames your face with his large hands. Your heart hammers. He’s been watching you. You didn’t even realise. “I know that you’re lonely. No one wants to do it all that alone. Dinner for one, empty bed, long train rides.” 

“How... how did you even find me?” You ask in a horrified gasp. 

He chuckles and taps the button again. He inhales and kisses your forehead. You shudder. 

“I was meant to. That’s all. It’s not how. It was always going to happen.” He grabs your hand and pulls you away from the wall. “I know you waited for me.” 

He squeezes and you swallow a whimper. You look down at his grip then at the doors as they part. You sway and stumble forward as he starts ahead. 

“I’m not going to marry you...” you murmur. 

“It’s a formality,” he insists and pushes his fingers between yours. “But first, let’s get some lunch.” 

🩵

You sit beneath an umbrella at the table for two. The patio seating is close to full. You feel even more invisible among the lunchtime rush. Everything around you is a blur, everything but that man. 

You catch yourself staring at Nick. You can’t figure him out. What is he doing? You’re still trying to see through whatever his trick is. 

The server comes back with two drinks. Tall, sparkling, pink, a lime on the rim. He thanks her and orders lunch. For both of you. You don’t stop him. You’re not very hungry. The last thing you’re thinking about is food. 

“You know Mr. Drysdale,” you say. 

He tilts his head and his face creases as he grins, “I do.” 

You squint and twist one hand around the other in your lap. “So it’s him. He put you up to this.” 

“Put me up--” He scoffs. “Baby,” he reaches across the table, “come on.” 

You stare at his hand. Big, manicured, a silver bracelet peeking out from under his jacket sleeve. You frown. 

“Gimme your hand,” he orders. 

You shake your head. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Give. Me. Your. Hand.” He repeats, his voice dropping. You wince at his rigid tone and obey. 

You put your hand in his and he grips it. He locks you in as he brings his other up to pet your knuckles. He leans against the table, beaming at you. 

“This is nothing to do with anyone but us. It’s you and me, sweetheart.” He purrs. 

Your hand trembles and you bite the inside of your lip. “No, it can’t be—it has to be something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “That the first time I saw you was like being hit by a bus.” He lifts your hand and kisses it. “That I can’t think straight when it’s not about you.” He kisses again. “Or that you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?” 

You gape at him. You have no idea what to say or do. You don’t believe the words he’s saying but his tone makes that difficult. He’s saying all those things any woman would want. It’s like a romance novel or some movie about the perfect love. That’s not really your genre. 

You purse your lips and take a breath. You swallow cautiously before you speak. 

“And when did you first see me?” You ask. 

He clucks and his cheek dimples. He lays one last kiss between your knuckles and pets you before letting you go. He sits back and brushes his fingers along his beard. He looks around. 

“That’s not important. What matters is that I did. Is that we’re together now.” 

You watch him. It’s like a game and you don’t know the rules. You pull your hand and rest it on the edge of the table. You push your fingers together as his warmth lingers on your skin. 

“Please, try your drink.” He insists. “Don’t want that ice to melt.” 

You look at the glistening glass. You reach for it, the coolness shocking against your sweaty palm. You turn it and watch the ice clink. Slowly, you lift it and bring it to your lips. Your cheek pinch with more than the tartness of the lemonade. 

You set it down. “Is this...” 

“A bit of gin, you’ll be fine, baby,” he assures. “Hell, take the rest of the day off.” 

“I-- I can’t do that.” 

“You need to do that,” he insists over the brim of his glass. He gulps deeply and sighs. He licks his lips as his eyes stay glued to you. “We have a lot of planning to do. A wedding next month and I don’t even know what flowers to get. I know you love daffodils but they aren’t really bridal--” 

“Next month?” You choke, nearly dropping the glass. 

He snickers and puts his glass down lightly. He leans in. “Baby, take it easy. You okay?” 

You steady the glass and stare at him. No, you’re not okay. You keep one hand around the drink and touch your throat. His gaze falls to the gesture.  

“I know you’re excited, sweetheart,” he reaches over the table and rubs your forearm. “I am too.” 

Excited? No. Confused, scared, shocked. You can’t even begin to describe how you feel. Helpless, might be the best word for it. 

[the-crowhaj]

uhhh

@blahajverse and whoever else wants to come along, there is a wedding happening soon between me and @the-valhaj and it woulod be cool if you could come along.

soo if you want to come then let me know so i can put you on the invite list

[hope-for-the-planet]

Trans person in the US. Bust some of the doomerism for me? Tell me it's going to be okay?

Hi Anon

Usually, I have boundaries for myself about keeping this blog focused on environment-related issues, because there are limits to what I can speak knowledgeably about. But now doesn’t feel like the time for that.

Anon, I will tell you that I live in the US, I am queer, my spouse is trans, and we have two young children. I am sitting right there with you in the fear and grief and every day when I ask myself “is there still hope” I find reasons to say “yes”.

They want us—all of us, not just queer folks—to feel overwhelmed and hopeless, because despair is a tool that keeps people from realizing their power and taking action.

They want us to feel so afraid that we lose our faith in other people and withdraw from our communities, because we are easier to conquer alone.

Do not give them what they want.

Hope is most necessary in the bad times. The ability to imagine a future that is better than things are now is exactly what gives us the power to begin making things better. Our community has been through terrible things before, and they did not lose hope or give up—otherwise we would not be where we are today.

When you start to feel like all the light is being blotted out, turn off the news, put away your phone, and go get in touch with something you love. Go outside and look at the sky, talk to a friend, listen to music, do some small thing to make something better even if it’s just cleaning your kitchen or picking up some litter around the block or returning an extra stranded cart in the grocery store parking lot. Remind your brain that you have agency to make positive change in the world through your actions.

I know it is really hard to pull out of the darkness sometimes. I know there will be days that hope seems like a foolish, naive thing, that despair and distrust seem like the only rational options. But hope is what keeps us alive. Hope is what allows us to save each other.

I wish I could give you a specific article or other source to reassure you that everything is going to be ok, but things are still too in flux day by day. I can tell you that people are already fighting back, in big and little ways, all over this country and the world. These orders and bills are being pushed by a loud but small minority—this is not how the majority of the country feels about trans rights.

Make a plan for staying safe. Reach out to your community. Find music, activities, podcasts, movies, whatever helps you feel uplifted and take mental breaks from dwelling on the news. If you can, find ways to get involved in making things better in whatever big or small way feels doable for you--it may help push back on the doomerism more than you think. And my inbox is open if you need to talk.

I wish I could invite you over for dinner. I wish I could look into your eyes and tell you that things may get hard for the next few years but that does not mean that your life can't still be full of joy and beauty and fulfillment in spite of that.

I’m right there with you. Let’s make it through this together <3

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ EPILOGUE

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[oc-ology]

How to get past the fear of OC posting

People should create for the sake of creating but people post to engage with the community. However, posting can be intimidating and anxiety-inducing for a lot of people. It’s easy to say “do it scared” but much harder to put into practice. So, I’ve put together a few steps that lead up to doing it scared. These won’t work for everyone and this is meant more as general advice.

Step One: Why are you scared?

The first step is to figure out what about posting is scary for you. Oftentimes, it’s not as simple as “what if my post flops” or “what if people think I’m cringe”. Once you’ve figured out the surface-level reason, dig a little deeper. If your post flops, does that lead to you doubting the worth of what you’re creating? If you’re worried about what people think, is that because you’ve experienced judgement before or are worried your inbox will be flooded with criticism?

Identifying why you’re scared will not only help you understand yourself better (yippee!) but you can also then work on the source of your fears and anxieties at your own pace.

Step Two: Find ways to lessen your fears

One way of working through anxiety online is to find ways to mitigate the specific source of your fear.

Some fears have easier solutions than others. If you’re worried about people criticising your work, you can turn off anonymous asks (as most people are less likely to be haters when there’s a name attached to it) or turn asks off entirely, as well as limiting replies to those who have been following for a week. This way, if someone does want to be an unpleasant individual, it’s a little harder for them to do so.

A lack of engagement is a little harder to remedy. Here, the only real solution is to try and divorce the idea that engagement = worth. Remember why you’re creating an OC. Because it’s fun! It’s an act of creation! Because you want to find a community…? A community or OC friends will never just drop into your lap. You need to seek them out yourself. Look into discord servers, forums, tumblr networks (are they still a thing?), fandom events and exchanges, and most importantly: go out of your way to send asks/questions to others and build friendships with them! If you’ve got social anxiety like me, this is going to be a big challenge. Which leads to the next step…

Step Three: Start small

It doesn’t matter how small your first step is - so long as that step is forwards! If you’re nervous about OC posting, find the smallest thing about them and post it with the expectation of getting no notes. That’s right, I want you to go in and expect it to flop. Anything over one note is an automatic win. This first post isn’t about engagement - it’s about getting over the initial fear of posting. 

It can be tempting to just go right out the gate with elaborate explanations of backstory, lore implications, power levels, everything. But the trick really is to start small. Most people scrolling tumblr aren’t going to read a few thousand words on something they’re not invested in yet. TL;DR is a curse that I’m sure we’ve all fallen victim to. 

Instead, break up information about your OC into small pieces that can be posted one by one and have some kind of visual piece with it. People are usually more drawn to images than text. For example, which of these two things are more visually interesting?

What Perseus keeps in his bag:

Amulet

Tinderbox

A broken blade

50ft of hempen rope

25gp of silver powder

Waterskin

Rations (cheese, bread, sausage)

OR

Obviously this comes down to personal preference but a lot of people would find the illustrated version to be more interesting. You don’t need to be an artist to do this either! You could make a version of that example in photoshop or a similar program. Picrews, moodboards, edits, game screenshots and photography can all be used to add a visual element to your posts.

Step Four: Why am I still scared?

Fear is not easily stamped out. Anxiety is definitely the kind of thing that lingers. These steps aren’t meant to immediately make OC posting not-scary. That’s something that will only come with time as you get used to it. Again: Do it. Do it scared. Gradually, it’ll be less terrifying and in the meantime, you might be able to make a few friends who also want to talk about your blorbo.

[pvtpunsart]

The inbox is becoming overwhelming, so more ask grouping. These are about my Future turtles, aka It Gets Better AU.

@uniqueness351217, @lizzybugsblog, @theweirdestonehere, @soaptastesfunny, and all the lovely anons, thank you for your asks!

Raph is 36, Donnie and Leo are both 35, and Mikey is 34!

--

Mikey is 5'11"

Donnie and Leo are both 7'0"

Raph is about 8'6"

Essentially, Mikey comes up to Donnie and Leo's shoulders, and they in turn go to Raph's shoulders!

--

Leo does not lose his arm in my timeline; Instead, he takes a deep chest wound that leaves those gaps in his plastron (and almost kills him). The Battle Nexus is no joke, but sometimes you gotta put it all on the line to get somebody out of a contract with Big Mama.

He wears the crop because he made a joke about showing off his scars and his husband agreed that they made him look Handsome. And that's all he needed for that!!

--

They do! All of the turtles still spar regularly, since they are all still on that Hero Grind. They all have a pretty even win/loss ratio, especially since they all started utilizing tech, mystics, and gear to ramp up the sparring matches.

--

He doesn't wear it all the time. It's really heavy, and since he's gotten so tall and bulky it does get in the way sometimes. He wears it for combat and sparring, and if he needs the utility functions around the lair. Otherwise, he'll go without. A softshell is still a shell, and he may bruise easier than the others, but the blood flow means that his shell also heals faster than theirs.

He's grown to appreciate the trade-off.

As for flustering him, his husband does a pretty good job of it!

[creampill]

Thinking about the way König shadows you while shopping.

To some, it’s a bit intimidating, seeing this massive man in a medical mask and featureless clothing follow you around. There’s been more than one occasion when you’ve been in a store and a concerned bystander will quietly ask you “do you know him?” Which then prompts the explanation of yeah, he’s just like that, don’t worry I’m not in any danger.

He likes to be helpful, and usually ends up carrying your bags and other things. Even if they don’t match his outfit by any means- that man will happily carry an armful of rainbow tote bags if that means helping you. He’s got those lanky arms, might as well use them as a clothing rack, right? It makes him feel good, knowing he can do something to make your trip a little easier. And it gives him another reason to stick to your side.

He likes to help pick out clothing for you, though it doesn’t tend to be the most fashion-forward. While he has an eye for aesthetics, he prioritises clothes based on comfort and function. You best believe he’s touching all the fabrics to select which one is the least offensive to the senses, advising quietly on which fabric feels the nicest against his skin. No matter how garish or tacky or out there the garment, as long as it brings joy, he could care less (he owns some of the most egregious knitted jumpers known to man, who is he to judge).

He’s a great changing room guard, stood like some kind of very smitten gargoyle, making sure the only people who come close to you while you’re changing are the employees who come to exchange garment sizes. And while he loves anything you wear, he’s a pragmatist about it, he won’t lie if he can tell you aren’t into whatever clothing you’ve picked out. He’ll be honest if a cut doesn’t flatter you or if the seams don’t lay right on your body shape- if you ask for his opinion, of course he’ll give it to you straight.

He hates having to talk to most people, simply because there’s too many variables involved that he never seems to get right, but at the checkout it’s a little bit easier. There’s more of a rhythm to it, a set of scripted responses he can follow. Often, if you’re in some other corner of the store and he’s somehow not looming over you, he’ll slide some little trinket across the counter to buy for you. Just a little treat, of course, to present to you later with a little giddy smile on his face.

And if he ends up also buying a few of the clothing items you liked but couldn’t justify the cost of and slipping them into your bags (that he was already carrying), well, that’s his business. He has plenty of money laying around since he doesn’t get out much. Might as well put it into something that matters to him.

💖 My inbox is open for requests and commissions

[brattyvox]

★ GALLY’S GIRL PT.2 — MxF.

NAVIGATION — MASTERLIST // Inbox to be on Taglist!

After your unexpected arrival in the Glade, Gally warms up to you quickly, becoming a bit possessive over you. And spending a night on the watch tower with him, you realized you liked him too.

GENRE ★ Fluff, suggestive content.

PAIRING ★ Fem reader x Gally

WARNINGS ★ Gally is kind of a douche to reader, but like, not intentionally he's just nervous around a girl, you both makeout on the lil watch tower! cuties, lol

Word Count — 2.7k

Adjusting to the glade was much easier than you thought it'd be, with the help of the welcoming group of boys who'd been here longer. Gally had been watching you from afar, his eyes lingering, a frown etched on his face. You hadn't noticed at first, too busy taking in the vast expanse of greenery and the towering maze walls that surrounded you.

After your first genuine conversation with him, where he acted like because you were a girl you couldn't protect yourself, you realized that his tough exterior was just a shell to hide his nerves. He'd never seen a girl before, and you were the first one to be sent up in the elevator. It was all new to him, and he was just trying to make sense of it all. You felt a strange sense of pity for him, mixed with a hint of annoyance. You were tougher than you looked, and you'd proven it back in the real world before you ended up here.

Here you were, tending to the garden when Gally approached, his eyes still filled with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. He didn’t say much at first, but you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck as you worked. The air was thick with tension, but you ignored him, focusing on the task at hand.

"Hey, uh, Y/N," Gally finally spoke up, his voice gruff. "Could use an extra hand with my job."

"Huh-?" you turn around, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. "What job?"

"Just- building and stuff," Gally mumbled, averting his eyes as he pointed towards the half-constructed wooden structures nearby. "We're always short on hands."

You glance at the other builders. He had more than enough people to help him, so why was he asking you specifically? Still, you didn't mind the change of pace, so you grabbed your knife and followed him over. The work was hard, the wood unforgiving under the harsh sun, but you didn't complain. You'd done tougher jobs before, and this was a good way to keep your hands busy and your mind off the eerie maze that loomed over your new home.

"Surprised you asked me to help," you said as you swung the hammer, driving a nail into the wood with surprising precision.

"Why is it surprising?"

"You acted like since I'm a girl, I can't do the same stuff you guys do." You shrugged, not looking at him. "But here we are."

Gally's cheeks reddened slightly, a rare sight on his normally stoic face. "Look, I just- I don't know what's going on with you being here, alright? It's not every day we get a… a girl." He paused, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "But if you're going to stay here, you gotta be able to pull your weight."

You nodded, noticing the way his grip tightened around his hammer. He was clearly uncomfortable, but you weren't about to let that stop you from proving yourself. Together, you worked in silence for a while, the rhythmic hammering echoing through the glade. The scent of freshly cut wood filled the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of the blossoming flowers. Sweat beaded on your brow, and the muscles in your arms protested with every swing, but you pushed through, determined to show him what you were made of.

Every now and then, Gally would steal a glance at you, his eyes lingering on your determined form as you worked. His expression was a mix of admiration and something else, something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you, not just as the mysterious newcomer, but as a person who could hold her own.

He also just thought you were pretty. But he wasn't about to admit that out loud. Not to you, not to anyone. Gally had always been the tough guy, the one who didn't need anyone, especially not a girl.

"You gonna be at the bonfire?" Gally asked as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the glade. His voice was softer now, the edge of his earlier gruffness worn away by the steady rhythm of work.

"Ummm, probably not? I don't feel exactly…comfortable around a bunch of teenage boys who stare at me like I'm a piece of meat." You replied, trying to keep your voice light despite the knot in your stomach. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene.

"Right…" Gally murmured, his expression thoughtful. "Well, maybe I'll… I'll come by your hammock later then." He was trying to sound casual, but you could hear the nerves in his voice. "To make sure you're okay."

"I'll probably just be on that watch tower thing." you smile a bit. "Alby gave up trying to stop me from going up there."

Gally's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're not scared of heights?"

"Nope," you replied with a smirk. "I like the view."

"Huh." Gally nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the tower. "Well, I guess that's your place then."

"You can hangout with me up there." you offer casually, turning your attention back to the wooden beam you've been hammering away at. "If you want to make sure I'm okay, that is."

Gally's eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, and he coughed, trying to cover his surprise. "Yeah, sure. I'll, uh, I'll come by."

And that night, you were leaning against the railing of the tower, carving little doodles into the wood as you'd glance at the bonfire from afar. The laughter and shouts of the Gladers carried through the air, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude you felt up here. Gally had kept his word, finding his way up to the tower after the sun had set. The moon cast a silver glow across the maze, and you could see his silhouette approach, the wooden ladder creaking under his weight.

"Hi," you smile softly as Gally reaches the top, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight. He doesn't say anything at first, just plops down beside you, his legs hanging off the edge of the tower. You can feel the tension in his body as he sits there, unsure of what to do with his hands.

"So, why do you like it up here?" he asks finally, his voice low and gruff.

You look up at the stars, twinkling like a sea of diamonds in the inky sky. "It's peaceful. And I can think without everyone else's voices in my head."

Gally nods slowly, his eyes following your gaze to the heavens. He's never seen the sky from this angle before, not really. It's like he's seeing it for the first time too, like everything is new with you here.

"You know," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, "I used to hate the nights. The quiet, the not knowing… it was all just too much. But now, with you here, it's like I got something to focus on that isn't all doom and gloom."

"You say that as if I'm your #1 priority." You tease, trying to lighten the mood. But there's an undeniable warmth that spreads through you at his words.

"Maybe you are," Gally mumbles, his gaze still on the stars. He shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. It's a simple gesture, but it feels like a confession of something more than friendship.

You bite your lip, unsure of how to respond. The air between you is charged with something new, something that makes your heart race. You feel his eyes on you, and when you turn to meet his gaze, you realize that he's closer than you thought. His eyes are no longer on the stars; they're on you.

"What are you saying, Gally?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. His hand are fiddling in his lap, and you can see the struggle in his eyes, as if he's fighting an internal battle.

"I'm saying…" He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. "I'm saying that maybe…maybe you make this place feel less like a prison and more like… home."

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you're frozen. You've never thought of the glade as anything but a terrifying, confusing labyrinth with a bunch of boys you didn't know that you need to escape. But with Gally here, maybe it could be more than that.

"Gally…" You whisper his name, the sound barely carrying over the distant sounds of the boys below yelling and cheering.

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, and before you can say anything else, he leans in, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. And then, without another word, his lips are on yours, soft and tentative, as if he's afraid you might vanish if he presses too hard. You're surprised, but you don't pull away. Instead, you lean into the kiss, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his warmth and the gentle way his hand cradles your face.

The world around you seems to melt away as you kiss, the bonfire's glow fading to the background. Gally's hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, his grip firm but gentle, as if he's afraid you'll pull away. But you're not going anywhere, not now that you know he feels the same way you do. The kiss deepens, your heart thudding in your chest like a drum, echoing the rhythm of your racing thoughts.

You didn't even know what to do with your hands. You shakily placed one on his thigh and the other on his cheek, feeling the rough skin under your fingertips. The kiss was unlike anything you've ever experienced before. It was like every emotion you've ever felt in your life was condensed into this one moment, a heady mix of fear, excitement, and something else entirely. You'd never kissed anyone before, let alone someone like Gally, the brooding and mysterious boy who'd become a surprisingly comforting presence in this alien world.

You felt his hand tighten around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you realized that you liked this feeling of being wanted, of being needed. His other hand found yours, weaving your fingers together, and it felt like a promise, a silent pact between the two of you to face whatever came next together.

As the kiss grew more urgent, you lost track of time, the world outside the tower fading away. All that existed was the taste of him, the feel of his breath mingling with yours, the warmth of his body beside yours. But as quickly as it had begun, Gally pulled away, leaving you gasping for air, your eyes searching his for some sort of explanation.

"I've never-" you gulp, trying to find the right words to express the tornado of emotions whirling through you.

"Me neither." Gally murmured, his eyes searching yours in the moonlight, a hint of vulnerability peeking through the cracks in his tough exterior. He looked as stunned by the kiss as you felt, his chest heaving with every breath.

"You wanna…" Gally stammers, his eyes darting to the bonfire and back to you, "You wanna go to the bonfire?" He seems hopeful, like he's trying to change the subject, to ease the sudden intimacy that's thickening the air between you both.

All you did was smile and pull him into another kiss, your hands threading through the little hair he had. It was like you were trying to memorize the way his lips felt against yours. Gally's surprise quickly gave way to passion, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you closer. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, matching the erratic beat of your own. The bonfire and the noise of the other gladers might as well have been on another planet.

Accidentally, you knocked him over and had him laying on his back, you hovering over him. You pulled away with a giggle, but it was cut short when Gally's eyes searched yours, and his hand found the back of your neck again, pulling you back down to him. You kissed him harder than before, feeling his body respond, his hands sliding down to your waist, holding you closer.

The heat between you was palpable, the tension of the moment coiling tightly in your stomach. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart. Gally's hands moved up your back, his fingertips tracing the line of your spine, sending shivers through your body. It was as if you were two magnets, unable to resist each other's pull.

As the kiss grew more intense, you became aware of the sound of your own breathing, the soft gasps escaping your lips. The tower was your sanctuary, the only place you felt truly safe in the Glade, and now it had become something more, a symbol of the connection forming between you and Gally.

He pulled away, keeping his hand in your hair. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. "I didn't mean to-"

"I liked it." You murmur, smiling softly as you straddle him. "Don't be sorry, Gally."

The tension in his body eases slightly, and he lets out a shaky laugh. "Okay," he says, his thumb tracing patterns on your cheek. "But we should probably go down before people start wondering where we are."

"Or…" You lean in closer, whispering against his ear. "We could just stay here." Your heart thuds in your chest as you watch the play of emotions on Gally's face. Surprise, confusion, and then something that looked suspiciously like desire.

"Okay just-" he gulps, now grabbing your hips. "C-Could you get up really quick?"

You blink, looking down at him with a mix of confusion and amusement. "Why?"

"I-It's nothing! Just- just move a little," Gally stammers, his cheeks flushing in the moonlight. You feel his hands tighten around your waist as he tries to push you up. Confused but willing to play along, you sit up, allowing him to adjust his position beneath you.

"Why'd you-" you glance down, only to see Gally's eyes wide and slightly horrified as he stammers. You follow his gaze and realize his discomfort isn't from the conversation but rather from the very obvious tent in his shorts.

Your cheeks heat up as you jump to your feet, trying to play it cool. "Oh, uh, sorry!" You laugh awkwardly, brushing off your pants. Gally sits up quickly, his face a deeper shade of red as he tugs at the fabric of his shorts.

"It's not a big deal," you say, trying to diffuse the situation. But the moment has changed. The intimacy of the kiss is now tinged with an awkwardness that you both can't ignore. Gally clears his throat and looks away, focusing on the distant bonfire.

"Gally-"

"It's fine," he clears his throat, keeping his hand on his shorts. "Let's go to the bonfire."

"You wanna go with that?" you giggle a little, pointing at the tent. "It's so obvious. And everyone's gonna think we did something since I'd be behind you!"

Gally's face goes from red to a deeper shade of crimson, and he mumbles something incoherent under his breath. He looks away, his eyes scanning the glade as if searching for an escape route. You can't help but laugh at his embarrassment, the tension between you dissipating into the night air.

"Well, I don't know how to-" he paused mid sentence, mumbling something under his breath.

"What?" You giggle, leaning in closer to him. "I don't know how to make it go away either, but it's okay." You playfully poke his cheek, making him squint slightly. "It's not like it's the end of the world."

Gally lets out a relieved sigh, the tension draining from his body as he smiles back at you. "I guess."

"Come on," you say, taking his hand and leading him back to the ladder. "Let's go enjoy the bonfire."

[kisseobie]

more thoughts on the size training PLEASE

p1harmony and size training

pairings: ot6 p1harmony x reader

warnings: nsfw (mdni), slight dacryphilia, tummy bulge

a/n: vivienne bff ilysm and i have seen u so many times in my inbox and coincedentally haven’t gotten to any of them except this one yet .. i promise i will answer those i’m not ignoring u i just take a while to get to everything 😭 anyways here u are 🤭

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ keeho

lovesss working out just to send you “progress photos”, which are actually just thirst traps of him that he knows rile you up every time without fail. you’ve never been quiet about how much you love when kyo shows off his muscles and just how big he is compared to you. when the two of you are intimate, he can never fit himself inside you without prepping you an hour beforehand with his fingers and tongue. the sight of kyo, hunched over and pumping three fingers into your heat to get you ready for him is certainly a pretty one. his favorite part of size training his girl is how you dig your fingernails into his bicep when he’s first sliding his length in, leaving bruised crescent moons on his skin as you try to breathe and take his entire girth, inch by inch. praises you for being such a good girl, for fitting his big cock into your tiny cunny, it comes off so condescending though that you can’t help but tear up in humiliation :(

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ theo

is aware that he’s much taller than you, but doesn’t full process how that’ll affect your dynamic in the bedroom until you’re actually naked in front of him, looking a bit overwhelmed by the size of the head of his dick alone. size training with yangie is so sweet and gentle, he’s reassuring you each and every time that he doesn’t have to fuck you if you aren’t comfortable, that he can pleasure you in other ways, but you’re always determined to take him in entirely. definitely eats you out a few times before he even attempts to thrust into you, gets you relaxed and dumbs you out with his tongue so you’ll take him easier. is obsessed with teasing you, rubs his cockhead up and down your folds without putting it in, and only gives in when you’re pleading for it with fat tears and loud whines. despite his teasing, he’s the most gentle, always sets a pretty pillow underneath your hips to keep you comfy <3

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ jiung

gets such an ego boost when you tell him it won’t fit. lovessss fingering you relentlessly while reassuring you, “see? don’t worry angel, it’ll fit” as you start to melt into his fingers. he manhandles you with ease, lets you lay across your sheets like the perfect pillow princess you are as he works his tip into your heat. fucks you with just the tip for a while, wanting to hear you beg for him to go all the way in. when you get impatient, he shuts you up by filling you all the way up, cocky smile adorning his face as he pumps into you. doesn’t verbally praise, but he holds your hand and kisses your cheeks as he continues his pace, loving the little hitches in your breaths as a result. i think ji is also very adamant on using safe words, especially when he knows it’s a bit difficult to fit himself in your heat. just wants his girl to be comfortable, cares a lot more about your pleasure than his at the end of the day :P

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ intak

has a big dick and doesn’t know it! doesn’t even really get it when he’s pouncing on you for the first time, wants to slam home as soon as he possibly can but then you gently remind him that he has to prep you first, and of course he’s giving you those puppy eyes and allowing you to guide him in doing so. fingers you so carefully, is afraid you’ll shatter like a porcelain doll hitting concrete. always has this cute focused expression on his face, almost as if you’re training him instead. once you give him the green light to fuck you, he’s constantly asking you “s this okay?”, and his genuine concern makes you swoon. once he finally sheathes his cock inside your gummy walls, he’s trembling with pleasure, but holds back until you give him the signal that he can start to move his hips. just so careful each and every time :(

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ soul

god i just know shota has the prettiest dick, so thick and veiny that it makes you salivate each time you see it. every time the pair of you fuck, you’re always left sore in the morning.. something your boyfriend makes up for with sweet kisses and hushed praises. size training with sho would be heavenly. he’s magic with his fingers, always knows when to add another digit, how quick to pump, when to circle your clit. soul would be very thorough in terms of foreplay, mostly because he loves to see you fall apart just with his hands. eventually, your boyfriend manages to fit his cock into your cunny, thrusting just slightly enough to stimulate you both, but not enough to pain you. just like intak, you would have to be the one to convince him to move, to which soul eagerly complies.

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ jongseob

ugh i can’t stop thinking about the recent photobook shoot with nerdy seob and his glasses :( can you imagine your boyfriend jongseob trying to work up the courage to ask you, his pretty girlfriend, to have sex with him? he’d even lamely tell you he did his research, read a lot of articles written by women on how to properly pleasure a girl. you’d tease him for it, sure, but when he’d drop his pants you’d be rendered speechless, shamefully ogling his dick, oozing with precum and standing tall at your attention. jongseob would be so selfless too, would ignore his painful hard on to prod at your hole with his tongue, eating you out for what seems like hours on end, proving that his “research” was in fact, very successful. when he finally starts to ease himself into you, your eyes are rolling back to your skull at the welcomed stretch, and it definitely inflates his ego a bit. fucks into you so deeply that you can see the bulge of his length pressing against your tummy :(

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @sundancearchives @chuuswifereal @seisyiss @fishsquishh @sunnyyangie @asianpenguin04 @lunepoesie @haku-s0ultrain

© kisseobie, please do not repost my writing!

₊˚𓂃ᡴꪫ

[d1s1ntegrated]

bae i’m BEGGING for more nasty freak dabi, shits got me acting up i swearrrr! honestly i’m not in ask box often so i don’t have anything in mind for you- but i’m in love with how you write his character!!! 🪐🪐

ykw hell yeah. thank u for the ask 🪐!

love bites- dabi (t. todoroki)

4.6k words; crossposted to ao3

aka- five times dabi got off on blood, and one time he didn't.

cw: not beta read, apologies :,) ** afab reader, language, blood, s&m (mostly masochism), graphic depictions of wounds/violence, blood kink, gross stuff, menstruation/period sex, angst, hurt/comfort, awful medical practices lol, slight trigger warning for the last one im sorry.

**speaking of, if anyone wants to be a beta reader, do lmk. ---> also, message or inbox me to be added to a taglist!

~ inspo from this post ! and my previous insatiable dabi post :) ~

as always- nsfw 18+; MDNI <3

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

one: staples

"does that hurt?"

"it's fine, sweetheart, just a scratch." dabi wipes the blood from his chin as it trickles from the seam near his mouth. he looks at the blood staining his thumb with a disinterested shrug before dragging his tongue against it. he cracks a half-smile as you stare at him, eyes with concern. he brushes his long fingers against his seam again, finding the loose staple and yanking it from his skin with a small snap, causing you to flinch with a churning stomach.

"ack, fuck, warning next time please" you exclaim as you turn your back, feeling a bit squeamish from the visceral act.

his response is a tight laugh, and you turn back as he flicks the staple onto the floor. it lands with a soft "tink" near the door, you can still see the metal shine against the dingy wood of the bar.

his face drips blood steadily, leaving soft drops on his worn jeans. it creates the smallest little wet spot on his thigh, the color barely visible with the flickering bulb above you. he wipes his face again with a "tch", and stands up slowly, kicking the stool behind him.

"where are you going?" you follow behind him, and he turns into the bathroom and smacks his hand against the switch to turn the light on. he hums along with the old fluorescent as he rifles through the medicine cabinet, grabbing iodine and his stapler with an irritated huff as he shoves a new strip into the little gun. he sits on the toilet seat and nods to you, "gimme that". you grab the little bottle and open it, hissing under your breath as if this was hurting you more than him. it might've, actually, considering his reaction was nothing more than slightly inconvenienced.

the little dropper floods the nauseating orange liquid into his separated skin, and he breathily chuckles at your furrowed brows and grimacing mouth. he stands up, taking the bottle from you curtly as he examines the rest of the staples in the mirror.

"fuck, they're all fucked up," he drags his finger against the next two staples, moving them around. "see how they're loose?" he explains, looking at you in the mirror, "they gotta come out or they'll get infected too. like having too big of a piercing in a healed hole, more room for bacteria 'nd shit". he's actually really patient about explaining all of this to you, considering his typical short-nature and "ill do it myself" attitude.

you frown with uneasiness as he grabs the clamp from the cabinet and hands them to you. "you wanna do it for me this time?"

its not every day your boyfriend offers you to rip his face open, but it is sometimes. and it still never, ever gets easier. in a way, it's sweet. in a really off-putting, creepy, masochistic way. you've watched him fix them before, but you've never done it yourself. you take the clamp and he sits back down, placing a warm hand on your waist as you grab his face.

your own blood wasn't an issue. hell, most blood wasn't an issue. but this?

pressing the clamp against the first staple, you shake and squeeze your lips together. he reaches and steadies your hand with his own, laughing to himself. "easy now, don't fuck up or i'll lose this nice smile".

"yeah, like that's so reassuring. shut up and let me try". you take a deep breath, and with a quick grip, the staple bends and you're able to slide it out. the skin opens a bit more and your chest tightens, biting your tongue as you clamp the last one and snap it out quicker, trying to ignore the blood beginning to seep through the epidermis and into his cauterized scars. he doesn't even twitch at the sensation, and instead hands the iodine back to you.

"hey, not so bad. easy part's over" he exhales as you drop the antiseptic into the now-gushing hole in his cheek.

"don't make me staple your face, please" you laugh nervously as you wipe up the blood with a cotton pad, and he shrugs.

"get used to it, this happens a lot and you know it. consider it a sweet perk of dating a guy who really, really likes piercings."

"fuck you" you drag out the words as you pick up the stapler. you breathe in deeply as you press the small gun up to the loose skin.

"no, like i showed you, pinch the skin" he reminds you, and you groan again- this is the price you pay for fucking the hot emo.

"what a sick joke," you lightheartedly complain as you replay the many times you've watched him do this. pinch, press, snap.

as you clamp the first new piercing into his face, he lets out a soft hiss. you stop, but he shakes his head, "keep going".

the second staple leads him to grab onto your waist again, digging his fingers into your soft skin. "fuck" he whispers out, his eyes fluttering shut. looking down at him like this, you'd think he was getting the best head of his life.

the third staple reaps the most reward, as you clamp down for the last time, he moans out, his mouth falling slightly agape at the pinching sensation. you don't have time to put the stapler down as he pulls you into his lap, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip through a messy kiss.

"mmf, dabs, what the hell?" you ask through crazed kisses, and he tangles his fingers into your hair. "might just pull a few more out so you can patch me back up," he whispers hotly against your rising chest.

whatever had gotten into him that night was just the start of probably the best sex you'd ever have.

two: bar fight

"man, FUCK you," dabi spits at tomura's feet, he had gone too far. the rest of the league was silent now- and dabi's rising fury was palpable.

the two had gotten a little too drunk, a little too lippy with each other, and a little too excited about being drunk and lippy. it was a common occurrence as of late, what with the stress of the war on heroes just beginning to take flight, constantly being forced to hide, fight, and strategize. needless to say, the drinks were needed.

so when tomura said just the right thing at just the right time, dabi was quick to respond.

"fuck ME? fuck YOU, you two-toned, half-life, COD-zombie reject!"

it wasn't even the insult that got dabi to sink his fist into tomura's rosy cheek. it was the snickering from twice, sitting in the corner of the room.

tomura stumbles back a bit before recoiling and smashing his gloved fist into dabi's nose with a resounding cracking noise, sending the taller man back. he snaps back with a shake of his head, wiping the gushing blood from his face.

"boss or not, i'm gonna nuke your loser ass." dabi laughs before sprining himself onto tomura, the both of them falling to the floor in an array of punches and shouts.

this also wasn't an uncommon thing- they fought like brothers almost, complete with the awkward "making up" phase where one would nod to the other at the end and that'd be the best apology either could muster. but this fight was different, bloodier, more aggressive than normal. both were too shitfaced to even feel the pain, and neither of them were registering the damage they were inflicting. so you, tugging on twice's t-shirt, stood up and dragged the blond with you to break them up. twice, between panicking and cheering, managed to get a grip on tomura, yanking the spindly man off off dabi, who was laid out on the ground with a wide grin, blood staining his teeth and lips.

"cmon dabi," you pull him by his arms, stumbling a bit from his unsteadiness. you manage to drag him to your bedroom, kicking the door behind you before he collapses onto the bed, wiping his blood onto your duvet.

"oh fucks sake, i just washed those." you complain, holding a towel in your hands that you were gonna give to him. no need for that, i guess.

he returns your complaint with a hiccuping smile, a shit-eating grin that screams victory- you let him have it. though, honestly, no one really won.

"that little cumsock broke my nose" he says nasally as he pinches the bridge of his, yes, very crooked nose.

shaking you head, you pick the towel back up and hand it to him.

"bite this," you instruct, as you pinch his nose bridge. since the whole "stapling his face" incident, coupled with the various times you'd dealt with the rest of the league's wounds, sicknesses, etcetera, this was a breath in the wind for you. he bites into the fabric, giggling, and you count down. on one, you snap the bones back into place with a hilted inhale, and he moans gutturally through the towel. he gags on the thick material in his mouth and spits it out, and you take a clean corner to wipe up the blood.

"fuck me, come here" he says with a growl to his words as he yanks your shirt above your head. you could still smell and taste the blood on him, but as he mashes his lips on yours, it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

three: tattoo

"christ, you're digging into my skin" dabi sucks air in through his teeth. spinner curls his top lip in, his nostrils flaring as he takes his foot from the pedal of the machine.

"sorry," spinner dips the needle back into the ink cap while starting the machine back up. it's a shoddy little setup, found outside a parlor. there were originally no needles or ink, just the machine with the little case- it took months to scrounge up the money to finally buy ink and needles that weren't expired or deemed too unsafe by spinner to use for tattooing. for a few months, he'd been practicing on various citrus fruits and even himself, but the pigment of the ink wasn't right for his scales, and now he was on another search entirely.

other than that, spinner's artwork looked good. he had already tattooed jin a few times, here and there, with little scratchers on his forearms and ankles. but he needed more practice, and more canvases. tomura had agreed only on the condition that it was exactly what he designed- which was way out of spinner's league right now. some extravagant line work of tomura's well-loved family hands, complete with smoke shading. toga was told she would have to wait to turn 18, cause she wanted little chibi portraits of ochacko and izuku- not exactly a choice any of the league approved of. atsuhiro didn't want to "ruin his complexion" just yet. so many canvases, so little opportunity.

dabi, on the other hand- what bare skin he had left, he loved covering in ink. he already had a few self-given stick n' pokes, but when that machine came in, it was like heaven in metal form. dabi had decided, after night one, that there would be no more "normal" skin to deal with. bugs, symbols, words, you name it, and it had a place on his body. so when he asked shuichi to tattoo your initial on the left side of his chest, shuichi was elated.

the sting of the needle was nothing compared to the fire he felt burning for you.

he didn't tell you anything, so when you got back and dabi's laid out on the couch, shirtless, a shaky gecko hanging over him with a giant tattoo machine buzzing into your boyfriend's skin, safe to say you were at least curious. and when it was all said and done, and the raised skin beat with his heart, the initial of your name stood in a striking print.

"it's gonna bleed a bit, just don't bump it-" spinner starts, and dabi nods with a grin. "i know, lizard, ive got about a hundred already. looks good". his teeth shine, and much to spinner's chagrin, he nods and begins to clean, sparing dabi from the aftercare speech. the blood trickles down from the irritation, only about an inch down his chest. you reach forward, swiping it away with your thumb as he grins widely.

he reaches and pulls you forward, falling back onto the couch with you straddling him. he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each of your fingers and lapping the blood off your thumb gently. "you like it, baby?" he looks back down at the tattoo as it bleeds slowly, thanking spinner in that moment for having a nervous hand still.

he doesn't give you time to respond as his fingers coil into your hair, pressing warm lips to yours. "mm, mhm-" you nod through kisses, his tongue curling against yours. he grabs at your thighs, sliding his hands to your ass as he stands back up, carrying you down the hall.

he doesn't stop kissing you until your laid on his bed, the scent of cigarettes and his cologne puffing out of the mattress. through giggles and heavy breaths, he slips your shirt over your head and drags his tongue from your navel, to your chest, all the way to your jawline. he places himself between your legs, grinding into you with a shaky exhale.

he settles himself back onto his knees, reaching for the button of his jeans. as he undoes them, he palms at his cock through his clothes, all while watching you beneath him with full eyes.

the tattoo catches your eye again as you watch the little bead of blood again. you reach up and swipe at it again, placing your finger directly to your tongue as he watches. his breath hitches as he fights his jeans, yanking them down quickly to reveal himself, already throbbing and leaking.

you wrap a leg behind his back, pulling him into you to kiss him, his cock pressing against your belly. his kisses grow more sloppy and rough as he nips at your lips, getting off on the taste of his blood on them.

"you, you..." he bites your ear, tongue swirling just under the lobe against your neck, "beautiful," he grabs at your chest and thumbs at the hardened bud under your bra. "i love you, i love you," he mumbles as you pull your pants down, and he shoves them completely off and pulls your underwear to the side. "beautiful girl," he thrusts into his hand, rubbing at your clit with his tip. "that's why it's your name," he presses into you slowly, throwing his head back as you clench around him already. "no one else's—fuck". he bottoms out as he fills you completely, your body pulling him in.

you whimper as he begins thrusting in quick short movements. he pulls completely out, rubbing at your clit again with his tip, "need my pretty girls' cum all over me". he sucks on your collar as your head turns to the side, completely overtaken by the rushed heat coiling inside of you. he pulls your bra down, and bites down gently on your nipples as he continues to tease you. as you begin to tremble, he smiles euphorically, feeling your hips buck up. "c'mon, baby, cum for me" his voice rises a bit in desperation, and your eyes flutter closed as he brings you closer.

"dabi, 'm so close,"

he continues working his hand around his cock, making sure it doesn't lose contact with your overly-sensitive clit as you near break.

"i, fuck, dabi" you plead as your hands reach for him, nails dragging down his arm. he moans, a shiver coursing through him as you begin to whimper and whine.

as the tension finally snaps, and your body floods with the ripple of your orgasm, he shoves himself back into you without pause, completely filling you as your walls tighten around him, sending him over the edge. his cock sputters and the warmth coats inside of you as he throbs and twitches, the both of you shaking.

the next night, he found the tattoo of his first initial, a secret he shared with only you, on the inside of your wrist, freshly done by shuichi earlier that morning.

four: bite

"fuuuuck, yeah," dabi sucks in a breath through his teeth as you sink yours into his neck. "again, harder," he begs with his eyes rolled back.

"dabs, i dont want to hurt you-"

"i don't give a shit, you wanna bite me, babe? then make it mean somethin'".

the scarred man throws his head back with ecstasy, anticipating the pain. he coils warm fingers into your hair, holding your head close against him as he pumps slowly inside of you from below. the stretching pain has yet to subside, which is what led to the first bite. but now, dabi was insatiable- the sharp pinch of his skin between your canines had him twitching and moaning desperately into your hair.

you nip at him again, right against his jawline. his scars feel different against your tongue, but not at all bad, as you lick against his bone and taut, stapled skin.

he growls in your ear as you pull your mouth away from him, promptly yanking you into a rough kiss. he grabs at either side of your hips, nestling himself deeper inside of you now. between kisses, he pants, "i said, harder. you got softer".

you moan softly at his complaint, but shake your head with what little composure you had left. "m' teeth are sharp, dabi- hah- i don't wanna break skin,"

he licks against your earlobe and ruts into you again. "fucking do it then, break skin-" another thrust, increasing in force. "make me bleed. you wanna bite my staples, baby?" he offers to you with a curled, sadistic smile, "you wanna rip them out with your teeth?"

your lack of an answer isn't well-received, as he digs his nails into your thighs and grinds against your sopping core. your head feels so heavy, you have no choice to rest it on his shoulder as he gets faster.

as his speed increases, so does his breathing- and be begins to lose control inside of you, unable to pace himself against your already-sensitive walls.

he thrusts hard once, his hips jerking up with a snap. his tip shoves against your cervix, sending a shooting pain through your womb, up through your stomach. you shout with a squeak, and sink your teeth right above his clavicle, directly into his trapezius. you feel the pop of skin tearing in your mouth, blood flooding into your mouth. you had managed to get past scar tissue, leaving a couple of staples loose. he groans out loudly, and you feel his sticky seed as his fluttering moans match the tempo of his erratic ruts.

"fuck, fuck, oh my god, sweetheart, fuck, i can't stop," he borderline cries into your ear as you let the blood drip down your chin and into the back of your throat. you clench around him as he chokes out sobs, soaking his nearly-spent cock, whining out his name as you pull your mouth from him.

he grabs your face with a free hand as he keeps bouncing you, letting you ride out the euphoric feeling, and licks his blood from your mouth with a guttural moan.

"my fucking god, you're a freak," he sucks on your bottom lip before glancing to his shoulder. "you really fucked me up, baby". his words don't hurt, though- because you can feel him hardening inside of you again.

your face pales as you watch the blood drip down his arm, but he redirects your face to meet his.

"i'm fine. pain receptors are basically fried. it feels good," he kisses your nose gently as he holds you.

"do that again though, and i might make you have my babies".

five: cycle

his favorite week was here. you were clingier than usual, begging him to warm your abdomen with his hands, staying put through most of the night with his arms around you when you usually tossed and turned. you even had more of that bite he loved so much, that attitude that entranced him in the first place. and when you weren't basically on top of him, you were under him, as he fucked you slower than usual, softer.

he loved when you were on your period.

"let me fuck the pain away, baby," he coos in your ear as you step out of the shower with him, head spinning.

you let him take your hand, guiding you to his bed, where he had already neatly laid a towel down.

he picks you up and sets you down kindly, his wet hair dripping down his face. it was longer like this, the choppy layers set against his forehead. this was when he looked most beautiful, you thought, he seemed the most gentle this way.

he spreads your legs, tossing his towel to the floor. his cock slaps his tummy, with soft white curls trailing down to his shaft. his piercings glint in the dimmed streetlamps, the shitty blinds doing little to filter light.

he gets on his knees on the floor, positioning himself between your legs. he can smell the iron in your core, and his mouth waters at the mere idea.

you try to pull him away, face flushing with a deep red across your cheeks as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. "no, you don't have to, i'm bleeding, that's not-"

he responds by pressing his tongue against your clit, sliding it in between your folds, until he can bury it inside of you. the tip of his nose brushes your clit, and your head falls back with an exasperated gasp. your fingers coil into his black hair, his tongue working slowly as it flits inside of you.

he moans against your heat from the the drops of blood on his tongue, swallowing thankfully as his licks get more rapid, his tongue sharpening to a point against your sensitive clit.

he eats like a starved dog, lapping up every bit of you he can with a shaky grin and weak breaths. he loses all self control, as he fists his neglected cock with a rough hand, pumping it wildly as he drinks you like wine.

every flick of his tongue drives you closer and closer, and he tastes the arousal coating his bloodied tongue with a panting moan.

your hand clenches in his hair, and he speeds up, grazing his teeth and sucking at the bundle of nerves until you spill out into his willing mouth. he moans against your skin again, vibrating your twitching core, as he paints his hand in a thick layer of pearly cum, soft "ah"s falling from his pretty lips.

he stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"still cramping, love?" he asks with a smirk, and you can't respond coherently, your legs shaking like a cheap massage chair.

"tsk, tsk. i'll have to do more, hmm?" he lines himself up with your puffy lips and slips inside the warmth with a bloody grin.

six: rebirth

you hated when the league went out without you. although you had begged time and time again, touya would never let you leave. his excuse was that he needed someone to patch him up afterwards- but you knew it was more than that. he kept you safe, doing his best to not worry you too much.

tonight was different, though. you could feel it. when tomura disappeared for months, you could feel it, too. the league fell apart and came back together, patched up like quilts- nothing made sense, but it was still them. touya was still him, for the most part. but you knew it wouldn't last long.

the first sign was how much gentler he was with you. how slowly and passionately he'd kiss you, his usual hunger and brevity seemingly replaced with tenderness and prayer.

and sometimes late at night, when it was just you two awake, sprawled on a ratty mattress in the new hideout, he'd whisper everything he loved about you. he'd kiss your head, rub your back, and promise you that you would always be okay.

he came home later and later now, eyes sunken in and frame thinning out even more as the league in its entirety evolved. you'd catch him drinking and leaving a shot out for jin, and magne. you would wake up to find him crying, blood seeping from his scarred eyes in silence, placing an curse eternal on keigo, who had betrayed them all. his voice was angrier when he spoke with tomura. he was shorter with everyone but you.

everything was quieter, and you forced yourself to accept it with the knowledge that it would never be loud again.

touya came home as the sun began to rise, face stony and eyes a muted, pale blue. without a word, you follow him to the bathroom of the dingy base, med kit in hand.

he doesn't speak as you wipe the blood from his cheeks. he doesn't even hum as you re-align his skin and staple it.

he pulls his shirt from his skin, mouth pulled into a thin line as he has to tear it off his chest, the sticky, dried blood melding the material to his peeling skin.

"what happened?" you pour iodine over the wound, and he lolls his head back.

"don't worry about it". he keeps his words short, and you refill the medical stapler. you counted the missing ones- at least fourteen, leaving the underside of his chest separated, the subcutaneous layer showing boldly and viscerally. you peel the gloves back onto your hands as you hand him a towel to bite. he takes it slowly, but still makes no sound as you pinch the skin together.

you'd gotten used to nights like this one, too. nights where he'd go out without a whisper and return to you like a corpse, mutilated and broken. but he made not a single noise, not a grunt nor moan, as the last of the staples re-pierced his flesh with "cl-tck"s.

he presses a kiss to your lips slowly, and if feels like the end.

"i'm sorry", he whispers to you when its all said and done. "i'm sorry, and i love you. thank you for putting up with me all the time".

you brush his dirty hair out of his face and hold him close against you, blood staining the front of you, but you don't care. his warmth seeps under your cold skin and your eyes burn like his hands.

"how much longer do we have"? you choke out, your head tucked into his neck. he takes a slow breath.

"don't worry about that now. it's all good, baby. just us right now. nothing else. look at me," he keeps his breathing steady, and you do your best to maintain eye-contact through swollen, blurry blinks.

"no matter who i become, or what happens from here, i'll be yours," he taps his chest, the healed tattoo on his upper pec still dark and sharp. his lips curl softly, a weak attempt at genuineness. "i love you. i love you, and i didn't think i could love. i'll always love you, okay?"

the news stations the next day are littered with photos and clips of dabi, now touya to the whole world, his beautiful blue eyes burning bright with the same passion he looked at you with. and you wait for him to come home again, and every night after that.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[starlitmelanin]

ᡣ𐭩ྀི make-believe; j.bellingham

pairing - jude x fem!reader

word count - 3k

warnings - none

summary - you and jude had broken up, decided to go your separate ways, but now you're both forced to play nice for an adidas ad.

you knew this day was coming.

the email landed in your inbox a week ago, the subject line so innocent, so unassuming: adidas shoot - schedule update.

you almost deleted it out of reflex, your heart dropping the moment you recognised the sender. but you clicked it anyway, because you knew better than to ignore reality.

"we've got an exciting shoot coming up with some of our top athletes," the message read, all corporate cheerfulness, "including you and jude bellingham! can't wait to see the magic you two create together."

magic. right.

you hadn't seen jude since it happened, since the two of you had ended things with a mutual understanding that felt more like mutual devastation. the kind of breakup where there's no yelling, no slamming doors, just a quiet acceptance that what you had was too complicated, too much for either of you to carry any longer.

but it wasn't any easier for that. in fact, it might've been harder. because you couldn't even hate him. you couldn't even scream or cry or blame him for anything. you were just... sad. sad in a way that sat heavy in your chest, that didn't go away no matter how many times you told yourself it was for the best.

and now, here you are, standing in the studio with the lights too bright and the air too cool, dressed head-to-toe in adidas gear, waiting for jude to show up.

you can feel the tension building in your shoulders, the nerves twisting in your stomach. you're trying to remind yourself that it's just another day at work, just another shoot, but it's not. not when he's involved.

you hear him before you see him, the familiar sound of his voice as he greets someone at the entrance, that same tone that used to make your heart skip a beat. you don't turn around right away, too busy pretending to adjust the fit of your jacket, but when you finally look up, there he is.

jude's standing there, just a few feet away, looking as good as ever, and it's like air is being sucked right out of your lungs. you thought you were prepared for this, thought you'd built up enough of a wall around your heart to keep it together, but the moment you see him, that wall cracks, just a little.

he looks... different. maybe it's just the distance, the time that's passed, or maybe it's the way he's holding himself, more reserved, more cautious. but his eyes still find yours, and for a split second, everything else fades away. it's just the two of you, caught in that familiar yet unspoken connection that never really went away.

"hey," he says, his voice softer than you remember, almost hesitant.

"hey," you reply, and it's too casual, too normal for what this moment really is. but you don't know what else to say, how else to greet the person who used to be your everything.

before either of you can say more, the director claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "all right, let's get started! y/n, jude, we're going to start with some paired shots, just the two of you. we want to capture that chemistry, that connection you both have as madrid's star players."

you almost laugh at the irony, but it sticks in your throat, coming out as a forced smile instead. you nod, falling into step with jude as the crew starts directing you both, positioning you in front of the camera.

the first pose isn't too bad. you're standing side by side, arms crossed, the standard tough athlete look. it's easy enough to slip into character, to pretend like everything's fine. but then the director starts asking for more.

"can you two get a little closer? jude, put your arm around y/n's shoulders, like you're celebrating a win together."

it's such a simple request, something you've done a hundred times before, but now it feels like the hardest thing in the world. still, you nod, forcing your body to move as jude steps closer, his arm brushing against yours before he rests it on your shoulders.

the contact sends a shiver through you, a reminder of all the times you used to lean into him, used to find comfort in his touch. but now, it feels different. awkward, forced, like a ghost of something that used to be real.

you keep your smile plastered on, staring straight ahead at the camera, but you can feel jude's tension too, the way his grip on your shoulder isn't as relaxed as it used to be, how he's holding back. and it makes everything worse because it's a reminder that he's just as affected by this as you are.

"perfect, perfect!" the director calls out, oblivious to the silent struggle happening between you. "now, y/n, turn towards jude, like you're about to high-five him, but stop just before your hands meet. we want to capture that anticipation, that energy."

you don't even know what that means, but you do as you're told, turning to face jude, your hand hovering in the air between you. he mirrors your movement, and now you're standing so close that you can see every detail of his face, the lines of stress around his eyes, the way his lips are pressed into a thin line.

the silence stretches between you, and for a moment, it feels like the whole world has shrunk down to just this, just the space between your hands, the weight of everything unsaid. your heart is pounding in your chest, your breath coming a little faster, and you're terrified that he can hear it, that he knows how much this is affecting you.

"great, hold that! now, jude, how about you pull y/n in for a side hug, like you're celebrating together again?"

you blink, your smile faltering for just a second before you catch yourself. this is too much, too close, too soon. but you don't have much of a choice, so you force yourself to move, stepping into jude's space as he wraps an arm around you.

it's stiff, weird, nothing like the way it used to be. and you can tell he feels it too, the way his body is tense, how his touch is light, as if he's afraid to hold on too tight, afraid of what might happen if he does.

you try to relax, try to let yourself sink into the moment, but it's impossible. because all you can think about is how wrong this feels, how much it hurts to be this close to him and yet so far away.

"beautiful! now, y/n, lean your head on jude's shoulder, like you're sharing a moment after a big win."

the director's voice feels like nails on a chalkboard, and you have to fight the urge to tell him to stop, to leave you alone. but you don't. instead, you follow his instructions, tilting your head to rest on jude's shoulder, your heart in your throat.

the scent of him hits you, familiar and comforting, and it takes everything in you not to let your eyes close, not to let yourself get lost in the memories that flood your mind. you can feel jude's breath hitch, just for a second, and you wonder if he's feeling the same thing, if the weight of this moment is crushing him too.

"and... got it! that's a wrap on this setup!"

the words are a relief, but also a disappointment. because even though this is torture, part of you doesn't want it to end, doesn't want to step away from him and go back to pretending like everything's fine, like you're over it.

but you have to. so you pull away, stepping back as jude's arm drops from your shoulders, the distance between you growing again. you glance up at him, catching his eyes for just a moment, and the look there makes your chest ache.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice low, just for you.

you nod, but it's a lie, and you both know it. "yeah. you?"

"yeah." another lie.

the director is already moving on, calling for the next setup, oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air like a storm cloud. you and jude follow along, moving like you're on autopilot, but it's clear that the magic they were hoping for isn't there. not really.

the next few poses are just as bad, each one requiring you to get close, to touch, to pretend like everything's fine when it's not. and with each one, the facade gets harder to maintain, the cracks in your armor growing wider.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the director calls for a break, and you all but collapse onto a nearby bench, your head in your hands. you can feel jude's presence next to you, but you can't bring yourself to look at him, not now, not when you're so close to breaking.

"y/n," he says softly, and you can hear the concern in his voice, the guilt.

"don't," you whisper, shaking your head. "not here."

he doesn't push, but you can feel his frustration, his helplessness. and it's almost worse than if he had tried to talk to you, because it means he's feeling it too, the weight of this, the impossibility of pretending like nothing's changed.

the break doesn't last long enough.

before you've even caught your breath, the director is calling you back, his voice echoing through the studio like a bad dream. you don't want to get up, don't want to face jude again, but you don't have a choice. this is your job, your life, and sometimes that means swallowing the pain and pushing through it.

when you stand, jude's already on his feet, watching you with that same look he had earlier—like he wants to say something, like he's waiting for the right moment. but there's no right moment, and there won’t be. so you just walk past him, heading back to the set, feeling his eyes on your back the entire way.

"alright, now we're thinking something dynamic," the director explains, too excited for his own good. "like jude lifting y/n off the ground, both of you laughing, like you've just won a big tournament or something."

you almost laugh at the absurdity of it. the idea of jude lifting you, holding you close, laughing like nothing's wrong—it feels like a cruel joke. but you nod anyway, because what else can you do?

you take your position, standing in front of jude. the director is giving more instructions, telling jude how to wrap his arms around your waist, how to make it look effortless, but you can't focus on any of it. all you can think about is how this is going to hurt in ways you can't even begin to prepare for.

when jude's hands settle on your waist, it's like a jolt of electricity shoots through you, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. his touch is gentle, almost too gentle, but it's the tenderness that cuts the deepest.

"on three," the director says, his voice distant, like it's coming from underwater. "one, two, three!"

jude lifts you, just like he's supposed to, and you feel the ground disappear beneath your feet. for a split second, it's almost like it used to be—before everything fell apart. the way he used to hold you like you were the most precious thing in the world, like you were worth protecting.

you're supposed to laugh, supposed to act like this is fun, but the sound that comes out of your mouth is hollow, forced. you don't know how jude manages to smile, how he keeps up the act, because all you want to do is scream, to tell everyone to stop, that this is too much, too painful.

but you don't. you just hang there, suspended in jude's arms, pretending like this is just another day, like you're not dying inside.

"perfect, perfect! that's exactly what we needed!" the director's voice is too loud, too cheerful, and it grates against your nerves. you want to tell him that this isn't perfect, that nothing about this is perfect, but the words stick in your throat.

when jude finally sets you down, you're unsteady on your feet, your legs shaky. you take a step back, putting distance between you, but it's not enough. the damage is done. the wound has been ripped open.

you glance at jude, and the look in his eyes tells you everything. he's hurting too, more than he's letting on. but he's also resigned, like he knows there's nothing either of you can do to fix this, like he's accepted that this is just the way it has to be.

"we'll take five," the director announces, already moving on to the next setup, oblivious to the emotional minefield he's just dragged you both through.

you nod, barely acknowledging him, and walk off the set, needing to be alone, needing to breathe. jude doesn't follow you this time, and you're grateful for it. you don't know what you'd say if he did. you don't know how to explain the mess of emotions swirling inside you, the pain of being so close to him and yet so far away.

you find a quiet corner of the studio, out of sight of the crew, and lean against the wall, your head tilted back as you try to keep it together. but the tears are already welling up, and you hate yourself for it, for being this vulnerable, this broken.

it wasn't supposed to be like this. you and jude were supposed to be the ones who made it, who figured it out. but life had other plans, and now you're stuck here, pretending like everything's fine when it's anything but.

you wipe at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but it's no use. the emotions are too raw, too fresh. you can still feel jude's touch on your skin, still hear his voice in your head, and it's all too much.

you're so lost in your thoughts that you don't hear him approach. it's only when he speaks that you realise he's standing right in front of you.

"y/n..."

you look up, and there he is, his expression a mix of concern and something else. you want to tell him to leave, to go back to the set and let you deal with this on your own, but the words won't come.

"i'm sorry," he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. "i didn't think it'd be this hard."

"me neither," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

he takes a step closer, hesitating like he's not sure if he should, like he's afraid of crossing a line that's already been blurred too many times today. "i... i still care about you. that hasn't changed."

his words hit you like a heavy blow, and you have to look away, your eyes focusing on the floor because you can't bear to look at him right now.

"jude, don't," you manage to say, your voice shaky. "please, just... don't."

he sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration etched in every line of his body. "i don't know what to do, y/n. i don't know how to make this better."

you wish you had an answer for him, but you don't. because there isn't one. some things just can't be fixed, no matter how much you want them to be.

"maybe it's not supposed to be better," you say, your voice barely holding steady. "maybe this is just... how it has to be."

the words hang in the air, final and unchangeable, and you know they're true, even if you don't want them to be. whatever you and jude had, it's gone now, and no amount of pretending is going to bring it back.

he nods, his eyes dropping to the floor, and you can see the defeat in his posture, the way he's finally accepted that this is the end.

"we should get back," you say, needing to put distance between you, needing to end this conversation before it destroys you completely.

he doesn't argue, just follows your lead as you both make your way back to the set, the silence between you deafening.

the rest of the shoot goes by in a blur. you're going through the motions, doing what's asked of you without really thinking, without really feeling. it's easier that way, easier to disconnect, to shut down.

and jude... jude is the same. distant, reserved, like he's put up his own walls to protect himself from the hurt. you don't blame him. you've done the same.

when it's finally over, when the director calls it a wrap and the crew starts packing up, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. it's done. you survived. but that relief is tinged with sadness, with the knowledge that nothing's really changed. the pain is still there, still as fresh as it was when you first saw him this morning.

you grab your things, eager to get out of there. but as you're about to leave, he catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"y/n," he says, and there's something in his voice, something that makes you pause.

you turn to look at him, and for a moment, you see the boy you fell in love with, the one who made you believe in forever.

"take care of yourself," he says, his voice soft, almost tender.

you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. because there's no closure here, no neat ending, no goodbye that makes everything okay. there's just this—this messy, painful, complicated thing that you and jude have become.

"you too," you finally manage to say.

he gives you a small, sad smile, and then he lets you go.

and just like that, it's over. you walk away, your heart heavy, your mind racing with everything you wanted to say but couldn't.

because this isn't a movie, and there's no script to follow.

it's just... done.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

Note: It's an addiction now.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

'I never thought I'd be writing to someone like you, but you've shown me a different side of things. I hope that my emails give you comfort and can help you through. Even on the other side, they get me through my day. I'm always excited to read when there's a ding in my inbox.

I hope you also enjoy the little bit I could put in your commissary. If I lived closer, maybe I could bring you something homemade. At the moment, bus fare is a bit too much for my pockets.

Anyway, signing off.

Yours,

Diamond'

You add a whole line of heart emojis to the email then hit send. You giggle and click on the next. You don't have the heart to copy and paste so you add a bit of variety to the next.

This one is... Thor? That's his name. He's a funny one. Considering he's in the pen, you're surprised by that. The others are so dire; pushy too.

You hit reply on his last email. Something about a fight and apologising for not replying earlier. He says he was in solitary for a whole week. That sounds miserable. The thought is enough to scare you straight. It's why you've never done anything wrong in your whole life. Until now.

It's not really wrong. It's allowed. It's legal. You're just sending messages. If anything, it's a community service. These men don't have much more contact than each other and that's a recipe for chaos.

You won't admit that other reason aloud. That tickly feeling in your stomach. When they compliment you, when they say they missed you. You can't help but smile, even giggle sometimes. It's nice to be appreciated, even if it's all a fantasy.

You'll never meet these men. That's the fun part. You don't have to worry about any of this. Maybe that helps. Maybe you think too much when you're face-to-face. That explains why every cute guy you talk to sees past you.

'I forgive you, sweetie. It must have been so hard in there. The important thing is you replied. I got so worried! I hope that after all that, my email can bring a bit of comfort. I have to be honest, I never thought I'd be chatting with someone like you. That I could find this type of connection. Please, take care and email soon.'

Another parade of emojis follows and you send it off happily. Now you just have to wait and see who gets back to you first. If it's Ernie, you're not sure you'll respond. He's been fixated on his cell mate and his emails are getting a bit scary. That's the other great part. You can always just delete and block.

The response comes an hour later. You're sleepy and ready to pass out. You read it anyway.

'You are so kind, my queen.' You giggle. Yeah, he calls you that sometimes. If only he knew you were sitting in bed with an ice cream sandwich wrapper and your cell phone. Definitely not queenly behaviour. 'I got through it by thinking of you, of dreaming of the day when we can talk face-to-face. Wouldn't that be lovely? For all my mistakes, I think they will mean something if you and me can be together.'

You make a face. He's so cheesy. You can't help but laugh again. You're not trying to be cruel, you do empathise with his situation, you can't imagine being in prison, but like anyone else, he earned his time. There's one last light.

'If it isn't too much trouble, would you kindly send a picture so I have a face to admire in my lonelier moments? I've attached my own. Forgive me as it dates a few years back.'

You're not smiling anymore. You haven't sent any of the men pictures. They haven't offered theirs but you can look up their mug shots easily. You hate to ruin the fantasy but curiosity has you tapping the attachment.

Oh. You're surprised. He's older than you in this picture and by his own confession, is more so now. But he isn't repugnant. Anything but. Tall, blond, thick! You don't know if you've ever seen a man that size.

Even in a suit, it's obvious that his arms are bulging and his chest is ripe to burst out as the jacket button clings for dear life. The photo is cropped so that whoever he took it with is out of frame. His blue eyes sparkle above a defined smile. Has prison worn down all that?

You squirm. Guilt needles in your chest. You could close out and worry about it in the morning. You shouldn't be that sympathetic. He's still a criminal. You can say no. Easily. What's he going to do about it?

What could it hurt? If he saw your face. It's not like anyone would know. That anyone would recognise you or that he could find you anywhere else. You keep your social media anonymous. You aren't like the influencers who get attention just for being pretty.

It's that that gives you pause. You aren't anything but average. It's easier to pretend you're some pretty thing as you message these faceless men. Well, maybe that's a good thing. Maybe once he sees you, you won't have to worry about all that other stuff. He'll cut you off at the pass.

The thrill of it overwhelms your reluctance. It's like gambling, it could go either way.

You start a new message. More meaningly rewording of previous sentiments. Nothing new. Then you scroll through your photo roll. You take a breath and press down on a photo you think isn't half bad. It's from market day you went to with your aunt. Not exactly cutting edge but fun. She snuck in the shot as you smiled down at your gooey cinnamon roll. The impromptu snap is better than most of your posed ones.

You send and quickly lock the phone. You shove it under your pillow and swipe up the wrapper beside you. You leave it on your night stand and sink down, your insides swimming with anxiety. You're going to regret this in the morning.

🎀

'Will you call me?'

The question makes you sweat. You don't know why you feel bad. You've said no before. To him. To all of them. You draw a thick line between your secret little hobby and your real life. You shouldn't have ever sent that photo.

Despite your regret, you smile. His response was more than you could expect. The praise! You don't know that anyone ever even called you cute but he as good as wrote you a poem about your beauty. You have to remind yourself, given his circumstance, he's starved. He'd probably think your nan is sexy.

Still, you're having a hard time typing those two letter; N-O. Thor is so nice. And he asked so sweetly. But you can't do that. What if someone found out?

This whole thing is starting to feel like a big mistake, but it's so much fun. When in your life will men ever be this into you? When have they ever?

'I could call' you type without thinking. What are you doing? 'Let me know how to do that and we can set a time maybe.'

Don't hit send. Don't hit send.

Email sent.

Shit. Oh gosh. Why did you do that?

You close your laptop and leave it on your desk. You need to get ready for work. You can't be worrying about a man you'll never meet. It's all virtual, it's not real. You'll be okay.

You get yourself together and brace yourself for work. You don't really like your job. You work the counter at a tech repair shop. Independent so it's small and slow. Your boss is a bit strange too.

The only benefit is it's close and it pays a few bucks more than the alternative. You're even allowed to work on your online courses at the service desk. Really, it's perfect. You guess you're just not happy with things being boring.

You blow over the lid of your Sailor Moon travel mug and knock on the door. Jensen lets you in with a grin and stifles a yawn in his elbow. You step past him with a sheepish smile.

"If it isn't the champion of justice," he greets smugly and locks the door. You won't open for another half hour.

"Huh?" You go to the counter and slide your bag onto the shelf underneath.

"Your cup," he crosses the shop. “I am Sailor Moon, the champion of justice. In the name of the moon, I will right wrong and triumph over evil… and that means you!”

"Oh, right," you snort at his cheesiness. "You have espresso or something?"

"Red bull," he admits guiltily.

"This early?"

"Early? I never went to sleep," he comes around and goes back to typing on his glowing gaming computer. "Couldn't let my crew down."

You could roll your eyes. All he does is play Fortnite or Halo. He looks like he does too. Yet, he's in here moping after every rare stunner that walks through the door. That's why you'er there. He gets all tongue-tied with women. Well, all of them but you.

"You should join the party," he suggests.

"Well, I don't really play anymore," you shrug. "It was only for fun. My siblings... like it."

"Oh yeah, how's the family?"

"Good, I guess. They don't really call."

Your mom's too busy rebuilding her life with your step-dad. Rather, building the perfect life she never had. You sigh and open up your laptop. You grab your coffee and sip. You're tired of being forgotten.

"Jake," you say, he winces at the use of his first name, "Jensen," you glance at him, "you're a dude."

"Yeah, I am" he answers uncertainly.

"Well, you might know more than I do. You know anyone in prison? Any guys?"

"What?" He exclaims. "Where did that come from?"

"Mm... I was watching a documentary last night," you lie. "About prison or whatever."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and about you know," you sway and look at your laptop. You're terrible at lying. "The women who like write to them or whatever."

"Ew, like the Ted Bundy weirdos?" He scoffs.

"Not exactly. I mean, none of them were murderers. I think," you shrug. "But... like, if you were in prison, you'd need that, right? I mean, it's just to get you through."

"I don't know. It'd be lonely, yeah, but like... what about after?" He scratches his neck. "I got a buddy who was in for a while but he's a good dude. He was only selling... stuff."

"Really?" You perk up, "he went to prison?"

"Well, he doesn't like to talk about it," Jensen says. "Why are you talking about this?"

"Making conversation. I was just thinking about the show," you sign into your laptop. "Just thinking... I mean, how do you even end up there?"

"Bad things. I learned my lesson when I was sixteen. I broke into the high school on a dare and the cops put me in cuffs for two hours. They let me go once I cried... I mean, I was a kid so..."

You nod and try not to show any judgment. That sounds about right. A notification pops up in the corner as Jensen goes back to the fluttering over his keyboard. You click on the email.

'I've been granted call-time at noon. You can call the number below and request by my inmate number...'

You quickly minimize and hide behind your cup as you slurp. Shoot. You didn't think he'd be so fast. A call at noon? You can't say no. Not now that he got approved.

Well, this is the only time it's happening.

[aces-and-angels]

seeing the influx of gfm campaigns on your dash may be overwhelming- the purpose of this post is to help others navigate through the many gfm links that are circulating here on this site- esp. those that find their way directly to you via your inbox. this advice is specific to tumblr- i cannot speak on other platforms (instagram, twitter, etc.) though some things i say may be applicable

disclaimer: i do not vet/verify any campaigns myself. i simply want people who are willing to engage with these types of posts to do so in a safe manner

read more below:

---

what to do if you get a message from an account claiming to be 🇵🇸 in your inbox:

-> step 1: do not immediately dismiss it as spam

to quote one of nabulsi's posts:

"... you cannot generalise with Gazans if their tumblr blog is only a few days or a few hours old.

Gazans on tumblr are making accounts for the express purpose of spreading their fundraisers because it is spreading amongst Gazans that tumblr is a safe place to do so.

They could often be making multiple blogs and even remaking after staff flags them as spam. But don't blanket assume that Gazans are scammers if they're on a new tumblr blog with no pfp or content.

I agree that until a fundraiser is vetted you shouldn't reblog it in case it is someone dishonest taking advantage of the circumstances in Gaza. But you cannot do the opposite and immediately assume they're a scammer. I'm seeing people harass Gazans sometimes who genuinely are people who just don't know how to use tumblr and are falsely raising red flags because of it." (read full post here)

to sum it up: don't hit 'report' right away- marinate a lil and put on a detective hat

-> step 2: background check

the following are accounts that are known to vet/verify gfm campaigns here on tumblr. note- this is not a comprehensive list:

el-shab-hussein

nabulsi

90-ghost* (edit 8/4: recently announced that ahmed will no longer be vetting/verifying new campaigns)

ibtisams* (only has done it on situational basis; is not currently vetting new campaigns- read post here)

rubashabansblog (has been promoting other palestinians who lost their tumblr accounts; currently living under occupation)

heba-20 (unsure if heba takes request to vet others personally but is a reliable source for finding legitimate campaigns)

northgazaupdates

fairuzfan (says they are less active on tumblr these days/not currently vetting new campaigns but is a reliable source)

i recommend giving these individuals a follow if you haven't already as they provide far more information regarding all things 🇵🇸. they've all put in a lot of work to make the process i'm sharing with y'all as simple as possible. also please be respectful if you try reaching out to any of them. they are likely getting a high volume of asks and may not be able to respond to you quickly

important note: it has been recently announced that nabulsi + el-shab-hussein have stopped vetting new accounts for the time being and are only focusing on campaigns that have already been vetted. read their full statement here and here

to start- check out the person's account. this can be a hit or miss depending on how new the account is. however- you may notice that the person in question has stated that they have been vetted:

good signs so far- but better to be safe than sorry. next thing to do is search the username of the person who messaged you on tumblr. it's likely if you got a message like the one pictured above, others may have received one as well and did the digging for you:

if you can't find a clear answer with tumblr's illustrious search bar/want to confirm someone's claim that the campaign in question was already verified, the next thing to do is check one of the following:

el-shab-hussein's pinned post

el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's google sheet

imo, this process is far easier to do while on a laptop/desktop vs. mobile app. ctrl+f is your friend in this scenario as is the ability to click through multiple tabs. for el-shab-hussein's pinned post, i click through the multiple lists and see if any names match. in ruba's case, she was found under List of fundraisers for my direct contacts from Ghazzah & Sudan:

and for the google sheet- her campaign is no. 90 on the list:

tip: to narrow down your search even further- ctrl+f the title of the person's gfm campaign that they've linked on their tumblr account:

-> step 3: share your findings + follow that account

if everything checks out- ✨share le campaign✨ provide the link to it in your response to the ask + where it was verified. make it easier for the next person who gets a message to figure out that the gfm is real

following 🍉accounts is esp. important since the forces that be are keen on suppressing them at every turn. the more eyes on these accounts- the easier it'll be to determine the legitimacy of any new accounts they may need to make

---

okay, but... scams 😬:

-> step 1: seek a master

people can be assholes- and anyone trying to make a profit off of an ongoing genocide can eat glass

anyways- the following are accounts that are known to identify scam posts on tumblr (again, not a comprehensive list. these are just the one's ive seen/most familiar with):

mangocheesecakes

kyra45

kyra45's pinned post contains a plethora of resources to help determine if a post/message is a scam- and not just in regards to 🇵🇸- key goes in on many types of scams. please refer to their guides (and be sure that you are reading the most recent version of key's posts)

-> step 2: if you see sumn, say sumn

we're human and sometimes things slip our radar. so if you ever see someone on here sharing a known scam, do 'em a solid and let them know about it regardless if you are mutuals or not

---

final/misc. thoughts:

it's good practice to double check a campaign's verification with these tools for yourself regardless of how legitimate it looks. note that checking for a gfm's verification is not the same as verifying them. that work should be left to qualified individuals with experience in doing so. this is why it's bad to attempt things you are not qualified to tackle also- i think it's important to remember that transferring 💵 from a gfm campaign to those in need requires a lot of pieces to be perfectly set in place. if you see 🇵🇸 blogs linking alt. methods of raising funds (ex. p*ypal/k*fi) the reason could be that their gfms were frozen/suspended for a myriad of reasons. as always- check credible sources if you are unsure about a campaign you may come across notice how the spreadsheet provided here has over 100+ campaigns listed. generating a list that extensive requires hard work that is undoubtedly both physically and mentally straining to the individuals who are involved in making it. i've seen some accounts myself that have had to announce that they can no longer continue to vet campaigns because it has taken that much of a toll on their wellbeing. do not let their efforts go wasted

other resources:

some other places/grassroot organizations where you can find vetted campaigns:

operation olive branch (oob)

gazafunds

operation poppy flower (now also linked in oob's sheet)

operation watermelon

project watermelon

strawberry seeds collective

ottawa4palestine

camps breakerz crew

gofund(water)me(lons)

flowersfromfalasteen

[buckys-little-belle]

Henlo! If it's okay, could you make write a fic about Bucky comforting his little during a thunderstorm? A storm was near my house a few days ago and the thunder scared me so bad-- The power didn't go out, but storms usually happen a lot where I live-- thanks <3

Rainy Days

Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns used/No Pronouns used)

Warnings - Reader is scared of storms, reader eats snacks, talks of loud noises, talks of lightning/flashing lights, descriptions of a thunderstorm, ready is sad and scared, Bucky is sweet and thoughtful!

Notes - I made this headcannons, I hope that's okay! Honestly I've been going through my inbox and drafts and trying to clear them out, but writing full fics is something I have to be in the right mood for. But headcannons? I've been feeling headcannons lately, so do send some headcannon requests in if anyone has some! And please expect very old asks to suddenly resurface in the shape of fics/headcannons written literally years later <3

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW!

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

You've always been scared of thunderstorms. Rain is nice from time to time, but when the loud booms of thunder begin and lightning strikes, you suddenly begin to feel scared.

It's not rational, you know the thunder can't get you and that if you're inside you're safe from lightning. Yet when the storm begins to get louder and the rain begins to pelt harder, you find yourself curled up wherever you are, stuffie held safely to your chest.

Bucky could tell you'd get antsy whenever rain drops would begin racing on the windows, you'd stare outside seemingly waiting for something to happen.

After the first thunderstorm you two witnessed together Bucky knew he needed to be prepared for the next one. He hated seeing you cry, and how scared you got. He felt helpless and vowed to make sure that didn't happen again.

So now he has a small bin in his closet labeled "Rainy days". Inside are a pair of headphones he bought that block out any noises. It's made chatting between the two of you hard on those rainy days, you yelling because you can't tell just how loud you are, and him doing his best to charades his words. But because it rains so often, you two have had time to practice, and communication comes much easier.

He bought you little stickers to put on the headphones, so that instead of just plain boring black headphones, you have ones decorated by your favourite cartoon characters and fun little stickers of plants and dinosaurs.

He also has special activities for the two of you to do on those days. He wanted something different than the toys you have all the other days. This way you stop feeling dread thinking about thunderstorms, now that feeling is over taken with a subtle excitement for the special glitter crayons in the box, and the really cute stuffed animal named "Rainy" that you get to snuggle with.

Bucky always buys those PDF files on etsy that are colouring pages. For $2 he gets 6-10 fun pages, and he'll print them out for you on his fancy work printer. He finds it easier than buying colouring books because there's no risk of ripping your colouring when you evidently want to rip the page out and put it on the fridge. Plus he finds it over all cheaper, and there are no more tears when you don't like the way you coloured something, sad that you can't do that pretty picture anymore, he just prints out a second one.

Bucky is also a fan of physical media. He has both a DVD and a VCR player. So he has two movies stashed in the box that you really like for those rainy days, and those rainy days only. He doesn't know how, but you've been able to connect your headphones to the Tv, so you can't hear the thunder when you're watching them.

Also snuggles, rainy days mean as many snuggles as you want. Doesn't matter if he's on a work call, doing the laundry, or in the middle of making dinner. If you come up and ask for a hug you end up getting 20 minutes of snuggles and soothing back rubs.

You don't venture outside when it's a thunderstorm, but Bucky has been warming you up to "liking" rainy days by showing you how fun puddles can be.

He buys you a cute raincoat and matching boots, and as long as there's no thunder or lightning, he'll take you outside and splash in the puddles for an hour.

Instead of being terrified of thunderstorms, and hating the days they happen, you've slowly been able to accept that they'll happen sometimes, and you've grown to know your safe, very safe because Bucky is always at your side on those days. Ready to comfort you, ready to play whatever game you want, and ready to jump in puddles when possible.

[wcbblife]

Public love

Prompt (I accidentally deleted the ask sorry): could you do a short story about Paige accepting an award and telling everyone that Azzi and her are dating?

a/n: guys I'm trying to finish all my recent asks in my inbox I swear. Life's been lifin' all of the sudden and I barely have time to write so apologies for that. Got a lot of drafts that I'm working on rn.

Warning: Paige is a yapper. Some spelling mistakes (hopefully not). A bit rushed tbh

“You look hilarious,” Azzi giggled, staring at her phone screen where their FaceTime call was running.

“Thanks, Azzi,” Paige deadpanned, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She wiped her palms on her pants, only for Brittany to swat her hands away, scolding her.

Azzi's smile softened as Paige protested, her eyebrows furrowing. “You know you don't have to do this, right?”

“Don't start with that, Azzi,” Paige's exasperated tone didn't go unnoticed as she wiped her hands on a nearby towel. “We agreed that today was the day.”

Azzi threw her hands up in defeat, her smile unwavering. “I'm just saying.”

Paige had underestimated how bad her nerves would flare up at the idea of stepping onto a stage full of legends, with cameras recording her every move, to profess her love for her girlfriend to the whole entire world to see. It had been a tough conversation, but Azzi had convinced Paige to wait until the season was over, when they were no longer teammates.

“I'll do it, just you watch.” Suddenly, the normal confidence Paige always had resurfaced as a smug look settled on her face.

Azzi could still see through the facade.

“Hey, you know it's already on in the living room,” Azzi said, flipping the camera to show the TV. It showed the red carpet, which was almost over, and Paige's panic returned.

“Gosh, I just wish you were here.” Paige set her phone in front of her, properly showing her whole upper body to Azzi. She looked stunning. The blonde hunched over, taking a deep breath. “It would be easier.”

“You know I would be there if I could, babe. Something came up.” For a moment, there was complete silence, except for the rustling of Azzi dropping onto her sofa. “Plus, I won't have like… a million cameras shoved in my face. Which is nice.”

“Yeah, you're right.”

“Alright, you two, we gotta wrap it up. Paige, you're up in a few.” Brittany's voice startled the blood out of Paige's face as she flinched.

Azzi giggled. “I'll get going. And Paige… just do what feels right when you get up there, okay?”

“Yeah. I'll try.” She cleared her throat. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Paige.”

______

Paige was totally not ready for it. As the awards passed one by one, she found it increasingly harder to stay still in her seat.

“Bro, do you have ants on your ass or something?” Aubrey chuckled, whispering towards Paige.

“Something like that.” Paige adjusted her suit, applying pressure to her chest. She felt like she was going to throw up.

“Seriously, you good?” From her other side, Ice whispered, her expression a bit more worried than Aubrey's. Even with the makeup, Paige looked pale as a ghost.

“I'm good.”

Aubrey and Ice exchanged questioning looks as Paige didn't even bother to glance at them, her eyes glued to the presenters.

The lump in her throat grew until it was hard to swallow. She tensed when her phone buzzed in her pants.

From: Azzi

You look nervous, babe. [Attached image]

Paige opened the image, seeing a picture of her on the tv screen, jaw clenched and eyes wide.

From: Paige

I look crazy.

From: Azzi

You don't have to do this, Paige.

From: Paige

I want to, Azzi.

Do you not want me to?

From: Azzi

Of course I do.

From: Paige

That's all the I need to hear then.

From: Azzi

I just don't want you to feel stressed or obligated.

Especially in front of such an important stage and audience.

From: Paige

Then it's decided.

“Hey!” CD whispered from behind her. “Put your phone away, missy. This isn't the place for texting.”

“Sorry CD.” Paige rubs the back of her neck, feeling a bit embarrassed to have been called out at such an age. She put her phone away and heard the next award being announced.

Best female college athlete.

Paige straightens up, silently thanking CD from snapping her out of her little daydream. They went through the nominees, teasing the winner before finally announcing the long-awaited name.

Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.

The crowd burst into cheers as Paige let out a huff of air and made her way through the row after a few hugs from her teammates.

She shuffled through the rows and climbed to the stage, where she was met with a few hugs and finally her trophy.

“Wow.” She huffs, looking around the venue, “I would like to start by saying that it's an honor to be able to receive this amazing award for a second time. I can't express just how much it means to stand here after all the hardships thrown my way.”

Speaking to such an intimidating crowd, knowing there were thousands watching from their homes, never got easier for Paige.

“Second, I'd like to thank my family. Thank you for sticking by my side and being my anchor through everything. Without them, I wouldn't be standing here today. And to my teammates, who have been my rock. They were a force to be reckoned with all season, and it was thanks to them that we brought home a championship.”

The crowd hung on her every word.

“It's no secret the injuries that have plagued our team these past seasons and even me a few years ago. It felt liberating knowing that if I ever fell, they would be there to pick me up and I don't think I could ever express how much I love those girls and just how much they mean to me”

Paige thought of Azzi at home, watching her, and the basketball legends before her. She traced the lines of the trophy, clearing her throat.

“To my coaches, who weren't afraid to show me tough love, I appreciate you all. It made my time at Connecticut all the more enjoyable. To Geno, who didn't shy away from telling me how to be the best and how to make those around me be better. I’m glad that I'll be able to call Uconn my home for as long as I live because it's an honor. Whether it sounds odd, I thank God that I tore my ACL while surrounded by such an amazing family because I wouldn't have been able to bounce back in such a dominant manner."

It was now or never.

“One of the main reasons I'm eternally grateful for this program is because I was able to build a deeper relationship with a teammate who you all may know very well,” Paige shifts her hands, feeling them sweat again. “We went through the same injury, and everything was easier to navigate with her around because we just got each other and knew what we were going through. I want to thank her for her love and unconditional support because she deserves that and more. She picked me up when it felt impossible."

She chuckled. Paige had been on big stages many times, but this felt different. The ground beneath her feet seemed to shift as the blood rushed to her ears, muffling the sounds around her. Her surroundings faded as she locked eyes with the big camera before her.

“That's why... I would like to thank my amazing girlfriend, Azzi Fudd, in front of everyone here today because she deserves the world.” Paige hears the muffled sound of gasps and cheers. “So, because I know she's home watching, I love you, baby. None of this would be possible without you.”

Paige took a deep breath, feeling a crushing weight lift off her chest. It was done.

She smiled for the first time that night and looked away from the camera, addressing the crowd. “Thank you for this award. I'll cut my speech short since I know it's running a bit long.” Laughter spread through the crowd, but most looked shocked, especially her teammates. She lifted her trophy with a smile, realizing how little she cared about anyone's opinion. “Thank you.”

______

“Didn't think you had it in you,” Caroline said, opening the door to Paige's makeup room. “Seriously, dude. Getting up there and just saying, 'oh, and I'm dating my bestie by the way' is crazy”

Paige deflated in her chair. After her speech, she had been ushered away for pictures and questions and hadn't heard from her teammates. She hadn't even checked her phone which was undoubtedly flooded with missed calls and messages.

“I wanted to throw up.”

Then, as if on cue, Aubrey, Ice, and KK entered together. “Dude, what the fuck was that?” KK screamed, laughing together with Ice. “Huge balls you got there, dude.”

“Oh, shut up, KK. Like you aren't head over heels over your girl too.” Paige shot back, eyebrows furrowing as she checked her phone. KK and Ice burst out laughing, dragging Aubrey to sit on the couch.

“It's on Do Not Disturb, Paige.” Sensing the urgency, Caroline put a hand on her shoulder, pointing at the unmistakable symbol of DND.

“Thanks.” Paige mumbled, turning it off and feeling relieved as messages flooded in. Hundreds of notifications took over her phone, but she only cared about one.

“Dude, you're already trending on Twitter.” Aubrey showed her screen, Twitter opened, but Paige didn't bother looking.

“Oh, and the articles are already popping up,” Ice added.

Finally, after some searching, Paige found Azzi's message.

From: Azzi

Such a sweet talker.

I love you too Paige

From: Paige

You liked it?

I tried to keep it short but I think that was too little or maybe too much??

I definitely could've added more to it.

What did you think?

Paige stared at the messages, nervous to hear from Azzi.

From: Azzi

Hey, I loved it Paige.

You can always finish it when you get home to me

That validation calmed Paige almost immediately. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

From: Paige

Wanna call? I could tell you everything now.

From: Azzi

Yeah… if I'm correct, CD is about to burst through that door any second.

Either that or every reporter that was in that building wants to hear from you after that declaration of love in front of the whole world.

Let's wait until you get to the hotel, okay?

Right on cue, the rest of the team entered her room.

From: Paige

Good idea.

Love you

From: Azzi

Love you too

[amber-laughs]

this might not be fair but can i say i’m not really a fan of the “victors found family” trope bc they don’t really seem to all like each other.

in fics, and it’s no hate bc everybody should play around with canon however they want i’m just venting because i've only been in the fandom like a week and a half, people seem to really enjoy the idea that the victors who’ve been sex trafficked are really close and look out for each other, usually Cashmere, Gloss and Finnick. but those three specifically are trying to kill each other pretty quick in the Quell and Finnick specifically tells Katniss not to trust them and i personally think that makes a lot more sense if we realistically look at their situation. groomers and predators will always try to isolate their victims and Snow especially uses this tactic with his Victors.

he takes out their families and makes them live in isolated neighborhoods. It wouldn’t shock me if there was a lot of drama, grudges and bad blood within the victors/mentors circle because that’s how Snow operates. It’s pretty implied that Johanna was supposed to be trafficked but wouldn’t comply and that’s how her family died, that also perfectly coincides with she and Finnick maintaining a close relationship. If the sex trafficking ring is purposefully being pit against each other, say Gloss is getting extra work and Snow lies and says it’s bc Finnick has to be home to take care of Annie or Enobaria is getting easier jobs than Cashmere and Snow lies and says it’s bc Enobaria specifically asked to switch some with Cash now he’s purposefully and very easily (bc they’re legit teenagers at first) creating bad blood and distrust between them just like Katniss says he does with people living in districts (ie Gale blaming Madge for not having her name in extra times bc she doesn’t need tesserae) it would be almost impossible for a healthy friendship to develop and evolve while still in the middle of it.

“Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine.” Hunger Games - Chapter 1

I sent an obnoxiously long ask to someone's inbox about the Capitol specifically grooming Careers to be government prostitutes (shout out to them for putting up with it and having a great answer) and I think that its something that once again points to purposefully causing descent within the Victor's circle. if you're twelve years old and you live in one of the nicer districts (One, Two and Four) and you're hearing horror stories about Ten, Eleven, Twelve it would make a lot of sense if an adult authority figure came up to you and said you're not like them, you're better. thats why we let you guys train and teach you to survive in the games because we want you to win. you're gonna win, you have nothing to fear you should sign up. thats really easy to then flip to hey so that fancy academy you trained in, those fancy clothes you wore in the parade, the makeup we put on you for the interview, the sponsor gifts you got in the arena, that was us. we did that for you. now you have to do something for us. and because they've spent their whole lives being groomed to fight to the death in an arena all in the name of money, power, glory why should this be any different? You're the Victor, the Capitol loves you, they wanna meet you, they wanna be with you and like everything Snow should benefit so he's gonna get the money and these kids think it's an honor to be loved by the Capitol but then once they realize what's actually happening and try to back out its hey so you're actually gonna do this or i'm gonna kill your whole family and so

"Don't trust One and Two" Finnick says Catching Fire - Chapter 19

it's probably not that they oh so enjoy being sex trafficked, or so love life under the Capitol but more probably that they just don't trust the rebels. and the rebels don't trust them. they've been forced give their bodies away for over a decade to keep their families alive while (in their eyes) Haymitch is an alcoholic who can't keep it together. he's not their lovable drunk uncle who holds their hand after a rough night. why should they have any faith in him to put together a winning plan?

“Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johannas and Cashmeres. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems,” says Haymitch Mockingjay - Chapter 12

Snow knows Haymitch is trouble so he makes sure all the victors know he already lost. his family is dead, his lover is dead and now he wastes his days drinking himself to death. he's a loser and not to be allied with. they're all still playing the game and the capitol is the career pack. everybody wants to keep themselves and their families alive and Snow has the most resources, the better plan and the odds are in his favor.