#[ fucking love that man and all his growth as a character ]

[cuubism]

last year I saw this 1989 Dreamling art by @webonchin, became extremely obsessed with it, pondered and mulled over it for much time, and now ten whole months later I have a fic

--

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, 1989 Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless | Morpheus Meeting, Musician Dream of the Endless, Stockbroker Hob Gadling, Love at First Sight, Getting Together, New York City, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Queer Themes, Disillusionment, Explicit Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Depression, tfw you meet someone who makes you want to change up your whole life Summary:

Despite Hob's success on Wall Street, life is starting to feel meaningless. Limitless sex, drugs, and money should be endlessly entertaining but instead he's bored, he feels empty, like something's missing.

Something, maybe, like the beautiful, tragic musician he meets at a party, who opens more than one new door in Hob's life--and reawakens the buried longing in his heart.

--

Hob lies on the couch of the crowded apartment he’s found himself in for the evening, head tipped back over the arm. Pounding music thumps distantly around him. Dim lights. Warm bodies moving in blurs. He ignores it all. Picks up his vodka soda from the coffee table and takes a swig. Half of it runs over the side of his mouth instead of into it.

He’s… bored. What’s wrong with him that he’s bored surrounded by as much drugs, sex, and general debauchery as he could possibly want?

But he is. All that climbing for so long and now… he doesn’t know where he is. Why he’s doing any of it. The climb, the growth, was fun for a while. Chasing hunger, chasing more, that was fun. But now he has all of it. Supposedly.

He sighs. Pours the rest of his drink inelegantly into his mouth. If he wants another one he’s going to have to get up. He doesn’t really feel like getting up. He feels like merging himself with the couch instead.

The party spins on around him, as it always does. Not everyone’s feeling as burnt out on sex, drugs, and debauchery as Hob is.

He could go track down some coke, he thinks hazily. Someone here’ll have some. Maybe it would kick his energy back up.

He just feels kind of tired at the thought.

It says something bad about the point he’s reached in life that even cocaine isn’t doing it for him anymore.

“This is very dull,” says a low voice, and a man slumps down beside him, sitting on the floor and leaning back against the couch. He tilts his head back, looking up at Hob. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Hob says, and then does a double take as he catches a proper look at the man.

Christ but he’s gorgeous. Nothing like the men Hob would normally see at a thing like this—nothing like Hob himself—with their fashionable suits, slick hair, slicker smiles. This man is lithe and sprawling, like a wild predator, stark black and white lines, spiky hair, dark makeup, studs flowing down his ears like raindrops. Clever eyes. Long fingers clutching a cocktail that he doesn’t seem particularly interested in.

Hob is instantly fucked.

“I was promised good drugs and better sex and I’m bored on both counts,” the man continues. He takes a sip of his drink, and grimaces.

“That why you’ve come over here?” Hob asks. “Because I looked equally bored?”

“Exactly.” He offers the drink to Hob. “You should try this.”

Hob takes it. It’s… very blue. “What the hell is this?”

“There was a girl working the bar… very drunk. She said she would make me her ‘special potion.’”

That sounds… questionable. Hob takes a sip, and chokes. “Christ.”

“I witnessed her pour in vodka, Prosecco, and tequila. Blue Curaçao—for color, of course. And maraschino cherries.” He plucks one out of the glass by the stem—there are about seven of them total—and eats it.

“What the fuck.” The stuff’s revolting. Hob takes another sip. “That’s alcohol poisoning in a glass.”

“It’s been one of the better parts of the night,” the man says.

Hob returns the glass, and the man tosses more of the drink back, his throat working. Hob’s just drunk enough to not attempt to stop staring like a creep. He wants to ask him if he wants to get out of here, or even just to steal away into one of the many spare bedrooms—it wouldn’t be out of place at a party like this, hell, Hob could drag him into his lap on the fucking couch, everyone’s far too drunk to care—but propositioning this creature for a mere hookup feels like wearing an Italian suit to mud wrestle. What a waste of a perfectly-made thing.

How did something like this wind up at this party?

“Who’d you come in with?” he asks, as the man plucks another cherry from the glass and delicately bites it off the stem.

“Someone who gave me a rather mediocre blowjob after a show,” he says. “I suppose I thought I would find better here, but I was mistaken.”

“Fifty-fifty shot on that, I’d say,” Hob says. Based on personal experience. Sometimes mediocre is good enough. Sometimes sex, regardless of quality, is good enough. For a while it has been. He’s not so sure anymore.

“I dislike betting,” says the man. Then stretches up a limp hand to shake Hob’s. “If we are to commiserate, perhaps names are in order. I am Morpheus.”

Morpheus. What kind of name. Though he had said at a show. A performer of some kind? “Hob,” says Hob, shaking his hand despite the awkward angle.

“Greetings,” says Morpheus solemnly. “You are the first man I’ve met tonight who has not tried to impress me with inanities. I am indebted to you.”

Hob tips his head back against the arm of the couch again with a sigh. “Too tired for bullshit. What’ve people been saying to you, then?”

“I have been taught much,” Morpheus says seriously. “Thrice I have been ‘educated’ on the great promise of ‘mortgage-backed securities.’ The reactions to my disinterest ranged from offense to outright concern for my sanity.”

“I think they were just trying to get in your pants,” Hob tells him.

Morpheus frowns. “The finance lecture was not helping their case. In fact, with each passing minute, I became more aggressively repelled.”

Hob laughs. “You’re on Wall Street, baby,” he says. It comes out kind of slurred. “Only thing more important than the size of a man’s dick is the size of his portfolio.”

Morpheus hums in consideration. “Neither of those has a direct correlation to talent.”

“Try telling them that,” Hob says.

Morpheus sits up straighter against the couch, leaning his head on his arm to study Hob. “I suppose I should ask about yours.”

“You’re too pretty for me to be tacky like that,” Hob says honestly. Maybe he’s a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Am I?” Morpheus seems pleased.

“So pretty.”

“Hmm.” Morpheus rests his cheek on the couch cushion. The tips of his hair brush Hob’s hip. His eyes are so liquid in this light. Hob wonders if he’s hallucinating his existence.

He reaches out, mesmerized, to touch Morpheus’s hair. Morpheus doesn’t stop him. He lets Hob pet him, eyes falling shut. His hair is tacky on the ends with hair spray, but soft underneath.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Hob says, and Morpheus hums. “All those self-important stockbrokers trying to impress you with their convoluted financial instruments… they just want to hide that it’s all really a scam.”

“Is it now?” says Morpheus. “I was under the assumption it was legal.”

“Something can be a scam and technically legal. Oh, it’s all very clever. But it’s just building money on top of money with nothing real to support it. Kick out the base of the tower and it’ll all go into free fall.” He makes a whistling, falling sound, and Morpheus smirks.

“And I suppose you are better than all this.”

Hob chuckles. “Oh, no. I’m a money-grubbing little vermin, too. Just letting you in on the game. How it’s not so serious.”

“Hmm. I am a musician,” says Morpheus. As Hob figured, then. “I’m afraid it’s as serious as death.”

“Hence the all-black ensemble and the makeup,” Hob says.

“Indeed.”

Hob wants to hear Morpheus play. Or sing, or whatever it is he does. He bets he’d be exquisite. Divine. Hob can imagine those lips pressed to a microphone. Or those long fingers on guitar strings.

“Do you want something more interesting than alcohol?” says Morpheus.

“Why, you still bored?”

“Less and less so.” He pulls from his pocket a small bag of pills and hands it to Hob.

“You brought your own drugs to a party where you were promised drugs?”

“Promises cannot be counted on,” says Morpheus seriously.

“What is it?” Hob asks, then decides he doesn’t care, and takes a pill, chasing it with the watery last drops of his drink, which is a terrible idea, but then, he’s full of them.

“Ketamine,” says Morpheus. Oh, great, Hob thinks. Morpheus takes it back from him and takes a pill himself. “It occasionally makes me feel less like I am going to hurl myself from the balcony.”

He doesn’t seem to be joking. “Good for something, then,” Hob says. “Why do you want to jump off the balcony?” He still has his hand in Morpheus’s hair. He honestly can’t believe he hasn’t propositioned him yet. That’s not like him. These parties are usually only good for quick, casual sex. He even thinks Morpheus would probably agree, and yet.

“The state of things,” says Morpheus. He has such a deep, solemn voice. Hob wants to touch his mouth, or throat maybe. Okay, this is already not going so well. “And the state of my heart.”

Hob pets his hair again. Morpheus leans into the touch. “Writing songs about yearning and angst and stuff isn’t fixing it?” He can well enough guess what Morpheus’s music is probably like.

“No,” says Morpheus. He seems to really think about it. “I think it is making things worse. Perhaps I will try manipulating the financial markets instead. Is that giving you existential fulfillment?”

“There’s only so much money you can make before it starts feeling stupid,” Hob says. Maybe he should just throw all his cash out the window and go live in the woods or something. Carve figurines out of fallen trees. Probably do more good for the world, not that that’s ever been a focus of his. “Maybe it was always stupid.”

“No solution has been found for us yet, then,” says Morpheus. “Would you care to go outside? I find that if you are high enough, the city lights look like stars.”

“You’re not going to jump off the balcony, are you?” Hob asks, suspicious.

“This is not the right locale for my dramatic end.”

Somehow, Hob actually believes him. Morpheus wouldn’t truly kill himself unless it could have the right effect.

Hob levers himself up from the couch. Oh Jesus, now the room is spinning. The pounding music is starting to feel louder, starting to thud through him. Feels good, though. Everything being bright and hazy.

He helps Morpheus to his feet. Leads him, hand in hand, out to the balcony. They lean against the stone wall, looking down at the street, dizzyingly far below, cars poking along like lines of luminescent ants, distant horns crying. Then up, out at the collision of skyscrapers.

Morpheus was right. The lights are spinning and twinkling, just like stars. It reminds Hob of the first time he’d come to New York, when he was looking for adventure, and to get a little rich—or a lot rich—and everything had seemed like it was glowing and buzzing and flying.

The air is clearer up here than down on street level, and Morpheus tips his head up, breathing it in. His throat is so long, his shoulders and collarbone so angular. He looks like he’s been starving. But the stud in his ear at least looks from afar like a real ruby. Intentional, then, to be skin and bones.

“I think I am tired,” he admits, still looking up at the sky. “Do you know that… all I had ever wanted was for someone to like my music. And now I have that and it has not fixed anything.”

Hob takes his arm and pulls him close. He’s feeling very touchy-feely now, which could be the drugs but could also just be Morpheus. He’s so pretty and he looks so sad, and his sadness is beautiful and all the more terrible for that.

“I could kiss it better,” he offers. It’s still not a real proposition. Hob’d just kiss his hand if that’s what he wanted. Or the sharp bone of his sternum under those hanging necklaces. Or kneel at his feet and kiss his thigh—

Christ. Hob’ll be lucky if he survives the night, at this rate.

Morpheus looks at him, eyebrow raised. But Hob must look serious about it, because he says, “Okay.”

So Hob leans in and kisses his cheek. And Morpheus smiles, a bright, truly happy smile, just for a moment.

“Do you wish to dance?” he says. “I do not usually, but I feel I may fall over if I move from this wall without something to hold onto.”

Yeah, the floor is kind of moving. And Hob will certainly not turn down having Morpheus in his arms. “You wanna dance to this shit?”

They’re playing some godawful thumping grating song over the speakers now, and Hob doesn’t think either of them is up to the kind of bouncing thrashing dance that would call for.

“I will sing something different in your ear,” Morpheus says.

So Hob draws him in, wraps his arms around his waist. Morpheus plasters himself to Hob’s body, mouth to the shell of Hob’s ear. He starts humming a low, melancholic song. Hob shivers at the brush of his voice.

They sway together with very little coordination. Eventually Morpheus starts singing, though Hob’s brain isn’t capable at the moment of taking in many of the lyrics. It’s something about longing, and losing things in a terrible fire. Hob presumes it’s one of his songs. Morpheus’s voice is gorgeous, low and hypnotic, and Hob closes his eyes as it rumbles straight through him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs eventually, filled with a sudden tragic pain about it. “Please don’t throw yourself off the balcony.”

Morpheus chuckles. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Never,” Hob says vehemently, and clutches his warm body close. He might cry about it. Fucking drugs. “We should go get food. You’re so fucking bony I think might you die of an overdose if we don’t sop it up. You had that wretched drink, too. Christ.”

“You are worried for me?” says Morpheus, sounding touched.

“Incredibly. Come on.” Hob finally pulls away from him, with chagrin, and takes his hand. “This party’s shit. I’ll take you to get pizza.”

“Pizza,” Morpheus repeats, with a tiny smile. It’s gorgeous on his face. “Very well.”

--

One dollar pizza is one of New York’s greatest inventions, in Hob’s opinion. They find some hole-in-the-wall place barely a block from the apartment building, and stand outside the door, eating incredibly greasy pizza off of paper plates, and it’s fucking heaven. It might be the best pizza Hob’s ever had in his life—granted he’s still very high.

Morpheus is scarfing his down like all pizza on earth is about to be chucked into space. Poor bony thing. Hob just wants to feed him up until he stops looking like a skeletal waif that’s about to drop dead at a cold breeze.

And wants to fuck him, too. Yeah, that’s still there, even with Morpheus licking grease off his fingertips. It’s actually getting worse because of that.

“Told you,” Hob says. “Needed some bread to soak up the fifteen shots in that drink.”

“I think I may throw up,” Morpheus says, with the careful articulation of someone who very well might. “But I am enjoying it nonetheless.”

“Let me know and I’ll find you a bin,” Hob says. He’s had worse nights than puking on the street corner.

“Now I owe you sexual favors in return for this generous meal,” says Morpheus, folding the empty paper plate with surprising precision, considering his enduring level of intoxication, and sliding it into a nearby trash bin.

It says something about Hob’s own level of intoxication that he barely responds to this statement. “Oh, yeah, the whole four dollars of it. What does that get me?”

Morpheus scrunches his nose in thought. “Two kisses,” he decides.

“We’ll save it for after you’ve decided if you’re going to throw up.”

Morpheus giggles. He’s so cute.

Hob tosses his own plate, and takes Morpheus by the arm. “Come on. You can come back with me. I don’t live that far.”

“Ah, now the proposition,” says Morpheus, but doesn’t sound unhappy about it.

“The ‘make sure my new friend doesn’t get hit by a cab effort’, more like, but sure.” He feels kind of responsible for Morpheus now. If Morpheus actually threw himself off a balcony Hob would never forgive himself.

“Friend,” repeats Morpheus, sounding pleased.

“See, isn’t this better?” Hob says.

“Better?”

“You got to eat pizza and didn’t even puke yet, isn’t that better than killing yourself?”

Morpheus huffs. “Quite a dichotomy. If you recall you too stated that you felt your efforts becoming meaningless.”

“Yeah, but I’m not gonna jump out a window about it.”

“Fortitude,” Morpheus says, and it sounds mocking but Hob doesn’t really mind. Maybe it is fortitude, he doesn’t know. Maybe to Morpheus fortitude is gullibility, continuing to play the game when it’s long lost its spark and its reward. Hob likes the game, though.

“What will you do about it, then?” Morpheus asks.

“Dunno.” It’s the first time Hob’s really thought about it. Up until now, it’s been about chasing. Always wanting more. But now— now he’s basically at the top. Where he wanted to be. And... there’s really nothing there at all. “Leave New York, maybe.”

The words surprise him, even as he says them. Midtown is so bright, even at four a.m. It’s something Hob once loved about the area. About the city. But now he’s staring into Morpheus’s darkness. Into the ink stain of his hair against the glowing storefront lights, the sway of his body, graceful even while swimming in dissociation. And everything feels different.

“To go where?” says Morpheus.

“Back to London, maybe.” He has enough money to go anywhere. And yet, it’s hard to feel a particular point to anywhere. Where’d his sense of adventure go? His ambition? Somewhere it all slipped, in the glut of the present.

“I grew up in London,” Morpheus says. “It is too personal there, now.”

So he’s chasing something too. Or running away.

“Tokyo, then,” Hob says, as if Morpheus coming with him is a key part of the decision. “Is’at the furthest city from New York? Gotta be close.”

“It’s Perth,” says Morpheus.

“You’ve looked it up?”

Morpheus nods solemnly. “And from London: Wellington.”

“It’s settled, then,” says Hob.

“I am coming with you?” says Morpheus.

“Course.” Hob’s not going across the world by himself. Not anymore. He bumps his shoulder with Morpheus’s, squeezes his arm where they’re leaning together. “You’re coming with me.”

“We should go further, then,” says Morpheus.

“Antarctica?”

“Mars.”

Hob finds himself giggling, mirth rising in him like champagne bubbles. Morpheus giggles, too. It’s truly a ridiculous sound in his deep voice.

“They don’t have cool jackets on Mars,” Hob says, poking at Morpheus’s studded blazer.

“Ah.” Morpheus frowns. “Maybe not, then.”

That only makes Hob laugh louder, leaning on Morpheus’s arm, and Morpheus sighs, irritated to be made fun of, but doesn’t push him away.

“Come on, I’m here,” Hob says, steering Morpheus into his apartment building as it comes up. They make their way across the lobby and to the elevator bank, only a little unsteady, and then slump against the wall once the elevator doors close.

“I think I am very sleepy,” Morpheus says, tipping his head back against the mirrored wall as they go up, up, up the insanely tall skyscraper Hob’s for some reason chosen to live in.

“You think you are?”

Morpheus squints at the infinite tunnel being created by the opposing mirrors on the walls. It’s dizzying, more so now, when they aren’t exactly sober. He shudders and closes his eyes. “I would have to be connected to my physical form to know for sure.”

Yeah, Hob’s feeling that too. The walls are kind of tipping in at him, which is particularly uncomfortable when they’re mirrored. “I’ll put you to bed, sweetie.” He still really, really wants to bed him, more specifically, but he might also be about to fall over. He’ll rue the missed opportunity in the morning, but it can’t be helped.

“Sweetie,” Morpheus echoes, with vague distaste, and tips his head against Hob’s shoulder.

The doors slide open, and they stumble out into the hall. Hob somehow manages to get his keys in the door and get them inside without dropping Morpheus, who’s now using him to support almost his entire weight, and then gets them into the bedroom.

What follows is a dreamlike whirlwind of undressing, where the floor keeps tipping under him, where he tries to hold Morpheus up as he slips out of his boots and his bloody complicated jacket, his skintight jeans and even tighter shirt, helps take each ring off his slim fingers to leave carefully on the nightstand, and the pendants too, and gives him a t-shirt to sleep in, and Morpheus says, “Wait— I must—” and flees to Hob’s adjoining bathroom to strip off his makeup with some makeup wipes scavenged from Hob’s cabinet, undoubtedly left behind by a prior hookup. The silly thing talks about killing himself but still puts effort into skincare. Hob just shakes his head, then regrets it as it makes the room spin.

He strips down to boxers and undershirt and climbs into bed, because he is actually about to fall over, and soon enough Morpheus stumbles back out and collapses into the sheets beside him. For a moment they just gaze at each other in the dark. Hob means to do something, to kiss him, maybe, claim one of the ones that was promised. But exhaustion claims him first. 

[bougiebutchbitch]

I'm not in the ofmd fandom but I am intrigued by the drama. spill the tea?

OH GOD OKAY

Where do I begin lksdlgkfds

Okay so

There’s this nasty little gremlin-man in ofmd called Izzy Hands. He’s a sour, mean, skrunkly, disabled little cunt who is a firm believer in Respect and Discipline (in a very queer subby way).

This is to say: he is. Explicitly. Queer. He does drag on the show, and has a whole coming-out scene. He is a kinky masochist. He confesses his love for another man, and basically ruins his own life & everyone else's, because he is sooooo pathetically jealous about this man (his captain!) falling for some milquetoast loser white rich guy, when Izzy, a badass leather-wearing working-class sword-swinging swashbuckler, is right there making puppy-eyes at him.

He's wrong! He's horrid! He's a bastard, pickled in piss and vinegar! He's five-foot-nothing of spite and gay self-loathing! He's very fun to watch, and very, very queer.

People still insist that he’s straight. And racist. Despite there being 0 textural evidence to support this, and the creators of the show repeatedly saying that this is absolutely not what they wrote.

Why do people hate him so much? Simple! Because he ‘got in the way’ of the main ship.

Yup. It’s basically ‘bash the girl who gets in the way of our m/m otp’ only the girl is a grizzled 50-something year old pirate.

The main ship, btw, is between Ed Teach, an awesome complex flawed hopeful beautiful character of colour; and Stede Bonnet, another awesome complex flawed character. Who is a white guy. And who happens to be a rich plantation owner from the 1700s. Based on A LITERAL SLAVE OWNER. Who is explicitly shown to be a Problematic White Guy with fucked-up racist views.

Like. He’s not a perfect guy. The show makes this very, very clear - to the point where Stede pushes Ed into sex super-fast immediately after Ed says he wants to go slow, and this makes Ed run away and freak out.

But somehow, Certain Fans still insist that Izzy is to blame because :checks notes: he makes one cheeky, friendly joke about them finally getting together that is clearly given & received in good spirits.

Yeah.

There's a lot of this cognitive dissonance going on. And it's very, very wilful.

Basically: a certain subset of people who ship Ed and Stede refuse to exercise the slightest bit of critical thought of Stede’s views and actions (which are a representation of the white landed gentry!) but insist on maliciously twisting literally everything Izzy says or does to cast him as The Ultimate Villain. Whereas anyone watching the show can tell that he starts off as an antagonist-with-a-deeply-hidden-heart-of-gold, whose entire arc is about growth and redemption.

I think 99% of this is projection. Stede and Ed are not perfect by any means, but these people are so dead-set on shipping a Cute Fluffy Romance (when that. Really isn’t what the show gave us) that they have to create a villain out of Izzy and blame all of Stede and Ed’s fucked-up choices and actions on him, in the most contrived ways. Which has the added bonus of them deciding that Izzy, a white guy, is somehow responsible for literally ALL of Ed’s genuinely awful, abusive, and interesting choices in S2, where he went on his villain arc. Even though Izzy was the main victim of this villain arc. Rather than, y’know, giving Ed the agency to make his own damn decisions and acknowledging that he is a flawed and fascinating character who Hurts People but still deserves a happy ending, like literally every other main character on ofmd. Nope. Gotta infantalise that man of colour and pretend he has no control over his own life and his morality is goverened by the white men around him!

Then, they get to portray Stede as his white saviourTM who swoops in and saves Ed from ‘his own darkness’ with the power of love. 😊 because that’s not Problematique in the slightest 😊

It’s… fucked up, to put it plainly. But honestly, as much as there is a problem with their dogged insistence that Izzy is the root of all iniquity on the show, and that Ed and Stede are pure perfect angels who never did any wrong... what was worse was the relentless harassment enacted by that side of the fandom against anyone who dared show a liking for Izzy’s character. Like, it’s not the worst fandom out there by any means, but it really did make the fandom feel hostile to anyone who didn’t ship the main ship.

SO - yeah. That's the tea! OFMD was a fun show with lots of cool flawed characters. But the fandom was a cesspit, fuelled mostly by a Certain Group Of Fans' desperation to make their ship Perfect and Morally Pure - which resulted in them throwing an interesting, well-rounded, morally grey queer disabled character under the bus, and harrassing anyone who enjoyed him.

[shannonsketches]

he's so important to me

[mewtwo24]

So like??? I don't know if I understood this correctly, but the music wwx plays to settle Wen Ning's aggression at the beginning of the first volume is the wangxian song lwj composed and sang/played for him when they were in the cave as kids???

Like. You're telling me that wwx's instinctive focal point of comfort is lwj and lwj was just expected to be normal about all of this.

I'm. rotating this in my head as we speak wwx you're so aksjldfgdhjskjghkfjdh

[nyan-bynary]

Ppl really sleep on jjk0 suguru like if you think gojo's a weird child man at age 27 here's his ex who is the same age, jojo posing on random children and batting his lashes and putting on so much boyish charm to get everyone's guard down. He can't control his random mean and menacing facial expressions to the point where someone points it out. He watches yuuta make out with a curse and his first comment about it is calling him a womaniser gjfjfjf they have become the same person it is so sad and so funny

[time-is-restored]

i have literally nowhere else to put this i apologise for the spam. the absolute best thing to come out of s3 trent is without a doubt the fucking earnestness... like in s1-2 he always came across as a very self-assured kind of guy, who knew how he came off (ie: intimidating) and enjoyed it. but seeing that paired with him being silly + completely relaxing in certain company??? pulling ridiculous faces at vodka + scrunching up his nose when he smiles @ colin + making the most ABSURD 'i really wanna say something right now but i feel like im interrupting' noises ive ever heard in my fucking LIFE??? its like. he is cool as shit and he is self assured AND he can make dumb fucking sherlock holmes jokes and dance ridiculously. its like!!!! he's lame but he's also not bc he's exactly as confident in being lame as he is being cool. do u see the vision. he has killed the part of him that cringes!!!! its just.. that unshakeable self confidence that u see in his fucking swaggers into frame includes all of himself + his different moods and eccentricities and that's just so based to me idk. unironically live ur best life wear the loudest combination of prints and patterns and primary colours uve ever seen in ur life while espousing the virtues of extended museum hours!!! contain multitudes! get silly with it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[constellationcrowned]

((It makes me sad that (especially coming from Roui) the severity of Kariom's duty is greatly diminished in both severity and importance. He's not just a star-reader he was chosen by the King to decipher them for all Tsourai. When he calls himself a savior it isn't entirely out of pride or hubris; he's telling the truth. It's a duty that can (and will, and has) potentially destroy him, even kill him, but one that he can't back down from or falter in because if Kariom makes a mistake?? Even one??? It's, to his understanding, completely over and he wouldn't be able to handle it. He cannot disappoint them, nor can he abandon them, and to fail in the slightest would be doing just that. It would be detrimental to the people that he loves and that, to say nothing of wider consequences, is unfathomable.))

[andthebubbles]

i just finished yet another rewatch of bridgerton s2, and yesterday i was doing my second rewatch of all of anthony’s scenes in s1 (had to stop after ep 4 though because i had to go to sleep); anyway i am insane for this show rn skfjgnk anthony really is the greatest dumbest traumatised arsehole sweetheart idiot ever and ilh i want to pick his brain!! i wanna poke him and see what he does, he is fascinating to me and i want to study him like a bug

[vincenteuniverse]

Ken's progression OUT of color

This is kinda a cornplate thought that I had nowhere else to put but I love how in the Barbie movie(SPOILERS), Ryan Gosling's Ken's outfits symbolically showcase his "descent" into full patriarchy mode over time.

At the beginning of the film Ken's beach outfit (his default) has an equal balance of pink and blue. Pink is obviously Barbie's color, and shows Ken as fitting well into the femininity and style of Barbieland, while blue could be argued to be Ken's color (a scene later when he's especially confident features him wearing all denim blue, and the stereotypical gender of these colors, especially when found in kid's toys, supports these basic binaries as associated with these colors).

When Ken decides to leave Barbieland with Barbie to delve into the outside world, his color scheme goes full pink, desperate enough to be with Barbie that his attire reflects how dependent his identity is on hers at this stage.

However, it isn't long before Ken's exploration of the real world leads him to exciting new discoveries about the patriarchy and what it can do for him. Here he is introduced to a newfound sense of self independent from barbie, and while he still carries a pink scarf around his neck, the rest of his outfit has devolved into black and white while hers has remained colorful. As he pursues this new-to-him idea further, his worldview is becoming less unique, pretty, and vibrant(in addition to becoming much more masculine).

It is only his scarf that ties him to Barbie now, and upon making the choice not to follow her to Mattel, he becomes fully independent, losing the scarf and any trace of pink in his attire the next time we see him in his mojo dojo casa house coat and beach off outfit underneath.

In his most masculine moment during "Just Ken", he and the other Kens all wear a uniform of the most traditionally male ben shapiro outfit ever: A T-Shirt, belt, and dress pants. All black(and no white either to contrast like the previous 2 outfits). It's fitting that the Kens, in their destructive warpath, imagine themselves as perfectly cleaned up yet violently masculine dancers in their heads, their outfits devoid of all of the flair and character of Barbieland.

(excuse the shitty picture) After Ken has his little self-growth moment, his new sweatshirt reflects the changed and much more balanced man he has become, much more accepting of himself and a life where he can co-exist with Barbie without being with her. This outfit is again an almost perfect balance of pink and blue, both sides of Ken now a bit more at peace, his colors not pushed out by the LITERALLY black hole of toxic masculinity.

The color scheme also matches the roller blading outfit, so perhaps it shows a somewhat intermediary stage of Ken's development wherein he is still attached to and at peace with Barbieland, but where he is starting to become more independent as well. anyway these are all fun and i genuinely have no fucking idea why Mattel didn't cash in on literally making dolls of all the characters and their outfits these would be so fun to own

[marvelwitchergilmore]

I’ve seen Twisters a couple of times now and something that isn’t being talked about enough is the way Tyler looks at Kate.

The best scene for this example (I can’t find a gif) is when they’re at the lunch with her mom and he tells Kate to keep her clothes on and she stands up.

He looks at her like she hung the fucking moon.

And I fucking LOVE IT.

How he comes to her and gives her the pizza, how he WAITS FOR HER TO OPEN THE DOOR AGAIN. How he talks with her at the rodeo and they work together to get people to safety. How he covers her from the car during the tornado. How he goes and finds her after it and he looks up at her bedroom window the day he leaves. How he brings her into the Tornado Wrangler Family and she’s herself again.

And THAT PICTURE SCENE. Oh my god- I’m melting. At first I thought he was the one taking it but when he was stood to the side watching and asked for a copy….god I love them.

I can imagine Kate finding that picture one day - maybe inside his cowboy hat, maybe somewhere in his truck so he can always see her when she’s not with him - and Tyler getting all smitten and blushing as she teases him relentlessly.

There might not have been a kiss scene but seeing the bts helps heal that small hole. But either way, Tyler and Kate’s foundation and growth of relationship is one of the BEST ever! And with the extra scenes after it ends, helps solidify the happiness and exterminate the fear that their story is left so open it might not exist after the movie.

But it does. It does exist.

This man DRILLED his truck into the ground outside to go after her. (Which is Iconic, by the way.)

That man fell in love at first sight, even if he didn’t fully know it yet. The minute he saw her, his eyes never left her. And I loved every second of their rivalry (and the way it hops between them both explaining a twister) and friendship and relationship.

This movie will forever be one of my top favourites.

Whether you like disaster movies, with a sub-plot of romance and comedy or not— please. Everyone. Go and watch this movie. Even if it is just to see the chemistry between these two characters.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Okay, so, there's one thing that I'm kind of tired of beating around the bush with white fans about, and it's this: if you pretend to "ignore" race in OFMD, you will miss a lot of what the story is trying to tell you.

Now, I do not truly believe that race is something you can ignore in a story. I just don't think it's possible, and when you try, what you wind up with is something like the conservative worldview of "not seeing color." Trying to ignore race will make you sound racist and ignore important racialized themes.

You can't understand Stede's need for character growth at the beginning of the show if you just focus on how he's "cringe" instead. When Stede makes his crew members of color serve them at dinner when the English board, this is gross, and their faces tell us exactly how they feel about it. Stede unlearning his biases here isn't subtle (guy who called him and Pete "fucking racists" I love you forever), and learning to take all of his crew members seriously as fully actualized people, moving away from the sort of Kindergarten-teacher behavior at the start to truly valuing them as people and taking their input and suggestions, it's an important aspect. Stede asking Abshir for intel at the party isn't just funny, it's also proof he's learned to see value in people in positions like Abshir's.

You can't understand the motivations behind Ed's actions, especially the violent ones, if you ignore the racist overtones. Ed is not a randomly violent person - he gets angry at a captain for calling him a "rich donkey," and if you think it's unreasonable for a brown man to want to get revenge on a white man for calling him that? Then fuck I'm glad you can't see the conversations I have with my other black friends, man. Ed's anger and frustration at the party aren't just because he fucked up with some spoons, lol, you can't get it unless you realize he's the only brown guest in that room. Yeah, he's ignoring Stede's advice, but he's immediately under a pressure Stede never has been. Ed's wanted posters in s2, too, rely on heavily caricaturizing Jewish features to make him look grotesque and monstruous. We're supposed to be horrified by that aspect.

And, yeah, when we ignore the racist tones to Izzy's behavior, I think that's undermining an important aspect of who he is as an antagonistic character. Him buying Ed from the English should feel like a gross violation, because it is. When he sits in front of the crew eating and making Fang and Ivan serve him, I think it's a pretty obvious parallel to how the crew members of color were similarly insulted in the pilot. It's impossible to ignore race in the way he dehumanizes Ed and tries to force him back into a caricature of behavior he hates and is horrified by - when he calls Ed a "wild dog" in s2, if that doesn't cause a visceral reaction of disgust in you, I dunno what to tell you. This doesn't mean that Izzy is irredeemable - just as Stede wasn't - but it does mean that racist biases are things Izzy had to unlearn.

OFMD so often takes so much care with how its characters of color are depicted. We get thoughtful, relatable moments (those French boat people getting humiliated and setting their boat on fire after they'd tried to touch Ed's beard is so satisfying, guys) and excellent, supportive friendships between men of color. The characters of color on OFMD are clean, smart, respected, and it's wonderful. And just because these things aren't always relatable to you specifically doesn't mean they're not important parts of the story.

[sweetnsour1]

11:15

Fluff, Bakugou x g/n reader

“This is dumb.” 

“It’s not dumb. It’s math.”  

“But it’s not fuckin’ math.” 

“Ugh, it’s an expression.” 

“How is math an expression?” 

“Oh my god...it just means it adds up, grandpa.” 

“Still doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense.” 

“Yes, it does. Here, we’ll try another one. Todoroki.” 

“IcyHot?” 

“No, Fuyumi. Obviously Shoto.” Your head jostled as a pillow thudded against your face before returning to the lap it had flown from. “Hey!” The blonde was nearly pouting.

“Don’t call him that.” 

“You started it. Anyways...our Todoroki.” Your eye roll was interrupted as you dodged his second attack. This time you tugged the pillow into your own lap before he could reclaim it.

“Don’t call him that either.” 

“Oh my god, just answer.”

“Man written by a man.” 

“Noooo.” You kept one hand gripped into the pillow while the other massaged at your temple. “No, you’re still not getting it at all.” 

“His dad was the one who raised him though.” 

“Hardly-” the word combined with your scoff, “-and that’s not the point. He’s man written by a woman for sure. Especially after his character growth back in year one.” 

“The fuck? Like what?” 

“He listens, he’s supportive, he’s thoughtful, he is always trying to learn how to communicate better, works hard to strengthen the relationships around him, he-” 

“Okay, I get it! Damn!” You didn’t reply, giving him a moment to collect whatever festering thoughts he seemed to be sorting through. You waited patiently for him to choose one to give shape to. He shaped it into a grumble. “...so what am I?” 

“You? Hmmm.” You put effort into looking thoughtful.

“Man written by a man?” 

“No?” He looked relieved, but unsure. Perfect. His loss of cushioned weaponry made you brave enough to continue. “You’re more like a feral raccoon written by a-“ He lunged. “Hey!” You shifted the pillow behind your back, pressing your body against it. You realized a little too late that obviously left one thing for him to go for...you. He had you pinned between those massive arms. Your smile was instant.

“I’ll show you fuckin’ feral, brat.”  

“Okay, so now you’re a man written by a woman.” 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Several things, which is probably why I’m interested in feral rac-” 

“Shut up.” 

“Yessir.” You saluted as much as you could with the space you were given. He let his arms buckle, falling forward and knocking the wind out of you a bit. He laughed or huffed into your neck. Either way he was at your shoulder, shaking his head before he kissed your cheek.  

“Thought you were gonna’ show me feral?” 

“Mmmm, later.” He continued, answering the question you hadn’t asked yet. “You calmed me down.”  

“Oh.” You ran your fingers through his hair. You could feel and hear his hum at the action.  

“Keep talkin’.” 

“You told me to shut up.” He nuzzled further into your hair as you pulled his. 

“Didn’t mean it.” You scratched at his scalp again before sliding down to his neck and shoulders. “Wanna’ hear ya.” He was whining. 

“Always so bossy.” You laughed as he dug a knuckle into your rib. “I didn’t say no.” He seemed satisfied as he settled himself further. Before you could complain about the weight, he shifted, turning into half big spoon/half weighted blanket. 

“So my favorite things about raccoons...” He pawed at your face with one hand, attempting to hide his laughter somewhere to your left. “You’re exactly right. Let’s start with their hands and how they use them.” 

He loves nerds.

Masterlist

[runabout-river]

The Incongruence of his Life and Death - How the 6-Eyes will Die and Gojo Satoru will Live

Chapter 236 seems perfectly crafted for a farewell to an important character. But while reading it for the first, second and third time, I couldn't help but feel that something was not only missing but purposefully left out: Gojo's care for his students and the goals he had set for himself as an adult.

In the departure for the afterlife, where the souls of his dead friends have gathered at an airport, Gojo is back to being a teenager with everyone else also being their younger self, or in the case of Haibara and Toji, their selves when they died.

Gojo talks about his fight with Sukuna, how unbelievably strong he was and how much he had trained to best him but still he lost and he had no true regrets on that. The fight had been fun even if it was a shame that he couldn't bring Sukuna to go all out on him.

Later he tells Yaga, calling him principal, that he thought that all sorcerers died with regret, implying that he doesn't feel any regret right now after having lost to Sukuna. When Sukuna tells Gojo that he won't forget him as long as he lives because of how well he fought, we see Gojo smiling at that while lying bisected on the ground.

This entire scene, especially at the airport and the reverence about the fight is completely at odds with Gojo's character growth and the life he lived as an adult.

It's no coincidence that everyone is more than 10 years younger here because only teenage Gojo would go out without any regrets after a good fight he lost. This Gojo we see at the airport could've very well been the Gojo that lost his first fight against Toji.

But it isn't teenage Gojo, someone who only had a perverse self-satisfaction about Jujutsu and did it for the kick of it instead of protecting others with it, who died.

It's adult Gojo, who dedicated his life to protect others and his students and who fostered them to become as strong as him and did everything so they could grow unhindered and enjoy life especially their youth, who is lying cut in two on the ground.

This love for fighting alone only entered Gojo's mind past the middle of the Shinjuku Showdown when he realized that he might lose this fight and after he was reminded of fucking Toji again. Gojo was brought back to the time of his teenage self when he lost against an opponent who was stronger than him.

But what about the actual Gojo? Teacher Gojo? Would he die without any regrets? Absolutely not. His regrets would actually be too much to count.

He left his students and the world with a murderer stronger than him, ensuring widespread destruction and immense death, first and foremost of everyone he left behind that meant something to him.

Gojo let it happen that Megumi, the person he went into this fight to save, who was the child that started his evolution into a teacher, the son of the man who made him to what he is today; Gojo let it happen that Megumi became his executioner.

(And is Geto without regrets? Is Gojo without any regrets that Kenjaku is desecrating his friend's body to destroy Japan? Isn't there any fear that Kenjaku might take Gojo's dead body as his next vessel? Where is the regret in that?)

When we strip the airport scene from its serenity and the good feelings of a happy ending it evokes, we're left with nothing but pure arrogance the dead have over the suffering of the living. So they get to enjoy peace while everyone else is devastated and about to get slaughtered?

Is that justifiable because everyone will be dead anyway and then they can all enjoy the afterlife together? Except Megumi of course, who'll be Sukuna's vessel for centuries if not millennia and who'll suffer in hell for that long after having killed not only his sister but his teacher and his friends in the future, too.

Those who are already dead like Nanami, they can't do anything about this conundrum anymore but Gojo was still smiling on the ground. So, after the thematic argument for why Gojo has to survive, here comes the practical part: How?

I've already covered parts of this in my chapter 236 Thoughts. Step by step:

Gojo is bisected along his abdomen, not his head

Gojo was still conscious enough to smile at Sukuna, like how Yuki was still able to make her last attack

Gojo can activate his RCT and he can make a Binding Vow as long as he isn't completely dead

We've not seen Shoko's reaction to his defeat, so we have neither a confirmation of his death nor her determination to save him

Utahime and Gramps can strengthen any healing

Angel might have abilities to aid them and Takaba has reality bending powers as long as he's funny

Why the 6-Eyes will still die.

Because it's already over for him. The 6-Eyes is not the strongest sorcerer on earth. His ultimate defense has found its match in Sukuna evolving his own technique; an evolution that Gojo is not going to catch up to.

"Are you Gojo Satoru because you're the Strongest or are you the Strongest because you're Gojo Satoru?"

Irrelevant. Sukuna is the Strongest. That title and that burden has been lifted off Gojo's shoulders. Gojo makes peace with it at the airport.

A Binding Vow with yourself always comes with a balance the universe imposes on you. What would the trade-off be for Gojo's upper and lower body to be connected again? His Eyes seems like a good bargain here.

So there you have it, my theory. The 6-Eyes lost this fight but Gojo sensei can still lead and foster his students to new heights he won't ever personally reach again. He can't just forget about them because he had a good fight, Gojo isn't a self-centred teenager anymore.

You know who was missing at the airport? Outside of Nobara, Yuki and Mai? Tsumiki. What is Gojo going to say to her? That he tried but well? Gojo isn't at the airport for his departure to the afterlife, he isn't going North, he's going South.

All of this is of course my personal feelings and interpretation. Gege might go in another direction like permanent death and flashbacks. But I'm so sure that Gege has written the airport intentionally like this. That Shoko will go to Gojo and pull him out of his death bed because he can't go out like this.

Chapter 236 is written with a sense of finality and farewell, but Gege is also really fond of misdirections and false sense of security (dread?) as we've seen just last chapter.

So, hope dies last.

[twisteddickpalace]

disco elysium really is a master class in fucked up characters that i would defend with my life. like i am fully aware that harry du bois was not a very good person before his amnesia and that some of his bad attitudes and beliefs (or all, depending on how you play) are still very much present in his psyche, and i myself recognize and critique those aspects of his character both in my own mind and in discussion with others, but that doesn't mean that a part of my soul doesn't start crying and throwing things whenever i see someone say that harry is irredeemable or undeserving of love because goddamnit he's still human and he's still capable of growth and he still does good things (again, depending on how you play) even in the impossibly bleak world he lives in and he's got an undeniable drive to change things for the better and. and. fuck me man, he gives me hope, and i think he's a beautiful character and also very fuckable

[anders-hawke]

a lot of the frustration with part 2 seems to be coming from the fact that people are unwilling to view it as only a part of a whole story. Colin's sensitivity and self-worth issues didn't magically disappear once he admitted his feelings to Pen in the carriage. being with Pen is a dream come true and he's holding her up on this pedestal just as Pen had Colin on a pedestal until the end of season 2. finding out that she's Whistledown knocked her off that pedestal and allowed him to have the necessary character growth to realize that his worth as a person is not dependent on other people. he literally tells Pen that he thought he was the problem when really she has been the problem. and he is so blinded by his heartbreak that he can't understand that Pen being Whistledown is not her "true self" and the Pen he fell in love with and slept with and could be having a child with is not her "fake self" but that they are two halves of her whole self. he's put his entire being into this relationship in the hopes that taking care of Pen and ensuring her safety and happiness and impressing her and all of these unnecessary things would prove to be his purpose. and then he feels that all the things he's just committed himself to have been for a lie.

but Colin's anger isn't a stagnant thing, it evolves throughout the episodes. they argue outside Genevieve's and Colin learns that their relationship is not a lie. Pen loves him. she knows him better than anyone else. he still can't accept that Whistledown is part of her but he is assured that their love is real and that is why he's willing to have sex with her in that scene. because his need to be assured of her feelings has been fulfilled. people mistakenly think of that scene has being angry sex but it's not. Colin is not a man who fucks his way through his feelings. when he was having meaningless sex, that was pushing his feelings away, but he is not willing to do that with Pen. and he is also not willing to have sex with her when he is so conflicted over his role within their marriage. their wedding goes so well because Colin has been assured of Pen's love for him, so even though he's frustrated with her still, he sets that aside as he did the night before to just love her. and she hasn't been writing Whistledown so he feels that he can set it aside for now, and they can enter this marriage and he can convince her to leave the column behind. but then Pen tells him that she is not ashamed that Whistledown is part of her and he says he can't accept that and then, once again, he's unsure how to process his role in their relationship.

and because of that insecurity in his sense of self, he is not willing to have sex with her. he wants to, and he wants to kiss her, and love her, and laugh with her, etc. but he doesn't let himself do any of that because though giving in sounds nice, he is terrified of having no purpose in life, and he isn't willing to be with Pen unless he knows what his purpose is. and then he realizes that he's truly losing her, and he rereads her letters to realize that he always knew the whole of her, and she tells him again that he doesn't need to do anything to be worthy of love, and he realizes that even if his only purpose is simply to love Pen, then that is a fulfilling life to live. (it's not his only purpose, but that's besides the point.) just loving each other for who they are is enough.

[persephonesdreams21]

NSFW Alphabet with Kyle

A/N: So like, I’ve had this in my drafts forever and I finally got around to tidying it up(sort of) and finishing it. In a perfect world where I had free time, I’d love to do headcannons for all of Timmy’s characters. In reality I’ll probably only get a few more in,

Warnings: NSFW. Smut- def talks of dom/sub undertones and just generally horny themes. I mean, the title is very self explanatory. Kyle x AFAB! Reader

After Care(what they're like after sex):

The first time you have sex with Kyle, aftercare isn’t a practice he’s ever partook in. He comes and makes you come and then is ready to pop a cigarette in his mouth and call it a night.

This rubs you all the way wrong.

Has you wobbling out of bed and pulling on your clothes in a furious, flustered silence.

“What are you doing- hey. Y/N. What the hell?” He watches you, big green eyes accusatory as you prepare to leave. Your steps shaky and uncoordinated. He hadn’t exactly gone easy on you. “Sit down, you can barely walk”

“Like you care” you scoff. “it’s fine, I’m just gonna go”

He sighs, not one for dramatics that aren’t his own. “You’re gonna hurt yourself”

“I’m not some random piece of ass that you can screw and discard, Kyle. Fuck you very much for thinking so” your words are venomous and sharp, but your bottom lip is wobbling. Your eyes are stormy and still slightly unfocused and woah.

Holy shit. He’s a douchebag but he’s not an idiot. He spends way too much time online and he’s able to put together what’s going on pretty damn quick.

You’re dropping.

He can’t let you leave like this. Hell, you shouldn’t be up from bed much less driving in this state..

Kyle doesn’t do aftercare, we’ll at least he hadn’t before.

It’s all kind of clunky, him bullying your purse from your weak hands and batting away any resistance. Him sitting you on the edge of his bed and leaving, just long enough, to return with a glass of water and a stray granola bar. He sits close by, hovering. His hand a solid, but silent comfort on your thigh.

You don’t cry, won’t in front of him, but god do you want to.

You end up stripped back down to your panties and under his plaid comforter once he deems you hydrated enough.

He still smokes his after-sex cig, but this time he has you tucked into his side. Your cheek smushed to his chest as he puffs on nicotine. The fingers of his free hand dancing along the skin of your back.

He’d deny it, but he’s a sucker for aftercare now.

Body Part)their fave body part of theirs, and of their partners

Kyle likes his height. He enjoys towering over crowds, being the tallest person in the room. It makes him feel strong(and like when he was little he was a shrimp- he had a late growth spurt in 9th grade)

Kyle likes your hands. They’re all teeny and delicate and he tends to play with your fingers absentmindedly. He also likes the pudge on your sides. They’re called love handles for a reason. Any time he reaches for them you screech and shy away but like. That doesn’t stop him ever.

Cum(anything to do with it)

He’s the first man to ever make you squirt and yeah, that goes to his head a little bit. He’ll finger fuck you until youre sobbing and clawing at his arms, whimpering at the mess that he seems to love.

Dirty Secret(self explanatory)

He’s a panty thief. Will literally steal your panties and keep them(and sniff them, often). You complain about it, because he’s such a weirdo and because cute underwear can get expensive! He doesn’t care.

Experience(how experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

For how much sex he’s had he lowkey wasn’t great at it when you guys started fooling around. Or maybe it’s that he never cared- to get good at getting his partner off. Kyle is a selfish lover. You def teach him all the tricks in your book on how to make you feel good. And once that boy knows? He KNOWS. He’s able to flip you over and make you come in two minutes flat.

Favorite Position(this goes without saying)

Kyle loves doggy. He wants you bent over, unable to do anything but take him. Also partial to reverse cowgirl.

Goofy(are they more serious in the moment? Are they goofy?)

He is soooo serious it’s almost laughable. He gets offended when you laugh at the smoldering look on his face while he fucks you. It makes you nervous- you can’t help but giggle.

Hair(how well groomed they are)

Very well groomed. Neatly trimmed. He can’t pretend he doesn’t care about societal norms all he wants, Kyle is a total preener and loves taking care of his appearance. I mean, look at his hair. You just know it takes him a ridiculous amount of time to do in the morning.

Intimacy(how they are during the moment? The romantic aspect)

At first- intimacy isnt even in Kyles vocabulary. He doesnt know how, he doesnt understand it. It makes him feel awkward as hell. Slowly but surely as your relationship developes he starts to crave it. He wants you to stare into his eyes while you ride him, your fingers interlocked. Its tantric. Addicting.

Jack Off(masturbation headcanon)

Porn addict. All conspiracy obsessed, internet surfing boys are. He loves reading Manga and watching anime porn. You’ll indulge him and watch it with him sometimes.

“Hey, I have a toy that looks just like that!” You make the offhanded comment as the two of you watch an animated girl with big tits in a school uniform getting railed by a tentacle monster.

You’re immersed in the video. The raunchy sounds of high pitched squealing and skin slapping fill the quiet room. The blinds are drawn and the two of you lie cuddled together in his bed.

Kyle stares at you. His brain short circuiting.

You’d said it so casually. You have a toy- that looks just like the giant tentacle on his computer screen.

“You’re lying” he deadpans and it makes you giggle.

“Maybe one day I’ll show you” you shrug and like. What the fuck. Where did you even come from?

When you send him a short video of a pink glass tentacle dildo sliding in and stretching your wet hole…well let’s say that he doesn’t have to turn to his anime porn for spank bank material anymore.

Kink(one or more of their kinks)

Kyle loves overstimulation and edging. Both him doing it to you and you doing it to him. Like full on tears, shaking, emotional breakdowns, orgasms that are so good they hurt. Ugh. It’s his favorite.

Location(favorite places to do the do?)

Anywhere. Although, he def has a thing for sliding inside of you after a show. The adrenaline of playing live still coursing through his veins as he crowds you into the handicapped stall of some grimy venue bathroom and fucks you raw, his jeans around his ankles.

Motivation(what turns them on? Get’s them going?)

He loves it when you’re jealous. He's not ignorant to the way that women(and men tbh) look at him. React to him. It's always been this way, really it doesn't phase him anymore.

But you? You hate that shit.

You hate the way you can be holding his hand, and still girls will come up to him. Wink at him from across the room, waitresses leaving their phone numbers on napkins. Its maddening,

Kyle reassures you with words, with kisses and promises. He’s yours. He isn't interested in wasting energy on any of them. You're his only girl.

Still, the way you stake your claim makes him feral. When you suck bruises into his throat or wrap your arms around his waist. Don't even get him started on the time that you threw a drink in that girls face at that one party(she’d told Kyle he had like, the best hair, and reached for his dark curls. Her hand never even made it close) its just so hot. Knowing that you want him that much,

No(something they wouldn't do? Turns off’s)

So he likes it when you’re jealous, right? But you making him jealous? Is completely off the table. He will, and has, freaked out about it. He could never do threesomes or any kind of group play, he’d lose his shit.

Oral(preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc?

Kyle loves getting head. “Selfish lover alert”. It’s a chore you’re happy to perform, you love suckling at his big cock. Playing with his pink tip-

But like. He also enjoys going down on you. When the two of you first started sleeping together, you were really self conscious about it. Something about your shitty ex not liking the mess. Which like, he’ll never understand.

Your pussy is so gorgeous. All puffy and pretty for him, swollen and sopping wet. Hes such a tease with his quick tongue and little kisses. It’s not until you’re writhing and begging and forcing his dark haired head deeper that he really goes to town.

Pace(are they fast and rough, slow and sensual?)

The mans good with his hips, it's the musician in him. He has rhythm. But he is still just a young man, and he does end up getting sloppy and messy towards the end. Chasing his high like a mad man

Quickie(their opinions on quickies, how often?)

Loves a good quickie- but you’re not a huge fan. He’s very good at convincing you though, at dragging you into dark corners and palming at your body through your clothes.

Risk(are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Yup, he loves that shit. He's such an exhibitionist You warn him that it is in fact, illegal. That public indecency can end in heavy fines, “The sex offenders list, Ky! I’m serious!”

But like, you always end up caving. Letting him fuck your brains out in his car. Spreading your legs when he reaches under the restaurant table, his fingers grazing your soft inner thigh, playing with your clit through your panties. If you wore a skirt for easy access…well thats your own business.

Stamina(how many rounds can they go? How long can they last?)

He’s a lazy little thing, I just know it. You get a couple rounds out of him and then he’s laying back and demanding you ride him, your turn to do the work.

“You’re my pillow princess, huh, baby?” you purr as you climb ontop of him, rubbing your wet slit along his flagging erection. You know he’ll get back to full hardness soon enough.

For now, he lies back, hands behind his head. Lounging, barley awake, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. You give his plump lips a wet smack and they twitch up in amusement.

“Princess? Whatever” He sasses, feigning offense. Even as he lets you do all the work, reaching between your own legs to fist at his cock, leading the head to your waiting hole.

“Prince then” you smile as you sink down and he groans, the veins in his neck straining as he throws his head back into the soft down pillows. He’s more than happy to let you do all the work.

Toys(do they own toys? Will they use them?)

He’s bleh about them. I think he’s inquisitive by nature, and likes to think of himself as explorative but like- he doesn't want anything but his cock filling you and making you feel good. He does enjoy watching you use them on yourself,

Unfair(how much they like to tease)

He is the absolute WORST tease. He loves riling you up. It makes him so hot, the way he can get you so desperate for him.

Volume(how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Kyle’s a quiet lover, he grits his teeth and lets out long sighs You love getting him to crack, making him moan and writhe and gasp.

X-Ray(let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I’d hate to say this because he already has a massive ego, but he has a pretty big dick too. Maybe right above garage. 7 inches. Long, but heavy.

Yearning(how high is their sex drive?)

When he wants it- he NEEDS it. Like. He’s very dramatic and takes high offense to you withholding yourself from him. Its as annoying as it is flattering.

Zzz(how quickly they fall asleep after)

He’s knocked the FUCK out. Quickly. This man has fallen asleep with his softening cock still inside of you. He’s your big baby and once he’s drunk on your kisses hes a goner.

“Your pussy’s better than indica, baby” he tells you once, only half joking and you snort and hit him square in the face with the nearest pillow.