#(they're young and not looking for it but it's There)

[heartfullofleeches]

Puppy Hybrid Reader born and raised on a farm that moos in tribute of their childhood best friends + Carnis [Cow Hybrid Yan]. Puppy coded cow madly in love with a cow coded puppy.

Puppy Reader who lived on a dairy farm of the majority of their developing years surrounded and taken in by the four legged mammals their parents owned. Many a nights, the young puppy was found cuddled up with the herd- content and happy with their found family. It broke their little heart when their parents ship them off to the city, but a piece of home will forever reside in them.

Carnis, known for barking and howling at their former caretakers, takes an immediate liking to Darling. They're the funniest looking cow he's ever seen, but they're so friendly and kind who wouldn't fall head over heels for them?

"My parents tried to nip it in the bud when I was little, but making cow noises is kinda just like- soothing to me??? Reminds me of home and all my friends as a pup."

"I liked... when..when the doctors backed away.. when I growled at t-them. I was afraid of them s-so it felt good when they were scared o-of me. Does that make me... a bad person?"

"No way! You were just a pup trying to defend yourself- I totally get it!"

"Hehe... Woof! You make me a v-very happy puppy... cow... person... I'll bark real loud at anyone.. anyone who hurts you, okay?"

[thecurioustale]

I'm hijacking the spirit of this thread to point out that, legal fictions aside, there isn't a single moment in time where minority becomes majority, i.e. midnight of one's 18th birthday.

Most people first begin showing traits of adulthood around the time they hit a double digit age. And most people (if not everyone) will still have immature traits into their thirties and forties if not farther still.

I often look back on myself and think about how young and stupid I was even as late as my upper twenties, and yet I can turn right around and think about how wise and mature and ahead-of-my-time I was as early as my tweens.

With some notable exceptions, societies do not legally graduate the transition from minority to majority. Just about everything switches over at once; here in the US, that's Age 18. There's really no uniform way to account for different people developing in different ways at different times; any attempt to codify it would be incredibly laborious and probably just as problematic as the one-size-fits-all approach.

The wiser approach is to try to raise children well from a societal perspective, and then turn them loose and trust them to make their own way, with full knowledge that they're going to screw up plenty often, and that a healthy society just needs to absorb this and be patient. And if some young adult starts screwing up in very specific ways, then we have specific laws for those kinds of problems, e.g. really dangerous drivers; no general law restricting freedoms by age is necessary.

I honestly think 18 is a really good number for the binary transition to the age of majority. It's old enough that kids are well-developed and champing at the bit to be set loose, but young enough to not turn people loose on their own without the proper foundations to stand on, or, alternatively, without having wasted too much of their youth in the reduced permissions penalty box of the age of minority.

Generally speaking.

I think mostly what young fandom types (and I guess younger people in general) who are very very invested in the idea that “20 is still basically a minor” need to understand is that the feeling of “I’m just a child pretending to be an adult, and everyone else around me is a REAL adult” is DEEPLY universal (and won’t stop, ever, by the way, sorry!) and also is not, like, praxis.

Believe me, I get it, but the self-infantilization needs to stop, especially when you’re trying to engage in conversations about actual children and the harms they can face. Yes, it is scary to wake up and realize you’re 22 and you still feel like you’re 15, but it happens to all of us. You’re an adult. You have to deal with it.

[bluukive]

-screenshot taken from user st4rsatoruu on tiktok

These new pics are actually killing me in the worst way possible like they're so YOUNG.

Like Geto talking to his mother whilst unpacking :(( Gojo looking EXACTLY like Yuuji with his short hair :(( The group selfies including Nanami and Haibara :(( The tired looking smiles from Shoko and Gojo because Geto wasn't graduating with them :((

like they were just STUDENTS

[wonderjanga]

Superman asks Billy if he was molested as a child because the JL believes he had his kids super young. Billy, who was NOT paying attention, just kinda goes, "Yeah." In his best,"I was totally paying attention voice, "which just happens to sound like he was trying not to cry because Billy was trying to make that yes not sound like a question. Que the JL being all concerned, asking who did it to get vengeance, offering therapy. Billy has no clue what he just agreed to. Freddy just goes along with it because he thinks they're in too deep at this point. None of them asked Mary for advice yet, but she somehow knows, and she thinks they are all unbelievably stupid.

Marvel: “Yeah.” *distracted, looking out the window of the Watchtower*

Junior: *doing a bunch of flips over and over in space*

Supes: “Oh.” *doesn’t know what to say to that* “I’m so sor—”

Marvel: “Excuse me for a minute.” *walks off to go stop Freddy’s tomfoolery*

Batman and Supes: *watches him go*

Supes: “Oh my God.”

Batman: “I know.”

Supes: “Oh my God!”

Batman: “I know.”

Supes: “Should we go apologize to him??”

Batman: “…No. Yes.”

Supes: “Which one is it?”

Batman: “I… don’t know.”

Supes: “How do you not know!? I’m just gonna assume that that means yes, we should apologize!”

Batman: “Yes, that’s probably true. We should also see if we can convince the Captain to attend a therapy appointment.”

Supes: “If the way he said that was any indication, yeah, we do.”

*silence*

Supes: “We should also get some type of vengeance shouldn’t we?”

Batman: “Yes, we do.”

Supes: “I’ll write something that’ll absolutely trash his or her reputation.”

Batman: “I’m going to pull some strings to ruin their credit score.”

Supes: “My stories gonna get them so ruined they won’t be able to be hired everywher— you can do that?” *horrified*

Batman: “Of course I can.”

[biteofcherry]

In your peripheral vision, you see the other women in line trembling. Some cry quietly, and some try to brave through it. Some are quite flirtatious with their smiles and cute pouts.

Perhaps they're the smartest of them all, playing to the new fate instead of showing weakness, so the sharks won't rip them to pieces.

Most of them are young and you know what that means. Regardless of how the new regime tries to sell it.

They're ripe for the picking.

Brave soldiers and other useful cogs in the machine need to be rewarded. With wives. Or playthings.

It's heartbreaking to witness. Repulsive.

What the hell you're doing here, is the biggest mystery, though.

You and a few other women, who are past the typically desired age of below the point when the brain is fully formed. Or at least under thirty years old.

As you study the proceedings, forcing yourself to just stay still and survive, you quickly find the answer to your question.

A small team clad in dark navy combat suits, sans weapons and tactical gear, are marching down that line. Two men and a woman, who's probably supposed to put you all at ease. She's the one who decides if a woman is lead on the left side - where all those young, beautiful women are directed; or to the right.

As you notice, when it comes to "older" women, she studies not only their looks (those she briefly glances over) but reads files on the sleek pad in her hands. Then either points to the right, or have the soldiers escort them out.

To freedom, you hope, since you didn't hear any gunshots or dreadful ghost stories upon completely missing women.

Considering your own looks, your age and the fact you had zero influential connections, nor do you come from a wealthy family, your certainty to be released grew.

Seriously, there is nothing they could be interested in when it comes to you.

When it's your turn, the woman gives you a glance over.

You expected a quick, bored one, like with so many others. Unexpectedly, her gaze slowly drags up back to your face.

She tilts her head to the side, curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

"You're not scared." She states.

"It would be stupid of me to not be scared." You reply steadily. "This summoning was sudden and nothing has been explained."

"And yet your breathing is regular, pulse doesn't appear quickened, you're not shaking like a leaf." Even if you despise the woman for being a part of this dark command, you have to admit she's perceptive.

A tiny sigh escapes your lips, clearly one of annoyance, though you hope it won't get you killed on the spot.

"It's obvious you're targeting women who are useful," you say, meeting her gaze. "Either in their beauty, youth and fertility-promising hips, or in their connections, wealth, or potential to bring political power."

"Since I fall in neither of those categories, I simply assume I'll be released back into my boring life."

Sometimes, it truly is a blessing to not stand out and be just an average woman.

The woman stares at you for a long, silent moment, before her mouth twitches in an amused smile.

She brings her wrist to her lips and says into the tiny, unnoticeable intercom:

"I've got someone you should meet."

You frown at that, suddenly feeling a spike of unease.

Would they punish you in some way just because you didn't shake in fear?

The woman doesn't point at you to move neither left nor right. She keeps you in place. But she orders one of the men accompanying her to bring your things, which have been taken from you when you were all guided into the big hall.

Just your handbag and within it your phone.

A few moments later, the entrance to the hall opens and an imposing silhouette strides in.

Breaths all around are taken in hitched, panicked rushes. Most of the women recognize the infamous leader, who brought the havoc and change that rocked your world.

He moves in a fluid prowl. His eyes quickly scans the area to settle on the woman who has to be within his close inner circle if she is allowed to address him by his name.

From her, his gaze shifts to you, and that's when fear switches on all of your survival instincts, flooding your body with adrenaline and your head with voices screaming at you to either run or play dead.

The woman gives him the pad, undoubtedly with your personal data on it. Her smirk isn't cruel, rather amused, as she explains why you're so interesting.

"Smart girl, figured out the workings. Held my gaze without flinching, too."

"Waiting for a gold star for understanding the basics of politics?" The man snorts, browsing through your file.

"A simple goodbye, go home, would suffice." It slips out of your mouth before you're able to stop yourself.

His eyes lift up from the pad. Crystalline blue of his irises slides you open like a scalpel.

"Her phone." He gives a short comman without taking his eyes off you.

The intensity of his gaze makes you gulp. A small betrayal of nerves that he notices instantly. A predator's triumph glinting in his eyes.

You would be really stupid not to fear him.

For physical aspect alone. He's much bigger. Broad and heavy. It would be no hardship for him to overpower you.

"Intel files are one thing," he says, skimming his fingers over your smartphone and easily bypassing all security.

"Apps, browsing history, and private folders, provide the juiciest truths."

Corners of his mouth twitch as he notices your pupils widening.

His smirk stretches into a wolfish grin when he looks down at the phone in his hand and opens one particular private folder.

Somehow, you know exactly which one.

With photos of you that shouldn't be seen by anyone other than you, or a man who you wanted to see you naked.

He is not that man.

Embarrassment fills you in a scorching wave, but you grit your teeth in hopes to not show how much you want to grab your phone back and hide.

You're not ashamed of those pictures. It's just that they are intimate and shouldn't be seen by someone like the monster in front of you.

"There are no juicy truths," you grit out. "Some risky selfies are the staple folder of ninety percent phone users."

"Ah, but are they smart enough to not only figure out the system here, but in what capacity to show me defiance without crossing the line that could cost you your life?"

He looks up at you again, with hungry interest and growing amusement.

"Don't sell yourself short. And tell me- are you, really?"

Before you ask what he means, he lifts your phone up, showing you the photo currently on the screen.

Not even the most scandalous. You with slightly tousled hair, cheekily smiling, with the tip of your tongue peeking out. And wearing a tight crop top with bold, pink letters.

Brat.

You know, you just know that you should drop your gaze and let the trembling part of you out on the surface. That would undoubtedly push you back into the bag of boring, mundane lot. Lose his attention.

That self-preservation instinct he claims you have doesn't react fast enough, though.

Forcing your lips into a tight smile, you reply in a stupidly challenging tone:

"I'm a fucking delight."

Something flashes in those blue eyes. Danger and joy.

Slowly, he slips your phone into his own pocket.

As his eyes hold you gaze captive, your heart hammers to the staccato of doom approaching you.

"Take her to my penthouse." He commands, not raking his eyes of you.

He drinks up each flicker in your eyes and the parting of your lips as his intent sinks in.

You won't be returning to your home.

"Assign someone to transfer her belongings and oversee the bureaucratic procedures. They have a week to prepare everything."

Your fingers twitch at your sides helplessly as he takes a step towards you. Then another, until he's fully looming over.

A single finger curls under your chin, tilting your face up.

"You're going to be my delight."

He says it almost softly, but it still cuts through you like a heavy guillotine.

" 'Til death do us part, brat."

_______________________________

Who is he?

[alypagemage]

Read this and my mind immediately went to Os and Ed

Oswald:

“Every night when I was young, my mother would sing that song to me when I was going to bed. And every time, she would tell me, 'Oswald... don't listen to the other children. You're handsome and clever. And someday, you will be a great man'. She said that every time. That's all I have left now. Memories. And they're like daggers in my heart”

“They love me”

“—Edward Nygma: If you would've bought the election, you would've never known. But now you do”

“My beloved mother always believed in me. Even when I doubted myself, she held firm. Seeing all of your bright faces reminds me that there is nothing you cannot do if you put your mind to it. And when I am mayor, I believe... no... I know that together, we will make Gotham safe again!”

“Do you see? People look at me differently now. For the first time in my life, I feel wanted.”

————————————————————————

Ed:

“For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I, it will always be our most crippling weakness”

“Oswald, I accept you for the person that you are. Just as you accept me for the cold logician that I am”

“You have been down this road before. Following your heart has never worked out for you”

“—Perhaps. But perhaps you could learn something if you listened to this (points to Ed’s heart) instead of this (points to Ed’s head)”

Unhealed Wounds Your Character Pretends Are Just “Personality Traits”

These are the things your character claims are just “how they are” but really, they’re bleeding all over everyone and calling it a vibe.

╰ They say they're "independent." Translation: They don’t trust anyone to stay. They learned early that needing people = disappointment. So now they call it “being self-sufficient” like it’s some shiny badge of honor. (Mostly to cover up how lonely they are.)

╰ They say they're "laid-back." Translation: They stopped believing their wants mattered. They'll eat anywhere. Do anything. Agree with everyone. Not because they're chill, but because the fight got beaten out of them a long time ago.

╰ They say they're "a perfectionist." Translation: They believe mistakes make them unlovable. Every typo. Every bad hair day. Every misstep feels like proof that they’re worthless. So they polish and polish and polish... until there’s nothing real left.

╰ They say they're "private." Translation: They’re terrified of being judged—or worse, pitied. Walls on walls on walls. They joke about being “mysterious” while desperately hoping no one gets close enough to see the mess behind the curtain.

╰ They say they're "ambitious." Translation: They think achieving enough will finally make the emptiness go away. If they can just get the promotion, the award, the validation—then maybe they’ll finally outrun the feeling that they’re fundamentally broken. (It never works.)

╰ They say they're "good at moving on." Translation: They’re world-class at repression. They’ll cut people out. Bury heartbreak. Pretend it never happened. And then wonder why they wake up at 3 a.m. feeling like they're suffocating.

╰ They say they're "logical." Translation: They’re terrified of their own feelings. Emotions? Messy. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. So they intellectualize everything to avoid feeling anything real. They call it rationality. (It's fear.)

╰ They say they're "loyal to a fault." Translation: They mistake abandonment for loyalty. They stay too long. Forgive too much. Invest in people who treat them like an afterthought, because they think walking away makes them "just as bad."

╰ They say they're "resilient." Translation: They don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden. They wear every bruise like a trophy. They survive things they should never have had to survive. And they call it strength. (But really? It's exhaustion wearing a cape.)

[nalyra-dreaming]

And a SAM interview, too!!

(With GLASSES GUYS!! :))

Sam usually has a lot of questions

He thinks that Lestat would be very encouraging of Louis trying to be an artist

There is a level of unbreakable trust between Louis and Dreamstat, Louis thinks Dreamstat is the only one who would give him the truth

It's a very complex things to show this deep love between these characters and be supportive and to use Lestat as a very specific device - the framework that Louis needs to discover more about himself

There's a lot of hyperbolic descriptions in the first book and he needs to feel extreme, on the fringes of what's acceptable, because he's processed through the stories of people that he's hurt

It allows the show to the perimeters, and Lestat is used at this device that pushes (for example in the scene with Armand and his backstory)

Louis knows he is in another bullshit relationship (which is what Dreamstat vocalizes)

They are always operating on a higher meta level

They all have trauma

Them being vampires makes it easier to explore the dark parts (and makes them fun to explore)

Armand making Lestat a "Harlequin" was a very pointed choice within the tale - Armand sees Lestat as this hypersexual being which is also the superficial level of Lestat's trauma as well

Lestat is an object of desire to a lot of people and creatures, and through that he finds himself in a lot of shit situations

Lestat played this part (Harlequin) (in Armand's tale) that he never did (in the actual events (surmised))

"you are the thing you're pretending to be by saying you're not"

The theatre is a prison they created because the vampires are too extreme for society

Lots of parallels to society (doing the same)

Hannah Moscovitch gave Sam the original trial script(!!!) so it could be very clear to him

You don't always see all the hints, because it "would play the rug away from the deception", though Sam played it and it was edited

Alan Taylor said "do what you serves the story"

He realized he had to start feeding it what really happened

"Maybe he wasn't able to fully stand up, maybe there was something else going on"

You have to remember to give the characters agency

You want to make sure that Louis isn't just a "liar", you cannot go "everything he said was a lie"

The older "monsters" have a level of intensity and necessity for those they love to them - that is what he worked in with Emma Freeman as to the "why" Lestat was there at the trial - he just HAD to be there because of his love for his family

"That sparkly thing" that keeps Louis and Lestat together

After looking at Louis Lestat was improvising, because any previous negotiations with Armand flew out the window

Lestat had been told that Claudia was too young to turn

Lestat has experiences with turnings turn out badly

That is why he says what he says in the turning scene

"A vampire fledgling is not a puppy just for Christmas, it's eternal"

Claudia is actually the best vampire that could be

Lestat realizes on her death that he's messed up judging her

Because Claudia is the perfect vampire

Lestat apologizes in the trial, but not really in the reunion

Stuff happened when Lestat came back to NOLA that we don't know about yet(!!)

There's a vagrant part of the character that this turns up in the later books that they're bringing in there

Lestat is living in his personal ghost era

Lestat loves to feel, he is decadent in his feelings

There's some very fundamental "fucked up" things that happened to him, and that is why he cannot truly believe that he can be loved for who he is - and he was turned (into this monster) before he could actually learn to believe that

And Lestat tried to hide those parts of himself (from Louis), and they come out at these unfortunate moments

[ricciardo133]

Montreal 2017

maxiel, vampires, blood, dry humping, and some dubious consent

-

"You smell good, Daniel."

Daniel looks over at his teammate in the bumpy backseat of the team van that carries them post-PR event back to their hotel. In the dying daylight, Max's shockingly blue eyes are brilliantly lit up in staccato beams of light as their car passes each streetlamp. His typically direct stare somehow feels even more locked on than usual, eyes glued to Daniel. It's too dim in the car to tell if he's even blinking.

"Thanks, bud. After hauling ass around town today, I think I smell pretty fucking fresh."

"You do not smell fresh. You smell like sweat."

"Got any normal compliments?"

"You look so alive."

"Okay," Daniel says as the car blessedly pulls up to the hotel's entrance. He hauls himself up and hunches over in the van, waiting for Max to move out of the way of their shared backseat. "Love ya, man, but let's get boogying so I can shower."

Daniel knows he shouldn't be so careless with his coworker's extremely obvious crush, but a little schmoozing does work when he wants something. Max flushes and scoots off the seat and out into the crisp night. Daniel pulls on his backpack and scampers out after him. Two Red Bull managers await by the door, handing off two key cards with the same suite number written on their paper pouches.

"Gotta be a mistake, right?" Daniel asks helplessly. An apologetic headshake as he and Max are informed the hotel is overbooked and it's more convenient for the team to not add another hotel stop to their tight schedule for logistics ahead of media day. Their team helps get their suitcases upstairs, and they leave Max and Daniel in the single room with two king beds.

"Dibs on the bigger one," Daniel jests as he flops back onto the plush mattress. He figures he might as well make this as light and easy-breezy as possible. They've managed to not share a room ever since becoming teammates in 2016. He actually thought Max would look more excited at the surprise slumber party, but the young man stands unnervingly still in the cold room, staring at him.

"This isn't good. I need to...do things alone tonight," Max breathes tensely.

"You can shower first if ya need to jack off."

"No. Daniel, why would they...They're always so good about it when the timing...overlaps," he pauses and pulls out his cell phone. In a rush, he holds it to his hear and speaks quick, unintelligible Dutch to someone on the other end. The call apparently doesn't help. He pulls on his jacket in terse and quick moves. "Sorry if I wake you, when I get back."

"Don't tell me you're going clubbing without me," Daniel teases.

"Not for fun. Just going out."

"For how long? May call up a girl if you're gone for a while. No better way to get out the pre-race week jitters with a little sucking and fucking, eh, Maxy?"

Max stares at him. Rather, Daniel feels he's staring just below his line of sight, as if those blue eyes were piercing his nipples. He glances down like he may have something on his shirt but by the time he looks up, the younger man is out the door. It closes with a sharp thud.

Wired and surprisingly off-kilter, Daniel disrobes and showers. He stands under the hot spray and feels a confused rush. He would've thought he'd have to bat Max off him given the sleeping arrangement. They've never touched beyond sportsman-like claps on the back and too-firm handshakes, but it feels obvious, to Daniel, that he could ask for way more if he wanted. The way he catches Max staring, the disproportionately hardy laughs at Daniel's shit jokes, the easy-to-conjure blush with the smallest compliment, it was clear. Daniel's been on the receiving end of puppy love many times. Usually it has been fans or girls from back home, but he knows what it's like to be admired, to be wanted.

Or so he thought. Max practically sprinted out of the shared suite, seemingly with no intention of spending a second longer than he had to around him. Which was...fine, Daniel assures himself. He still feels a twinge of something like disappointment. A lad's night in could've been fun, rare sightings of seeing Max stripped of team gear. Daniel wonders if Max sleeps in boxers or briefs as he pulls on his own loose sweatpants, brushes his teeth, and nearly puts in his night guard before the door slams open again.

"Daniel," Max says through heaving breaths. Daniel goes to open the bathroom door and finds it pushed shut again. "Don't come out."

"I'm straight, Max," Daniel attempts to joke. He tries to open the door again and feels it impossible to move. "Christ, Verstappen. What gives?"

"I'm not...you can't see me. I fucked up."

"Got an impulse tattoo? Bad haircut? Ill-placed hickey? Trust me, Max. I've done it all. You can't surprise me."

"They won't go back in. I did it too sloppy, people were coming...so just...stay there, please. I'll fix this."

Daniel raises in hands in surrender as if Max could see him through the flimsy door. "Not making a lick of sense, but okay. Put whatever it is away, then." Daniel wants to make a jab at anal beads to get a laugh out of him, but Max sounds scared. It makes Daniel ache. He hears his teammate bump around the hotel room, a bag unzip, rustle of plastic, a soft swear. Daniel holds his breath and then hears a sharp gasp of what sounds like pain.

"Max," he says, pushing the door open reflexively. Max, kneeling over a bright red bloodstain in the carpet, looks up at him. Daniel sees two sharp fangs over Max's full, parted lips.

Daniel freezes. They both stare in wordless shock. Max doesn't blink. He doesn't seem to breathe. He's turned into a statue of a young racer with impossible fangs like a-

"Vampire," Daniel says quietly. "Are they...are those real, Max? The blood."

Max is up at him, holding his shoulders in a flash. Daniel didn't even see him get up and move, it was so impossibly quick.

"Don't tell anyone."

"Yeah, bud. I really was going to go into the media pen tomorrow saying I saw you sucking off a blood bag before bed. Christ, Max." Daniel looks back at the busted plastic IV pouch on the floor. "Please tell me they're fake and that's cranberry juice and you have some weird vampire kink so I can make sense of this."

"They're real. It's blood. I'm sorry."

Daniel looks straight into Max's too-blue eyes. He's tearing up. Max looks off as a tear slips down his sharp cheekbones, and Daniel feels wracked with a horrible guilt.

"Aw, hey. Max, man. Don't...I'm sorry." He pats Max's shoulders. "We all have uh...baggage, y'know? Or, sorry. Not baggage. Maybe being a vampire is fun? Or just like being allergic to peanuts? Because, let me tell you, that also sucks. Uh. Not literally sucks, like...is that what you do? Do you suck? I mean. Oh, I'm fucking this up, I'm-"

Max's hands are quickly on Daniel's back, holding him flush to his chest. Daniel freezes as Max starts to breathe in deeply at the crook of his neck.

"I normally feed once a week, alone," Max says softly into his skin. Daniel sucks in a breath, feeling his skin heat with a blooming desire. "But you're here. I couldn't feed in here with you. So I...I tried...with a guy at a club who wanted it, but..." Max pauses to lick along Daniel's neck. Daniel, instantly, is hard. He swallows, making Max keen. "Fuck, I was careless, too quick. People nearly saw me, so I ran and I couldn't finish right. They can't go back in until I get enough...blood."

"You nearly sucked a guy off at a club?"

"Not through oral, Daniel. Through here." Max kisses on Daniel's fluttering neck. He feels a mix of fear and frenzy, like he's melting into Max's arms despite his best efforts to keep it together. "That's how we feed, we...entice. It's fucked up. I'm fucked up."

And he leaves his arms. Daniel shivers in his spot, falling to sit on the bed as Max paces around in front of the hotel window. The skyline glitters behind him, a modern backdrop for an impossible man.

"Vampires aren't real," Daniel says, hands over his neck, feeling the pulse and heat and wetness left from Max's tongue. He shouldn't want more but every ounce of normalcy is out the same window. He wants more. He wants Max. Desperately, despite himself. "You said you entice?"

"Vampires can compel. We can feel who's open to it, and then we," Max pauses, making frustrated circles with his hands in the air.

"You kill them?"

"No, fuck. No, we don't kill people. Not unless you don't stop."

"Then...you turn them into vampires?"

"Also no, they'd have to drink from me, too. Not happening."

"Oh, well, that's not too bad then? Just a little blood?" Max stares at Daniel, blank and stone-like again. "Like, Max. If that's all it is, that's not a big deal. I thought you were going on a light killing spree, but you can have some blood. If you need it."

Max remains motionless.

"Unless my blood is shitty."

"Your blood smells amazing, Daniel."

"Then, uh, go to town, Max." Daniel wants to get up but he realizes his grey sweatpants would immediately reveal his surprise boner. He squirms. "Ignore the moans, though. They're super manly and super normal, but when you touched me it felt really good."

"That's part of it. You may come."

"Max," Daniel says in shock. He's used to dishing ribald remarks, hardly taking it as Max walks over with that inhuman speed and sits on his lap. "Max."

"If you don't want this, I can go."

"And risk you getting spotted in vamp mode and making me spend longer talking to the press tomorrow about my monster teammate? No dice. Just do it." Daniel doesn't even have to try to make Max swoon. Quite the opposite. His own need feels overcharged, electric, unwieldy. He needs a wordless, formless craving for more. He looks up to the younger man and means it when he says, "please."

"Oh, Daniel."

Max sinks his teeth into Daniel's neck.

Daniel's done plenty of drugs in his younger years, absconding with illicit substances in Perth summers and free-wheeling Monaco ragers in the off-season. Those were nothing. Pale and lifeless against the rush he feels now in Max's grip. He had expected getting his neck bit would be painful. It's not.

He keens, hips bucking up into Max's. Max's large hands grip into Daniel's bare back as Daniel squirms and groans despite his best intentions to hold steady. He's always the giver. Always on top. Always making girls do this under him, not like this. Not with a guy. Not with Max.

He's pliant as Max hoists him up and back onto the bed, flipping so Daniel's poised on top. Max keeps one hand on the back of Daniel's head, fingers lacing through rings of curls. The other grips on his waist, encouraging him as Daniel ruts into his thigh.

"Max," Daniel breaths as he feels a dulled sensation of sucking and the much wilder rush of his length against Max's firm leg below him. "Max."

He groans as Max sucks harder. Daniel feels his cheeks burn and a sweat breakout between his shoulder blades and drip off his forehead. His hands cling to Max's back as he works his hips down, pleasure hitting him in hard, wonderful waves as Max's presence sucks up all thought, all feeling until Daniel is snapping his hips into Max with a blissed out, thoughtless heat. It's hot and building and too fast and not enough. Daniel strains and breaks in a trembling cry as the end finally hits and he comes hard in his pants, tears pouring and the distinct feeling of wetness leaking from his neck. Max licks the tracks of blood away and then sucks with finality over the painless wound.

Daniel can't see it. He can't see anything but stars and Max's chest as he falls into him. Max's breath is tinted with gasps, his voice ragged as he speaks.

"Are you okay? Daniel?"

"Yeah, yeah. Very okay."

"We need to get you water. I think I took too much. Daniel."

He's asleep before he hears anymore than that.

Daniel wakes up to the smell of eggs. He pops up on his elbows and looks around. Max sits on the edge of the bed, untouched room service breakfast sits further on the hotel desk. The Dutchman turns over his shoulder and sighs when he sees him.

"I, um, ordered food."

So delightfully awkward. Daniel smiles, relieved. It's still Max.

"Only fair since I was the room service last night."

"Daniel. I'm-,"

"If you say 'sorry' I'm tossing that omlette at you." Daniel gets up. Max hands him a much appreciated glass of water.

"I know I took too much," Max says as he drinks the entire cup. "Of your...blood."

"So taking a normal amount wouldn't make me come like a fucking horny virgin or is that par for the course?"

"That part is normal."

Daniel laughs. "Excellent. I usually last way longer, too, just for the record. Don't go telling other hot creatures of the night I'm some two-suck chump, if vamps compare notes."

"No. I'd never tell."

"And your secret's safe with me, too."

Daniel didn't realize Max's shoulders were held tense until he drops them with a shuddering sigh.

"Thank you."

"And just ask next time."

"Ask? To use you again?"

The thought of Max doing that with some random guy in a random club makes Daniel irrationally pissed. "Yeah. I can, uh, help. As teammates. It's probably easier for you, right? So you can do it again, if you want."

He was certain, based on that wide-eyed quintessential stare and now much deeper flush that Max did want it. He maybe always had wanted it. Daniel just didn't understand why he wanted it, too. A question for later as he wonders if Max is blushing with his own blood.

"I'd like that a lot, Daniel."

"And if you can turn into a bat, you gotta let me watch."

Max laughs. Daniel feels relieved, as he always does when he can pop Max's nerves into a relieving rush of giggles. "No, no. No bats. I can fly without being a bat."

"Now you're just bragging. Next you can tell me you can read minds."

"No, you are too obvious, I don't need to read minds."

"Me the obvious one?"

"You are very easy to understand, Daniel."

"Like how?"

"You like to stare at me, especially when I stare at you."

Daniel, now flushed himself, chucks a pillow at Max's head. The young man laughs as Daniel glances at his teammate's now evenly straight teeth, picturing the fangs from last night, thinking of all that came after.

"Just staring since I'm trying to see if you ever actually blink, you weirdo."

"I don't have to blink. I have to remind myself to do it."

"Okay, then remind yourself to also not compliment someone's sweat smell. Or stare at their jugular. How's this, I'll teach you how to be more human in exchange for super lowkey orgasms between bros, kapeesh?"

Max laughs again, earnest and fangless for now. "It's a deal, Daniel."

It's something. It's weird, but it's them. Daniel and Max shake on it, and Daniel feels the urge to pull him in and hold him tight despite himself. Later, he thinks. After media day, if Max needs it. Daniel silently hopes he will, that he'll need him over and over like that again and again for as long as they are teammates. As long as they are together.

[lheslie]

Mark Variants; A Wife's Troubles

This request was supposed to be just for Omni Mark and Viltrum Mark, but I've decided to throw in the rest of the Variants because why not? I hope you'll enjoy it though. ♡

Wrote this at 12:53am 1.9k words.

Warning: Mentions of killing, kinda gore too.

You and Mark had gotten a child at an early age; although you perceived the child as a blessing, a lot of people said otherwise; they talked behind your back because, at such a young age, you had a child.

They would whisper about how you wasted your life and that having a child at an early age is a mistake;. However, you knew having a child at a young age is not recommendable, you still loved your own child nevertheless, showering them with all the love and affection you could give.

You had to work harder since you've become a mother, you still didn't want to give up on studying. But a lot of your schoolmates judged you from left and right for being so shameless, calling you ridiculous names behind your back that made you weep inside bathroom stalls during breaks, and even when you picked your toddler up from daycare all the mothers would ask you if you're her sister, and when you replied you're the mother they were all astonished and they all started whispering amongst themselves.

You were already having problems with schoolwork and having a lack of sleep from taking care of a child at home. At the same time, Mark worked as a superhero for the both of you, so you didn't want to hinder him with this problem, causing you stress and gaining eyebags; it didn't take long before Mark started noticing these changes.

- Main Mark

He slowly approached you at night, soothing you. "Y/N, I noticed you're not yourself these days, is something bothering you?" He softly spoke with concern in his eyes trying to comfort you as best as he could.

You exhaled in exhaustion, confessing your worries to him. "Everyone at school and even at our child's daycare center they're all judging me, telling me I've thrown my whole life away because I had our child at an early age." You sniffled as you cried in Mark's Embrace as he hugged you.

"I don't know how to help you right now, but all I can do is support you and your choices; what do you want to do about them?" He questioned as he caressed your head.

"I want to quit school, I'll study at home and maybe find another daycare center for our child, hopefully with nicer people in them, and show them that I'll never regret having my baby." You smiled as he smiled back, kissing your forehead.

- Omni Mark

He noticed you crying quietly inside your shared bedroom; he slowly approached you, asking what had happened and who made you cry in pain. You slowly looked at him and admitted everything that you were keeping from him, as you slowly spat it out. His face was clearly filled with rage. "I'll make sure they'll regret hurting you." He said as you looked at him. "Mark, what are you going to do?" You questioned him as he slowly wiped your tears away, kissing you on your forehead, hugging you, and cradling you in his arms. "You don't have to know but know this. I'll never let anyone hurt you or our child. They'll have to kill me first before I'll let them lay a hand on you." Mark declared.

You softly exhaled. "I know you would, that's why I didn't want to tell you in the first place." Mark makes you look at him eye to eye as he speaks. "You'd rather let yourself suffer than let me help you?" He asked. "No, that's not it. You're swamped with work, and I didn't want to bother you." You tried explaining.

"You and our child are my top priority; please remember that nothing else will compare." He reassures you.

- Target Mark

After a confession from you, his teeth clenched in anger. "AND THIS IS WHY I WANT TO KILL ALL OF THESE LOWLIFES IN THIS PLANET; WE'RE ABOVE THEM." he sighed as he turned to you, hugging you. "I want names." He asked you. "Mark-" You tried reasoning but he had cut you off. "Y/N, each of these pathetic losers doesn't appreciate anything; you save their lives, and then what? they destroy this planet on their own, dooming themselves to death by their stupidity, and NOW they mock you; I will reign this entire universe if it means keeping you safe from stupid beings that can't even comprehend common sense." He states as he kisses your forehead to comfort you.

"Now I want names before I flood the streets with unnecessary bloodbath; now you don't want that, do we?" He asks you again as you sigh, telling them their names.

- Viltrum Mark

He was baffled at such atrocity that someone had the nerve to call you such names. He was quivering in anger as he wanted the people who had hurt you to beg for mercy, beg for their lives. He does not care who they are, but if they hurt you he'll never forgive them. "I want you to tell me who they are Y/N." He spoke as his hands were still shaking in anger, he felt like he wanted to destroy the earth from the very core.

But he looked at you and smiled as veins were popping out of his whole body, signs that clearly state that he was very angry, but decided to restrain himself from going insane.

"You deserve a break, my love." He says, wrapping you in a blanket and putting you to bed.

"You won't do anything insane right?" You asked him.

"Define insane." He smiled.

"Oh, boy." You sighed.

Tomorrow morning, you were in the living room watching the news as houses were mysteriously destroyed, and several citizens went missing as they could not find any clue on what might've happened to them.

Mark was washing the dishes, after you both ate breakfast. "What did you do?" You asked him.

"It's better not knowing, my love." He softly smiled at you kissing your forehead.

- Shiesty Mark

He gives out a lot of curses that you swore you'd never heard before. "They talk shit like that and act like their own child isn't a whore." He angrily spits out. "That woman who's dissing you? Her kid is getting gang-banged every Friday night in their own home without them knowing; they're fucking stupid parents who think their child is a fucking saint and that other woman? his son blows a kilo of joint every day behind the school." He continues, you look at him and ask. "How do you know all of these?"

"William gives this shit to me every day; the man's the gossip girl, except he's a man. he could really use these shit for blackmail you know." He laughs as he stands up breaking his knuckles. "I'm going to beat their kids out and then burn the entire school down for being pieces of shit." He said. "and don't even think about stopping me, babe. They deserve this, and you deserve some justice. Don't worry, I'm not involving innocent people." He added as you sighed in approval.

- Sinister Mark

He slowly approached you whispering in your ear. "This is why you should stop studying, they'll just mock and insult you, and those pesky bitches at the daycare are just attention whores, they don't deserve your time and attention. This is why I told you never to leave this place from the beginning; I was just protecting you, Y/N, shielding you from the pain this world brings; why do you think I seek chaos upon this wretched land."

You look at him as he chuckles. "You don't need anyone but me and our child, so stop from even going out, I can protect and provide for the both of you." He pulls you into his embrace as you melt into his arms relinquishing control over to him. "Just leave this all to me." He whispers kissing your forehead.

He made sure to ensue chaos upon everyone who had hurt you and your child; he made sure they'd bleed and beg for mercy as he slowly finished them.

He would tell you sweet reassurance that what he's doing is for the best of you and your child, and you smiled into his embrace believing it all.

- Prisoner Mark

He was quiet, but he was clenching his fists; he felt anger surging through his body; he wanted to avenge you, but what you needed was comfort right now, so he never left your side. He hugged you and reassured you that he'll never leave your side. "I'll never leave you ever again, I promise you that. And I promise to be there for our child so he will grow up loved, happy, and protected." He hugs you, kissing your forehead, as he caresses your hand. "I am so happy you're back to me." You softly spoke as he smiled. "I'll never regret having our child, he's the best thing that ever happened to me." You said looking at your sweet child sleeping inside his crib. "Correction, us." He laughed as you fell asleep through his warm embrace, he lifted you up and placed you softly on your shared bed.

Tomorrow morning on the news, it was said that high school students were found murdered, all of their bones were broken, their eyes popped out, and their tongues were cut out.

You slowly sipped your morning coffee as you looked at your husband smiling, "Looks like they got their karma."

- Mohawk Mark

He smiled at you, as he made the glass in his hands shatter into pieces. His eye was clearly twitching from irritation from what you just said. "HOW ARE THEY," he yelled as he started to float, but you hold him down. "Y/N, I love you, but you've GOT to let me kill them; you don't deserve to be treated like this; you're one of the few reasons why I haven't destroyed Earth; no, wait. YOU AND OUR CHILD ARE THE ONLY REASON WHY I SPARED EARTH," he yelled as you sighed. "I'm going to kill them." He declares as he flies away, you sighed as you knew this was going to happen and he's going to find out either way.

"At least we know how much he loves us, little one." You said as you looked at your baby who was giggling at your smile, trying to hold your finger.

- No goggles Mark

You always saw him smile at everything, even when he was on the brink of death. He would always smile for you, making jokes and telling you how much he loved you. But now he stands silently after you told him what had happened to you the past few days while he was working out defending humanity; he looked at you and kissed you on the forehead.

"Everything will be alright." He reassured you, and this made you shiver because you had never seen him behave this way before; hence, this was truly bizarre on your end, although you trusted him and went to sleep.

Tomorrow morning, when you woke up and saw the news, you found out that everyone in your school was on fire and the people who had bullied you had been brutally massacred and even reported to have a gruesome death before passing away from the pain and blood loss.

You stare at the TV, mouth opened wide as Mark yawns, smiling, kissing your cheek. "Good morning, sweetie! I can see you saw good news today." He said as he started to make some baby formula for your child.

[thewisewill80sbyers]

hi umh sorry for asking but im kinda ignorant about this, can you explain why you still support Noah? No hate im just curious cuz i only saw him with the stickers and I was confused...

I'll say it again, I'm not really a fan of anybody, I'm a fan of the characters more than anything else - but the situation and the stuff I've been reading about him is extremely vile, this level of harassment means actively trying to make him kill himself and I don't believe he deserves that because I don't believe he's "evil" as people online wants to depict him, you usually can see it when someone is a vile person that would deserve to be attacked and he is just not that

- While his statements did have problematic things in it in my opinion it was more because of ignorance than actual malice and he needed to be educated and not attacked like that

- He tried apologizing and clarifying what he meant with a video and I believe he's genuine in it

- I know for a fact he has friends who are pro Palestine and he has been learning from them and deconstructing

-The stickers were not made by him, he was used for clout by the people that you see in the video around him and in that period he was hanging out with a 30 year old man that was an actual Zionist from there and was influencing Noah + if you look up the Instagram page affiliated to the "Zionism is sexy" stickers, which I did when this happened and I have the screenshots saved in my pc, you'll find that in that page they were going on posting stuff saying that Zionism only meant that they wanted safety for Jewish people while also living in peace etc etc (which is propaganda!) so the whole problem is that there's a different perception of the MEANING of the word, they believed that meaning while not being aware of the real situation in the region and also believing all the lies that those people try to spread around. At that moment he was literally put in the middle and didn't react appropriately, but if you grow up surrounded by people trying to convince you of that you would probably be acting in the same way

- He stopped supporting Israel and is against what is happening in Gaza

- He donated money to Gazans multiple times in secret because he's not doing it only to be forgiven and didn't brag about it

- I know people who know him and have seen receipts of all of this btw

- I know things about his life that the public doesn't know and I will not share because it would be highly fucked up and evil to do that, but I do have compassion for him also because of this outside of the fact that he's just a kid to me and you should have compassion in general for people and not want them to kill themselves (especially when they are NOT actual trash humans. There are trash humans out there and I am not above wishing for their death, but Noah is not one of them)

- He had to start therapy to deal with all of this

- He was 19 years old and the world is not black and white, people that grow up with the influence of the propaganda are not guilty for believing it, especially when they're young because they're being preyed on by older people the majority of the time

- there's LOTS of people that don't give a fuck about it and are hating on him because they want easy likes not because they care about the genocide. People should start looking at themselves in the mirror and I can't stand the insane hypocrisy I've seen since this started.

Hating on him will not help anybody, and it's not "a call out" it's cruel harassment, suicide instigation, homophobic slurs, rape threats.

In general no one should support the amount of harassment and hate he has been getting because he did not do anything that makes him deserve that, being ignorant and staying neutral by wishing that both Palestinians and Israelis were safe in what you perceived as a conflict because you have a misunderstanding of what is going on because you grew up with people telling you that "it's complicated" and repeating the propaganda around you, doesn't make you a "genocidal maniac" it only makes you ignorant and people should want others to be educated if we want a better world... which he is doing in private for now

I've been on the other side of online harassment myself even if in a way smaller amount thankfully, but some people don't have my character and can't stand this type of pressure mentally, so he is choosing to stay private now with all of this, and honestly it was hard for me too some days it did make me upset that so many people misunderstood my character... so I can't even imagine what receiving the GIANT amount of hate and comments on his appearance and his character is doing to him mentally and I find this extremely fucked up so I don't want to just ignore it even if I could mind my business and be "more popular" like that, it's just morally wrong.

[phoebebuggers]

teaser preliminary thoughts

the opening scene being joyce and will talking about the vanishing of will byers was a very intentional choice - not only is will the central character this season, with a major plot point revolving around them discovering why and how will went missing and his connection to vecna (which i believe will also tie into holly's disappearance.) for a second i thought this could be a conversation about holly where joyce and will compare her being missing to what happened to will but i'm leaning toward no..it feels personal to me

the majority of the teaser was preexisting scenes, which i guess could be a little disappointing but it seemed like they wanted to ramp up the nostolgia with the st segment overall which is understandable for the show that "made" netflix. i also think we will be seeing those scenes with young will or maybe new ones from his disappearance as flashbacks anyways

edit: just realized i forgot this clip.. robin, will (*the* outfit!!) and erica in the background, not suure who's on the ledge behind joyce...someone let me know if you have a guess on what this wooden structure is, it almost looks like a stable or a barn. there's definitely some crazy shit behind that door, interesting that joyce seems to have a weapon and the other two do not. im really excited to see robin and joyce's dynamic (definitely see that playing a role in willl coming out)

i think there's a possibility that we'll see karen wheeler's character expanded on this season, possibly in tandem with the explanation for mike's behavior in the previous 2 seasons (the wheelers and conformity) as she takes on a role simillar to joyce in season 1. i'm wondering if this shot is before or after holly disappearing - also that one leak about karen getting injured (maybe in the process of protecting holly??) also, with the theme of conformity and ted wheeler generally sucking im wondering if his behavior this season will end up endangering the wheelers

definitely an emphasis on parent-child relationships this season (this is the third one we've seen). i think that we're going to see el and hopper working together in a way similar to the season 3 finale in a way that redeems that tragic ending, where hopper accepts that el isn't a kid who needs to be protected but a strong young woman who needs to be supported. i lowk have no idea what she's covering her ears about though, maybe coming down from projecting somewhere??

on the topic of hopper, rest in peace russia plotline, i have no idea how they're gonna resolve all that in hawkins lmao

seems like dustin is paired with the older teens again...which i lowk hate but it's kind of been that way since season 1 so i get it. i just don't understand the constant need to seperate him from the party. it looks like they might be in hawkins lab here, but i guess it could be anywhere

i was pretty much certain they were gonna show a shot like this in the teaser, max's coma is pretty much the biggest cliffhanger on the last season and they're going to continue to tease that. i love the coloring in this scene, i think we're gonna see lucas alone a lot this season in a more serious light than ever before (season 4 set the stage for this). i also don't see max getting a recovery until well into the second half of the season (but i do think she'll survive). i also think max is going to be up to a lot more than just laying in a hospital bed though, i really see her being able to reach el/vecna/will(?) through her mind and i think her and el will be paired a lot this season (maybe that's wishful thinking)

i think the two biggest mysteries they're hiding from audiences and shushing the cast about are whether max survives and whether byler is happening. and i think both of these things are happening...personally (notice that these two are the only couple shown together in the entire teaser).

this ss is bad but this is either two people (2 lights) or one person alone (1 flashlight and 1 lantern). i really want to know what that pink thing is, it almost looks like a head

mike is the heart of the party, blah blah blah....this shot really is so telling though like he's such a natural protector. i think we're reallly gonna see him return to his roots this season. it looks like the kids behind him are those new friends of erica's, and that's definitely joyce holding someone...they look too small to be will and i dont know why he would be hiding in the back like that anyway so i really dont know who that is. i think this definitely has to do with the vecna/mr whatsit plotline

im assuming erica is with this group as well but for some reason she isn't pictured. it seems like they're trying to introduce a kind of "new gen" of preteens this season which is a questionable choice for a finale but the duffers have always been good at getting us to care about new characters so i have faith.

finally will on his main character shit and the scream that was leaked - my working theory for this scene is that he's sensing something only he would know because of his connection to vecna and warning the other characters, possibly using himself as some kind of bait?? this is mostly a hunch tho. im not sure where he is here, it's definitely not the upside down but it looks kind of industrial?? the floor actually looks like to could be the same as the previous shot with mike but i dont think so

jonathan is getting absolutely ignored to my devastation, not a single feature unless he was the other character in that scene with joyce and the axe. i feel like he's one of the most likely characters to die but i really hope they do something interesting with him

nancy was also mia...we know she and jonathan are paired with steve and dustin at some point (car picture) but not sure what they're up to other than that nancy walk em down wheeler will be there im sure..

im down with the release schedule, we knew it was gonna be in parts and as a college student i am definitely glad it's during holidays/breaks because im going to want to watch asap. the wait might kill me though

on the topic of byler, i don't think this told us anything new but the fact that they didn't show mike with will or el at any point is good news in my opinion. will being front and center and mike taking a leadership role are signs to character development for both of them!!

[darkbluekies]

One sad thing I thought about with the Edmund letter(s) now that I get to be directly in his head, is that Edmund is around 19-20 and I imagine Darling to be around that age too ... which means that they're just young people that know nothing and are desperately trying to navigate the world while being expected to act a certain way.

Edmund's never been taught anything about people or how to care for them, darling doesn't know anything about royal life, not what it actually is, just what it looks like. And no one is guiding them, no one is helping. No one even thinks of changing anything.

But the sweet thing is that at least they're finding things out together. They only have each other, despite everything. They help each other when no one sees.

They can sneak out of the castle together at night to go on a secret horse ride in the forest and just be carefree for a moment. Edmund doesn't have to worry about duties and how he SHOULD act, and Darling doesn't have to be wary of him. He's just Edmund. Eddie. Ed. Not a king, not a ruler. Just her husband.

[thoughtscout]

I stopped identifying as trans/nonbinary only a few months ago. my dysphoria hasn't gone away. I don't wear bras, haven't in over a decade. but I still struggle to leave the house without something covering my chest, so I use tank tops and strapless crop tops for a bit of compression. my chest is huge, so the thought of someone seeing me walking around and being able to see them jiggle as I move - or, god forbid, see my nipples through my shirt - makes me feel genuinely nauseous.

it doesn't help that I live in an extremely male-dominated, unsociable neighbourhood. I keep my blinds constantly closed, and double-check that I'm hidden from view every time I shower or get changed. it's a constant source of anxiety. a local news archive revealed that a convicted pedophile lived in my neighbourhood within the past decade, and even men as nice as my own father consume pornography. so I never let my guard down.

I remember what it was like to hit puberty: there was a period of time where I'd discovered the simple joy of walking around the house shirtless, but after a certain point, my parents started telling me to put a shirt on any time we had guests over. I didn't understand why. around the time my breasts had developed, I'd bought a sleeveless Summer dress that I was totally in love with. it was very loose-fitting, though, so one time it slipped over my chest without me realizing. my older brother pointed it out to me while covering his eyes to shield his view. I was so embarrassed, I stopped wearing it altogether.

despite all of this, I still wish I could walk around in public braless. I wish I could sunbathe topless - I wish I could lie in the grass on hot days and let my skin feel all of it. I wish I could look at my naked body in the mirror and not find something repulsive or unsightly about it. I spent my teenage years in agony during P.E. classes, trying to hide my figure as much as possible, and suffering rib pain from tight binding. I wish I never had to hear the word "tits" again - because it's what my rapist called my breasts as he sleazily groped them. in that moment, they felt like nothing more than toys to him.

...but none of these things are my breasts' fault. I've stopped resenting them. looking at images of fat butch women and naked older women has completely changed my perspective on them. now, my breasts' existence is radical: they're enormous, they dangle almost crudely, reaching my abdomen, and they spit in the face of the standard of the "ideal breast" that gets imposed on female bodies. to me, they're a symbol of intense, unapologetic female presence and power. I'm not always comfortable with having them. but I love them, and I would never want to get rid of them.

(I've even started drawing my female characters with breasts that resemble mine, to reflect this. I used to just draw them all completely flat-chested!)

I'm never going to blame my body for the way my world has made me feel about it. I'm never going to blame my breasts, or any of my sexual organs, for taking the brunt of the rampant hypersexualization and objectification that infected my brain since I was a young child. instead, I'm going to cope with my dysphoria as best as I can, while continuing to recognize, criticize and spite the targeted, societal misogyny that caused it in the first place.

[ananyako02]

Simon Riley's body

Face

A confident chin, light stubble, slightly plump lips, a nose with a slight bump, and deep brown eyes that have seen all the horrors of life, but which always soften when he looks at the love of his life. When he smiles at her, wrinkles appear in the corners of his mouth and eyes. It's very sweet and beautiful. At times like this, Simon turns into a kind bear.

He loves it when his beautiful and young wife touches his face with her warm fingers and tenderly kisses his tantalizing lips, forehead, cheeks, chin and every scar on his face. His head goes spinning as she leans over to his ear and whispers sweet words to him in her thin and sweet voice: «My beloved Simon...», «I love you very much», «You are so beautiful....».

Back and shoulders

A broad back and shoulders that form a big rock wall behind which his baby girl feels safe. Simon likes to put his girl on his shoulders and playfully bite and spank her ass, making her squeal with pleasure and joy.

Most of all Simon enjoys the way his pretty girl's manicured and beautiful nails scratch his back, leaving deep red lines as he deep fucks her in the missionary position. He could have enjoyed it forever.

Arms (fingers)

His biceps muscles are visible even when his arm is stationary. His arms look so appetizing that his wife constantly bites his shoulders and forearms and then licks them with her tongue like a pussycat to soothe his pain.

Simon is always touching his girl: hugging her waist, carrying her in his arms like a precious weight, squeezing her thighs, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, and stroking her intimate folds with his thick fingers while watching a movie.

Thighs

They're big, thick and firm enough for his birdie to fit on them. His pupils dilate when he feels his girl's panties touch his bulge on his pants. He holds back from bending her over any surface and punishing her for being such a sexy and beautiful tease.

He goes crazy when he sees his babe kneeling in front of him, holding onto his thighs with her fragile fingers and sucking his cock without breaking eye contact with his piercing brown eyes. He strokes her cheek with his tattooed hand with incredible tenderness, and with his other hand he squeezes the back of her head gently, encouraging her to take him deeper.

Cock

It is impressive in size and shape: thick, big, long and wiry with protruding veins. Just the sight of it makes his lovely wife drool in her mouth. He's so big that it can be hard for his baby girl to take him in her mouth, but she tries. Simon appreciates it. For her efforts, he fucks her needy cunt very well and fills it to the brim with his hot and thick cum.

[honeydippedfiction]

I need to know more about Angel having Joe's initals tattooed and about Dare or Die

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Synopsis: During a wild LSU party and a brutal game of Dare or Die, Angel drunkenly gets Joe Burrow’s initials tattooed on her hip—long before they ever made things official. A week later, when Joe finally sees it for himself… it sets off a night neither of them will ever forget.

Warnings: Alcohol use / underage drinking, Tattoo under the influence, Sexual tension / suggestive content (Includes heavy flirtation, intimate dialogue, and sexual undertones between characters), Peer pressure, & Mild body modification themes.

WC: 2.9k

A/N: they're insane for each other your honor. Also don't ever get a tattoo or anything while under the influence if that wasn't clear.

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Based from this ask!

The LSU party was already in full swing when Angel and Monica arrived, the night buzzing with that heady, reckless energy that came from being young, free, and just drunk enough to forget about tomorrow. Neon lights blinked erratically against the ceiling, casting flickering colors over the crowded living room. Solo cups littered nearly every surface, the air thick with the sharp tang of alcohol and too-loud laughter. Music pumped from the oversized speakers in the corner—something bass-heavy and dirty that made the floor vibrate and your hips sway whether you wanted them to or not.

Angel hadn’t planned on going out. Not without Joe.

Normally, a Friday night without him meant a quiet night in, curled up in one of his hoodies, watching whatever he had on while sneaking kisses between bites of takeout. But tonight, Joe was holed up in his apartment going over film—grinding through footage with his usual intensity, headphones in and a brow furrowed in that serious, focused way she secretly loved. He’d told her not to worry about him, to go out and have fun. And she figured… why not? Maybe a night with Monica and some noise would help chase away the ache she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying since he’d left her apartment that morning.

What she didn’t expect was to be swept into a drinking game before she could even shed her jacket.

“Dare or Die!” someone bellowed, a cheer rippling through the room. A table was already set up in the center—like beer pong, only sloppier, wilder. Underneath each cup sat a folded dare, and if you chickened out, you had to dump the drink into the big punishment cup at the center of the table: a cloudy, sinister-looking mix of cheap vodka, tequila, beer, and God knows what else.

Angel hesitated, trying to blend into the shadows with her drink, but Monica spotted her instantly.

“Oh, no ma’am,” she said with a devilish grin, grabbing Angel’s wrist. “You are not just gonna stand there lookin’ cute all night. Come on, LSU First Lady—get in the game.”

“Don’t call me that,” Angel groaned, though a smile tugged at her lips.

Monica just raised a brow. “I mean, you’re basically taken. Whole campus knows Joe’s in his ‘taken and smitten’ era.”

“We’re not official,” Angel reminded her, weakly.

“No,” Monica said with a knowing smirk. “But you will be.”

Angel rolled her eyes but let herself be pulled forward. She could feel it, the way her heart fluttered at the idea of being Joe’s. Fully. Publicly. The way his name alone made her feel anchored, even when he wasn’t in the room. Maybe they hadn’t defined it yet, but everyone knew.

She knew.

The game kicked off in a whirlwind of laughter, dares, and dare-fueled regrets. Someone gave a lap dance on a coffee table. Someone else had to call their ex and act like they were getting head. Angel ended up taking a tequila shot with whipped cream off Monica’s stomach and boobs, and by her second round, her head was warm and fuzzy and her confidence high.

The game had already claimed its first few victims.

A tall guy from the track team had pulled a dare that made him strip to his boxers and run through to Mike’s cage and have someone record him pretending to crawl around like a tiger growling.

One girl was halfway through giving her ex’s new girlfriend a lap dance on the couch—and judging by the girl’s reaction, she wasn’t mad about it.

Someone else had just pulled a dare that involved calling their mom and pretending to be high. The entire room had quieted for that one, and the mother’s response—“Tell that weed I said hello, and make sure you eat something”—had everyone in stitches.

Angel was still sipping from her cup, grinning at the chaos, when it happened.

Monica smacked a ball into a red cup near the center of the table. Cheers went up. She plucked the folded paper from beneath and unfolded it, her eyebrows shooting sky-high.

“Girl,” she said, showing Angel the dare. “Kiss the person in the room you most want to sleep with. No backsies.”

Angel choked. “Don’t look at me.”

“Oh, relax,” Monica said with a dramatic eye roll. Then she turned and kissed a girl from the softball team square on the mouth—to whoops and hollers all around. “What? She’s hot.”

The next guy got dared to post a thirst trap with “DM for feet pics” on Instagram. He did it without blinking. Another girl was dared to shotgun a White Claw while on someone’s shoulders—and when she chose Angel’s lap, Angel nearly spilled her drink laughing.

Then it was Angel’s turn.

Monica hit her with a look.

Angel stepped forward, cheeks pink from the heat and the drinks. She tossed the ball underhand. It sank into the cup on the right.

She flipped the note underneath, brow quirking as she unfolded the small square of paper. Her eyes skimmed the words—and stopped cold.

“Get your man’s initials tattooed. Right now. Monica’s driving.”

Angel let out a startled laugh, blinking as though the words might rearrange themselves. “Absolutely not.”

There were howls of protest and laughter from the crowd.

“Pussy!” someone called out. “Dump your drink!”

Angel hovered, her cup midair. Her eyes were still on the dare. The words felt like a joke. A wild, ridiculous one. But they also stuck in her brain like glue.

Joe. Her Joe.

He wasn’t just a man. He was her man. Even if they hadn’t labeled it yet, she felt it in every late-night text, every soft kiss on her shoulder when she fell asleep in his bed. He made her feel seen. Protected. Adored.

Joe wouldn’t even know.

He wasn’t here.

But it wasn’t just any initials. It wasn’t some random guy. It was Joe. Her Joe. The man who kissed her forehead like it was sacred. Who called her “baby” in that soft drawl that melted every bone in her body. The man who texted her after practice just to make sure she ate.

She felt Monica watching her.

Would he even care?

Would he love it?

She didn’t answer. Just looked over at Monica.

Monica narrowed her eyes, then tilted her head. “You’re really thinking about this?”

Angel bit her lip.

“I mean,” Monica shrugged, “I do know a guy who stays open late. Just saying.”

Angel hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Monica’s grin widened. “Girl, nothing. You’re just down astronomically. Come on—what’s life without a little chaos?”

Angel exhaled, set her drink down, and laughed. “I’m insane.”

Monica grinned like she’d won the lottery. “And I’m driving.”

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Ten minutes later, they were in Monica’s car, windows cracked, Angel’s leg bouncing so fast it shook the cup holder. She was still buzzed but nerves were starting to crowd her chest.

Monica glanced over. “You’re really doing this.”

“You sound more excited than I am.”

“That’s because I am,” Monica beamed. “Girl, it’s romantic. Dumb, sure. But romantic.”

The tattoo shop was barely still open, the “Closed” sign already flipped on the door—but the guy at the desk, a tatted-up dude with sleepy eyes, recognized Monica instantly.

“You bringing me trouble tonight?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Monica grinned.

Angel was in the chair fifteen minutes later, hip bared, laughing with her hands over her face as the artist prepped his tools.

“What are we doing?” he asked, gloves snapping on.

“Initials,” Angel said. “J.L.B.”

The artist raised a brow. “He better be worth it.”

Angel smiled to herself, heart warm. “He is.”

She squeezed Monica’s hand while the needle buzzed to life. A soft wince pulled at her mouth when it touched skin, but she didn’t flinch. The pain was sharp but brief, and over almost too soon. J.L.B. in fine, slanted script—small and simple, right above the curve of her hipbone, flanked by three delicate butterflies, their wings light and soft, like flight.

Twenty minutes later, it was done.

Angel stood in front of the mirror, jeans low on her hips, her fingers grazing the fresh ink.

“I’m insane,” she whispered.

Monica grinned behind her. “Nope. You’re in love.”

Angel didn’t say anything. But the smile tugging at her lips said everything. Her eyes looking at the butterflies and cursive script.

One for then. One for now. One for whatever the hell came next.

Joe didn’t find out about the tattoo that night. Or the next one.

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Friday had come and gone in the way most of his in-season nights did—low-key, focused, and quiet. He was camped out in his apartment, hoodie on, feet up, watching game film with a half-eaten container of takeout and his phone flipped screen-down on the couch beside him. Distractions weren’t allowed when he was locked in, especially this close to kickoff. But sometime after midnight, when his brain started to fog and his eyes began to blur from the endless rotations of defensive sets, he finally caved and checked his phone.

Twenty-two messages in the group chat.

He groaned, swiping it open with one hand, still half focused on the replay on his laptop—until he saw what had them all talking.

The first was a video.

Angel.

Blurry, grainy, lit with that terrible red party glow—but unmistakably her. She was on top of the kitchen island at someone’s house, mic in hand, trying to belt her way through a Beyoncé song while Monica stood behind her, playing backup with a cooking spoon like it was a prop.

Joe cracked a smile, shaking his head. He tapped the video again, watching it loop.

She looked beautiful—tipsy and unbothered, curls bouncing, cheeks flushed. Her body moved with that easy rhythm he knew so well, even when off-key and barely balancing in heels.

“Tell your girl to calm down,” someone had texted under the video.

Joe just smirked, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She’s fine. But he didn’t send anything. Just kept scrolling.

Then came the second video.

And this one stopped him cold.

It opened mid-laugh, the room buzzing. Monica was laid out across the kitchen counter, shirt pulled up, her bra still on but pushed a little higher. There was whipped cream running down her stomach in a zigzag, settling between the curve of her ribs and the top of her jeans. Someone off-camera shouted, “Three… two… one!”

Angel leaned in.

Head tilted. Eyes focused.

She licked a line of whipped cream, fast and laughing, then gripped a salt shaker, tapped it onto the inside of Monica’s hip, and knocked back a full shot of tequila. The crowd erupted.

Joe’s mouth parted slightly.

The video ended there.

Another text followed: Your girl is WILD.

He stared at the screen, thumb frozen.

The logical part of him—the one trained for chaos and pressure—reminded him it was a party. A dare, probably. College antics. Harmless. He’d seen worse on the sidelines. It wasn’t even sexual. Just girls being drunk and stupid.

But the other part—the part that had been imagining her curled into his side tonight instead of licking whipped cream off someone else—was not as cool about it.

He hit play again.

Watched it slower this time. Noticed the way her hand curled around Monica’s hip for balance. The way she laughed after the shot, tongue darting out to catch a drop of tequila from her lip.

Jesus.

He sank deeper into the couch, jaw tight.

The text buzzes didn’t stop. More photos. More chaos. Someone sent a picture of Angel and Ja'Marr locked arm-in-arm, sunglasses on at night, flashing peace signs like they were on spring break.

Joe finally set the phone down, screen-up this time. Just stared at it.

He wasn’t her boyfriend. Not officially. They hadn’t put a title on anything yet. She didn’t owe him anything.

And yet—

That possessive curl low in his gut wasn’t trying to hear logic.

Still, he didn’t say a word. Not that night. Not the next one either.

When she texted the next morning—Miss you—he replied with Miss you too, sweetheart. Like always. Like nothing was different. Like his brain hadn’t replayed that whipped cream moment seventeen times and imagined exactly what it would’ve felt like if she’d done it to him.

And the tattoo?

He had no idea.

Not yet.

That surprise was still waiting—inked under soft skin, hidden in plain sight, waiting to wreck him in ways even that tequila video hadn’t.

Until a week later.

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It started as one of those quiet nights they both craved—no game film, no classes, no loud parties or practice schedules to juggle. Just the two of them in Joe’s apartment, wrapped in the kind of easy silence that only came from real comfort. The movie playing on the screen had long lost their attention, reduced to background noise beneath their slow conversation and half-stifled laughter.

Angel was curled into Joe’s side on the couch, one leg thrown over his, her head nestled against his chest. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through her curls, his gaze more on her than the screen.

“Monica’s with her sneaky link,” Angel murmured, voice warm with amusement. “So no surprise FaceTime chaos tonight.”

“Thank God,” Joe chuckled, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Every time I hear her voice echoing through your phone, I brace myself like it’s a blitz.”

Angel snorted, pulling the throw blanket higher over her bare legs. “That’s fair.”

The night stretched long and lazy after that, full of easy touches and half-spoken thoughts, until Angel sat up with a stretch, her shirt riding up slightly as she stood. “I’m stealing one of your hoodies,” she announced, already halfway to the drawer.

Joe leaned his head back against the couch and watched her move, a small smile playing at his lips as she pulled open the drawer and tugged one out—his navy LSU hoodie, the one she always stole.

Then she pulled her shirt off and tossed it onto the bed, standing in just her shorts and a black bra. That’s when he saw it.

The curve of her waist. The soft dip of her hip.

And ink.

Not just the butterflies—though those caught his attention first, three tiny ones dancing just above the waistband of her shorts, like they were mid-flight across her skin.

No. It was what the butterflies framed that made him sit up straight.

Three letters.

J. L. B.

Joe blinked, brows furrowing as he stared. His throat went dry.

“Wait,” he said, voice quieter than before but sharper, rougher. “Come here.”

Angel froze mid-pull of the hoodie. “Why? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned forward and held out his hand. “C’mere, baby.”

Something in his voice made her move. Carefully, curiously.

He pulled her in by the waist, guiding her between his legs as he sat at the edge of the couch. His hands were warm, thumbs grazing over her hips as his eyes locked on the tattoo. His expression shifted from confused to completely wrecked in seconds.

“Joe—” Angel started, heart thumping.

But he was already pulling at the hem of her shorts, just a little. Just enough to see all of it.

The ink was small. Clean. Fresh. Still healing, if he looked close enough.

J.L.B.

His initials. Marked right above the curve of her hip.

He froze.

Angel’s stomach dropped.

“Okay—before you say anything,” she said quickly, her voice rushing to fill the silence, “I was drunk, okay? It was this dumb game and Monica dared me and I swear I wasn’t trying to be crazy—”

“Angel.”

“I mean, we weren’t even official yet! I just—ugh, I don’t know what I was thinking, and I totally get if you think I’m nuts—”

“Angel.”

“I can get it removed, or covered, or—”

“Baby.”

The sound of his voice stopped her cold.

Low. Rough. Like it scraped the back of his throat. His grip on her hips tightened just slightly as he looked up at her, eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

“You let somebody tattoo my initials on you?” he asked, barely breathing.

She swallowed. “...Yeah?”

His jaw flexed. His fingers dragged along her waist, slow, reverent. “You really did that?”

“I didn’t think you’d be into it,” she whispered. “I thought you’d freak.”

Joe gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Angel, you don’t even know what you just did to me.”

She blinked. “Wait—you’re not mad?”

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Mad?” he echoed. “You got my initials on your skin. Wrapped in butterflies. You really branded yourself for me and you thought I’d be mad?”

Angel felt the warmth rush to her cheeks, suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

“I think it’s sexy as fuck,” he said, mouth at her hip now, voice like velvet. “I think it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

She laughed—nervous, breathless. “You’re serious?”

Joe’s lips brushed her tattoo, slow and deliberate. “Dead serious.”

Her breath caught as his fingers traced the top of her waistband again, dipping slightly lower.

“You really let the whole world know you’re mine,” he murmured, voice molten now. “You marked yourself, baby.”

Angel shivered as his tongue flicked out, teasing the sensitive skin just below the ink. “I didn’t mean to—it just kind of happened.”

“Nah,” Joe growled, standing and hauling her effortlessly into his arms. “You meant it. You wanted me to see it.”

She squeaked as he carried her toward the bedroom. “Maybe a little.”

“Now I gotta show you what that kind of loyalty gets you.”

Her giggle melted into a gasp as he dropped her onto the bed and hovered over her, eyes still locked on the butterflies, like the world had narrowed down to that one little spot on her body.

“You think that dare had consequences?” he murmured, mouth trailing kisses down her belly. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

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